UCSB Graduation

9:00 AM - Graduation Day

Thousands of black hats, black gowns, and smiling faces all around me. The sun is beating down hot in the Santa Barbara blue sky, and I'm glad I only have boardshorts underneath the ceremonial gown. I undo another button, let the breeze in my chest, and scuff my flip flops under my chair.

Just when I think this graduation event might turn out to be the predictable, uninspiring ritual that others have claimed, someone hands me a box which reads, "To Kristian Beadle. Pass it on." How did this package finds its way through the crowd of anonymous thousands, I wonder.

I open the box and a sweet jasmine fragrance erupts from within. A dozen fresh hawaiian leis sit inside, smelling like yellow golden goodness. I pile them high on my chest, bright flowers glinting on my gown's plain black, and pass them out to friends that sit nearby.

The time comes to pick up the diploma. I stride across the stage, bobbing up and down, an extra lei held surreptitiously by my left hand. The chancellor sticks out his right hand to shake mine, while holding the diploma in his other hand; a well-coordinated maneuver which he must repeat thousands of times.

I hope he welcomed the break in repetition, as I pulled out the lei, and clasping it with both hands, offered it him. With the grace of a public veteran he bent his neck and allowed me to lei him; because like it or not, he couldn't stop the show.

Later on, I was proud to see the chancellor's wife walking around with the lei around her neck. Does that mean she got lei'd? or did I?