I attended the fifth grade graduation ceremony for Noah and Mu-wi
at Marshall Elementary last week. It was their last day at an elementary
school. Next stop: middle school.
The ceremony took place outside on the tarmac, in the middle
of an sticky hot day. There was no shade, except where the principal and the
teachers stood. Rows of dark-haired students sat on small blue chairs in front,
and the families filled the white plastic lawn chairs behind the kids. Some of
us stood off to the side to get a better view. Many of the families brought Mylar
balloons that shimmered in the scorching heat. Others carried candy leis for
their graduates. A few families had bunches of roses for their soon-to-be
graduates.
For some students and their families, it was a chance to
dress up. Mothers and aunts came in their most colorful guntiinos, or Somali
wrap dresses. Others adorned beaded head scarves, also known as hijabs. The
majority of the students were Latino. These boys wore button-up shirts and the
girls wore Sunday best dresses. The
Burmese families were not dressed in anything other than their everyday wear,
but their students, including Mu-wi and Noah, were dressed up more than they
usually were. A few of the students wore t-shirts and shorts, as they would
have on any other day. I wondered if that was a choice, or not, due to their
circumstances.
The only blondes were the four fifth grade female teachers
who flanked the principal. The principal spoke in both English and Spanish. He
gave the typical words of advice about staying out of trouble, making good
decisions, and going to college. He told the story of coming from a very poor
family with eight siblings but with perseverance, he became a principal, and
that he did not let his poverty get in his way, and neither should the students.
Many, but not all students received certificates for
academic achievement. I was proud that Mu-wi and Noah each received one. The
looks on their faces showed that they were proud, too.
Thankfully, the ceremony was short. As each student’s name was called, families
hooted and clapped, and the students grinned as they walked across the front to
shake both the principal’s hand and their teacher’s hand. Some of the families blew
air horns. Others shouted loudly. “You go girl!” “Way to go, Tanisha!” The
Burmese families that I stood with quietly clapped. They snapped photos with
their digital cameras.
Tomtom, who had graduated two years ago from Marshall Elementary,
commented that the play area seemed so large to him when he attended the school.
He remembered being told to run around the perimeter of the field and how far
that seemed. Now it seemed like nothing. I remember his graduation, and how
much younger and softer he seemed then, compared to the slim, handsome teenager
that now stood next to me. For his graduation, he had worn a traditional hand-woven
red and white shirt. His mother was appreciative that I was taking photos with
my iPhone, since none of the Burmese that I knew had cameras back then.
When Noah and Mu-wi return to see their younger siblings graduate
from Marshall Elementary in a couple of years, I wonder how they and their
families will have changed.
