Toss Hats, Not Cookies

After what seemed to be the longest good-bye in the history of graduations, I finally donned the floppy hat and flowing gown to officially exit law school as a Juris Doctor. Even my parents and dearest aunt flew out from California for the occasion. And, to be perfectly honest, had they not been in town I wouldn’t have even gone to the ceremony. I’m just not that sentimental, and am pretty much totally over it already. Plus, the actual ceremony was scheduled for the height of noon on the hottest day of the year. In black robes! I don’t want to alarm anyone, but there are in fact places from which one might never imagine one's body can sweat (as I now know). Hyperbole aside, baking under a hundred degree sun in a black hat and gown, while a local congressman droned on and on and on about “service” and “commitment to justice”, may quite possibly have been one of the most miserable two hours of my life. It was actually nearly perfect – a fitting and symbolic end to a very uncomfortable and sweaty three years of law school.

The rest of the weekend left little to report on: the usual dinners and sight-seeing and family chit-chat on which grandparent is more senile than the other. But nothing, and I mean nothing, says “fun weekend with the fam” like projectile vomiting in the back seat of a car, while wedged in the middle between your mom and aunt. Oh yes, that happened. My new personal words of wisdom: if you ever feel that little tickle, even ever so faintly, like maybe, just maaaybe, something might be on its way up do not ignore your gut reaction to dig for whatever crumpled shopping bag might be resting beneath the driver’s seat. Had I not listened to this instinct, no one would have been laughing about it twenty minutes later -- because instead they all would have been back at the hotel changing their clothes. To say that was perhaps not my proudest moment as a new law school graduate might just get me a nomination for the Understatement of the Year award.