Last night I attended seminary graduation. Believe me, I didn't want to do it. But one of my girls is graduating, and in the end, I just couldn't not be there. Is anyone else willing to stand up for the belief that the pews in the chapel MUST be turned into stadium theater seating? Because my pregnant butt can't take much more. It just can't. Shift, sigh, shift, stretch, hand behind the back, shift, sigh, fight against the coma.
Numb butt and all, I am glad I went. I love that girl. And she knew I was there, and that is what matters.
Watching those little nerfs got me thinking, too.
I didn't enjoy my own seminary graduation. It was two weeks after I had graduated from high school, with a bunch of kids I didn't go to high school with who looked at me a little funny. It was... shall we say it... anti climatic. Plus, I wore the black boys boutonniere instead of the red one for the girls. 'Cause I am just a rebel like that. In addition, they made me lead the music. And if you don't know this about me I CAN'T LEAD MUSIC. I am scarred by the mere memory. The last song was, of course, "God Be With You 'Til We Meet Again." I couldn't find the tempo. I desperately sent S.O.S. messages to my friend Angela. She tried to help me, but what could she do? She was sitting on the rock hard pew, waving her hand for me to follow. Soon, the whole congregation was watching me flounder and drowned as I gave my pitiful attempt, so of course, I thought that would be the time to get the giggles. In short: I ruined the sentimental (although I think sort of evil in a way) hymn for everyone.
I actually didn't like graduating from high school. I couldn't wait, but when it came right down to it, I was terrified of what the future would bring.
Do all high schoolers feel that way or does it take a special kind of girl? (Please note: I use the word special very liberally.) Either way, I am happy, happy, deliriously happy that that time in my life is over.
I am now haunted by images of my ape-length arm trying to lead music.
I flat out refused to ever lead it again after that scarring event, until the next scarring event came around: my Granny's funeral. You can't really tell your beloved past-on Granny you won't lead the opening hymn at her funeral (or can you?), so I did it. I practiced SO HARD. Then my cousin Tina gave me pointers. I felt ready. Then I got up there, started everybody out (In my defense, "Abide With Me 'Tis Even Tide"? Who writes these torture devices?!?!), and had no idea what I was doing, except having a small emotional breakdown. Luckily, my noble F.C. Mary Dawn was playing the piano, and she just was smart and got us through as I waved my arm like a loony tune. Moral of the story: I shall never lead music again. Until the next traumatic event in my life.
To conclude this strange selection of memories, I will share this delightful story. After the graduation last night, it was on to a fireside at the Bishop's house. The youth had all written questions for the bishopric and they took turns answering. It was a great night. One of the lighter questions was "What was one of your favorite dates?" The second counselor in the bishopric had this one and he started out with "Well, my wife and I dated a little before both of our missions, and then got together afterward. We met at BYU Idaho -- well, Ricks, I can't call it anything else -- anyhow, that is where we first mated." He meant to say 'met.' But he said 'mated.' In front of about thirty youth and ten hysterical leaders. It was all over after that. I laughed until I cried, and then I laughed some more. Because I am so willing to laugh at other peoples pain. After everyone finally calmed down and he once again had circulation in his face, they went on. But not me. I giggled into my hand for the next twenty minutes. Because I am just mature like that.