Grad Night Memories
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Grad Night Memories By Martha Levison As I enter San Ramon Valley High’s Grad Night, voices call out, “Hey, Mrs. Levison!” “Hi, Mrs. Levison!” and I shake my head. Just like last year, I only recognize a few young men, one or two young ladies. In fact, some I swear, I’ve never seen before in my life. Grad Night is a yearly, all-night carnival for seniors, originated years ago by a mom when her son was killed driving home drunk after celebrating. Since then, senior parents spend a year organizing so their kids have a sober way to celebrate on graduation night. Last year my son, Drew, was a junior, and I worked a three-hour shift. But that night, young adults resembling Abercrombie and Fitch models, dashed from the latte café to the hip hop stage and casino to the hip-hop beat of Jurassic Park, er FIVE, while I searched the crowd for the little groms I knew from Mustang Soccer, field trips to the Post Office and tadpole hunts. I tried to greet the kids as they called out to me but I ended up grasping for names like my Grandma: Jerry? Gary? Larry? Mary? Was that Jessica Simpson? Blinking, I staggered to my first job: searching backpacks for alcohol and drugs. This was a little weird, but the whole point of the night was to keep it clean and sober. Still I felt a little queasy. I recognized most of the names on the packs’ ID tags but the contents catapulted me into the present. Size thirteen gym shoes? Marlboro’s? Birth control pills? I felt like I was on a spaceship and Hans Solo just pressed the button for warp speed. At midnight I reported back to the gym where a wall of heat, spicy testosterone and Tommy Girl blasted me. Glowing graduates freshly “inked” with Henna Tattoos crowded around the stage for the hypnotist show. “Hey, Mrs. Levison!” they yelled. “Hi, Mrs. Levison!” At that point I just yelled, “Hi, Justin!” “Brittany!” “Kelsey!” I was bound to hit on one that was right. But I did recognize quite a few teachers in the audience, a number that touched me. And Senior parents too. Perhaps it was the gallons of Diet Coke and Red Bull they’d consumed, but they truly beamed and looked dewy, despite the hundreds of hours they’d worked. And as they watched their kids who rushed from the fish toss to the video games and clutched fists full of tickets like they once did at Chuck E. Cheese, they called out to them, every one, by their correct name. Now, this year, I weave through the carnival toward the prize room where I’ll work all night awarding prizes to game-winning kids. Once again, I’m wishing I was at home, snug in my jammies watching Fleetwood Mac on DVD. At least I recognize Stevie, Lindsey, Christine and John. But as I look hard in the sea of grown-ups, familiar faces emerge. A boy whacks a ball in the batting cages, ruddy and ready as when he stepped up to the plate in T-Ball. Another looks as victorious after winning a portable dorm-room refrigerator as he was when he raced around the track at Charlotte Wood Middle School. One laughs at the hypnotist on stage, just like he did when playing tether-ball at Sycamore Valley Elementary. In the glitter that floats from the ceiling and the innocence that infuses this one last night, the years fall away. I see my son, Drew, and his buds, Dallin and Connor. Other friends emerge, Ryan, Matt, Victoria and Lindsey. And others, J.D., Alex, Mark and Chris. “Hi, Mrs. Levison!” Hey, Mrs. Levison!” the new collegiates shout. And I recognize every one. About the Author: Martha Levison is a mother of two teenage boys, writer, wife, and Welsh Corgi owner who lives in Danville, California. She enjoys running, frequent trips into San Francisco, and boating with her family on the California Delta. Her work has appeared in the LA Times, San Francisco Chronicle and KQED Radio. She also sings with the Rolling Stones in her spare time. © siliconmom
