In which I wield a medieval mace

And wear really weird clothes, also medieval

Handling weaponry makes me happy.

My university held its commencement — in two parts — this weekend, and I and a colleague named Joe carried the brass and stainless steal maces to lead the morning procession.

I’d joked that I would carry the thing in one hand, stretched up like the Statue of Liberty, but when I went to pick it up for the first time, I had to use both hands. I’d also joked that I’d swing it like a bat at any one I wanted to, and though I might have gotten in one good swing, there would have been no energy for a second one.

But that’s not the story I want to tell. I want to tell you stories about two students.

Until they graduated Saturday, I was the academic advisor for both of them. An academic advisor — in my department, anyway — is like a coach. We’re there if things head south. We’re there to help enroll for classes. We help students find internships or jobs. We are the go-to professors if students Want to Talk. We advise and cajole and sometimes hound.

I didn’t hound either of these students, though. One is funny and self-effacing and quite good at what she does, which is digital media. In all the time I was her advisor, she never whined or complained. She never blamed someone else for misfortunes, and our student-run television news show would have been lost without her. She showed up.

She came to my office a few weeks ago and said she was nervous about graduating, nervous about entering adulthood, nervous even about walking across the stage with her diploma. I told nerves about those first two things are common, but she should know that no one in Adulthood Land knows what they’re doing, and that we are all just faking it. That made her laugh.

As for anxiety about being in front of people, I told her I’d be on the stage and that she should just look at me and I’d watch her all the way across. I don’t have social anxiety (“Oh, is this a mic? For MEEEE?”), but I know it can be debilitating.

It was a loooong day. I was at the amphitheater at 7:30 a.m. because I was told I needed training on how to be a mace bearer when in fact, a dim 5-year old could have figured it out without training (which consisted of “Go pick that up, and walk over there.”) There seemed like a million students’ names being called, the chairs were hard, and while I don’t begrudge any of those students their moment on stage, I was daydreaming when I heard my student’s name. Though we’d been told to sit quietly until all the names are called (as if), I clapped — hard — and she looked up and we locked eyes. She pointed at me. I pointed at her. She walked across the stage with a smile.

No, I don’t think she needed to look into my eyes to walk across the stage, but I was able, with a look, to tell her that I was there and she would be fine.

It was a moment.

Then there was the other student, a quiet young woman who went home during the pandemic and thought seriously about not coming back. I don’t remember what I said to her, but she’s an excellent writer with a unique perspective on the world, and we would have been less-than if we’d lost her.

She, too, came to my office a few weeks ago and thanked me and asked if I would meet her parents at the graduation. I hate making promises like that because post-graduations are zoos and I’ve never been successful finding someone after. But we exchanged phone numbers because what the heck?

She mentioned in class that her parents had made little face signs of her to hold up when she walked across the stage. She said she was embarrassed but I think she kind of liked it, as well.

I was standing near the entrance not-playing with the mace when I saw a group of people holding those face signs, and I rushed over to introduce myself. Her mother hugged me. So did her father. They said lovely things and I said lovely things back. I told them that their daughter taught me to watch out for the quiet ones, and to remember the importance of the random email where you are just checking in. I posed for a lot of pictures and we all hugged again. It was another moment, and yes, on such moments careers are made.

So now the seniors are heading into the big, wide world, the grading is over, and I feel as if I could sleep for a week but those moments? Pure gold.