One of the more delightful things about living in Romania is that any occasion can be turned into a festive and flower-filled event. And graduation day is no exception. Forget robes and mortar boards, an inspiring address from a local luminary, or the celebratory distribution of diplomas. There’s none of that here, and solemnity is not on the order of business. Instead, graduates pass under an arch of flowers and perform something they have written for the occasion.
There’s no printed program either, listing the order of events and the names of all the graduates. Though Romanians are fond of distributing certificates of participation for all sorts of events, they don’t print programs (perhaps because it is seldom set until the last minute). However, as tradition governs this event, and all participants know pretty much what will happen, why waste expensive paper? (Teachers have to supply their own for making copies.)
The different words we use for graduation offer a clue to other differences. In the U.S., we often call it commencement, for the beginning of something new. In Romanian, the word for graduation is “absolvare,” which is related the English absolve and means release or exoneration – as in, you are no longer required to attend school. Today, that’s hardly the case here; most students in my high school are headed to university in the fall, even if they are not yet sure which one.
Another difference is who attends – no grandparents flown in from across the country. In fact, there were few parents in attendance, though there was an awning erected for them on the concrete soccer field, as a shield from the sun. Some younger students came to observe, or not; plus some students and teachers from the neighboring grade school watched from the other side of the fence – though their school was not dismissed until noon and graduation was at 10, Romanians are not necessarily bound by school hours if there is something more interesting to do.
The actual ceremony itself began with a delightful tradition. Each profile – roughly the equivalent of a homeroom – walks onto the soccer field under a column of long-stemmed flowers held aloft by 11th graders. Each diriginte heads his or her class accompanied by two students of the opposite sex. All are dressed somewhat alike; the diriginte for the green class wore a sea-green suit, for example. (For more information on profiles, dirigintes, and color-coding, see previous blog.) The profiles proceed, one by one, through the floral portal to their place in a large semicircle surrounding a speakers’ table, amplification equipment, and rows of chairs, formally covered in white with bright red sashes. The mayor is there, a representative parent, and the school’s director and assistant. (For the school opening ceremony in the fall, a priest from the town’s Orthodox biserica attended to offer a prayer, but he was not here for graduation.)
After brief remarks from the school director – alas, my Romanian is not up to understanding much of what was said – the dirigintes come, one by one, to introduce their groups of students and distribute awards to those with the highest total averages. On a 10-point scale, all the winners were in the mid-to high 9s; no surprise, equivalent to strong As. These were accompanied by a Romanian tradition I am not impressed by – as students come forward, they present their diriginte, and sometimes the school director, with a florist-shop produced bouquet. No simple arrangements, these, but a bunch of blooms wrapped with elaborate ribbons. My guess is they cost 20 to 30 lei apiece. So with roughly five-dozen bouquets presented, the total expenditure amounts to considerably more than the teachers’ salaries of roughly 800 lei per month. For my money, the home-grown blooms local gardens abound with would be a far-wiser substitute. (And the investment would be far better used to purchase trees and plantings for the rather barren school yard.)
A tradition I was far more impressed with is that each group of graduates performs something, usually a song they have written lyrics for. Whatever the performance, gaiety was the result, as indicated by lots of applause. Near the ceremony’s end, a representative of the graduates came forward to present next year’s 12th graders with a symbol of the school – a vastly oversized brass key sitting on a bright red pillow. It was accepted by the elected head of the student council – a young man whose fluent contributions to our classes together have amused and occasionally challenged me for two years. He was dressed for the occasion in a bright red-plaid shirt, jeans, and red high tops. He intends to be a lawyer, and I’d bet he’ll be successful at whatever he does.
The last part of the ceremony I took a personal interest in. A few months ago, I’d been inspired by discovering that a few other English-speaking countries had their own set of lyrics to Woody Guthrie’s classic “This Land Is Your Land, This Land Is My Land.” Why not do one about Romania, I thought? So with help from groups of students, we chose several beautiful Romanian places and composed our own set of lyrics. On graduation day, it was ready for performance, accompanied by one of the school’s talented guitarists. Even those in attendance who knew no English could recognize the famous places we sang about – and enjoy Guthrie’s infectious melody.
By noon, the ceremony was over. As we all moved off the field, someone released bags of brightly colored confetti – an appropriate ending. But the day was not over – the graduates had a party to attend that evening. And getting ready for it would take some of the girls much of the afternoon; the party is a local equivalent of prom – but no one needs a date to attend. Interestingly, though the girls dressed up for the event, some of the boys dressed down, arriving (late) in black shirts and jeans.
As with similar events I’ve attended here, the four-course meal, held in a banquet hall usually reserved for weddings, took several hours to serve. The dancing began slowly, to mainly American imports – but soon the music became traditional Romanian, and the pace of the dancing more than I could keep up with. At 11:30, with the main course not yet served, I decided to head home, absolved of further responsibility for partying. Weddings here can last until dawn; this party probably did, too. Congratulations to all!
Facebook friends can view an album of photographs on my FB page.
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