Illustration by Tai Tan
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When I walked into the hall at Humber College for commencement, the ticket collector directed me toward the audience area. This was in 2023, and that year Humber Polytechnic graduated about 2,600 students and celebrated with five ceremonies, so it was me and about 500 other students.
But when I pointed out that I was one of the graduates, her eyes widened and she instructed me where to go and pick up my gown.
Each step down that long hallway was met with a look of surprise by the rest of the graduating students. As we queued in the hall by discipline, I looked around and realized I was the only one with grey hair. My fellow grads were in their 20s and 30s, I was 72. They were all fresh faced and excited. I kept looking for a chair so I could sit down, as my hips hurt.
In the auditorium, we were seated in the order we would walk across the stage and so I was surprised to get a chair across the aisle from my three guests: my wife (a Humber grad), my daughter (also Humber grad) and my 10-year-old granddaughter.
As my name was called, they shouted, “Go Grandpa! Go Grandpa!” The audience joined in.
I missed my first university graduation in 1971, so going to this one was a big deal. I also never got a university ring, as I had no money in those days. This time, I wanted a class ring. The ring salesman had samples of the modern rings, but I ordered a traditional classic design. I wear it every day.
What I really learned in high school
When I decided to take Humber’s Creative Writing Graduate Certificate program in play writing, I found it a challenge to apply. I had to submit my undergraduate transcript but I received a diploma from a small American university over 50 years ago. There are no computer records for that far back. The transcript service had to contact the school, request that the microfiche be pulled and printed, then mailed to Humber. The cost was the same, it just took several weeks rather than minutes to arrive.
Once I was accepted, I was charged for Humber’s student health insurance that I did not need. To opt out, I had to go to enter my details on a website but it wasn’t long before I ran into trouble and had to call someone.
“Don’t you know how to fill in a website form?” they asked.
“Yes,” I replied. “I’m retired from a career in computer R&D. The problem is the birthdate page. The year drop down menu only goes to 1953. I was born in 1950.”
I mentally counted to five, then heard, “Get out of town!”
“No, I’m serious,” I said.
She apologized and I reassured her: “I’m not upset. I think it’s funny.”
I couldn’t stop treating my son’s stalled life like an emergency
A lot happened from the time I graduated in 1971 and the second time in 2023.
When I was young, I was part of an accelerated math program. When I started university, I kept working ahead and loaded up on third- and fourth-year courses. Then, at the tender age of 19, I started graduate courses.
Back then, male graduate students wore a suit and tie to class. Most were married and attended evening courses, as they were coming from work. My favourite professor wore a black two-piece suit with patches of chalk dust, a white shirt and a thin black tie. He always addressed students as Mr. or Miss. Everyone was formal except me. I wore denim cut-offs, a white T-shirt and sandals, and my minibike was chained to the lamp post outside. I had long blond hair, a face that saw a razor maybe once a week and I looked 16. Everything about me seemed carefree, except my fingernails, which were bitten to the quick. I had nothing in common with my classmates.
In 2023, the irony was not lost on me. I was considered too young for my first grad courses; too old for my last. I guess I will never get it right.
Rich Helms lives in Sunderland, Ont.