Grandpa has brought tiny binoculars, and he lets me borrow them and watch the graduates. I can't see their faces, but they're sitting very still and serious, not horsing around the way they'd do on an ordinary day.
There are all kinds of speeches, and then
Darcy Miller, who's the smartest girl in Kate's class, stands at the podium and talks about what a wonderful school Monroe is and how fortunate they all are to have attended.
"Let's get the show on the road," I whisper to Grandpa, who is next to me. But he is so concentrated on the backs of those heads that he doesn't answer.
My cousin Gwen, on my other side, asks: "Is this going to go on all day?" She sounds bored. But she's 15, and she sounds bored most of the time. Maybe she thinks it's cool.
"Get a grip," I whisper, which is what Kate says to me when she especially wants to sound superior.
There's another speech, and then the principal, Mr. Carruthers, stands at the podium and says, "It is my pleasure to present the graduating class of 2002." Everyone applauds except Gwen, who is filing her nails.
"John Adair," the principal calls, and a tall, skinny guy comes mooching up the steps and across the platform. He gets his certificate and leaves at the other side of the stage.
One by one they come up. This is alphabetical, so we have a long time to wait. But that's OK. Doesn't my cousin Gwen know this is worth waiting for?
I make a boat from my program to help pass the time, and when I look along the row all my cousins are copycatting me. My Aunt Connie is whispering angrily to little Davey, who is passing time kicking the seat in front of him.
We're getting really close to the Ps now.
"Connie Lu," Mr. Carruthers says.
I stuff my boat into my coat pocket and wait for what's coming.
Friday: Will Mr. Carruthers ever get to the Ps?
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Eve Bunting's favorite graduation day was when her granddaughter graduated from preschool! This story will be on The Times' Web site at www.latimes.com/kids.
