In Italy, you know that someone is graduating when it is any month of the year, and you catch sight of a person wearing a wreath of laurels whose friends have covered them in some sort of ridiculous outfit and/or eggs, and are currently in the process of throwing them into a fountain or something with an equivalent level of ceremonial gravitas.
In America, you know that someone is graduating when it is May or December, and you see neat rows of hundreds or thousands of students wearing medieval robes and unusual hats, flanked by excited parents and siblings with cameras, preparing by dint of sheer adrenaline to sit through three days of interminable jawing by institution administrators and a practiced invited speaker who can be counted on for at least five or six instances of comic relief. Pomp and circumstance will mingle with the inevitable drunk guy who just couldn't make it to tonight without puking somewhere inopportune. Pedicures and fresh haircuts will be rampant. Diplomas will be doled out to more or less deserving individuals for approximately three and a half hours. The only question that remains is whether this is pre-school, kindergarten, elementary school, middle school, high school, college, or graduate school.
In Italy, you know that someone is graduating when it is any month of the year, and you catch sight of a person wearing a wreath of laurels whose friends have covered them in some sort of ridiculous outfit and/or eggs, and are currently in the process of throwing them into a fountain or something with an equivalent level of ceremonial gravitas.
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AuthorI'm an American living in Italy and making gross generalizations about it. Categories
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