How High School Graduation Ceremonies Have Changed Since 1988: A Veteran Teacher’s Observations
Last week, I folded leftover 2024 graduation programs back into the office closet at the high school where I’ve taught for 22 years, then stopped by my basement that night to dig out a dorm bedding set for my oldest’s upcoming college move. Buried under a stack of my old yearbooks, I found it: my own crumpled 1988 high school graduation program, the edges stained with lemonade from my grandma’s post-ceremony picnic. I sat on the basement step and flipped through it, comparing the two side by side, and realized how much has shifted that we barely talk about.
My 1988 graduation was held in our small town high school gym, bleachers pulled out on both sides, no extra seating required. There were no tickets, no limits on how many family members could come. My entire extended family of eight showed up, squeezed into a row with folding chairs we brought from home, and no one batted an eye. The whole ceremony ran 88 minutes, according to the little handwritten note my mom wrote on the back of the program. We had a 10 minute valedictorian speech, a 5 minute welcome from the principal, diplomas handed out row by row, a cap throw, and we were done. Graduates were split into two lists in the program: male and female, guys wore blue stoles, girls wore white. The only people honored beyond the top 10% were those who got full ride scholarships. My neighbor, who graduated the same year and left immediately for a carpentry apprenticeship that he’s now run his own business from for 35 years, got no shoutout, no recognition. He just got his diploma and sat back down.
This year’s ceremony at my school was held at the local university arena, 342 graduates, 6 tickets per graduate max to hit fire code. The whole thing ran 3 hours and 12 minutes, I checked my watch when I sat down. Before we even handed out the first diploma, we recognized every state tournament athlete, every honor society member, every senior who completed 100+ hours of community service, every student enlisting in the military, and every art student who got into a state show. When each graduate walks across the stage, their photo pops up on the 30 foot screen, along with their plans after high school and a little line they chose about themselves. Kids pick their own gown color, no more gendered rules. A graduating senior brought his service dog across the stage with him this year, and the crowd cheered louder for him than almost anyone else. Last week, a first year teacher pulled me aside after it was over and asked why we pack so much in now, if it’s just to make the ceremony so long everyone’s sore by the end.
It’s not just extra stuff for no reason. The biggest shift I see is that in 1988, graduation was a ceremony for the school, for the class as a whole. Now, it’s a ceremony for each individual kid. We’ve learned over the last 30 years that a high school diploma is a win for every kid, not just the ones who make the honor roll or get into an Ivy League. Some of the kids we honor worked 30 hours a week at the local grocery store to help their parents pay rent. Some have fought anxiety and learning disabilities that meant they had to retake classes just to get to graduation day. Some are the first in their family to ever graduate high school. That win deserves to be seen.
Of course, that shift comes with tradeoffs, and there are concrete things we can do to ease the friction for everyone. A few years ago, our graduation committee started opening the arena an hour early with a snack table near the entrance, and that cuts down on half the people getting up mid-ceremony to use the bathroom or get water. For parents bringing small kids, my go-to tip is to reserve an aisle seat near the back, download a few of their favorite shows on a tablet before you go, and don’t feel bad stepping out for 10 minutes if they get fussy. Most people are too busy watching their own kid to notice, and it beats everyone around you being stressed out.
For schools struggling with the ticket limit, the easiest fix we’ve found is a free, public live stream. We post the link on the school website a week before, and any family member who can’t get a ticket can watch from home or a hotel. Last year, a grandma who couldn’t travel because of a bad knee watched from her living room in Florida, and her daughter sent me a photo of her cheering with a glass of champagne. It’s not the same as being there, but it solves most of the conflict that comes with limited seating. We’ve also started talking about moving all the group honor recognitions onto the screen during the processional instead of calling everyone up, which would cut 20 minutes off the total time without taking away any recognition. That’s a change we’re testing next year.
I left the two programs sitting on my kitchen table that night, my 1988 one and this year’s 2024 one. My son, who’s graduating next year, leaned over and looked at them. He said he’d rather have a longer ceremony where everyone gets their moment than a quick one where only a handful get noticed. I get that. I still miss the 1988 version a little: the casualness of the gym, being able to bring all your family, the post-ceremony picnic in the parking lot where everyone just mixed and talked without a planned reception. It’s not that one is better than the other. It’s just that what we value has changed.
Next May, when my son walks across that stage, I’ll pack a bag with snacks and a portable charger, I’ll grab my aisle seat, and I’ll cheer for every single kid before I cheer for him. I don’t think we’ll ever go back to the 90 minute gym ceremonies of 1988, and that’s okay. The whole point of graduation is to celebrate the kids who worked to get there. If more of them get to feel that celebration now, that’s a change worth sitting through an extra hour for.
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