If Graduation Happens on Zoom, Did It Really Happen?

When I read last week about the disappointed University of Tampa senior who complained on Instagram that her school had cancelled its in-person graduation, I totally understood. 

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Allison Clark put out a poll on social media to ask how many would attend an in-person graduation. After 80% said they would, she and two friends set up a GoFundMe page to sell tickets. Quickly, they had more than $25,000 to create their own graduation in Tampa.

Her industriousness and salesmanship were impressive; she was determined to change the course of the story. Of course, Clark and her friends should be entitled to all the pomp and circumstance a graduation ceremony would provide.

The completion of a degree is a moment of celebration and joy, one that you should be able to share with the people who accompanied you on the journey — your friends and family.  

If I'm being honest, for the past three years, I have imagined sitting at the ceremony of my own daughter Kira's graduation from law school, sharing the excitement, elation and pride of all of the other families gathered to witness the accomplishment of their loved ones.

So when I read the email that my daughter's ceremony would be virtual, tears immediately burned my eyes. Intellectually, I knew that given the pandemic, it was unlikely the university would invite thousands to gather for this ceremony.

But reading the words on the screen allowed my heart for the first time to catch up to my brain and acknowledge the reality: We would sit in our suburban home, watching on a screen, as Harvard Law School bestowed a diploma on our daughter (who would be sitting right next to us).

I couldn't help feeling cheated. Law school was taxing, to say the least, and it tested my daughter mightily. The reading, the eight-hour exams, the cold calling from professors, the interviews for summer jobs, call-backs, wardrobe choices. Offers. Non-offers. The vying for positions at law journals and clerkships. She lapped up the opportunities to hear from Supreme Court justices, learn from former Senators and mingle with presidential advisers. But then back to the reading. Always the reading.

Kira enjoyed the challenges, but there were times when her spirit was nearly crushed by the weight of it all.

"Just don't even ask, because the answer is always going to be yes," she said one night when I off-handedly said, "Do you have a lot of work to do tonight?"

I wasn't the one experiencing it, but I was watching, and even from 300 miles away, it was difficult. I've felt at once incredibly proud and immensely grateful that it was Kira and not me at law school.  

And then came the pandemic. My husband likes to joke that, thanks to COVID-19, Kira was attending the world's most expensive correspondence class. Like students everywhere, she became a virtual lone wolf in her apartment, learning on a Zoom screen from professors who may or may not have mastered the Zoom experience. Even her summer job at a law firm was on Zoom.

I kept thinking that surely by fall, things would be back to normal. Well, maybe by the spring semester. But alas, it was not to be. Her last 2 1/2 semesters of graduate school were remote.

And yet, to paraphrase the fictional Harvard Law School graduate Elle Woods in the movie "Legally Blonde," "She did it!" And I am so proud of her! Wouldn't a graduation ceremony make it all the more real?

I felt like a spoiled child as I wrestled with this question. I wanted pomp. I wanted circumstance. My daughter will only graduate from law school once. Even if the university carries through on its pledge to invite students back for a post-pandemic celebration, we'll never recapture the spirit of the actual day.

I was still grappling with the situation when I ran into the cantor from my synagogue. She was facing a disappointing cancellation of the in-person gala that had been planned to honor her 10-year anniversary in the clergy. As with Kira's graduation, the event would take place on Zoom.

"So many people have had disappointments this year," she said when I asked her how she was feeling about the virtual celebration. "Weddings, bar mitzvahs, funerals. But I can tell you that as I've watched, each has been special in its own way — and maybe even a little more memorable because they boiled down to the things that really matter."

Her words also brought tears to my eyes. But these tears were different. They were tears of understanding and gratitude.

I wish I could tell Allison Clark what I now know to be true: You don't need to be in an arena surrounded by thousands of people to mark your graduation. It will not be what you imagined, but that doesn't make it less momentous.

So, on graduation day, my husband and I will toast Kira, her accomplishment and the love that we have for her, all while keeping ourselves and others healthy. That's what matters most. The rest is just pomp and circumstance.

Andrea Atkins 


Andrea Atkins is a freelance writer whose articles and essays have appeared in numerous national magazines and web sites. She and her husband raised their two daughters in Westchester County, NY, where they still live.  Read More