I call the names. Some one has to do it. I don't know exactly how it fell my lot. But a number of years ago someone came to me and asked me if I would and I agreed. I don't know why we have so many foreign students, but yesterday's graduation list included students from Lithuania, Japan, France, China, Mexico, Viet Nam, South Africa, Germany, and the Pacific Islands, to name a few. And I can't even figure out where Joo Noo Johnny is from. Thankfully there were some John Smith types mixed in to give me a break at times.

I don't think anyone thinks much about how difficult it is to pull off a graduation exercise, but it is a lot of work. Lots of chairs arranged in particular orders, choir and band rehearsals, soloist rehearsals, putting the program together, organizing the students into their regimented places and practicing the walk, setting up and testing microphones (the system is always out of whack at the stadium), building the platform, setting up the floral arrangements, contracting with the photographer, and the videographers, maintaining security on the grounds, having the EMT's standing by, working out a parking plan, hiring officers to direct traffic, writing the addresses, correcting the grammar, and practicing the delievery over the echoing loudspeakers at the football field. Oh yes, and writing out phonetic spellings for 329 graduates. Nothing's easy.

Hats fly. Flashbulbs blink. Tears run down cheeks. Trophies are held high. Laughter. Beaming parents. Thankyous. Then fade to black and . . .

start all over again.