Yesterday was the final day of my high school career. It was nice, the sun shone much of the day. Mr. Letourneau gave us an Economics test and Mr. Bassett gave us ice cream.

      Last night, I ended up at Andy's party, what must have been forty or fifty seniors happy never to be attending another high school class. All night they drank, talked, sang, danced, smoked, reminisced, and drank. Sasha puked in Andy's backyard and I lost a game of ping pong twenty-one to three. Around 3AM, most everyone headed on home, or to someone else's home to pass out. I stayed at Andy's overnight, not wanting to catch a ride with a half-sober peer. In the morning, Andy graciously provided me with a glass of freshly mixed orange juice for breakfast and we chatted for a bit. At 10:45, I embarked on a forty-five minute walk to my house.

      Nobody was home when I arrived. I walked in my room and found a piece of college ruled notebook paper slipped under my door, a note from my dad, who probably didn't know I never came home the previous night.

BEN,
      GRADUATION IS AN IMPORTANT FAMILY EVENT, ALSO YOU ARE IMPORTANT TO YOUR CLASS OF '97 GRADUATION--I UNDERSTAND YOU WERE SELECTED AS SPEAKER AT YOUR SENIOR DINNER?

THIS EVENT IS IMPORTANT TO:

      PLEASE CHOOSE TO NOT DIMINISH THIS EVENT FOR OTHERS AND DO WHAT IT TAKES TO WALK WITH YOUR CLASS,

DAD.

      It was a heartfelt request and I understood where he was coming from. Nevertheless, it strengthened my feeling that attending graduation ceremonies would be not for myself, but for the benefit of others. After all, I don't want to go, isn't that justification enough for not going to my graduation?

      I grabbed a towel and slipped in the shower. I stood in the downpour of warmth for a while, then sat down, thinking about everything and anything, graduation, the party, the future. I started to cry. Often times I've seen people cry for no apparent reason, or for reasons they couldn't or weren't willing to express, I've seen my mother do it many times. I hate it when people cry for no reason. If I cry, I have a reason, or I don't move until I find it. It didn't take long to figure out why I was crying. "Everything is fucked up," I whispered. That was it, that was my reason, extremely ambiguous yet perfectly precise, all encompassing.

      I wasn't crying because I was going to miss my friends or family or any of the conventional reasons for crying after finishing school. I started to break my thoughts down into smaller, more specific tracks. I couldn't explain the reason I wanted to abstain from graduation, at least, not in a way that satisfied my mind. I'd told myself many things. It's for the benefit of others more than it is for me. It's just another silly modern ritual that nobody reexamines or questions. I don't need a celebration for finishing the rough and daunting public school system. But sitting in the shower, I found a reason that seemed to explain it all.

      Graduation is supposed to be one of the biggest rites of passage in our modern society, a transition from youth to adult. Herein lied the reason. I never wanted to become an adult. Adults fuck everything up. I wanted many rights and responsibilities granted to adults, but I never wanted to be an adult. Youth provided a safehouse, protection from the atrocities of adulthood. Not a protection from pain, but from causing pain. It seems as though all pain, anger and suffering can be traced to adults. Adults screw people over. Nobody is born saying "I'm gonna fuck everything up for everyone else who has to live in this shithole of a world."

      Youth is a bastion of pain, but at least it's pain of innocence. To realize that people try to hurt you for no reason but the love of hurting is a great feeling. Often times, children will believe that they deserve such suffering and it's tragic, but when you can recognize the fact that you don't deserve any of the shit you're given, suffering is joy. Pain is truth and anger is reality.

      Everybody wants to take that from me. They want to take what little pain I haven't numbed myself to and the happiness I derive from it. They want me to go willfully, dawn a stupid fucking cap, take a sheet of paper with my name on it, signed by people I've either never met or never liked, and give up my youth. Regardless if I attend ceremonies, I'll lose that youth, but do I have to give it up willfully, parading around like a fucking moron, happy about my transition into the fucked up world I've hated all my life?

      Last night, I saw more alcohol than I've ever seen in a single house. Almost everyone got tanked and acted relatively stupid. Andy told me that he was sitting alone earlier in the day, wondering why we all get together and do this. "I think it's to get away from pain and reality," he told me. I didn't drink. I tell people that I don't like the taste of alcohol and I don't want to act like every other drunk person acts. This is true, but it might be something else also. I don't want to escape pain and reality. If you escape it, you could forget about it forever, and never do anything to stop it or even worse, create more. The anguish will always be around, but you'll never understand that it's ruining you. When you stare pain down, and take it's full brunt, all the time comprehending it, you know just what it is. To know your misery is the first step in stopping it.

      For now, I hold on to my youth, my pain, cherishing it for all the truth it holds. It seems inevitable that I'll slowly slip away from that truth and become just like every other adult in this cesspool, but at least I can fight it. So fuck your trickery and intimidation. Fuck your rites of passage. I'm standing tall. I won't go up and shake your hand, and I'm not wearing your stupid fucking cap.