Build-a-Bear May Help Scholars Become World-Famous Doctors!; or, How to Trample TritenessMay 14 '09 Write an essay on this topic.
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The Bottom Line Yes, the graduate in your life is a student--a prestigious scholar worthy of the title. Before bestowing endless books, though, consider this: Who is he as a person?
"May the coming years bring you success following graduation. You have been a special student. May this Graduation Day be the beginning of a wonderful, new chapter in the story of your life." I had read the cards, heard the clichés, and become so weary of the same meaningless phonemes that I had constructed a song from them. Could I rewrite the triteness, placing twice-spoken sentiments in the framework of a heroic couplet? Could I simply thank the card-givers without having to open and read the same cheapened material? Couldn't I simply go to bed and be done with all of the card-reading? No, I had a job to do. Heaving a sigh that I hoped wouldn't be audible, I lifted a card from the folds of tissue paper. Setting the gift bag gently aside, I opened the envelope and began to read the Braille card aloud: "Just because you've graduated doesn't mean you're smarter than me. Or is it "I?" Me... I... I... Me... And stop laughing!" To this day, that grammatical debate continues to represent the most meaningful graduation card I ever received. The giver, a dear friend of mine, had rummaged through store racks until she located a card perfectly suited to my linguistic sensibilities. Then, though she felt uncertain as to what to purchase, she scanned the shelves of a Christian bookstore until she found a lovely necklace from which hung a cross framed by a heart. Completing the package with a favorite CD, cherished gift-giver had handed me a precious bag with words lovelier than the most valuable presents. And this, dear reader, should serve as a lesson to all of us: How to give a graduation gift worthy of the name. What you bestow on scholars depends on said students' learning style, aspirations, and personality. True, my university has not yet relinquished my diploma--either that, or I still have some classes to complete. Take your choice. As a high-school graduate with an unique perspective on life, however, I do feel qualified to offer meagre morsels of advice, one or two of which you may find helpful. First, a bit about me. I am an English major and have always been fascinated by words. I have been known to dream in French and to exclaim at random moments, "You just created a sentence in iambic tetrameter!" I despise Existentialism and believe that any work incorporating that philosophy is not literature. In fact, only three works do qualify for status in the literary canon of Bethesda Lily. I am totally blind, so presenting me with a car for graduation would not have been at all practical. Not that I don't drive--I do. I regularly drive my family to Distraction by insisting that American Slurvian is not a valid dialect. I drive a Liberty--not a Jeep Liberty, but what does that matter when I claim the liberty of phonics-based freedoms? Add to the equation the fact that I am entirely too sentimental for my own good. Actually, don't add this to any equation; sentiment and numbers have been at war for centuries. How about this: I am possessed of strong opinions, a need for order, and a heart that becomes like molten, rich, dark chocolate at the slightest provocation--at once bitter and sweet, deep and delighted. Think of it: Why do you suppose I review books and music rather than computer hardware? I am not your graduating niece. I do not know your diploma-obtaining daughter. I am entirely unacquainted with your stage-walking son. Yet, knowing about me should provide you with at least one bit of helpful information: It is all about the person, not about the student. Flee genericism. Crush it as you would a rebellion. Take any ideas I provide in subsequent paragraphs, mold them until they are nearly unrecognizable, and tie the final product with a pink ribbon--or a red one, a purple one, a green one, or a blue one. In essence: be creative. Among my most meaningful gifts was an iPod. I had never before owned one, so I was overjoyed to be able to store my two hundred CDs, audio Bible, and lesser literature in one place. My mother requested that my iPod be engraved with a few glorious lines from the Best of Books. Etching sentiment onto technology would be the perfect way to elevate your gift from the Slough of Despondent Impersonality. If you happen to purchase an iPod classic, which will prove more useful than one of those $G minusculities, you may be interested in either the iPod Wallet or Tune Suit. If the student in your life seems to be lacking appropriate technology--be it an iPod, a laptop, or a cell phone--this may be a good choice. NOTE: If the graduate already has a sufficient piece of technology, such a gift will become impersonal. A student with a Blackberry neither needs nor wants a second MP3 player! Although technology certainly proves useful in an assembly-line, sliced-bread, inhuman university environment, do not allow it to conquer your student's world. Buy flowers--not those cheap plants that are being sold like Christmas cards in July, as an afterthought. No, determine what your graduate enjoys and present armfuls of fragrance. I happen to be fond of lilies. When well-meaning friends presented me with roses, I was touched but not swept away. When, on the other hand, my mother explained that she tried but failed to have my graduation cake decorated with icing lilies, I was inspired toward the embracetory. Speaking of delectable daisies and sweetened sunflowers, an Edible Arrangement will only be taken amiss if students have recently broken up with the local proprietor's son--which isn't likely. Before you invest in the latest set of cutlery and present your graduate with towels worthy of a bridal shower, consider this: Is your graduate attending university at all? If so, is he staying in the dorms? If the university of choice is nearby, students may remain at home for economic reasons, because their personalities are not suited to dorm life, or because there is no room in the dorms. If this is the case, you may have provided the graduate's parents with a fluffy, flowered quilt that might never match their Spartan decor! If, on the other hand, Graduate of Thine is staying in the dorms, there exists no better way to squelch the stench of moldy Doritos than the Wallflowers Starter Kit. Consider a student's major or line of work, and tailor your gifts to reflect his success. If a Braille dictionary could have been obtained in all of its fifty-volume magnificence, I would have read it by now--yes, the entire thing. The Encyclopedia Britannica? No problem! I might never have completed my university assignments, and my fingers might have grown calloused from reading all that Braille, but it would have been a lovely experience. Sadly, neither dictionary nor encyclopedia graced my graduation table. What I am saying is this: If Graduate of Yours is to be a nurse, purchase some medical texts of good repute. If Beloved Graduate finds himself taking letters to the land of Poetry rather than driving his girlfriend to the land of French cuisine, ‘tis time to invest in a leather-bound set of Shakespeare's works. If your friend, the graduate, will be going into the ministry... Don't even get me started! A new Bible, The Pilgrim's Progress, Matthew Henry's commentary, and The Attributes of God would all be so beautiful as to eliminate the need for seminary training. This, in turn, would reduce costs--an excellent situation all around. And if the graduate in your life will be entering mathematics, engineering, or any other crass discipline? I have nothing for you--no advice save to drop a graphing calculator on the student's doorstep, run screaming in the other direction, and hope that your cries of distress reach the intended recipient of this tragic invention. Is your student visually-impaired? Will she be taking a sentence diagramming course, complete with the study of T-units? In that case, Wikki Stix are more essential than the most extravagant computer. Whether or not a diagramming course is in order, though, I can tell you emphatically that all graduates must have a copy of Richard Lederer's Anguished English. Receiving such a thought-provoking little treatise is far more crucial to career development than that professional-looking certificate in the student's hand. Those who do not have a copy of Anguished English have never graduated. Now--admit it!--how many of my readers have never entered the ranks of dipplomaed society? Buy clothes. Buy professional clothes. Do not pass Go, do not spend $200. And, please, do not invest in a pair of designer jeans that a conservative young lady might eschew for their tight fit. In other words, observe the student's wardrobe carefully. What does s/he want? What is truly needed? Do you hope to purchase pajamas for those late-night study sessions, or will you invest in professional attire appropriate for job interviews? Even this can become challenging. One student's "study clothes" might consist of sweatpants, while another person might prefer to relax in long, flannel nightgowns. Some people, myself included, feel more professional in skirts; others identify their middle name as either "Slacks" or "Slacker", depending on their mood. Certainly, you can always purchase a gift card or send Money as a card's traveling companion. If you perpetrate either impersonal scheme, attempt to individualize the crisp bills and unyielding plastic cards. Don't place a $20 bill randomly in a card that states, "For a successful engineer", and expect an aspiring artist to receive your little treasure with open arms. No, create your own card--if you possibly can. Fill it with memories of the graduate, sincere words of encouragement, and confidence in his success. NOTE: Do not use your thesaurus, and attempt to avoid the store-bought cards aisle for at least five years prior to your gift-giving--unless, of course, you locate a card similar to that provided by a dear friend who claims that she is more intellectual than "me... I... I... Me..." On giving money: Attempt to state politely and humbly what you intend that the money be used for. Unacceptable: "I was rushing off to this party dealy-bob and I forgot that I hadn't gotten a gift so I dashed off to the ATM and threw together twenty dollars." Far, far more sincere: "I thought you might need a new laptop, but I'm not sure what your university requires." Or, "I thought this might be helpful in buying textbooks and maybe a few things for your dorm room." Or even, "I know you'll be needing textbooks, but I want you to be able to have a little fun, too." This way, the graduate knows what sums must be placed into which funds. I once used a bit of graduation money to purchase French worship music, knowing that I would be taking harp-language courses and feeling that I would learn better if I could study from musical material in keeping with my passion in life. Yes, it worked. No, I am not fluent in French. Yes, I would like a pre-paid, luxury cruise through all lands Francophone for my next graduation gift. Thank you for asking! Speaking of college graduates, I fear that I have little experience off of which to base any advice. What would Nicole like? Ten thousand copies of "The Preposition Song", in as many languages and all sung by twenty-one-year-old members of the French Academy. As the French Academy has not that many members, as said noble institution accepts only older citizens, and as they certainly have better things to do than record "The Preposition Song", I shall be forced to look elsewhere. So, what does a college graduate want? He wants money and professional clothing. I asked the only 2009 college graduate I know, and these vague responses were the reward for all of my cautious, journalistic labor. So, there you have it: Give all college graduates suit coats with $50 bills in the decorative pockets! I used the vast majority of graduation funds to purchase a new computer, JAWS® for Windows®, textbooks, and other necessities of education. I shan't say "necessities of life", for being forced to obtain copies of The Bluest Eye was certainly not crucial to my existence. If all else fails, Build[yourself]-a-Bear. In fact, this could make an excellent gift basket. Suppose, for one bleak moment, that your high-school graduate will be staying in the dorms and majoring in chemistry. You could insert a ten-second sound clip of "The Periodic Table Song" into a teddy bear. Locate some obscure article of clothing resembling a lab suit. Create a bed of brand-new towels in the cardboard carrier accompanying your new, stuffed companion. Add a calculator "table", and paper the carrier's walls with a periodic table. Wouldn't Cherished Student laugh? For the more literary, a specifically-chosen gift from Audible.com might serve to infuse tedious commutes with a bit of lightsome joy. Although tossing a gift certificate into an unsuspecting mailbox may create mayhem in the realm of personality, selecting a beloved book and adding it to a subscriber's account may be met with declarations of nearly endless gratitude. Of course, the same audio results might be accomplished through downloads from Librivox, but I haven't reviewed Project Gutenberg and Project Librivox yet! Now, off you go--off to the town of Anguished English. You do want your student to graduate properly, don't you?  |
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