It never occurred to me that my simple black graduation gown that was much too long for my height would be a form of liberation for my mother.
It never occurred to me that a piece of cloth that is only worn once in an entire lifetime would be worth years of suffering.
It never occurred to me that a required uniform for graduation would be my mother’s pride and joy.
The incident occurred a couple months after my graduation. My black gown had been hanging up on the back of my door on a plastic hanger. I had finally decided to put the black gown in a basket of clothes that I had hoped to donate to the local Good Will in my hometown.
My mother had walked by, noticed that I had put the gown in the basket, and stopped by my room. She slowly bent over and picked up the black gown. Not noticing her facial expression, I said, “Oh mom, I was thinking of donating that or throwing it away.”
She immediately said, “No. Don’t throw it away! If you don’t want it, then give it to me.” I looked at her with a strange face and asked why.
She was silent for a few moments before replying, “because you paid so much for it.”
It was at this moment that I realized it. My mother had never had a graduation gown. She has never experienced the feeling of wearing a gown that meant you achieved an education, while walking across a stage full of people watching you. She had sacrificed her entire life for others and never received any form of a diploma.
It was at this moment that I felt my stomach turn. How inconsiderate of me to take for granted the sacrifices of my mother and the womxn in my community. Yes, a black piece of cloth that cost $80 meant nothing to me but meant the world to my mother.
I observed her facial expression as she held the black gown up in the air and looked closely at the fabric. Oh, you should have seen it. Her half-smile. The somber look in her eyes that broke my heart.
I am the first in my family to graduate with a bachelor’s degree. I am the first in my family to achieve an educational degree that thousands of other individuals easily state are just pieces of paper.
I carry the pride, love, sacrifices, and burden of generations of people who gave up their lives to make sure their children’s children’s children might have the slightest chance of succeeding.
And those are the reasons, every day, I remind myself of not giving up, of not settling, of not quitting, of not allowing the voices of others to tell me what to do, and not allowing my own internal voice to get to me.
So I keep that black graduation gown in the back of my closet, in memory of the love, the sacrifices, the hopes, and the dreams of my mother.
A simple black graduation gown will never be seen the same again.
