Granny did the shimmy

My college graduation ceremony was held outdoors, unfortunately.

We graduates broiled in full sun in front of Memorial Auditorium, awaiting our diplomas. The stench of sweaty caps, gowns and last night’s beer prevailed.

Guests, sweltering on rickety folding chairs in tropical heat, received little relief under the tree canopy. I could see my family fanning themselves and scowling.

But the big distraction was the cicada convention that had come to town earlier. Their cacophony drowned out the band, the speakers and the presentations.

Wilted from the heat, I could barely hear my name called. I staggered to the dais.

That’s when I spied Grandma quivering in distress.

Then, to the delight of the spectators, Mother stuck her hand down Granny’s dress – in an unsubtle attempt to dislodge a cicada that had nestled comfortably in her cleavage. Their mortification was obvious to all.

I received my degree, flipped my tassel and howled with glee.

Three summers later, I did graduate work at the same college. This time, the campus was crawling with colossal crickets and mammoth mantises.

But that’s another story.