Honors

Our university runs graduate program campuses in Missoula and Billings, Montana.  Because of the work I do, I get the privilege of visiting these campuses from time to time for their graduation ceremonies.  This month it was a trip to Missoula to see about 30 students celebrate the attainment of their masters degrees.

As we were getting ready to march in with the robed faculty, the site coordinator made a slightly nervous remark to me about the fact that several individuals had asked, at the last minute to give "honors" as part of the graduation ceremonies. The Native American culture, she explained, considers it important to show honor to those who have accomplished a significant feat.  The problem is that she never knows how many of these will be requested in the days leading up to the ceremony. But they accommodate all who ask.

So, after the very typical commencement address by a local dignitary, the honors began, each introduced by the graduate being honored. A teenage son sang a Native American song/chant in honor of his mother, the graduate who stood by him as he sang.  Then a circle of children and their 70-some year old mentor drummed a couple of pieces for a male graduate. And then another graduate, a mother, came to the microphone and said that her children had come to honor her.  She went down to a cleared place on the floor next to the platform, and her children bowed around her.  Then the music began.

There was a beautiful fluidity to the dancing of the three teenagers. As her mother watched, the "butterfly" daughter hopped and twisted, spreading the "wings" of her colorful cape.  The older son, representing a bird of prey, danced nearby, his path weaving in and out between his sister and brother. His yellow-painted face was at once both scary and dignified, his feather headdress bobbing and swaying and his feather tail twitching like that of a bird.  The second son's outfit looked a little more like that of a wild turkey, with it's fantail.

Throughout the dance, the graduating mother stood expressionless and straight-backed, watching her children as they presented this beautiful gift of experience for her, one that she could carry with her only in her memory, but somehow even more precious for that.

After the program was over, I went over to look at the garb the young people had shucked off in their sweaty minutes following their performance.

The handmade tail and headdress were beautiful, intricately and carefully crafted.

As I was looking over the pieces, the younger son came up.  "Can I take your picture?" I asked him, seeing that he at least had his headdress still on. He gave me a somewhat sheepish "Yes," and I took his photo.  His sister came up as I was asking him, "What kind of feathers are in your headdress?"

"Hawk," he said.

"He can't wear eagle feathers yet," said his tell-all sister.  "He hasn't earned them."

"Oh," I said. "What do you have to do to earn eagle feathers?"  I remembered young adult fiction I'd read, and imagined a pilgrimage into a canyon, an out-of-body experience on a mountaintop at night, or some other dramatic event.

"He has to show respect," said the sister, haughtiness mixed with a twinkle as she revealed her brother's shortcomings.

And I smiled. Some commonalities still exist for adolescents across cultures and countries.