Surviving the PR Stunt Called Graduation Season: A Snarky Guide by Uncle Bobby
Dear Uncle Bobby, Is it just me, or has this graduation season lasted longer than the actual school year? Every time I open my phone, there's another cap-and-gown post, a balloon arch, or a photo of someone holding up a “Class of 2025” cookie. When does it end?
Overwhelmed by Pomp and Circumstance,,
We Get It — Your Kid Graduated
Oh, bless your tired scrolling thumb. No, it’s not just you. It’s all of us. We are officially under siege — not by students, but by the never-ending social media parade of tassels, yard signs, and overly dramatic photo dumps set to Vitamin C’s “Graduation (Friends Forever).” Let me be clear: I’m proud of the kids. I am. They made it. Great. But do we need a cinematic documentary, five outfit changes, and a rented fog machine to celebrate a high school diploma? This isn’t a Grammy. It’s public school. Every parent’s turned into a PR agency: 🎓 “We’re so proud of our little miracle!” 🎓 “He’s off to Big State U in the fall!” 🎓 “Swipe to see his entire academic journey from preschool to now!” No. I will not swipe. I am swiped out. I have seen 47 graduation parties in the past two weeks and been invited to six — all requiring a gift, a side dish, and an RSVP that I don’t mean. And let’s talk about the captions: “We did it!” — Who’s we? You barely passed Algebra with them. “On to bigger things!” — Like student loan debt and disappointing their freshman roommate. “End of an era!” — The era of you pretending their school project was their idea? Uncle Bobby’s advice? We declare a moratorium. No more glitter fonts. No more montages. No more ceremonial balloon releases, unless it's followed by you chasing them down with a net and a recycling bag. It's June now. Summer has begun. The cake is stale, the cards are opened, and if I see one more “Class of 2025” banner, I’m gonna start printing “Congratulations on Moving the Bare Minimum” stickers and slapping them on windshields. You’re not heartless for being over it. You’re just awake. And honest. And possibly out of paper plates. Move along, America. We did it. Now let’s never do it again.
– Uncle Bobby