"VIRTUAL"

Webster’s dictionary describes the word “virtual” in computerese as: “not physically existing but made by software to appear to do so.” 

———

The same day I attended the “virtual” high school graduation of grandson Max in Portsmouth, my sister attended the “virtual” funeral of Cousin Al outside Philadelphia. That was the only way either of us could have “attended” these important family events, due to COVID-19 gathering restrictions. 

The virtual differences were palpable. 

While Max’s parents sat in a sweltering afternoon sun on the high school football field, six feet removed from other parents in staggered rows, granddaughter Maddie and I watched the event on a computer in their sunroom. There was no “Pomp and Circumstance” entrance march but suddenly 150-plus graduates wearing maroon caps and gowns appeared in their seats, nine rows six feet apart.

We witnessed the usual graduation protocols — speeches by students and faculty, several academic awards, and finally the presentation of diplomas.  At one point the Portsmouth High School Clippers band Zoomed in with Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy.” 

For me, the best part of Max’s graduation came after the ceremony when “reality” emerged. Each graduate got into his or her parent’s car, decorated with balloons and signs, and joined a parade through the winding streets of this New Hampshire seaport. 

Maddie and I zipped downtown to watch a squadron of blue-light-blinking siren-blaring police cars announce the graduates’ arrival as the honking cavalcade drove into Market Square, the town center. Beaming and laughing grads hung out of car windows or stood and waved from open sunroofs. Crowds lining the square cheered. The joy was infectious. It was real.

That same afternoon on Zoom, my sister Robin “went" to the funeral of cousin Al (whom we affectionately call Al-Baby).  She later emailed me, “I was one of about 25 Zoomers attending, and I looked forward to hearing Al-Baby’s sons Joe and David eulogize their father.” 

Alas, her view of the speakers became blocked when the few people who could gather in the funeral home took their seats directly in front of the lectern. “I emailed the boys but obviously no one was checking their inboxes during the service,” she said.

Robin added, “Out of the blue a quavering baritone sang ‘We Will Gather by the River,’ every verse. A guy who looked like Mitch McConnell spoke abut the book of John and related how Al was a good man. The baritone then sang ‘Amazing Grace,’ every verse.” At that point my sister decided to leave “respectfully,” so she Zoomed out. “On top of the screen you could see who was still there and I wasn’t alone in leaving. Truly, the ceremony was over.”

My artist sister told me that during Al-Baby’s service she thought about a painting she’d done of the two of them in a canoe on a Pennsylvania river. She had always meant to give it to him, but hadn’t. Real regrets.

I was happy and proud to see Max get his diploma. But watching the ceremony on YouTube was akin to dialing in CSpan’s coverage of a Congressional hearing on the price of soy beans. It got the job done, but it sure wasn’t lively. Thank heavens for the real parade.