It's graduation week here, or I should say convocation. The robes are a tad garish but there's no escaping the pride in accomplishment on the faces of family and offspring. Twenty four and then again (yes - two university degrees) twelve years ago it was me in either the academic black or the doctoral maroon robes looking well chuffed with myself. Actually, first time around I was a zombie, having been up all night with a patient.
Today this midlife, unemployed immigrant is wearing denim, calico and thrifted boots. Watching the new grads swanning around is a little bittersweet - I've been advised to scrub my two degrees from my resume to improve my chances of getting a job. Not only am I too old, but I'm over-qualified. Neither do I have a degree in the right subject - experience doesn't count these days.
I didn't realise that moving to Canada would be career-suicide. I honestly thought that the care and diligence I had put into my education would count for something.
Apparently not.
So now, according to my resume, I graduated from high school, have done lots of volunteer work, am a part-time student, and have held down a couple of veterinary office and lab tech jobs.
I'll let you know when WalMart get back to me - that cashier job has my name on it.
