graduation speech

 I can’t believe, as I look out at the 90+ students sitting in front of me, that they’ve grown up so fast since I first taught them as little 8th graders in my English class 5 years ago. ...

And that’s as sappy as it’s getting, folks. I know that graduation speeches are traditionally times when speakers inspire the class with Willy Loman-esque hopes for the future like “the door of your life is wide open,” but I just really can’t stomach it, to be honest.

When I started this speech a few months ago and interviewed some seniors about what they were expecting, I heard the same thing over and over: “We’re hoping that you’ll be yourself.” I thought about that rather unhelpful advice for a pretty long time, and I finally decided on this: for whatever reason, the senior class has decided that, in the last moments before they graduate, they would like to be back in my class for just a few more minutes. I am honored to have that opportunity. And that means three basic things, as far as I can figure out: I’ll need to use a ridiculous amount of sarcasm, read them a poem of the day, and use literature to offer advice on how they should live their lives because, after all, I obviously know better than they do what’s good for them. So here goes.

On your graduation, everyone in your life is going to offer you advice for the future, because they think they are “wise” and “experienced” and that you can barely tie your shoes. They are somehow oblivious to the fact that you are graduating from an impossibly challenging high school and have maneuvered lots of difficult obstacles in the past four years, but never mind all that – they must tell you THIS MOMENT exactly what you need to know to survive, such as “I always regretted not taking an economics class, and therefore you should take one because I am trying to live vicariously through you to make up for all of my own deficiencies.” Except, if you have actually listened to anything they’ve been saying, it probably seemed totally irrelevant to your actual concerns about the future. As someone who is 10 years older than you and therefore considerably more “wise” and “experienced,” I’m going to do the same thing. But this time, I’m offering advice you can use. It gets at the heart of the real concerns of high school graduates. Also, it’s from me, so it is valuable and essential by definition.

Here we go: the 4 most important pieces of advice you will receive, taken straight from my life. Copies will be made available after the ceremony.
#1. Do not attempt to keep yourself awake to study by eating an entire bag of candy corn.
#2. No matter how cool she is, don’t buy the same clothes and shoes as your RA, get her same haircut, join all of her extracurriculars, and follow her (and her friends) around campus. It will not make you look cool – instead, you’ll get the nickname “creepy stalker girl” for the rest of college. (Just for the record, I was the stalkee.)
#3. Do not put metal objects in the microwave and accidentally set it on fire. Do not put popcorn in the microwave for 50 minutes instead of 5 minutes, go back to your room, fall asleep, and accidentally set it on fire. Do not cook bacon for a dorm floor breakfast, turn the stove on really high, leave the room, and accidentally set it on fire in your absence, especially when 200 high school seniors are in the community room on the first floor of your building taking the SAT and who must now be evacuated and have their tests invalidated. In all cases, it is best to order pizza.

But I can’t tell you #4 – the really important one – until I do something first: read you a poem of the day. I’m going to break my cardinal rule, though; I’m actually going to talk about what it means. I know, I know – but now that you’re almost graduates, I think you can handle it. For most of you, this poem was one of the first things you ever heard in my classroom; some of you have heard it 2 or even 3 times over the years. It’s a favorite of mine, because it is not only very sarcastic but also addresses the student question I hate the most. It’s called “Did I Miss Anything?” by Tom Wayman.

Nothing. When we realized you weren’t here
we sat with our hands folded on our desks
in silence, for the full two hours

     Everything. I gave an exam worth
     40 percent of the grade for this term
     and assigned some reading due today
     on which I’m about to hand out a quiz
     worth 50 percent

Nothing. None of the content of this course
has value or meaning
Take as many days off as you like:
any activities we undertake as a class
I assure you will not matter either to you or me
and are without purpose

     Everything. A few minutes after we began last time
     a shaft of light suddenly descended and an angel
     or other heavenly being appeared
     and revealed to us what each woman or man must do
     to attain divine wisdom in this life and
     the hereafter
     This is the last time the class will meet
     before we disperse to bring the good news to all people  on earth.

Nothing. When you are not present
how could something significant occur?

     Everything. Contained in this classroom
     is a microcosm of human experience
     assembled for you to query and examine and ponder
     This is not the only place such an opportunity has been gathered

     but it was one place

     And you weren’t here

I share this poem with you today not just for nostalgic reasons but because it reminds me of Peak to Peak and of your class in general. When you were monstrous little freshmen attending our first-day orientation session, Ms. Gannett told you about how there are three types of people in high school: the people who don’t bother to show up, the people who show up and sit on the sidelines, and the people who not only come but jump into the action and become a part of it all – in her example, popping balloons while hugging large and scary seniors, which you have now all become. Well, she was sort of wrong about that, and here’s why. By the time you graduate from Peak to Peak, that first category of people simply doesn’t exist here. This school demands so much that to not show up would be fatal. And that’s actually a pretty important realization to have: just by being here, and by doing what you needed to do to graduate from this school, you made it past the first hurdle. You’re in the elite group of people who show up to things. Congratulations.

But there’s a wide chasm between the show-uppers and the ones who jump into the fray, and that’s really the last piece of advice I want to give you before you grab your diplomas and toss your caps and run screaming away from this place – it’s something I learned from one of my favorite professors at college. She was in the English department at my school, and she was actually an alumna of my college, but she had been a philosophy major as an undergrad. One day when I was leaving her office hours, I asked her why she had decided to pursue English in grad school rather than study philosophy, and she told me something I repeat to myself almost on a daily basis. She looked at me and said, “There comes a time when you are faced with trying to find the answers to life’s big questions. And for me, English as a discipline provided the best ways to look for those answers.”

You guys all know my favorite quote in the whole world is from a little-known philosopher by the name of Socrates, right? “The unexamined life is not worth living.” This, I think, is what Peak to Peak is all about. To go to school here is to show up – to NOT miss anything. You were a witness to things worth querying, examining, and pondering, and that means something. But watching from the sidelines while other people do the examining of life, though an important step, isn’t quite enough, and that’s the big leap that you guys are facing at this point. In some ways, I feel like I’m graduating with you today.

This is my last week at Peak to Peak as I set out on a grand new adventure just like you all are doing – venturing into the unknown, or at least Illinois. Just like you, I’m pretty tired of trying to answer the question “What’s next?” for the 10,000th time in a row. But when it comes down to it, the only real answer that I have is the advice my professor gave me: I don’t know what’s next, but I know that I need to keep doing the things that provide me with the best ways to answer the questions that get under my skin the most. For the past five years, teaching English to you all is what helped me to do that, because literature is the way I’ve chosen to look for answers. And in the future, I want to keep fighting for those answers by pursuing whatever gives me the best path or set of tools to get me there. It’s hard, and it’s not always fun. News flash: adult life isn’t the blast you think it might be just because people won’t make you take off your baseball cap or sign out when you leave campus or other seemingly mundane rules, which by the way you will still have to do, I’m sorry to break it to you. But the frustration and the difficulty is worth it when you feel like you’re getting somewhere.

This, I think, is what Ms. Gannett meant when she talked about the people who jump into the action. I think it’s also what my father meant when he once told me the meaning of life, and I quote: “Life is doing things. Death is not doing things.” There are a lot of people in the world who miss everything by not even bothering to show up at all; there are also a lot of people who passively observe other people living. And that’s okay. But if you really want to live, and you really want to examine your life and make it mean something, if you want to live up to the responsibility that comes with the privilege of an education like the one you’ve gotten here, you must take one more step forward, do something, and start to figure out what questions get under your skin – whatever they may be. It means realizing that sitting idly by is just the same as “missing something” – and then doing something about it. I’m not going to tell you to accomplish this by “pursuing your passions” or “finding your calling” or anything like that – most high school seniors have no idea what those words mean, or adults, for that matter. But after attending a school like this, I know for sure that you have some questions about the world around you that bug you and that you’re frustrated you haven’t gotten the answers to yet (which leads me to my second mosthated student question: “But how does this apply to my real life?”). Sorry, your diploma doesn’t come with a “how to lead your real life manual.” But it does come with the opportunity to do things – and doing things is what real life is all about.

At the risk of sounding cliche, which you know I despise, no one sitting here can tell you what path to pursue – you’re the only person who can figure out what questions are worth pursuing – and no one can make that path easy for you. But my piece of advice #4 is: do something. Pursue those questions, even when they’re horrible and make you want to give up. Pursue them with the enthusiasm and heart and vigor that I have seen from your graduating class time and time again in my five incredibly valuable years getting to share a classroom with you. Never again ask the question “Did I miss anything?” because earning a diploma from Peak to Peak means that you know the answer to that question is always yes, yes, yes.

Best wishes to you all – it’s not hyperbole when I say that you’re my favorite class I’ve ever taught and I will never forget you. Thank you.

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