I read somewhere that a well-prepared gentleman should have a commencement address in his back pocket in case the guest speaker does not arrive. While relatively rare, it could happen. They might forget the date, take a wrong turn, suffer a loss of nerves.
An administrator would dramatically call out: Is there an emergency speaker in the house?
It could be you! Seize the day, and the podium.
Here is mine:
Congratulations, graduates. Well done!
This is not my first rodeo. I graduated from college in 1975, 50 years ago. Imagine.
A song I remember from those years is Steppenwolf’s “Born to be Wild.” I liked it, even though I wasn’t. (Born to be wild, that is.) I discretely rolled up the windows as I blasted it in my old Chevy with a transmission that slipped and moaned. I felt the beat, and the irony as the pistons clattered.
Get your motor runnin’
Head out on the highway
Lookin’ for adventure,
In whatever comes our way.
After college I went back home for a week where I felt that the upstairs bedroom wasn’t mine anymore. I found an apartment, bought a Volkswagen Beetle for something like $45 a month and went to work at a weekly newspaper. I used a typewriter. No spellcheck, no autocorrect. I was on my own.
And then the real adventures began. We wrote local news: school budgets, town budgets, kitchen fires, the saga of Mr. Muffin, a little dog who carried his owner’s tax payment into town hall, to the delight of the tax collector. My paper had an exclusive on that one.
This was not the stuff of the New York Times. I would win a Pulitzer only if they awarded one for special coverage of the planning board’s decision to modify a lot line.
I stayed local, played pickup basketball, found a spouse, bought a house, raised two kids. And moved to the metropolis of West Lebanon. We have been married nearly 50 years and have never been in the gossip columns, or TikTok.
We’ve lived in our bungalow for four decades and are just settling in. I painted it twice, maybe three times. As God is my witness, I won’t paint it again.
What matters now is that it suits us. We have the recliners we deserve. I do own too many books. Unlike most things taken to excess, they do no harm.
Although our lot is small, I planted three trees that have grown tall and give me shade in my retirement years — and keep me busy in the fall. What we sow we also rake.
We sometimes embarrass the kids but they seem to love us, and that’s a gift. People who once vexed me are from long ago and far away. The fires of the day usually burn themselves out.
The list of people who are gone who I loved or liked also grows, which is a hard thing. Better to think about that later, graduates, but it’s coming.
So what am I getting at? I’m inching toward the idea that a small life can be a good life. You may have bigger things in mind, but if you don’t, you needn’t apologize. Think small, do less harm. If you can’t change the world, be a good parent. Be a good friend. There’s your hero’s journey; you don’t even have to travel.
But enough about me. Graduates deserve some advice. I have scant wisdom, but here’s a thing or two.
Buy all-natural peanut butter. You, or Jif, cannot improve upon it.
If you find yourself staring at your phone too much, stop it. People-watch, stare off into space, read a poem or the baseball scores. Your brain needs a rest, not more Cardi B, whoever she is.
If you are bored, take a walk. There is nothing like motion to reset your outlook. If you are still bored, walk faster.
I suppose young people have to give ambition a try, but after that go for gratitude. It is so much better than regret.
It is true that all you need is love, as the Beatles sang. Knowing that is one thing. Living it is something else. Even the Pope gets prickly sometimes. It is a lifetime struggle to not be a jerk. But try.
Love and kindness have gone out of style, particularly among the rich and powerful. Official cruelty is now a thing. But love as a social force might come back; perhaps you could nudge it along.
Do what you can. Be brave as you can manage. Be better than what’s going on in our nation right now. That’s what we need from you.
Dan Mackie lives in West Lebanon. He can be reached at dan.mackie@yahoo.com.
