Poosey Digest: Speaking of success

It says something about either the commencement speaker or my attention span to tell you that the only thing I remember about my high school graduation is the temperature in the gymnasium… and the woolen graduation gowns. I remember the wool. Today’s plastic commencement costumes breathe a bit and don’t stick so readily to the backs of sweaty 17-year-olds.

One more thing: I remember our high school math teacher jumping first into the congratulatory line. Her exact words: “One of you may amount to something so I want to say I shook your hand.” So far my class of 18 is still waiting for that promising graduate to pop up. He or she had better hurry before we all die off.

I suppose we’ve all sat through our share of graduation ceremonies. I try to hit the necessary engagements these days, but the current trend toward “party” rather than “ceremony” leaves me a bit flat. If you want to spend your night shooting silly string and lighting fireworks, do it at home and we’ll mail you the diploma.

So, like any normal critic, I sit out there thinking, “How would I do this better and what would I have said?” The speaker is introduced, the lights dim, the cameras stop flashing, the graduates settle their anxious bodies back into their chairs with thoughts of after-ceremony parties dancing in their heads. The old lady clears her throat, adjusts her corset, and begins.

 . . . Members of tonight’s graduating class, I want to give you something a little bit different than the speakers in the thousand other gymnasiums across our land tonight. Those orators will no doubt be lecturing the about-to-be-graduates on how to prepare for the future. Instead, I’ll tell you how to get ready for your funeral.

(A slight pause as two of the class actually hear what you say and wake up.)

 . . . What we say about you at your last rites is much more important than what someone tells you tonight, so listen up. Live your life like you’re planning your final eulogy.

Most graduation speakers will tell you to change the world. I’ll be honest and tell you that the only thing you need to change is the hearts of people you’ll meet before you die. There’s nothing wrong with building the world’s greatest bridge or tallest building, but if you can make my life just a little bit better by having known you, then we’ll judge you to be a success at your funeral, and the results may last longer than the bridge.

And speaking of success, I’ve yet to attend a funeral where the deceased honoree’s casket is lined with his bank statements. No matter what the world may tell you, the greatest success you can achieve is success of the heart. At your funeral we’ll talk about your personality, not your pocketbook.

Somewhere tonight you can go hear a thousand speeches about the need for great learning. They’re partly right, but it’s what you do with your mind that will make a great eulogy some day. Great learning made the atomic bomb, the Holocaust, and the automatic dialer for telemarketers. A brain can be a dangerous thing without conscience.

Other commencement speakers will tell you of the world’s need for great ideas. At your funeral we’ll think instead of how you were able to compromise your own ideas in order to live peaceably with the rest of the world.

Thousands of graduates tonight are being told about the need to concentrate on a particular problem in order to solve it. When the pallbearers carry you out to the newly washed hearse we’ll think instead of your ability to think broadly, to consider the needs of others, and realize that we’re all in this together.

Many of you tonight are headed out toward advanced degrees in nuclear engineering, genetic research, and corporate law. Good for you. We need that. But I hope that while you’re at it you’ll study for an unofficial degree in how to be a loving husband, how to make a bullied little boy feel good about himself, and when to confound medical science by healing with a hug.

You’ve spent the last month attending banquets honoring the best halfbacks, the most valuable player, and the top scholars. Nothing wrong with that as long as you realize that at your funeral we’ll only think of “awards” like most honest girl, most sincere young man, most caring mother, and the kid most likely to say hello to me as I stand alone in the pre-class hallway.

One bit of really good news: I’ve never seen a woolen casket.

You ever ’round Poosey, stop by. We may not answer the door but you’ll enjoy the trip.