My son graduated from high school last month, and I can say that for me, the cliché was true—graduation ceremonies are for parents and family as much as for the people graduating. Relearning high school math to assist with homework assignments, policing remote learning sessions during Covid lockdowns, and being faced, inevitably, with problems that you can only provide advice for, rather than just solve yourself, made getting my kid through high school much more challenging than I remember it being the first time around.
But the moment finally came, and in a month of college graduations that are often deemed newsworthy for the invited speakers or their speeches’ content, I reflected on what I would say if ever asked to present. I’ve heard a lot of good and bad advice throughout my life, so maybe I’d distill it all into something like this:
Dear Everyone,
The first advice I have for graduates is to know when is the right time for formality, and when to relax a bit. For example, there’s no need to individually recognize 15 administrators and board members, followed by general greetings to parents, students, friends. If you’re going to be miffed because you weren’t individually named or recognized, this advice goes to you: get over yourself. And to the class of 2024, I ask that you remember this advice when you advance to positions of importance, in whatever field you pursue, so that when you’re asked to attend a graduation ceremony, and you’re sitting on stage as a commencement speech begins, the graduates and the audience can get through the ceremony a little faster.
Graduates, I want to give you some practical advice as you begin your lives as adults. Life is simple, but it’s also complex—hence the name of this column. This is but one of many seeming contradictions that can be proven true, depending on the circumstances.
At the end of his radio Top 40 broadcasts, the late Casey Kasem used to say, “Keep your feet on the ground, and keep reaching for the stars.” If this prescription seems like an exercise in futility, I congratulate you for your keen sense of perception. But even if the deeper meaning of Casey’s earnest advice—to remain practical while aspiring to one’s dreams—seems confusing or difficult, it is at least a clear reminder of the importance of stretching.
In the effort to condense humanity’s accumulated wisdom to a few words, we have created loads of contradictory advice: “Look before you leap” vs. “He who hesitates is lost.” “Better safe than sorry” vs. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.” “The pen is mightier than the sword” vs. “Actions speak louder than words.”
I say to you, graduates: Ignore contradictory advice. Or embrace it, depending on the situation. Plan for the future. Live for today. Always make eye contact. But don’t stare like a psychopath. Never give up. Unless it makes sense to. For example, don’t devote your energies to toxic people like psychopaths who stare at you too much. Then it’s okay to give up. But honor your commitments. Unless you’re no longer committed to them and are prepared to suffer the consequences. Don’t throw good money after bad, but don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater, either.
Always be on time, but it’s better if you’re early. Except for parties, where it’s good to be fashionably late. Unless it’s a party without reserved seating, in which case you’ll want to get there early, and place your coat or handbag on a good seat to claim it.
Be friendly, but don’t talk to strangers. Don’t be shallow, or thick. Don’t take no for an answer, but remember, no means no. The squeaky wheel gets the grease, but if it’s too squeaky, it’s likely to get replaced.
As you can see, it’s difficult to offer advice in a pithy saying that holds up in any situation. But here’s something I think does work in any context: Never stop learning.
Here’s a recent, somewhat embarrassing example from my own life. Reading through the program at my son’s graduation ceremony, I saw the student with the second-highest GPA referred to as “salututorian,” which looked strange to me. Later, a speaker introduced the student as the “sah-loo-too-torian,” a pronunciation that I’d bet my son would have thought was hysterical back in his elementary school days.
I always thought the word was “salutorian,” pronounced “sal-yoo-torian,” and I’ve heard other people say it that way before, as if we were all referring to a single high achieving individual named Sal (not an uncommon first name in this part of the country) with a last name that sounded like “Utorian.” I checked the spelling and pronunciation on Google, which confirmed that I’d been wrong all along. (Note: I was not valedictorian, or salututorian, of my high school class.)
Now I know the truth, and my life has been changed for the better because of a graduation ceremony. It’s more than some can say.
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