Greetings and congratulations, summer school graduates. I am somewhat honored to stand before you today as you set off into the real world, a full semester behind your onetime peers.
As I gaze out at all of you–the chronic class-skippers, the unsuccessful grade-grubbers, the perpetual avoiders of math and science requirements, and the students who claimed they came down with mono during the regular school year–I see not just failure, but also a teensy bit of perseverance.
Yes, you, the summer school class of 2004, should be proud of your achievement–and of your longer-than-necessary journey.
For each and every one of you has learned life lessons that could not be taught in any of the classes that you slept through.
Indeed, you are not the fresh-faced, naive lot that sat in these same chairs at the regular graduation ceremony this spring and listened to some high-ranking politician or pillar of the business community drone on and on about all of the wondrous possibilities this world has to offer those who opt for jobs as consultants.
No, after all that you’ve been through, you are far tougher, far more realistic–and you are all too aware of the cruel, hard truth about one’s chances for success in this dog-eat-dog society, especially when one’s transcript says in big, fat capital letters: SUMMER SCHOOL.
Still, you are the true hope for this country’s future, and, if that doesn’t work out, the future of a smaller, less powerful country, possibly in Central America. For although many your age have already vaulted light-years ahead of you and now have the accouterments of wealth, like fancy cars and money for food, I believe with all my conviction that you, the stragglers, will be the last ones standing.
Why? Because you understand the uncertainty of life: how we can never know what will become of us, or how the world will receive us, or whether a particular Borders will carry soft-porn magazines, and, then, if it does, whether they will be on the rack or cruelly kept behind the register.
I know it cannot have been easy to stand idly by these past couple of months and observe your friends giddily pass their crisp, new business cards to one another–and not howl with laughter at them. Especially if any of your friends are real estate agents and have those cards with full-color portraits of themselves on them. (It’s really only a matter time before Coldwell Banker fires its agents and has its business cards sell houses.)
But take pride in the fact that you instinctively know that, whether you rush or meander to the finish line, the finish line is in the same place.
Take pride in the fact that you relaxed under the covers throughout the winter, instinctively knowing that summer school would be taught by the teacher equivalent of summer-school students. And most of all, take pride in the fact you had two extra months to sleep with freshmen without it being creepy.
And whatever career path you choose, I implore you not to change. Bring the same attitude that led you to summer school into the work world, and you cannot possibly fail. Don’t let the lessons of corporate retreats and motivational managers ever sway you; indifference will carry you far.
But you already know all of this. You are, after all, the summer school class of 2004! But please, indulge me for one more minute and allow me to impart one piece of wisdom to you:
You will encounter many people in your travels, but nobody will be kinder to you than women with multicolored tattoos. I don’t know why, but it’s true. Now, good luck!
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mebazer@yahoo.com
