The year was 1981, and there they sat, four honor students donning golden cords draped around their neck, with the bright tassels resting midway down the front of their navy blue polyester graduation gown. And me, a B- student at best, president of my senior class, waiting alongside them, sans such haughty phylacteries of higher academic achievement.
The five of us, tapped to speak at our graduation from THE Ottawa-Glandorf High School; expected to keep it brief, pithy, and void of any drama, all in the lead-up to our keynote speaker, the one and only — now sadly passed, Father Richard Nieberding. I was to be the last of the fabulous five to speak, before Principal Russell would reclaim the podium and introduce Father Rick.
After the honorable four spoke their speeches, reminding the audience to be nice and stuff, it was my turn. As I approached the podium I opted to make a quick switch and deliver a speech that was not the speech I provided to the “speech panel” just days prior. The “speech panel” was created by Mr. Russell to ensure our parting thoughts were palatable to the attendees gathering in this hot, humid gymnasium, on a Sunday afternoon in late May. What was he afraid of?
And so I began, “Ladies and Gentlemen, please excuse me if I seem a little nervous. This is my first graduation speech, and based on my final GPA, it is safe to predict, most likely my last.” Mr. Russell and his “speech panel” looked at me with heads tilted, then each other, and then proceeded to sift through their copy of my speech.
I can’t recall much else from that stellar speaking debut, except somewhere near the end of my hodgepodge of words I stoically whispered, “Let the class of 1981 be remembered as the class that did something for our school, not the class that did something to our school.” Thunderous applause soon followed, probably some standing was involved, and most likely tears — of joy.
And I was right about that being my final graduation speech. I did study at various theatre schools in New York City, but none were the sort of institution you would officially graduate from, except for the Second City Conservatory during my Chicago days, where our graduation ceremony consisted of receiving a t-shirt, gorging on too much pizza, and sharing a ball-keg of cheap beer with faculty and the other seven performers that managed to somehow fool our way through the entire program, rising to the top of the improv comedy cup, from the initial 30 or so actors that began with us. You could say the sifting out process there was much like the Marines, and you would be wrong.
Nowadays I am often asked to speak at various functions for a plethora of organizations, because I’m very reasonably priced, especially if the venue serves fountain Mello Yello and I have access to a surplus of potato chips. However, an opportunity to pontificate at an academic setting has sadly eluded me.
I beg your indulgence as I offer a graduation speech for the ages, or at least for when a school mistakenly requests that I take to their podium and dish out my sage advice, for all to forget. A brief artistic note before we begin, for dramatic effect I would suggest locating the soundtrack to the movie “Seabiscuit,” and let it play underneath my speech. If your inside reading voice offers a slight echo, all the better.
Cue the music: “Ladies and Gentlemen, looking out over this mighty sea of worthy graduates, I stand before you filled with great hope. As you bravely prepare to pursue that seductive, mysterious flirt called “Life,” I humbly offer some thoughtful words for your consideration. I’ll then make myself available for pictures and autographs, next to that box of tissues over there.
“For starters, always be challenging yourself. If able, climb that mountain, swim that ocean, run that marathon, just not all three in the same day. When you reach mile 26.1 of that marathon, with just .1 left to go, and you’re spent…with nothing left, then you spot that finish line ahead, you will experience an emotional moment that only those who have ever completed a marathon can understand. This feeling will not be matched by anything else you ever do in life, unless you buy a Camaro. Following this glorious feat, celebrate, but not by eating a dozen glazed donuts, goodness no! Nine should be enough.
“Next, understand there is no more noble a calling in this world, than being a mother. If you are lucky enough to still have yours, thank her today for everything she has sacrificed on your behalf. Don’t wait for Mother’s Day, because you never know if she’ll even still be here. She might be in Sarasota.
“Just once, go skinny dipping, preferably at night.
“Remember, there will always be people quick to criticize you. But then again, you may deserve to be criticized quickly, how would I know?
“Limit your Facebook. You’d be surprised how many people don’t care about what you ate for lunch today.
“Finally, in closing, it is okay to push society’s norms, stretch those boundaries, challenge her rigid rules, and occasionally be that cautious rebel. I for instance, have on many occasions lathered, rinsed, but did not repeat; just as I will not be asked to repeat this speech anytime soon. Thank you, and congratulations on your academic achievement. Now, where’s those chips?”
Steve Burnette is an occasional contributor to the paper when space is needed to fill. He also serves as the executive director of the historic Murphy Theatre in downtown Wilmington, Ohio, and serves on the Board of Directors of the Ohio Arts Professionals Network.
