My little brother graduated from high school on Saturday. Only he’s not so little anymore. He’s taller than me by more than a few inches, handsome, and very smart. He knows how to make people feel comfortable and relaxed. He’s hilarious. He’s humble. And he’s going to my alma mater this fall, which thrills me to no end.
His graduation ceremony got me thinking about commencement addresses. Not the ones that are a mask for campaign speeches or political messaging — those go into a different category, in my opinion.
I’m not talking about the intellectual ones, either. There’s a time and a place to discuss your life-long research. But that time and place is not at a graduation. I say this with a bit of personal sadness, for my college commencement fell into this category.
The school headmaster, Dr. Wacker, didn’t give the official commencement address, but he spoke directly to the gradautes before presenting their diplomas.
He told them (and the audience) of his his academic mentor — a brilliant man who taught him to dream, to reach for the stars and work hard in the process. He recalled how his mentor encouraged him to press on, even when discouraged by grueling days and weeks and months of writing and research.
This mentor died many years ago. But Dr. Wacker said that he had been a part of every class he taught, every lecture he gave. His mentor’s life and work and legacy allowed him to “stand on his shoulders, just as you all [speaking to the graduates] will go on and stand on ours [speaking of the teachers and faculty]. You’ll carry this place and time with you, just as I carry the lessons learned from my mentor with me.”
Dr. Wacker’s story reminded me once again of the power of learning from those gone before. They may be dead, they may be living. But there are those who have much to teach us, either from their writings or over a cup of coffee.
O, the many places and ways there are to be an ongoing learner.
