My Graduation Keynote Speech

Since it is now obvious to me that my invitations to speak at any graduation ceremony had been lost in the mail, I shall address the speech I had written in anticipation of said invitations to all graduates of the class of 2012.

Graduates:

Today you find yourself at the end of one seemingly long journey and at the beginning of an assuredly longer one.  Yet, these two journeys are far more alike than they appear.

Regardless of what you may think, regardless of low test scores, regardless of reports attacking the efficacy of public education, you, as successful graduates, now possess all the experience you ever will need to lead productive and satisfying lives.

Robert Fulcrum said that everything you ever really needed to know, you learned in kindergarten.  He was, however, only one thirteenth correct.

I know to some of you this may come off as rather depressing, but school and the rest of your life are pretty much the same; it is just we adults who change the verbiage so everything sounds much more complicated than it really is.  Take for example attendance.

Attendance is just as important in the real world as it is in school.  Poor attendance will wreak havoc with your professional as well as your social life.  Your boss never wants to see you saunter in even two minutes late.  If this by chance does occur, make sure you’re seen working at least twenty minutes past your usual time.  Much like detention, this does not serve much of a purpose aside from giving a pleasurable feeling of power to those in charge.  Never be truant from a reunion with old friends or a family wedding.  No matter how good you think your excuse is, even if you have a doctor’s note, it will never be good enough and you’ll be forevermore reminded of missing the time.

In school and life, art and music are the things that are most worthwhile, yet they are the least we tend to devote time to and they are usually the first to be cut when budget crises arise.

Life, like school, has homework.  Tons of homework.  Contrary to what anyone might lead you to believe, no one actually likes homework.  People would much rather play with their friends or their toys or their friends’ toys.  Mowing the lawn, weeding, raking, painting, unclogging toilets, fixing leaking faucets, scrapping the goo from the bottom of the trash can is home work that must be completed before there’s any recess time.  And if you neglect your homework, you will not get credit.

Credit is what you get when you do well.  Doing home improvement projects get you lots of credit that can manifest itself in many was such as a night out with your friends.  Of course earning extra credit never hurts any either, and it’s readily available.  Flowers, a non-coerced back-rub or picking up your socks always earns points.  Ladies, try sitting through an entire NASCAR race with him without nodding off.  Gentleman, bring home a copy of “The Vow” and watch the entire movie with her without nodding off.  Remember, the more credit attained, the better the grade.

Like it or not, we are all graded on a daily basis.  If it isn’t an evaluation at work, it’s the neighbors looking at your porch that needs painting or the polite smile from someone crunching your tuna casserole.  But it’s not only your grades that take you to the head of the class.  To be successful, you must always be prepared:  Never go to a meeting without a writing instrument even if you have nothing to write down, it looks impressive; always do your math in pencil, as any accountant will tell you 2+2 does not always equal 4; always check your answers, even when you are one hundred percent right, you still may be wrong; take good notes, there is always a test afterwards; memorize your facts, corporate America loves trivia; spelling counts, especially names; don’t eat or chew gum while working, you’ll eventually get called on in mid-chew; and to let everyone know just how hard you are working, it is important to always show all your work unless, of course, you’re a lawyer.

It is societies principles that lead you through your daily schedules and guide you in the right direction, and trouble may send you right to the vices.  It’s all very much like Salisbury steak.

Salisbury steak appears regularly on school lunch menus.  The meal sounds regal enough for a king:  Salisbury steak -- a generous portion of prime tender meat smothered in thick, rich gravy.  However, as every graduate of public school knows, Salisbury steak is nothing but a hamburger with an identity crisis.  You can make the ground meat of your life into anything you want:  a loaf, patty, sloppy Joe, meatball or a steak.

And that, my dear young friends, is the essence of life:  Salisbury steak.

Thank you.

Closet NASCAR Fan

Now that the NASCAR season is back in gear, and since most of its races occur on Sundays, I believe it fitting and proper to now make a good and full confession:  I am a closet NASCAR fan.

It all started several years ago when my wife and then five-year-old son, Ethan, stopped at the local liquor store to pick up Dad a six pack as he had been working away remodeling the kitchen.  In the parking lot was a racecar:  number 97.

My son came home thrilled to have seen a real racecar and insisted we watch the race that following weekend which, I believe, was the Pocono 500.

I had never been a racecar enthusiast.  In fact, I was what you might call your classic NASCAR basher.  What was the level of the mind of the person who finds it amusing to watch cars drive in circles for hours, I’d say.  What could possibly be the thrill of exhaust fumes, deafening noise, drunken rednecks and cheap beer, I’d wonder aloud.  What do you call an overweight, loudmouthed, couch sitting, beer swilling middle-aged man?  Why a NASCAR fan, I’d often declare. 

I remember my father sitting on the floor, leaning on the ottoman, smoking his menthol one hundreds and drinking his sixteen ouncers, watching stock car races when I was a kid.  From time to time I would try to sit there and watch with him because, perhaps subconsciously, I was attempting to connect with him, but I could never make it past a few laps.  Once in a while there was a good crash that held my attention, but, to me, all the cars looked alike and just kept going around and around and around.  Even at twelve years old, I thought that a good crash was not worth the wait.

So, my son and I tuned in to the race.  “There it is, there it is,” Ethan yelled.  There on television was number 97, the very same car he had seen and touched only days before.  I soon learned that the car was being driven by the defending champion Kurt Busch.  If you have to root for someone, it might as well be someone good.  I further learned that Busch wasn’t the most popular driver, and had a reputation of being a troublemaker, which made me like him even more.

Number 97 started off strong in the first row, but finished somewhere in the middle of a pack of forty-some cars, a ho-hum performance but oddly appealing.  I found myself being drawn into the drama of the race and, dare I say it, enjoying myself.

Soon I started turning on the races while doing small chores around the house.  Just background noise, I told my wife.  I wasn’t really watching.  A few weeks later I was sitting on the couch when she said that for background noise, I seemed pretty interested.  I told her that I would rather have been doing a thousand other things, but Ethan wanted to watch another race.  The problem, she so lovingly pointed out, was that Ethan had gone to the park with his sister nearly an hour ago.

By the end of the 2005 season, I was watching regularly, and, when she discovered the endless amount of available accessories – t-shirts, flags, barware, kitchen tools – my wife was watching, too.

Before the 2006 season began, we had to pick a driver to support.  Last season we had cheered on Kurt Busch because we had the car connection.  But since he was no longer going to be driving number 97, we had a decision to make:  Do we stay with the team or follow the driver.  In other sports players change teams all the time, but very few people will change their allegiance to the team.  Perhaps we’ll go with our favorite sponsors.  What would it be?  Candy?  Breakfast cereal?  Office supplies?  Home improvement centers?  Alcohol?

In the end we decided to choose several drivers to follow for an array of reasons.  Some we chose because they drove the same brand of car we drive.  Another because we share a last name with the driver.  Finally we chose a rookie because we thought it would be fun following someone’s career from the start.

During the first race of the following season, the famed Daytona 500, I called all my children into the living room to watch the race with their mother and me.  Among groans, complaints and an offer to do homework, I told my kids that watching NASCAR is like sitting in Circus Maximus of ancient Rome watching chariot races filled with danger and nobility and honor.  Each chariot a wonder of modern physics and engineering.  Each charioteer a fearless competitor, risking life and limb to wear the laurels of victory.

When that didn’t work I told them I’d run to the convenience store for some chips, dip and sodas.  They were in. 

It’s been that way ever since.