"Four Speeches"

Four times I have been asked to deliver a speech at a high school graduation. I don't consider myself to be much of a public speaker, even when I'm well prepared, but I gave a speech each time I was asked because I was flattered by the requests and considered it an honor to provide some parting words to the graduates who had asked me to appear. Here are the texts of my four appearances on the stage:


Skyview Graduation keynote address 1993

Good evening (class).

I'm honored--

and more than a little bit nervous--

to be up here tonight.

I'm honored to have been chosen to speak by the Class of '93, a class of which I am particularly fond.

And I'm nervous to be standing up here in front of you all because we Fairs just don't generally give speeches. In fact, this is the first time a Fair has spoken to more than 50 people at once since my sister was valedictorian over at Kenai back in 1979. So bear with me....

My self-appointed mission tonight is to talk to you all about the importance of transitions--the end of one thing and the beginning of another. I want to talk about the actual transitions themselves, and also what you leave behind, and what you move toward. This is important stuff.

We all go through transitions. Some of us go through them well, and some of us go through them rather awkwardly. Some of the transitions are more profound than others. And some of them are almost inconsequential. The transition you all are here to celebrate tonight is a pretty big one. You'll encounter bigger ones, to be sure, but this one is important.

We share a lot of common transitions in life. All of us are born--we move from toasty incubation to the cold outside world. All of us attend school for the first time--we move from the interior terrain of home life to the social landscape of public education. All of us go through puberty--we rush from childhood into adolescence. And eventually, eventually--for some of us this occurs well into our 30s or 40s--we all enter into adulthood.

THAT, according to society, is the transition upon which you are symbolically embarking tonight. You are leaving high school behind and heading off into the "real world." Kind of exhilarating, isn't it? Kind of "nerve-wracking"?......I can see some of your nerves at work out there right now. A lot of you are trembling with anticipation. A few of you have the urge to bust out in nervous laughter. One or two of you may even think you're going to wet your pants. Most of you are going to have to wipe a film of sweat off your palms before you come up here later to shake hands and grab your diploma. And a bunch of you are going to cry like babies later on while your relatives hug you and pat you on the back and make you stand with your brothers and sisters and God knows who else for an interminable number of group photos out in the commons.

And that's okay. You'll tolerate it. You'll get by ... because you know there'll never be another day just exactly like this one. Never.

Graduations--especially high-school graduations--bring everybody together. And I mean everybody. Mothers are here. Fathers are here. Brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles and cousins are here. Friends from other schools and other walks of life are here. Heck, people your parents told you you met 15 years ago (and you can't remember them for the life of you) are here. And they're all happy for you. TRUE--a few of them are happy because they're finally going to get you out of the house--but most of them are happy for more altruistic reasons.

BUT--the most important people that tonight's occasion has brought together are YOU. And I'll tell you why.... Because, for the vast majority of you, no other collection of individuals on this planet has more in common with you, has shared a more intimate history with you, than you have with each other. Think about it....

According to a survey of this year's seniors, about 55 percent of you have been in school together since kindergarten. From 4th grade on, almost 75 percent of you have been together. From 8th grade on, the number jumps up to more than 85 percent. This tells me that, for most of you, your graduation ceremony--tonight--is the culmination of many, many years spent tasting life together.

Together you have gone from bicycles to cars........Barbies to boyfriends......Little League to varsity sports......."spending the night" to attending homecoming.......junior-high dances to the senior prom. You have had the same teachers..... played with the same toys......watched the same TV shows......listened to the same music......attended the same social functions......and shared the same adventures. You have laughed together and cried together. You have broken rules together......broken windows together......maybe broken promises and fragile hearts together......and a few of you have even broken the law together.......

It has been a long and tangled web that you all have woven with each other--an intense and personal web that will never be replaced. Four years of bonding with friends during college will not be the same; four years can never match the richness of shared childhoods, of your aggregate adolescence. And neither can life in the military, life in a corporation, or in any business, or any neighborhood. It will never be the same, after tonight--even if you stay right here in your hometown for the rest of your life.

You see, graduation, as I said before, signals both an end and a new beginning. But it also signals something else--a dispersal. Graduates surge away from the moment of graduation--to jobs, to vacations, to colleges and universities, to vocational training, adventures overseas, and on and on. The rest of your life is calling you, and God only knows where you'll all end up.

Look around you right now at the other people in the funny hats.....

After tonight, you will NEVER see some of these people again. Some of them you'll see in a few days, of course, but others will disappear from your world for weeks or months or even years. I guarantee that some of the fellow graduates you are sitting with tonight you will not see again until at least your 10-year class reunion. And for most of you, you will hold on to only a small percentage of these people once you have thrown your mortar boards into the air this evening.

Now, obviously, it is not my intention to depress you on this occasion. Because, you see, the end of all this commonality certainly does not mean you are left with nothing. It means, on the contrary, that you are being handed a NEW set of circumstances and opportunities. You are, at this moment, being given NEW chances to succeed or fail on your own terms. This is an important moment, and you have been leading up to it, and waiting for it, for 17 or 18 years. (Well, a couple of you have taken a little longer ... but that's okay.) So this is NOT a time of sadness. It is simply a time for letting go.

Of course, letting go is nothing simple, and, although many of you have been handling this transition very well--so far

--others of you have not done quite so well. Some of you, in fact, have been stumbling crazily about, grasping wildly in a panic-stricken frenzy as the full weight of this transition hits you. For the last month or so, I've seen some of you franctically scrambling for summer jobs to pay for college in the fall, or for the apartment you'll be moving into next week because you've just about outlived your free room and board at Mom and Dad's place. I heard some of you decide LAST week that you WOULD like to go to college--and you wonder whether you can STILL come around NEXT week and have your favorite teachers write you letters of recommendation. (The answer is NO.)

I've seen some of you dumping old boyfriends or old girlfriends you knew you were going to have to leave behind but wanted to hang on to until the last possible moment......I've heard some of you talk about telling off your parents because--what the heck--you're not going to have to live in their house and put up with all of their rules any more......Some of you have planned to tell off certain teachers or administrators or employers--anyone, in fact, whom you don't really care for and would like to leave behind with style.

Just the opposite, a few of you have been running around saying "thank you" to all those people--those teachers, those friends, those coaches, family members and many others--who have helped you somehow reach this critical point of departure. By the same token, a few of you have been applying for scholarships since the beginning of the school year. Some of you have been "shopping around" at various colleges and job markets, looking for the best bargains, trying to enlist the most friends possible to join you. A handful of you already have big savings accounts set aside for whatever move it is you plan to make.

Of course, some of you believe you've earned a break after 18 years of effort, and, frankly, you don't plan to do much of anything for a while. In fact, you think somebody out there owes you something, and you plan to play until someone forces you to work or go to school or be otherwise responsible for yourself. And there are even a few of you--let's face it--who don't know what the heck you're going to do, and you're a little bit worried about it.

I could point fingers, but you all know who you are.

Anyway--just as it is in life--the differences in your reactions to your pending graduation have been many. But the big similarity in all this is the common ground you all are sharing right now. You are only minutes away from one of the most horribly wonderful moments in your life: the opportunity for you to say something that you've never had the opportunity to say before: "I AM A HIGH SCHOOL GRADUATE......"

For many of you, there have been only a few other moments of such importance before--some of them public, many of them intensely private. For instance, think about how you felt the first time you ever said (even to yourself):

            "THIS IS MY BOYFRIEND."

            or: "THIS IS MY GIRLFRIEND."

Well, there are many equally horribly wonderful moments in your life to come. For instance, think how you'll feel when you say for the first time:

            "I AM A MAN NOW." or: "I AM A WOMAN."

            (and not just another "boy" or "girl")

            "I AM TWENTY-ONE."

            "THIS IS MY FIANCE."

            "I DO."

            "WE'RE PREGNANT."

            "THIS IS MY CHILD."

Of course, not all of you waited until after graduation to find out what it feels like to say all these things.....But most of you did. AND--whenever you DO say them--I hope they will feel as good (and as wonderfully terrifying) to you as saying "I AM A HIGH SCHOOL GRADUATE" will feel tonight.

[PAUSE.]

NOW I want to take a moment to acknowledge something important: You see, despite all the commonality and opportunity I have been speaking about, I know that not all of you are leaving here with the same set of optimistic expectations. Although many of you are seething with confidence, your brains bulging with glorious plans, a few of you are dwelling on the labels that have been attached to you over the years--"C-student," "D-student," "trouble-maker," "lazy"--and you're wondering right now whether all those other people have been correct, and just what you really ARE capable of.

Well, I want to encourage any of you who are, right now, questioning your self-worth, to look to the future with great hope and promise, despite all the obstacles you may see before you. The past, certainly, is a foundation for the future, but the past does not always indicate the potential for growth, the potential for change.....

Take me, for example: When I attended Soldotna Junior High School back in the early '70s, I was the first student I knew of whose parents made him carry a progress report around to his teachers--mostly because of my lousy citizenship grades. I did not, according to my teachers, work to the best of my ability or show consideration for others. And I did, they said, talk too much and create classroom disturbances. My science teacher, Mr. Wahl, wrote: "Needs improvement in self-control." My typing teacher, Mrs. McGuiness, wrote: "He definitely has improved in his citizenship but not necessarily in his diligence to assigned work." And my shop teacher, Mr. Crane, wrote: "No change in amount of work or attitude."

And now here I am, 20 years later, giving you advice at your graduation. Isn't life full of delightful ironies?......I hope you will find as many of them in your journey through life as I have.

To close, let me reiterate one final time that tonight's ceremony is both an ending and a beginning. All of you seniors have invested your lifetimes in reaching this point.

And now it is time to reach beyond it.

There will never be another moment exactly like this one......another set of shared circumstances equally as deep as the ones you have shared with each other for the past 18 years. BUT there is always tomorrow......and tomorrow can be filled with WHATEVER you desire.

So treasure this moment.

Treasure what you are leaving behind.

And, more than anything else,

look forward to the treasures of tomorrow.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Skyview Graduation keynote address 2001


Good evening.

I hope you all are comfortable.

As my students can tell you,

I’m accustomed to speaking non-stop for 65 minutes

once I get the floor….

Beth, you may want to start your nap now….

Actually, I’ve been given less than 10 minutes

to say everything I have to say—
so today,
for a change,
I must be brief.

First of all, I have to tell you

that most of my speech tonight

was first scribbled on tiny scraps of paper in my mini-van

about two weeks ago

while I sat in the parking lot for the Skyline Trail.

I hadn’t planned it that way,

but I had been driving along,

pondering my obligation here tonight,

when suddenly

an idea struck me.

Good ideas don’t strike all that often,

so I stopped

to write it down right away.

And this is what I wrote:

Graduates,

it was a quarter of a century ago this month

that I was in your place.

It was a sunny evening in May 1976,

the gym at Kenai Central High School was packed,

and there I was, sitting on my folding chair

as uncomfortably and anxiously

as many of you are today.

I was wearing a flimsy robe around my Sunday clothes

and a square piece of cardboard on my head—

and I was waiting, sitting and waiting

for the only 3 highlights

of what I expected to be an otherwise tedious ceremony:

1.    listening to the guest speaker

2.    receiving my diploma, and

3.    leaving high school behind forever….

Turns out that I got only 2 out of 3.

But I’ll tell you this:

If the guest speaker that day
had stopped in the middle of her presentation—stopped dead
and turned to me personally, and said,
“Clark, this could be you up here some day,”
I would’ve laughed out loud.

Me, a teacher?

There was NO WAY that I planned
to EVER subject myself to the kind of treatment
to which I and my classmates had subjected OUR teachers
for 12 long years.

The very idea was ridiculous.

Stupid.
Never happen.

Besides, I already had everything figured out:

I wanted a job that let me be outdoors most of the time,
so I planned to do wildlife research to earn a living.
In my spare time, I’d write great novels and short stories
that would be cherished for generations.

Becoming a teacher—

standing up in front of people
(especially other teenagers),
spouting information,
trying to motivate and inspire—
was as far from my mind then
as performing intricate ballet for you is tonight.

But things didn’t turn out the way I’d planned:

The wildlife-related job market was poor at the time,
so my course of study in college changed.
I spent 5 years earning two degrees,
NEITHER of them biologically related.
After college I spent several years
as a hard-working journalist—
upsetting business people, and my mother,
with my personal columns in the paper.
Then, as my bills began to pile up,
I became determined to find a job with easier money,
higher prestige, and a lot more free time. [Wink, wink.]
So I began taking education courses.

Three years later I was hired to teach full time,

And, although I love teaching,
I have spent many hours in the last 13 years
wondering how it all happened.

Some of YOU,

I guarantee,
will experience the same sense of wonder one day.

You see, life sometimes interferes with your plans.

Even if you’re as tough as IAN thinks he is,
or as clever LEON tries to be,
or even if you see as pretty a face in the mirror every day
as STRYDER thinks he does,
YOU AREN’T IN CONTROL OF ALL THE VARIABLES IN LIFE.
No one is.
Little surprises crop up.
Changes of heart occur.
A tragedy sometimes interrupts your plans.
And so does an occasional miracle.

The river of life meanders

in ways you never dreamed possible
when you first waded into the current.

Consider some of the surprises you may encounter:

LOVE—it can change your life—heal you, help you grow.
HATE—it can change your life, too—tear you up,

leave you in your tracks.

WEALTH can bring you opportunity.
DEBT can bring you to your knees.
LOSING OLD FRIENDS can force you to seek new friends.
GAINING NEW FRIENDS can open up whole new horizons.
NEW LIFE…CHILDREN…can help you appreciate beginnings.
ILLNESS can help you appreciate good health.
DEATH can help you appreciate the end.

All around us, life moves forward in a complex pattern

that we cannot hope to fully comprehend,
but we CAN learn to deal with the changes,
to keep going when the unexpected arises.

Your G.P.A. today—good OR bad—doesn’t guarantee

the path your future will take.
You MAY fulfill the dreams you have at this moment,
or your dreams may change
as your life changes.

You may have been labeled “trouble-maker” or “lazy,”

or even “most likely to succeed,”
but where you’ll end up
10 years from now,
20 years from now,
depends on what you do NEXT
and how you deal with change.

I want to encourage all of you graduates
to look to your futures with great hope and promise,
despite any obstacles you may see before you.
The past, certainly,
IS a foundation for the future,
but the past does not ALWAYS indicate
the potential for growth, the potential for change.....

Take me, for example: As I’ve told some of you before,

when I attended Soldotna Junior High School back in the early '70s,
I was the first student I knew of
whose parents made him
carry a progress report around to his teachers—
mostly because of my lousy citizenship grades.
I did not, according to my teachers,
work to the best of my ability or show consideration for others.
And I did, they said,
talk too much and create classroom disturbances.
My science teacher, Mr. Wahl, wrote:
"Needs improvement in self-control."
My typing teacher, Mrs. McGuiness, wrote:
"He definitely has improved in his citizenship
but not necessarily in his diligence to assigned work."
And my shop teacher, Mr. Crane, wrote:
"No change in amount of work or attitude."

And now here I am,

25 years later,
giving you advice at your graduation.

I hope you will find as many delightful ironies

in your journey through life
as I have in mine.

Thank you, and CONGRATULATIONS.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Skyview Graduation keynote address 2003


Good evening.

You know, life is full of moments we’ll always remember.

I remember the first time I ever stood in front of a class of high school students. I was nervous. I had no idea what to expect since I was just a student-teacher and I was filling in for someone who’d been teaching for more than 20 years. The first student to say anything to me raised his hand and told me loudly, “I didn’t sign up for YOU.” That was a bad start, but I got through it.

I remember almost 14 years ago, staring out into the church at all the people seated for my wedding. I was nervous that June day. I knew that my voice was going to have to work well enough for me to pronounce the words “I do.” And, thank God, it did.

I remember in 1994 when our first child was about to be born. I was nervous already when the midwife asked me—with a question that was really a command—“How would you like to cut the cord?” I said I would do it, but inside I had doubts. Then, when she placed the surgical scissors in my hand, while my new daughter lay on my wife’s chest, somehow I found the strength to do the job.

And I remember in March, when I was told that I had been selected to speak tonight, I was honored. AND I was nervous. After all, this is a BIG crowd, and this is a BIG occasion. I was worried enough that I began asking some of these seniors for advice. Not surprisingly, many of them were only too willing to give me some.

Mike Sturm, for instance, suggested that I speak to a hip-hop beat.

Marcie Isham urged me to avoid poetry.

Kevin McGrady suggested that I try to make people cry.

Mike Waer and Trevor Thompkins insisted that they were so cool

that I should mention THEM specifically.

And Naomi Miller told me that if I didn’t stop being mean to her in class,

she’d boo me,
no matter what I said.

But the essence of my students’ advice can be boiled down to these three points:

1)    Say something funny.

2)    Say something inspirational, but don’t be preachy.

3)    And remember: This isn’t class, so don’t be boring.

[PAUSE]

About a week ago,

I spent time rummaging through my files at home,
searching for anything else that might help me tonight.
And while I did come across a few interesting ideas,
I also found something else that intrigued me—
pictures—
pictures of me as a teacher over the last 15 years.

A lot has happened in 15 years,

and it was interesting to see the “face” I’d put forward
each time another “School Picture Day” came along.

Curious, I gathered those pictures together

and lined them up chronologically on my dining room table.

I didn’t like what I discovered.

Somewhat rattled,

I went back and dug out my high-school photo I.D.,
my photo I.D.s from college,
and my picture from when I was a reporter for The Peninsula Clarion.
I added those images to the lineup,
which now stretched out for more than a quarter of a century.
At one end, I was just beginning MY senior year;
I was 17, brown hair down near my shoulders,
face tanned from another summer outdoors—
and all set to get that year over with
and be fresh off the RACK of public education.

And clear at the other end of that line of photographs

was an image much like the one you see before you tonight:
Older.                         Heavier.         Grayer.

[PAUSE]

I don’t consider myself a vain man,

but starting ten years or so ago
I used to occasionally take a few extra moments in front of the mirror
to carefully search for
and yank out
the gray hairs I saw as invaders in my scalp.

As the years progressed, however,

the task became daunting.

The fact is—

as much as I’d like to blame some of YOU seated here for these gray hairs—
the main culprit is time.

TIME has brought all of us to this place tonight.

The graduates tonight have put in THEIR time,
and they are more than ready to start SPENDING time doing something new.
Eventually, they, too, will be able to look back at this MOMENT in time—
much as, during the senior slide show tonight,
they will be looking back at images of themselves from an EARLIER time.

[PAUSE]

About two months ago, speaking of time,

I celebrated my 45^th birthday,
and in my typically smart-alecky way
I asked my parents how it was going to feel in five years
to have a child who was 50.
My mother, in particular,
looked at me as if I had just slapped her across the face.

But that’s LIFE.

And life … moves on.

[PAUSE]

I looked again at the line of photographs spread across my dining room table,

and then I dug into some old boxes and I pulled out some more—
other school pictures of myself as a student from first grade on up through high school,
and then some baby pictures from an album my mother used to keep—
and I arranged all these photographs to make the progression of my life more complete.

What I saw were markers in time—

a series of STILL images from a life STILL in motion.

And some of what I saw made me cringe.

Courtesy of my father,
who fancied himself something of a barber,
I had a cute little crew-cut in first through fifth grade,
but I also had ears projecting from the sides of my head like sails.

As my hair grew longer to cover my ears,

it seemed also to grow greasier.

My complexion changed.

I got braces. And head gear.

As I grew more self-conscious about my appearance,

I stopped showing my teeth when I smiled.
After college, I grew a scraggly beard and began to put on some weight.

And all these images were captured in the photographs on my dining room table.

Like anybody, I guess,

I was a little embarrassed
by the way I looked at certain stages of my life,
at certain moments in time.
During the slide show tonight,
some of you seniors are going to feel the same way
when the baby pictures come up.

Let’s face it:

the people who photographed you when you were little
weren’t always attempting to get the most flattering shots.

Just ask my OWN children.

One of my favorite pictures of my son

shows him at about age 4, buck naked out in our front yard.
He had just painted himself—JET BLACK—from chin to ankles.
In the picture, his arms are raised in front of his face,
and his fingers are curled like claws.
If the picture could speak, it would say—
as he did on the day I took it—
“Daddy, I am panther! Grrr!”

[PAUSE]

I can’t wait to donate that picture to HIS senior slide show.

[PAUSE]

And as we’ll see tonight, some of YOU didn’t look so dignified, either,

when your parents were behind the camera.
Some of you had food all over your face
or were sitting on the toilet or in the bathtub;
some of you were slobbering all over a favorite toy
or wearing some ridiculous get-up
that your parents thought was cute at the time.

[PAUSE]

Despite how we may have looked at certain moments, however,

we should ALL be delighted
that humans have the capacity to change and to grow.

EXACTLY twenty-seven years ago TO THIS DAY,

my mother snapped a picture of me in my high-school graduation cap and gown.
I was a member of Kenai’s graduating class of 1976—
the Bicentennial Class—celebrating America’s 200^th birthday—
and standing uncomfortably before my mother’s piano
I wore a royal-blue gown,
a bright-white mortarboard high on my head,
and a red-white-and-blue tassel.
It may have been an important moment,
but that was NOT a flattering outfit for me.

Fortunately, our lives do not have to resemble our dorkiest pictures.

Fortunately for us, we can change.

[PAUSE]

Tonight you graduates are on the BRINK of change.

Tonight you will be leaving high school …

and leaving behind the years you have shared with each other …
but you will not be leaving with only a diploma in your possession.

On the contrary,

you will be taking with you something very precious—
your OWN capacity for change and for growth.

EACH of you has the ability to rise above YOUR ugliest picture—

and to take tonight’s moment for exactly what it is—
a new opportunity,
a chance to succeed or to fail on your own terms,
regardless of the past.

So in your mind right now,

take a good look at your OWN personal line of photographs,
the pictures of YOUR life so far.

 [PAUSE]

What you see before you,

is the foundation for everything that is to come.
But it is ONLY a foundation.

And—

despite the occasional “flaws” you might see there,
despite the gray hairs you, too, WILL have some day—
you can build upon that foundation ANYthing you wish.

Thank you,

and CONGRATULATIONS.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Skyview Graduation keynote address 2010

Thank you….

It feels GOOD to be here.

I have been away from my old classroom at Skyview

for two years now,
but I STILL see Panthers almost everywhere I turn —
especially this bunch right here.
I’ve seen you up at school and out at the college.
I’ve watched you in sports and concerts, and the talent show.
I’ve seen some of you becoming Eagle Scouts,
some of you serving food in restaurants,
some of you talking on your cell phones and driving too fast thru town.
And recently, I’ve even connected with a few of you on Facebook.

In many ways,

it’s as if  I never even left.
Everywhere I turn,
I keep bumping into Panthers.

And now—as of 2010—it’s TWENTY YEARS of Panthers.

Twenty years!

Heck, I’ve been with Panthers so long

that I STILL tend to say “we”
when I talk about the school.

I may not be up in my classroom any more,

but SOMETHING always seems to be calling me back.

(Like tonight….

This is the 20th consecutive Skyview graduation
I have attended. And you students represent the final class
that I taught before I packed up my stuff two years ago.)

 [PAUSE]

Now up at Skyview there’s a NEW Mr. Fair.

Now my son Kelty is a Panther, too.
People tell me,
he looks like a younger me--
and maybe, considering his biology,
he was genetically PREDISPOSED to wear purple and black.
(Who knows…?)

SOME of you have heard me tell a story about my son—

about the time when he was 4 years old
and needed to go to the bathroom in Burger King….

 [possibly some gagging sounds here; if so, say the next line]

Don’t worry; I’m not telling THAT one again.

Tonight I wanted to tell you a DIFFERENT story.

(Kelty might not like me telling THIS one, either,
but he can at least take SOME consolation
from the fact that I didn’t bring the photos.)

[SLIGHT PAUSE]

From the time that Kelty was old enough

to understand what I did for a living,
he said he wanted to BE a Panther.
But at no time was this desire more apparent to me
than one summer day out on the homestead
just before his  4th birthday….

As usual, when the weather got nice,

my kids had stripped off their clothes
and were playing in the water and the dirt….

I was outdoors, too,

READING in the sunshine,
and….
I didn’t notice that Kelty had strayed away from the kiddie pool
and into our open garage where we had an easel set up
with butcher paper and Tempera paints…

[SWITCH TO PRESENT TENSE]

Suddenly he’s SCURRYING out of the garage toward me,

“Daddy!” he shouts.
And I see that SOMEHOW
he has managed to PAINT
his whole body BLACK,
from chin to ankles.

[Form the pose.]

“Grrrr!” he yells. “I’m a Panther!”
[Pause for laughter, I hope.]

That’s my boy.

And THAT’S when I knew where HE’D be going to school.

Nearly 11 years have passed since that day.

And even MORE time has passed—20 years--
since the day I first walked INTO Skyview to begin unpacking boxes
to help start the school.

In all those years, I have connected

with hundreds of Panthers,
all of them—
like all of you—
unique individuals….

In my teaching career, I have taught—

a Spring, a Sommer, an Autumn, a Winter, and a Season.

I’ve taught a Day and a Knight,

a Sky, a Dawn, and a Storm,
a Windy, a Rainee, a Sonny, and a Misty.

I’ve taught a January, an April, a May, a June, and a September.

I’ve taught a Butcher and a Baker,

a Carpenter, a Painter, and a Butler,
a Hunter and a Fischer,
a Shepherd, a Sargeant, and a Cook.

I’ve taught an Alaska, a Kluane, a Tisaina,

a Tahneta, a Denali, a Seward, a Susitna,
a Bering, a Bristol, a Brooks, and a McKinley.

I’ve taught a Weed, a Bush, and a Wheat,

a Rose, a Holly, and an Aspen,
a Leif, a Forrest, an Ivy, and an Oakes.

And I’ve taught a Marlin, a Bass, a Pike, a Hering, and a Dolphin;

a Raven, a Jay, an Eagle, a Dove, a Crane, a Robin, and a Partridge;
a Beever, a Lambe, a Colley, and a Wolf;
and a Bugg and a Leach.

And that’s just a handful

of the students I’ve taught.

NOW, I want the students in this audience

to ponder something with me for a moment:

Out of my 20-year career in education,

I taught at Skyview for 18 years,
and 18 years is YOUR average age.
As long as you’ve been ALIVE,
that’s how long I taught in  Room B217.

While you were still in diapers,

I was in that classroom.
As you learned your alphabet
and made new friends,
I was in that classroom.
And as you dreamed about
what you wanted to be when you grew up,
I was in my classroom,
teaching other students
who made the same journey that YOU have made.

And when I thought about this “CONNECTION” we have,

I started thinking about what it really MEANS
to LEAVE SCHOOL.
I left school, and now YOU’RE about to leave it, too.

For me, now that I’m NOT up in my classroom any more,

people ask me all the time,
“So how’s retirement treating you?”
“How you liking that retirement?”
And my usual response is
that I don’t really feel RETIRED at all.

I write for The Redoubt Reporter.

I work part-time at the college.
In the summer, I mow lawns and do landscaping.
I’m involved in historical societies,
and I’m a taxi service for my children.

So it’s more like I’m SEMI-retired.

In fact, MY position in life right now

and YOUR position in life right now—
despite the 34 YEARS that separate us in age—
aren’t really all that different.

All of YOU

think you’ve come here tonight to simply GRADUATE,
to leave school behind and move on with your lives…..
But the truth is, while you can leave the BUILDING,
the EXPERIENCE you’ve had doesn’t go away….
You’ll take what you’ve LEARNED and you’ll realize
that you STILL have more learning to do.

In fact, what you’re REALLY experiencing tonight,

HERE in this sports arena,
is SEMI-graduation.

[SLIGHT PAUSE—say the next line if the moment feels right]

(Sorry to be the one to break it to you.)

For ME, learning didn’t end

after my SEMI-graduation
from Kenai Central High School in 1976
or from the University of Montana in 1982,
and it didn’t end
after my SEMI-retirement in 2008.

And it isn’t about to end for you tonight.

If YOU were to do almost nothing else,

simply becoming a PARENT someday
will teach you more than you ever bargained for.

And for 20 years, Skyview SEMI-graduates

have been going on to learn and to do things
all over the globe.

Right now,

there is a Skyview SEMI-graduate
who is a teacher in Germany,
and there’s one who’s a rapper in Hawaii.
There’s also a mechanic just up the road from here,
oil-industry employees
up on the Slope and out on the platforms,
and commercial fishermen
up and down Cook Inlet.
There’s a game warden in Fairbanks,
a pharmacist and a tattoo artist
and an assistant principal here in Soldotna,
a cosmetologist in Anchorage,
and a dentist down in Homer.
There’s a pro golfer in Arizona,
a plastic surgeon in New York,
a filmmaker in California,
a professional musician in Florida,
a graphic artist in Oregon,
a fitness-gym manager in Taiwan,
and a member of “Christians Standing with Israel”
who lives in Jerusalem.

And there have been DOZENS

of Skyview SEMI-graduates
who have served—
or who are NOW serving—
in the Armed Forces
in Afghanistan, Iraq,
and other military installations all around the world. [PAUSE HERE]

Skyview SEMI-graduates number more than 2,000 so far,

AND they’re all over the place,
doing all sorts of things.
And in just a little while, tonight,
YOU will one of them.

You may have cleaned out your lockers up at Skyview,

but there’ll always be OTHER lockers,
other CHALLENGES, in your lives.
Those challenges may send you
to the other side of the planet
or keep you right in your own hometown.
But, regardless of the challenges and where they take you,
Skyview’s history tells ME
that YOU can rise to meet them. 

And so….

allow me to be the FIRST to congratulate you
on your achievement and everything that is to come….
Skyview’s SEMI-graduating Class of 2010.

Thank you.