I didn’t like those topics, and when it finally came to me, I wasn’t sure the school would allow me to make the speech. I went ahead and wrote it anyway, and submitted it to the Principal. He read it, and then reread it. “You really want to get up on stage and say this?” he asked.
“I do.”
He replied, “You aren’t going to make any friends with this.”
“Maybe that’s why I need to say it.”
He gave me a hard look and then shrugged. He signed off on it with the words, “It’s your funeral.” He handed it back to me.
Now it was time to speak. We had all marched in together, in alphabetical order, but I was at the front of the line, and I had marched up to the stage. Several other faculty members were up there in gowns and mortarboards, along with the guest speaker, a local county representative or something of the sort, a politician. We marched in, girls on the left and guys on the right, and sat in the lower seats facing the stage. Parents and guests sat on the sides, up in the bleachers (but a lot more comfortable chairs than regular bleachers) watching. After everybody and their brother got through talking, but right before we got our diplomas, it was my turn. I stood and went to the podium. I was more worried about tripping in the damn robes than in anything else. Mine were too long and dragged on the floor. I reached inside and pulled out my speech and set it on the podium and looked out. I took a deep breath. Showtime! I was about to lose every friend I had gained in the last four-plus years.
When I was asked to speak today, I wondered what I should speak about. I wondered what legacy our class would leave behind, and even more importantly, what legacy our generation would leave behind. As a nation we are rapidly approaching our third century of existence. Are we as a generation prepared to handle it?
Two hundred years ago, a generation of Americans with names such as Washington, Jefferson, and Adams were already talking about their legacy. They would go on to declare independence, fight a war, and write a constitution, and then build an entire new country. Theirs was a legacy of service and sacrifice.
Four score and seven years later, another generation of Americans had a disagreement about the future of that new country. They had another war, but they ended slavery and conquered a continent. Theirs was a legacy of service and sacrifice.
I had to be careful here. Maryland was still south of the Mason-Dixon Line and even though the Civil War ended over a century ago, there were still some people in the neighborhood who called it The War of Northern Aggression. Once a new preacher came to town and put The Battle Hymn of the Republic on the hymn list for Sunday service, and half a dozen people got up and marched out of the church!
Our parent’s generation climbed out of the Great Depression, defeated Tojo, Mussolini, and Hitler, and then went on to put a man on the Moon. Theirs was a legacy of service and sacrifice.
Now it is our generation’s turn. We even have a name, the Baby Boomers. We were born between 1946 and 1964, and we here are right in the middle of that generation. Our parents survived the Depression, and after fighting in World War II and Korea, decided to come home and relax. Well, we’re the result of that relaxation. As a group, we are the largest, the richest, the most privileged, and the most pampered generation of Americans yet born. I look at the legacy we are building, and so far it isn’t very impressive.
If the power goes out we complain because we can’t watch our favorite TV show, yet my father was born in a farmhouse without electricity or running water. We complain about war and burn our draft cards, but my mother would go on vacation to the beach and see ships burning where German submarines sank them. One day our parents will be known as the greatest generation of Americans, and we will be known as a bunch of whiny bastards! If previous generations left us legacies of service and sacrifice, ours seems to be a legacy of entitlement!
Okay, I stole the ‘greatest generation’ line from Tom Brokaw, but by the time he writes it in the new future, nobody here will remember. Also, the Principal had wanted me to lose the word bastards, and I told him I would change it. Somehow it got left in.
This not a legacy I wish to leave behind. A member of our parents’ generation once said it best. He fought against tyranny and oppression, was wounded in that fight, and then survived to become a great American leader, only to end up paying the ultimate price for his service. John F. Kennedy told us to not ask what our country can do for us, but to ask what we can do for our country. I cannot change the behavior of a generation. I can only change my own behavior, and tell others what they can do to change their behavior. I cannot make commitments about how others will behave, but I can make commitments as to how I will behave. Therefore, I plan to make the following commitments.
First, I am going to college. There is no surprise in that. I dare say that every valedictorian in America will go on to college. No, my commitment is to go to a school that teaches science and engineering. Scientists and engineers invent and build things, and inventing and building things seems a whole lot more productive than buying and selling and squabbling about things.
I hoped that wouldn’t insult the salespeople and lawyers in the crowd. I wondered if they would even be aware I was talking about them.
Second, I commit myself to serving our country. Again, it is not too surprising that a valedictorian has some scholarships lined up. Mine is through the Army. I will be a soldier. We live in a great nation, and one that has enemies. I doubt I will make it a career, but I intend to help protect this nation, so that future generations will have the chance to make their own legacies.
And finally, I plan to make some money, maybe quite a bit of money. No, that is not the commitment; that is just the American dream. No, my final commitment is that when the time comes, every April 15th, to pay my taxes, I will do so with a smile. Taxes are what we pay for civilization, said a member of the generation that ended slavery, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr. They pay for roads and bridges and sewers and water and police and firemen and garbage collectors and everything else we need to function. So I will pay those taxes and not complain, because I much prefer living in a civilized world than in an uncivilized world.
Those are the prices I will pay, to leave our nation a better place. What price will you pay, or will you decide not to pay anything? My challenge to you is to commit to improving this nation and to leave behind a legacy of service and sacrifice like those who gave us this chance. Thank you.
I stepped back from the podium. I had been so nervous about what I was saying, I hadn’t really noticed the reaction I had gotten. Was anybody even listening, or were they all just sitting there waiting for this interminable day to end? I looked out at the audience, and they were just sitting there staring at me in silence. Okay, this had been a notable bust. I moved back to my chair, hoping to not make any more of an ass of myself than I could.
Then the applause started. I looked up and saw my classmates applauding and climbing to their feet. Stunned, I looked out and found the audience doing the same. I didn’t understand! I had just insulted every member of my class and called them whiny bastards, and now I was getting a standing ovation. This was simply incomprehensible. I just stood there as the building erupted in cheers and applause, and the Principal shook my hand. I didn’t know what to do. After a minute or so, I sat down and we finished the ceremony. I collected my diploma, my classmates trooped across the stage and got theirs, and we marched the hell back down the aisle as our parents applauded. I felt totally drained, and my shirt was drenched with flop sweat.