Written by Michael Claxton
When I finished high school in 1990, the most popular graduation gift was a brand-new book by Dr. Seuss. Eight years ago, and with apologies to Theodor Geisel, I adapted his idea for our seniors. I’ve updated the poem for today’s grads. May God bless you always.
The day has arrived!
You have waited and waited.
Did you ever suspect
You would be liberated?
Now exams are all done,
Not a one of them flunked.
Though your brains may be drained
From the thoughts that you’ve thunked.
Yes, your head is all crammed
With stray facts running loose,
Like irregular verbs
And the height of a moose.
You made it through COVID,
With vaccines and masks.
“How on earth did we do it?”
Is what everyone asks.
You survived Harding’s birthday —
We’re 100, I hear.
A century of memories
Crammed into one year.
It’s been one for the ages —
Football championships!
Five decades of Spring Sing!
A solar eclipse!
You’ve witnessed our triumphs
In athletics and arts.
You’ve endured all our efforts
At testing your smarts.
But now is the time
To head out from this place.
I’m sure no one saw
The small tear on your face.
The succession of “lasts”
Has now slowly begun:
Last chapel, last classes,
Last late Wal-Mart run.
Last Bison, last Frisbee,
Last chicken-filled biscuit.
Last meal in the Caf —
If you’re willing to risk it.
(If you do, I commend
The rotisserie brisket).
All those last-minute errands:
Parking tickets to pay.
Note to self: “Tortured Poets”
Hits the market today.
There is so much to pack —
All those books, souvenirs,
The assorted mementoes
Of four to six years.
What to toss? What to save?
How much stuff should you keep?
Dare we hope our class handouts
Will escape the trash heap?
You must take a break!
Off to MO on your bike
For a Café Vienna
Or one last Mocha Mike.
Will you add some whipped cream?
Maybe two or three squirts.
Then back to the packing
Of three hundred t-shirts.
But the least of your worries
Are heavy suitcases.
Your minds are a-flurry
In a half-dozen places.
All those possible futures
In such different typefaces.
Will you marry or not?
And what job will you get?
Will you live near your family?
Or move to Tibet?
Will you have any children?
Work from home or commute?
Will you count every penny,
Or be swimming in loot?
Loan payments and moving
And grad school and rent.
The farewells and job search.
Must you now reinvent?
You wanted a change,
But is this what you meant?
And now leaving school
Isn’t quite what you’re wishing.
Could you add one more major?
Like Linguistics or Fishing?
Your advisor says, “No,
Don’t waste your brain powers.”
After all,” she reminds you,
“You’re a grown-up by hours.”
And so, you slip into
Your cap and your gown
And await all the people
Who are coming to town.
All your uncles and cousins,
Your Mom and your Pop,
And even your neighbor,
Dear old Mr. Schmop.
Not a one of these folks
Thinks you’re going to flop.
It’s alright to be nervous.
You’re not weird to have jitters.
Yes, your stomach feels like
A motel full of critters.
But you have real talents.
You needn’t be scared.
I’ll bet that you’ll find
That you’re fully prepared.
And if you mess up,
Just say, “That’s how it goes.”
Sometimes you fall flat
And get sand in your nose.
Just dust yourself off.
Grab a Kleenex and sneeze,
And then get some ice
For the bumps on your knees.
Then learn from your failures —
They’re not a disease.
Forgive yourself. Really.
OK? Pretty please?
If the world seems chaotic,
Or a little too large.
Don’t forget to remember
That God is in charge!
The world is uncertain.
The future’s obscure.
But one thing I promise.
Of that thing, I’m sure.
Your teachers are cheering
For you as you go.
You’ve brightened our worlds
So much more than you know.
When each of you came,
We were all overjoyed.
Without you, professors
Are so unemployed.
So go, do us proud!
Show compassion. Be kind.
Love others. Be joyful.
And then you will find
That when challenges come
You won’t so much mind.
We hope we’ve been able
To strengthen your wings,
But we gladly confess
You’ve taught us a few things.
So, thank you for choosing
To plant yourself here.
Those roots will continue
To grow and endear,
And we’ll think of you fondly
Year after year.
And now I’ll step aside
To give Seuss the last word
(Since primary sources
Are always preferred).
“So, be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray
Or Mordecai Ali Van Allen O’Shea,
You’re off to great places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So get on your way!”
