|  Welcome
friends, family, faculty, Mr. Hendericks, Mrs. Gladish, Mr. Daum,
Bishop Kline, interim president Rt. Rev. Keith, …and my fellow graduating
seniors.
Well guys, I guess it's time to grow up. As often
as we've been told this by Mr. Fehon while studying the reproductive
system, I'm not sure that it's really sunken in… until now. We are
soon to be off into a wide world of freedom, choice, and responsibility.
Before we burn rubber on our way out of here, I'd like
to take you senior guys back to our first day at the Academy. Think
back to that first talk from Mr. Daum-no, not the gorilla talk-the
"alacrity" talk. Remember sitting nervously in room 161, playing
the "how-many-virtues-can-you-name" game? As we raised our hands
and listed off an assortment of virtues-bravery, honesty, trust,
sobriety, and of course alacrity-we were probably feeling pretty
good about ourselves. High school wasn't so hard after all. Mr.
Daum focused on alacrity, which he defined for us as "cheerful willingness."
I'd like to focus on another word with a similar meaning. This word
is defined in Heaven and Hell as "a willingness to be led by the
Lord."
Innocence. As we leave behind our adolescence, we might be inclined
to think that we must leave behind our innocence as well. Society
has stigmatized the word innocence, attaching to it implications
of naivety and ignorance. Certainly, growing up means becoming more
aware, trying new things, and exploring and strengthening one's
beliefs. But should we really dispose of our willingness to be led
by the Lord?
To be innocent is to be unselfish and of pure intentions. We see
innocence in a new father playing with his young child. We see innocence
in the gentle smiles of the elderly. We see innocence in a bunch
of eighteen-year-old boys playing army in Mr. Reuter's English class.
We see it at lunchtime, when Mr. Kier Hyatt and Mr. Ivan Maddock
very seriously compete in a ridiculously obscure Scandinavian yard
game called Kubb. We see it in scrawny Sigma boys dressed as Winnie
the Pooh characters, singing their hearts out, or in AKM girls dressed
in leather and chains as a… motorcycle gang? Well... In any case,
innocence is priceless. Let's not forsake it simply to fit in or
to be cool.
Innocence entails humility. There is so much emphasis today on getting
to the top. In advertising and in the media we are flashed incessantly
with images of the biggest and the best. But maybe we should stop
and listen to a more reliable source than the media.
The Lord tells us in Matthew that "the last will be first, and the
first last." William Temple once said that "Humility does not mean
thinking less of yourself than of other people, nor does it mean
having a low opinion of your own gifts. It means freedom from thinking
about yourself at all." Our parents have taught us from our youth
the importance of saying the humble phrases "please" and "thank
you." But there is nobody who has taught us the importance of saying
thank you better than Mr. Andy Sullivan, aka "the free I-Pod guy."
I don't think we realized how much we really appreciated our
teachers until we were offered the chance to win a free Ipod in
exchange for writing a "frozen grape" story about them.
So, per Mr. Sullivan's example, I would like to offer some sincere
thanks (sorry, no I-Pods) to those who have helped us attain our
diplomas and grow as useful human beings. First I'd like to thank
our yearbook dedicatees -- Mr. Friesen and Miss Morna Hyatt -- both
of whom are retiring this year. No other teacher pushed us harder,
amused us, laughed at us, joked with us, or failed us, more than
Mr. Friesen. It deeply saddens me that future students will not
experience his signature chuckle as he admonishes the severely confused
class with "Ahh, c'mon guys." And Miss Morna -- she has faithfully
administered and served us cookies at every math contest; she has
variously tutored, taught or been principal at the Academy since…
pretty much forever. So thank you, Mr. Friesen and Miss Morna, and
I hope you can both enjoy retirement, knowing that you have left
behind your legacies at the Academy as superb teachers and admirable
individuals.
I'd especially like to thank the other members of the Boy's School
faculty who will not be returning to the Academy next year. Thank
you Mr. Davis, for making us read Great Expectations. I'm
almost far enough removed from the experience to say it was good
for us. Your focus on integrity, as a teacher and a coach, has not
been lost on us.
Thank you Rev. Kurt Asplundh, our dutiful Sigma advisor, religion
teacher, and chapel preacher. We will miss your patience, good nature,
sense of humor, honesty, and your highly amusing laugh, which I
will not attempt to imitate for both our sakes. God bless ya.
I'd like to thank Mr. Kier Hyatt, who has taught some of us matrices
and vectors, some of us courteous morality, and others of us how
to play as a team on the lacrosse field. He has taught all of us
by means of example what it means to be an upstanding, moral, hardworking
individual.
Every one of you teachers has left your mark on us. We will never
forget you. I hope that those of you who are retiring will think
of us from time to time as you lounge on the beach sipping champagne,
or doing whatever else retired people do.
The interminable problem with a thank you speech is that you can
never be sure you've thanked everyone. In the words of Mr. Fehon,
"You can thank some of the people some of the time, you can thank
all of the people some of the time, but you can't thank all of the
people all of the time." So I am only going to try to thank "some
of the people," so I can't be blamed for not thanking "all of the
people."
I have to thank you, Mr. Fehon, for allowing us to scientifically
test the limits of your patience, and for somehow maintaining your…unique…sense
of humor. And thanks to the only other teacher we like to quote
as often as Mr. Fehon and Mr. Friesen…Mr. Ty Klippenstein. We had
the honor of being your first class, and we studiously took note
of every nugget of wisdom you offered. Whoever knew that the buildup
to the Civil War could be described as, "A giant ball of peanut
butter with a stick of dynamite in it, ready to explode?"
As for our motley class… Thank you Dan Gardam for your philosophical
musings on such profound questions as, "Who would win in a fight
between Coach Givens and Mr. Boyesen?" Garrett and Dan, thanks for
starting the ridiculous trend of playing rock-paper-scissors ad
nauseum during class. Best distraction device…ever. Thank you
Laird Horigan, for continuing to make fun of your classmates every
time their voices crack, three years after most of us have gone
through puberty; and Matt Cox, our Captain Obvious, for your demonic
laugh and satirical wit. Thanks to all our intrepid dormies, especially
Jeremy and Evan, for bouncing back so well from all kinds of severe
injuries -- must be something in that Bean Hall food.
In the end, as I've said, you can never thank everybody. But this
doesn't negate the importance of saying thank you. Saying thank
you encourages humility, which leads to innocence, a state which
we should all strive for. This is why I have dedicated my speech
to thanking the Academy. This is why I encourage us all, as we embark
on the rest of our lives, to look at the bigger picture, of which
we are each only small brush strokes, collectively comprising God's
masterpiece.
Mr. Reuter told us that the most important thing he wanted to teach
us was that we are not special. What I think he meant is that, as
confined individuals, we aren't special; but in
respect to our contribution to God's masterpiece, we play a singular,
vital role, that is, in fact, very special. The Academy
has given so much to us. In return, let's give back to the world
all that we can, using our vast collection of talents. This will
be the truest way of sincerely saying…thank you.
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