Dr. Bleecker’s
Graduation Speech
June 10, 2006 One of the many things I like about Doug Yeo is that he’s a tie guy. He and I share a love for flamboyant ties. Partly in his honor, but also as a subliminal message to the graduates, I wore my “shimpai shinai de” tie today. That’s Japanese for “Don’t worry.” Bethany, Eliza, Stephen, Andrew, it doesn’t do much good for me to tell you don’t worry, be happy, because I can’t do anything about the things that worry you—especially now that I’m not your teacher and am no longer a cause of worry. But let me just remind you of a couple of passages in the Bible. Jesus’ friend Peter wrote, “Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you.” And Jesus himself said, “Come unto me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”
Notice that in both passages relief from cares or from our burdens is connected with humility. Jesus himself, the creator of the universe, is humble—gentle and lowly in heart. It’s a good thing that we go from the glory and acclaim of graduation to the lowly labor of summer jobs and the bottom status of Freshmen. Even in our hours of triumph, Humility is always peeking around the corner with a shy smile. (A little personification there for you.) It’s wise to be humble, because all good gifts and all true exaltation come from God. You will have burdens; I know you already do. But Jesus offers to take the weight of them for you, pulling in the yoke next to you. He offers you rest, which I’m sure you can use after weeks of exams and language immersion. As you move into another room in this inn of a world, I pray that you’ll be able to give your anxieties to God, because even more than your family and friends, he cares for you.
Bethany, I was going to go on about how extraordinary you are, but maybe I should follow your frequent example this year and just write you a haiku.
Essays written late
Obsession with Rasputin
Still you earn a B
You are, of course, known for your unusual sense of humor and for teasing Trevor, but few people know that you started the Anime Club—perhaps because it only met once? You were a good sport with the part of Maggie the Irish maid this year, and you made yourself into a very believable Marmee last year. I’ve always enjoyed our little chats together, no matter what odd subject they may have been about. I wish for you health and contentment, and that you will always use your strong will and excellent writing ability to advance the kingdom of God
Stephen, you’ve been at Caritas two years, and you’ve become a fine Spanish student and even (which may have surprised you) a good actor. Sure, people know you as the unreliable Wickham in Pride and Prejudice and as good guy John Brook in Little Women, but how many people got to see you as a chicken or some other, indeterminate bird in the Spanish play this year? That was great acting. You’ve always been my go to guy in history for all questions geographical. You’re also a good athlete, though perhaps best remembered for breaking your finger while catching a kickball. As G. K. Chesterton said, “We forget that Henry VIII was intellectual, but we remember that he was fat.” You’ve been the ambassador from Bertuccis and our only Eagle scout. I wish for you that you may keep your admirable drive to excel while becoming more and more motivated by love for God.
Eliza, you may be part of the Spencer clan, but you’ve always stood out by yourself. I remember you swimming in the incredibly cold water off Maine during our sailing trip. Long after the other crazy swimmers climbed out, you stayed in, looking as calm as you did this year when, without breaking a sweat and with great sprezzatura, you beat everyone to the top of Mt. Monadnock. Your performance last year as Jo March was astonishingly convincing. You’ve also won the Roland Award, for excellent effort, more times than anyone else, I think. Our friendship goes beyond school: you’ve been a great babysitter to my boys, always tidying up the house even though you’ve never been known to pick up after yourself at school. Last summer I enjoyed painting with you and seeing that you’re a hard worker in all you do, not just in schoolwork. I wish for you that you may always find rest and contentment in the grace of God, and that you may keep your élan vital.
Andrew, you’ve been at Caritas since the beginning, 5 years ago, starting as a part-time, Spanish student. You’ve done fine work in plays, as the loveable Professor Bhaer and as the proud Mr. Darcy. In Art class, well, I think you’re still trying to finish most of your drawings, aren’t you? For your great attitude and helpfulness, and perhaps for your resemblance to a hobbit, you were the first winner of the Sam Gamgee Award. We had three classes together this year: English, history, and Latin. I don’t know how you endured it, but I often thought to myself, “It’s not possible to get too much of Andrew.” Perhaps your most memorable contribution to school life this year was when you dressed up as a tough but nerdy teacher for a report on education and accidentally hit Mrs. Beers with your riding crop. I wish for you that you will always keep your mixture of mature thoughtfulness and childlike vulnerability.
While I was painting houses last summer with Eliza (and with Sarah as well), it came up in conversation that she was going to be a senior. She asked me who the other seniors were. I treasured that question, because it showed a true lack of class consciousness—and I don’t mean that in the Marxist sense. Our seniors are special, but not because they’re seniors. They’re special because of who they are, the things they have done, and the ways they have changed us all for the better. We rejoice with them today, but we are diminished by their leaving.