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.
I was mobbed by my classmates out in the parking lot. I peeled off my robe and just leaned against the side of the building near the doorway. Ray found me and handed me a flask, and I think I chugged a couple ounces of something potent before I handed it back, coughing. He just grinned at me. "That was amazing!", he said with a big grin.
I didn't understand. "I don't get it." I had just dumped a Cleveland Steamer on my fellow Baby Boomers, and everybody was cheering for me? This made no sense whatsoever.
It got crazier. All my friends, and even some kids I barely knew, came up to me and shook my hand. Finally I grabbed Ricky Santorin, one of the guys in the college prep group like me, and asked him. "Ricky, what's going on? Everybody says they loved my speech, but I don't understand why! I just dumped on everyone!"
"No, you didn't.", said Mrs. Rogers, coming towards me. "You challenged them. You challenged them to be better than they were, and they responded. Right now every parent in that room is wondering if any of you will live up to that challenge."
Ricky laughed. "My parents are wondering about paying to send me away for four years. Their challenge will be getting me to graduate!" I had to join in the laughter at that.
Mrs. Rogers smiled. "Then here's a fourth challenge, Mr. Buckman. You come back to your high school reunion in five years and show us what you've done to meet your challenge. Your classmates will be waiting on you!"
Ricky laughed at that and pushed me back against the wall. We fumble-farted around for a bit, and then Jeana came bounding up, followed by my family. My parents had brought Suzie with them; Hamilton had declared a sudden stomach ache and nobody wanted him there anyway. Ricky took off and I hugged Jeana and then Mom. Dad I simply shook hands with. Mrs. Rogers said, "I was just commenting to your son how impressed I was with his speech. I can't recall every hearing one quite like that."
For once even my mother looked at me proudly, although Dad looked at me with pride and a certain degree of skepticism. "Me either.", he replied. "Since when did you know I was born in a house without water or electricity?"
"Since every summer when we go to the family reunion and you tell us all about it!" I winked at Suzie and she joined me in reciting, "Walking barefoot to school, through the snow, thirteen miles, uphill, each way!" Every summer the story got longer and more dire, until all three of us kids began reciting it before Dad could get around to it. Dad had lived on a farm out in Arcadia until shortly before the war, at which time they moved into the working-class Pimlico section of Baltimore. "I told Aunt Peg about it one time and she told me the truth."
Mom laughed at him, and Dad just smiled and said, "Your Aunt Peg lies."
"I'll tell her you said that."
At that point it became surreal. The Principal came up to me, dragging the speaker, the county politician who had talked before me, and a third man, a young fellow who announced he was with the Baltimore Sun. Everyone congratulated me on my brilliant speech, and the county representative suggested I had a fine career ahead of me in politics.
It must have been a very slow news day for somebody to be reporting on a high school graduation. It was actually kind of strange. The reporter already had a copy of my speech that he had gotten from the Principal. I had no idea it was copied and available. "That was an amazing speech, Carl. Are you planning on going into politics?"
I stared at him for a second. "God, no! I would like to think I have more self respect than that!"
Several people laughed at that, although my parents and the politician were mortified. "You don't think much of politicians?", asked the reporter.
I thought about it for a second. "Politicians are a lot like puppies. They're cute and warm and loving and like to lick your face, but as soon as you put them down, they like to go to the corner of the room and pee on the carpet. The difference is that with a puppy, you can yell at them and rub their noses in it and hit them with a rolled up newspaper, and sooner or later they learn not to pee on the carpet. Politicians never learn. No matter how much you yell or how much you rub their noses in it or how hard you hit them, they always end up peeing on the carpet."