A couple weeks ago, I got an email from La Salle College High School, my alma mater, asking me to be the guest speaker at their Honors convocation. They wanted a younger speaker than they usually get (I can’t remember who spoke to my classes when we were there, but I assume they were in their mid-50s and had made a bunch of money trading frozen concentrated orange juice futures or something), and maybe someone who could connect to the students. So I went, even though I don’t give many speeches, because it was a real honor to be invited, and because it was an opportunity to begin rewriting what has been a complicated history for me at La Salle.
There were about 600-700 people there. 240 students, their parents, faculty and administrators. Not too long ago, I would probably have actually vomited at the thought of speaking in front of a group like that. I would have been paralyzed at the podium, and I wouldn’t have been able to look away from any students who looked bored.
But I’ve been teaching and I’ve had to learn how to handle public speaking, at least a little bit, and I think it went actually kind of okay. At one point, early in the speech, a Christian Brother in the front row looked like he was dreading what I was about to say, but otherwise, I felt like, at the very least, I didn’t totally screw up.
Two reactions stand out. First, a member of the La Salle board of directors said, “That was unlike anything I’ve ever heard!” It’s best to just assume that’s a compliment, I think. (I’ve now used that joke on three different websites, and in about 5 different conversations. I’m sticking with it).
Then, about two hours later, a La Salle student emailed me to thank me for the speech, to say he really related to it. That was pretty cool.
Anyway, I’m working on getting a video of it, but in the meantime, the transcript of the speech is below.
Two notes, for some context:
1) I practiced it a lot, but planned on some ad-libbing; it’s how I’m comfortable speaking to groups. So what you see below is about 75-80% of what I actually said– there were some last-second cuts and additions, as well as a bit of reorganization.
2) For those readers who don’t know anything about La Salle– it’s a really well-respected, expensive private school in the Philly suburbs. That’s relevant later.
[Greeting, congratulations]
I got two bad grades in my life, and I remember them both vividly. The disappointment, the frustration. The two worst grades I ever received, one here, and one at La Salle University as an undergrad.
The grade, both times? It was a B.
The class? Both times, same class—public speaking.
And yet, here I am, eleven years removed from high school, an unlikely speaker, for a number of reasons.
The last time I was at one of these Honors Convocations, I was seventeen and I was feeling very proud of myself. I had a near-perfect GPA and had convinced myself I was the smartest person in this room.
Actually, it didn’t matter much which room I was in, or what time of day it was, or who else was there—I always thought I was the smartest person in the room. And I made sure everybody knew it. See, I was arrogant, but I was also insecure. As much as I believed in my own superiority, I also needed other people to acknowledge it. So I became dismissive and rude and condescending. I spent the entire convocation, and about 80% of my life, making snide comments about other people. I became an expert at muttering sarcastic insults. Every word I said traveled sideways.
But still few people acknowledged the genius I was sure I possessed. Mostly, I was anonymous at La Salle. I didn’t know many people in this school because I acted like they didn’t deserve to know me. My few friends and I devoted free periods to discussing how much better we were than everyone else around us.
To an extent, I was right to be proud of my GPA, as you should all be. Like you, I worked hard to achieve it. I earned those grades, and the honors, and, later, the scholarships. But I took it too far.
I let good grades define me.
I let good grades skew my perception of self.
I let good grades rob me of my empathy.
At the beginning of my Senior year a few friends and I printed a newsletter that we smugly called an underground newspaper even though it was only four pages long. The administrators here who remember this would probably prefer if I limit the details on production and distribution. So, for the sake of avoiding another detention, let’s just say this: the feature article was a detailed attack on every group of people on campus, from hockey players to band guys to guys who owned their own cars. The goal was to condemn every aspect of the school; a little bit of teenage rebellion. It was, let’s say, not well received. By anyone.
Although we published anonymously, I was caught within a day because I’d bragged to about three dozen people that I’d written it. It wasn’t enough to put people down; I wanted them to know who I was. Once everyone found out, my alienation from them was complete. I spent the remainder of my final year with one foot out the door, eager to escape to a world filled with people I would like.
But I ran into the same problems in college. And graduate school. And at work. It wasn’t until my mid-twenties when I finally realized that I was the problem. Maybe it was me who was making things so difficult. It took me until then to realize that intelligence and good grades are meaningless if they’re not paired with humility.
You are all obviously intelligent, hard-working people. You’re going to achieve incredible things over the next decade and beyond. So you have every right to enjoy your success and anticipate bright futures. But do not allow it to corrupt you. Without humility, achievement can become toxic. Without humility, you risk reducing your life to a series of hollow certificates.
These letters you just received [they all receive academic letters, an 'L,' like athletes traditionally receive], are functionally meaningless objects. [this is the point when the Brother started to look uncomfortable]. They look nice, but they do nothing. For functionality, you would be better off with a rock. The thing is, like a nation’s flag, their value isn’t in their physical utility, but rather in what they represent.
If you’d asked me back in 2000 what this school represented, I would have had a very different answer than I do now. I walked off campus on graduation day and vowed never to return, and certainly I never could have predicted that I would be invited back. I maintained that vow until last year, when Mr. Bloh invited me to speak to his creative writing class. I was still conflicted—it was hard to overcome four years of bitter memories. But I decided to go because Mr. Bloh has always been supportive of me and my work; when I was a senior, he conducted an independent study with me where I was allowed to work on a novel, the first time a teacher had ever encouraged my writing to that degree.
While driving here last year, I felt again like a seventeen year old, fearful and angry and lonely. But when I walked through that front door, I ran into Ms. Shustack. Even though she has taught thousands of students during her career, she recognized me immediately, talked to me for ten minutes, remembered the one class I took with her back in 1998. I saw Mrs. Mullen, who hugged me, and took me on a tour of the building, showed me the upgrades the school had made, and, above all, seemed genuinely happy to see me.
Throughout the tour, I ran into other former teachers, and the story repeated itself. A week later, I received a handwritten letter from Brother Ken Cook thanking me for visiting. They all welcomed me not because I’m remarkable—I am not, I’m just a smart kid who got into some trouble. Not because I’m remarkable, but because they are.
That, to me, sums up what this letter represents. It represents a spirit of generosity and fairness. A spirit of forgiveness and compassion. An understanding of the moral obligations we all have to make others’ lives better, rather than worse.
Make no mistake, it is a privilege to go to this school. Few students anywhere have the benefit of parents who are willing to sacrifice so much to send you to a school of this caliber. Few students have access to the advantages this school offers—the facilities, the space, the curriculum. Few high school students, in this city especially, go to school every day actually believing that they can do whatever they want to do with their lives.
I don’t say all of this to diminish your accomplishments. I say it to remind you that, for all your hard work, this is also a room full of very fortunate people. Look at the state of the country today—the unemployment, the unrest, people feeling betrayed and forgotten by the power structure—and think about how remarkable it is that you have to opportunity to overcome all of it.
But it all comes back to humility and empathy. Do not allow your success to harden you against giving back to your community. I should be clear: this is not a plea to people to drop your careers and sign up for Greenpeace, living your life on the high seas. I’m not asking that you give away your material possessions. This is a call for the most gifted, intelligent, and diligent among us to remember the good fortune we have had and to use our talents to help people. Maybe that means doing charity work. Maybe it means improving the world through scientific research. Maybe it means bringing you La Sallian values into a life of public service. Maybe it just means making a concerted effort to be kind to people you’ve never met. Saying hello to strangers. Giving people second chances. Trying to understand them, even if—especially if—they annoy you.
There’s an adage you’ve all heard before: “Be kind, for everyone is fighting a harder battle.” I really don’t like that one at all. I think it’s a little bit stupid and shortsighted, and obviously not true. It’s too often used as a blanket defense for people acting rudely or shamefully. It’s the kind of thinking I used to justify my own condescension toward everyone. Just because someone is going through a difficult time, it doesn’t entitle them to treat others poorly.
So, no, I don’t like the Be Kind adage, although I like the idea behind it. The idea, I believe, is better expressed by the novelist Elizabeth McCracken, who wrote: “one should never guess at the complicated histories of strangers.”
As a student here, I spent far too much of my time concocting simplistic histories for the classmates I didn’t like, and I judged them based on the little bit that I knew. Those judgments turned my gifts inward rather than outward. I always wanted to be a writer, but never learned how to truly write until I learned how to listen, to hear people’s stories rather than filling in the blanks on my own. Only then did I realize that I could use art to contribute to our culture, rather than just boosting my ego. Only then did I finally start publishing stories and essays, and then a memoir.
I took the gift of this education from my hard-working parents and I scorned them for it. I didn’t begin to share those gifts with others until I started teaching, developing friendships with students and trying to guide them through their own college struggles.
Without humility, without empathy, I was just an unpleasant guy with a high GPA. With it, I am working toward becoming a man who people can respect, and a man who can respect himself.
So, I’ll close by urging you not to make the same mistakes I did, to appreciate the privilege you have here. I urge you not to use that privilege as an excuse to put people down, but as an opportunity to lift them up.
