Fate, dear Brutus, lies not with the stars, but within ourselves. —William Shakespeare (from Julius Caesar)
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My first-ever commencement address was delivered at a first-of-its-kind graduation ceremony, Saturday, May 30. I asked around, but ChatGPT, Claude, and Gemini could find no evidence of any graduation like it.
The 14 graduates processed to “Pomp and Circumstance” behind the marshal, a Shin Tzu canine named Darla, resplendent in cap and gown. They sat on folding chairs amid majestic trees under a blue sky, with family and friends assembled behind, a light breeze blowing, and a video drone humming overhead.
The graduates were from 14 different academic institutions. Their ages ranged from 6 to 46. One was moving up from kindergarten. One from middle school. The rest had completed educational courses but missed walking in their respective ceremonies for various reasons.
Welcome to “The Walk of Life,” created by Angie Braithwaite.
Over a decade Angie had overcome numerous missteps and setbacks on the path to completing college. With a lot of grit and a lot of encouragement from family and friends, she kept trudging until she made it to the finish line this year, only to find out her much-anticipated graduation ceremony would be in the Charles Town Hollywood Casino Ballroom in front of a thousand strangers.
Each graduate got only four tickets for guests.
To hell with that, Angie said. I’ll make my own ceremonial walk and invite all my friends and family to celebrate “our” achievement.
And thus an alternative graduation ceremony was created.
The word got out. One friend after another said: I never got to walk. Can I be part of your ceremony?
Angie could have met her fate with resignation. She could have wallowed in despair and resentment. But she didn’t. Instead, she created something new. She transformed an impersonal ritual into something intimate and unique.
If she could do that maybe I could turn the traditionally platitudinous commencement speech into something memorable. Maybe I could give the merry graduates something tangible to hang on to. And so I told them:
Commencement speakers love to give advice. And, yes, advice is important. But I’m pretty sure graduates don’t want advice. They’ve heard enough to last a lifetime. Graduates don’t want more advice. Graduates want money.
(Fourteen heads nodded vigorously!)
I left the stage and handed each graduate a crisp two-dollar bill.
Am I the first to figure this out?
Not even Oprah did that!
As I said, this was a one-of-a-kind graduation ceremony.
