A Class of '60 Graduation Speech

While going through my grandmother's hope chest, we found lots of interesting pieces: my grandfather's report cards from K-12; my grandmother's report cards; both of their diplomas from college; and even more interesting to me, my mother's high school graduation speech.

These are her thoughts, for that day, and provides some interesting insights into her thought process.

Class of 1960, Lapel High School • Lapel, IN 

 Graduation is something much more than leaving behind us our high school career and preparing to take our place in society. Whether we go to work or go to college, we must meet a challenge for which you, our parents and teachers have tried to prepare us. You have sought to teach us by precept and example, the many attributes of a happy and useful life.

But, we now have reached the point at which we become something more than your children or your students -- we mow become individuals in our own right. This does not mean, however, that we will forget all you've taught us and all you've stood for. These things are too much a part of us to be cast thoughtlessly aside as we receive our diplomas and leave this school, and possibly, our homes. Realizing that those things you have done for us were done in a spirit of love and responsibility, we feel that we must fulfill our responsibility to you by endeavoring to lead the kind of life you have sought for us and to be the type of person you have prayed we would be.

We have begun to realize that the development of our personality is truly a unique experience. We can imitate those around us and be acceptable, but then we lose our own identity and become only a rather disorganized, spineless mixture of Jim and John and Cathy and Sue and all our associates. We are no longer ourselves and can expect no one else to treat us as a person — different and unique.

Daring to be ourselves can be illustrated easily and simply by something as elementary as a dress. How often do we choose a dress or a shirt because it is the color, style, or length that everyone else is wearing? Quite possibly we look dreadful in "orange ice," but we haven't the will to differ in any way from the fad or style craze.

More important, tho, is daring to be ourselves in our thinking. Many things we accept as being right because everyone is doing it. Surely, there is no more false philosophy than this. We have seen so often the unthinking fickleness of the crowds -- today's hero is tomorrow's heel. In the time when it is our decision as to whether we follow the crowd or stick with what we know to be right, let's hope we have the moral courage to hold to our convictions and know that it is not necessarily right just because it's common practice.

Senior prom with my dad

Similarly, we are often swayed into believing in false doctrines or policies because it seems that the majority of the people are advocating for them. How dangerous this can be when we stop to think that communist or socialist propaganda is often candy-coated to appeal to us as being worth-while reform. Certainly we must dare to be ourselves here and think through these high-sounding propositions and decide if they coincide with our beloved principles of freedom, liberty and private enterprise. Would they seek to deprive us of even a tiny portion of our rights as Americans? Would they attempt to control our schools, our businesses, our pocketbooks, or our lives? This is our challenge to meet and our dare to be taken to inform ourselves and stand for what we truly believe to be the American Way.

Moreover, we, as young adults, have begun to examine our beliefs in God and to dare to follow Him according to the dictates of our conscience. Most of us have been reared in Christian homes and have pledged ourselves to a Church and its doctrines. Thus far we have believed because, and as, our parents have believed. Now, we review our convictions in the light of our recently gained individualism and begin to ask "Why?" We do not disbelieve, but we want to know the reasons behind our beliefs. Parrot-like learnings is not good practice in school, so why should it be a good practice for our churches to follow? We dare to question and decide for ourselves the manner in which we will try to follow our God.

Job's Daughters installation

The past few years have been years of educational reform. You, as parents, but more as teachers, have begun to change your ideas of schooling; of what is necessary and what is not. These movements toward excellence in education are admirable, but one very fundamental element is missing from our concept of learning. It is a dare this class and the classes to follow must accept if we as a nation are to be intellectually strong. This is the concept of elevating good scholarship to a more prominent place in our society.  The "brain" or "egghead" has too long been the butt of many a cruel joke told by some know-nothing who by some quirk of society has been accepted as the average American student.

It is, therefor, up to us, as young adults, to work toward renovating the feelings of ourselves and those whom we know, so that the excellent scholar may receive the credit due him if we are the remain a strong nation.

These are only a few of the most significant dares that the members of this Class of 1960 must accept if we hope to truly be ourselves. We hope to make this community or this nation just a little better place in which to live. This is our challenge, our dare, and to accept it we must remember the famous quotation: "Unto thine own self be true."
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For me, it's some insights into my "young" mom. It was a mere 3 years after this that she gave birth to me. Another year and 11 months after that, she gave birth to my brother.

It was about 7 years after that when she embraced her "bleeding heart liberalism" and was a very active feminist and feminist writer in the 70s.

It's so funny what you think when you're 18 and heading out into the world as an adult... and where you get to when you're 50. I NEVER would have guessed I'd be here, but I'm sure glad I am.

Generation Lost

I just spent a week down at my grandmother's home, with my aunt, going through photos, glassware and grandmother's hope chest. So many memories, so many giggle moments like when we pulled out the knitted suit Grandmother had made for herself. It was pink, not pale, more rich without being fuchsia. It was the only article of clothing I'd ever seen her make that added 20 lbs to you when you wore it, and it was heavy!

Grandmother (2nd from right) and Granddad
(far right) with their friends the Hoots.

That moment and many others this past week reminded me how much is lost from my grandparents generation.

Both sets of my grandparents came from poor families, during the depression. My grandfather Watson was kicked out of his home at age 11, when his mom remarried. He lived from family to friend, picking up jobs here and there. My grandmother Watson was the daughter in a family of 6 total, where her father was a conductor on a train and her mom had had polio and got around with the help of some crutches (that she used into her 80s, as she stood by the sink washing dishes at my grandmother's home). My granddad Watson ended working at Guide Lamp, and was involved in one of the first official sit down strikes when unions were formed. My grandmother worked as a cook in the elementary school kitchen and again, active in her church and gave more to others than she ever expected back. Both so hard working, and loving people.

But the memories this past week were inspired through my Beanblossom side of the family.

Granddad in the marines.

I remember the stories from my grandfather about hunting for anything to eat, including squirrels, rabbits, whatever they could find. I saw the land his father and he farmed, with a plow and a horse. It was rolling hills, tough soil, not an easy childhood. My grandmother was one of 8, and the oldest girl of 6. In household where a piece of gristle (a gelatatinous fatty piece of meat) was found on a window sill after dinner, and the children where hit with a switch til someone confessed for the waste. My Aunt Ruth never owned up til much later in life.

But they both moved past their lot in life. They both became teachers, with my Grandfather becoming a principal and then superintendent of schools. At my grandfather's funeral, well over 300 hundred visitors came through at his viewing, most having had him as a teacher or principal, speaking about how he was tough but fair, and how he would be missed. Grandmother passed much later, in her 90s, but the students still came out and spoke of how they loved her and how much they had learned.

But I digress... back to their being teachers. It meant that summers were their down time, and time was filled with everything from personal projects, to traveling with their girls, to visiting friends, to church projects, to their small patch of garden that was mindfully attended.

My grandfather enjoyed his woodworking, and in retirement, his stain glass pieces he made. My grandmother sewed, crocheted, knitted, created pottery pieces and other crafty projects that resulted large quilts for our family or Christmas themed clothing during that season. And when I visited them in Phoenix, there was always a huge puzzle started that we all worked on while we talked.

They both took extreme pride in their work, and it was always done with love and near perfection.

I can't count the times during the week I heard Sue (my aunt) refer to my grandfather's pieces when people commented on the beautiful work, or gorgeous wood, or misinterpreted the piece as antique when it was his reproduction of an antique piece. Or the times that we said, "well, grand(mother) actually made that," or "that's not for sale, we can't let that leave the family."

A quilt made for Sue.

All of this resulted in my awareness of what their generation actually "did" to generate the things they owned or had in the house. They passed some of these down to their two girls. Sue does a beautiful job with stain glass and sewed her dress for my wedding. My mom begrudgingly sewed when she had to hem pants or fix a hole, but encouraged me to learn crocheting and knitting from grandmother. My endeavors resulted in a plethora of scarves and potholders.

It just hit me in the face that all those skills, all that self-sufficiency is being lost. I've tried being crafty, which has resulted in some successes and equal failures, but never could rival my grandparents.

My grandfather actually built a house they lived in. He build another house for others to live in. He put an addition on their house. We found clothing my grandmother had made for my mom and aunt, when they were little. We uncovered a numerous treasures they created together and separately. It humbles me in my apathetic tact I often take in a day.

Necessity is the mother of invention, well, it's also the mother of adapting and survival. It takes idle hands and denies the devil.

You'll notice the multipiece puzzle on the table!

Tonight I sit here, at my computer, playing a game or two of Candy Crush while replying to work emails and making a list for shopping this weekend. I could be sanding the drywall mud in our newly walled storage space. I could be repainting the upstairs bathroom after my poor job the first time. I could be working with Alex on his writing skills and comfort level. I could pull out my jewelry making tools and make 4 or 5 pairs of earrings for future gifts. I could be doing any number of things that would be much more creative and much more satisfying, but I don't.

This past week was a reminder, a reminder of all those visits with them, all those projects I "helped" with as a child, all those moments talking and laughing and learning. It was a reminder of how much we can lose, if we don't pay attention and if we don't listen.