COMMENCEMENT ADDRESS TO GRADUATING CLASS OF
THE BUCKLEY SCHOOL
June 10, 2009
When I was asked to give the commencement address to a
graduating class of 9th graders, I jumped at the chance. You see, I
have four teenagers of my own and I feel like this is the point in
my life when I am supposed to tell them something profound. So
thank you Buckley community for giving me this opportunity. I
tried this speech out on them last night and am happy to report that
none of them fell asleep until I was three quarters done.
When composing this message I searched my memory for my
same experience back in 1969 when I was sitting right where you
are. I realized that I could hardly remember one single speaker
from my junior high or high school days. Now that could be my
age. I’m old enough now that some days I can’t remember how old
I am. But it could also have been a sign of the times. Remember, I
was part of the student rebellion, and we did not listen to anything
that someone over 30 said because they were just too clueless. Or
so we thought.
Anyway, as I sat there considering this speech further, I
suddenly had a flashback of the one speaker who I actually did
remember from youthful days. He was a Shakespearean actor who
came to our school to extol the virtues of Shakespeare. He started
out by telling us that Shakespeare was not about poetry or romance
or love, but instead, was all about battle, and fighting and death
and war. Then he pulled out a huge sword which he began waving
over the top of his head as he described various bloody conflicts
that were all part and parcel of Shakespeare’s plays. Now being a
15-year old testosterone laden student at an all boys school, I
thought this was pretty cool. I remember thinking, “Yea, this guy
gets it. Forget about the deep meaning and messages in the words,
let’s talk about who’s getting the blade.”
As you can see, I have a similar sword which I am going to
stop waving over my head now, because A) I think you are
permanently scarred, and B) the headmaster looks like he is about
to tackle me and C) some of you, I can tell, are way too excited
about this sword, and you’re scaring me a little.
I’m here with you young men today because your parents
wanted me to speak to you about service—that is, serving others
and giving back to the broader community for the blessings that
you have received in your life. But that is a speech for a later time
in your life. Don’t get me wrong, serving others is really, really
important. It truly is the secret to happiness in life. I swear to God.
Money won’t do it. Fame won’t do it. Nor will sex, drugs,
homeruns or high achievement. But now I am getting preachy.
Today, I want to talk to you about the dirtiest word that any
of you 9th graders know. It’s a word that is so terrible that your
parents won’t talk about it; your teachers won’t talk about it; and
you certainly don’t ever want to dwell on it. But this is a
preparatory school, and you need to be prepared to deal with this
phenomenon because you will experience it. That is a guarantee.
Every single one of you will experience it not once but multiple
times, and every adult in this room has had to deal with this in its
many forms and manifestations. It’s the “F” word.
FAILURE. Failure that is so mortifying and so devastating
that it makes you try to become invisible. It makes you want to
hide your face, your soul, your being from everyone else because
of the shame. Trust me, boys—if you haven’t already tasted that,
you will. I am sure most of you here already have. AND IT IS
HARD. I know this firsthand, but I also know that failure was a
key element to my life’s journey.
My first real failure was in 1966 in the 6th grade. I played on
our basketball team, and I was the smallest and youngest kid on the
team. It was the last game of the season and I was the only player
on the squad that had not scored a point all season. So in the
second half the coach directed all the kids to throw me the ball
when I went in, and for me to s...
For those of you who don't recognize the name -- Paul Tudor Jones is one of the most successful hedge fund managers of all time. He made most of his money trading commodities, but he now manages a massive multi-strategy, multi-asset class hedge fund.
Overall a nice little diatribe, though I'm sad to see that Jones identifies the failure with the scholarship in New York as a failure of the school system instead of a failure of the home. He is right to state that 12 is 12 years too late; it needs to start immediately, and Mother and Father are crucial to the production of happy, functional people. Almost all of our serious problems stem from degradation of the home, and no secular school system can fix that.
He later describes a charter school he helped fund that had a lot of success. Doesn't that support the argument that schools can make a big difference?
You are right that the home is probably the biggest influence, but it isn't easy to "fix" homes through policy or charity. But if you can find ways to help kids break out of the cycle and go to college or otherwise find success, then the next generation may enjoy a better start.
A bit heavy with religion, but the message was sound: "Failure will come, and you'd better be prepared to make use of it".
Unfortunately this doesn't apply very well for startups. Failure will come, but all too often because you're in the wrong market at the wrong time, or because your appraisal of what will sell is simply not good enough. In other words, what you learn from one failure doesn't help you very much in the next attempt.
Hrm. This doesn't ring true to me; in fact, it seems almost more like a guy bragging about his victories than a helpful message about failure. It isn't true that every door closing is met with another one opening; nor is it true that every failure happens "for a reason." Sometimes failure is brutal, nasty, and not helpful. The real message about failure to remember is Theodore Roosevelt's: Yes, you might fail (and you will, for "there is no effort without error"), but the credit and honor is yours nevertheless, because you didn't hang back -- you got out there and gave it your all.
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[ 333 ms ] story [ 1145 ms ] threadCOMMENCEMENT ADDRESS TO GRADUATING CLASS OF THE BUCKLEY SCHOOL
June 10, 2009
When I was asked to give the commencement address to a graduating class of 9th graders, I jumped at the chance. You see, I have four teenagers of my own and I feel like this is the point in my life when I am supposed to tell them something profound. So thank you Buckley community for giving me this opportunity. I tried this speech out on them last night and am happy to report that none of them fell asleep until I was three quarters done.
When composing this message I searched my memory for my same experience back in 1969 when I was sitting right where you are. I realized that I could hardly remember one single speaker from my junior high or high school days. Now that could be my age. I’m old enough now that some days I can’t remember how old I am. But it could also have been a sign of the times. Remember, I was part of the student rebellion, and we did not listen to anything that someone over 30 said because they were just too clueless. Or so we thought.
Anyway, as I sat there considering this speech further, I suddenly had a flashback of the one speaker who I actually did remember from youthful days. He was a Shakespearean actor who came to our school to extol the virtues of Shakespeare. He started out by telling us that Shakespeare was not about poetry or romance or love, but instead, was all about battle, and fighting and death and war. Then he pulled out a huge sword which he began waving over the top of his head as he described various bloody conflicts that were all part and parcel of Shakespeare’s plays. Now being a 15-year old testosterone laden student at an all boys school, I thought this was pretty cool. I remember thinking, “Yea, this guy gets it. Forget about the deep meaning and messages in the words, let’s talk about who’s getting the blade.”
As you can see, I have a similar sword which I am going to stop waving over my head now, because A) I think you are permanently scarred, and B) the headmaster looks like he is about to tackle me and C) some of you, I can tell, are way too excited about this sword, and you’re scaring me a little.
I’m here with you young men today because your parents wanted me to speak to you about service—that is, serving others and giving back to the broader community for the blessings that you have received in your life. But that is a speech for a later time in your life. Don’t get me wrong, serving others is really, really important. It truly is the secret to happiness in life. I swear to God. Money won’t do it. Fame won’t do it. Nor will sex, drugs, homeruns or high achievement. But now I am getting preachy.
Today, I want to talk to you about the dirtiest word that any of you 9th graders know. It’s a word that is so terrible that your parents won’t talk about it; your teachers won’t talk about it; and you certainly don’t ever want to dwell on it. But this is a preparatory school, and you need to be prepared to deal with this phenomenon because you will experience it. That is a guarantee. Every single one of you will experience it not once but multiple times, and every adult in this room has had to deal with this in its many forms and manifestations. It’s the “F” word.
FAILURE. Failure that is so mortifying and so devastating that it makes you try to become invisible. It makes you want to hide your face, your soul, your being from everyone else because of the shame. Trust me, boys—if you haven’t already tasted that, you will. I am sure most of you here already have. AND IT IS HARD. I know this firsthand, but I also know that failure was a key element to my life’s journey.
My first real failure was in 1966 in the 6th grade. I played on our basketball team, and I was the smallest and youngest kid on the team. It was the last game of the season and I was the only player on the squad that had not scored a point all season. So in the second half the coach directed all the kids to throw me the ball when I went in, and for me to s...
When one door closes, another will open, but standing in that hallway can be hell
When one door closes, another door opens. And not immediately. There's most often a (bad) wait in the hallway waiting for another to open.
You are right that the home is probably the biggest influence, but it isn't easy to "fix" homes through policy or charity. But if you can find ways to help kids break out of the cycle and go to college or otherwise find success, then the next generation may enjoy a better start.
Unfortunately this doesn't apply very well for startups. Failure will come, but all too often because you're in the wrong market at the wrong time, or because your appraisal of what will sell is simply not good enough. In other words, what you learn from one failure doesn't help you very much in the next attempt.
EDIT: (For anyone who might not know the T.R. quote, it's taken from his Sorbonne speech (in red on this page): http://www.theodore-roosevelt.com/trsorbonnespeech.html)