It was late afternoon on a
glorious Monday in the middle of June. The weekend past exploded with
celebrations as it is the season for graduations and weddings. Our little
community also hosted hundreds that came to celebrate the life of a beloved
coach. In the blink of an eye the little
kids that could barely see over the edge of the counter at the Wayside a moment
ago are diving pell-mell into deeper pools; college, jobs, travel, internships. Passages, so many passages.
Now I was wending my way to
the northern part of the state. As I
drove through the kind of scenery that Vermont cherishes on the kind of day
that we wait longingly for throughout the winter months, I was in a pensive
mood. I thought of change. Who do we reach
out to as we navigate these passages? Whose hand do we hold? Who will hold ours?
I was about to find some
answers.
The reason for my trip was to
attend the final exam of a public-speaking English class. My grandson is one of the 14 young people
whose assignment is to give an oral “Tribute Speech” -- to talk about someone
who has influenced you, someone you want to honor or thank. My grandson had chosen to speak about his
grandfather and spending time with him at our Sandgate homestead. I would have not missed it for the world. I had expected, in my quick-to-tear ways, to need
the tissues tucked discretely in my sleeve.
What I had not expected was
that while they spoke of their heroes -- the kind of heroes that do not exist in movies
or video games or wear capes -- that these 14 would become my heroes.
Gangly cowlick-crowned boys
with their shirts untucked mixed in with brawny skateboarders (yes, one brought
his skateboard class) and more formally dressed young men. Young women in fancy
dresses accessorized with stiletto heels sat beside plain dark frocks, cardigan
sweaters and breezy short dresses showing off dancers’ calves. There was no uniformity here.
One by one, they stepped up
to the podium and began to tell their amazing stories. What courage did it take
for these teenagers to talk with humor and conviction, with pathos and love
about their honorees?
They spoke of renewed
Christian faith fostered by a clergyman who remembered what it was like to be
young and to keep the Faith. They spoke
of cultural acceptance, mixed-race families and step-families, sibling rivalries,
crazy aunts, treasured grandparents and teachers who did not give up on them.
They almost universally spoke of the work ethic and commitment that their mentors
had exhibited. They revealed a host of memories and sacred moments.
And one nervous young man
spoke eloquently of death. He made us
fall in love with his quirky mentor. Then he paused, tore off his suit coat and
shirt to expose an ALS T-shirt. His hero had died young but his influence lived
on.
The teacher could easily have
assigned a public-speaking assignment on a trip to the zoo or on how weather
reports are generated. The fundamental principles
of speaking in public are the same no matter the topic. But she did not. She had asked a simple question: “Who do you
honor or remember?” And she got some very profound answers. Thank you.
Fourteen stories …
Their hands have been held.
They will hold the hand of
others.
Heroes all.
“We’re all just walking each other home” -- Ram Dass
