Graduates: Live a Little Before Commencing With Life

Twenty years ago this week, I and a select group of about 5,000 others trundled into Pershing Auditorium in Lincoln, Neb., on a steamy Saturday afternoon to celebrate our graduation from the University of Nebraska, known in some circles as “the Harvard of Lincoln.”

A mere four years earlier, I had been a timid, socially retarded freshman, fearful of my new surroundings and unsure of my future. Without my mommy around, I wondered who was going to wake me up and make oatmeal for me in the morning. Plus, I had no car.

But as I sat there on that June day in 1971, now a timid, socially retarded senior I could reflect on four years that had seen me flunk chemistry, endure two pathetic romances and secure a lottery draft number that seemed certain to land me in Vietnam. And I still had no car.

Yes, it was truly a day to reflect on all that I had achieved.

And I also sensed that my parents’ hearts were swelling with pride as our graduating class was presented to the audience, and the 5,000 of us stood up and sat down in a span of 2.4 seconds. Little did we suspect that that kind of recognition would prove an apt metaphor for our adult lives.

After the ceremony, my parents photographed me walking outside the auditorium. They no doubt were hoping to catch a swagger in my gait, a twinkle in my eye--anything that suggested some confidence in the future--but as the photo reveals, I looked more like Richard Kimble trying to elude Lt. Gerard.

Of course, that wasn’t the scenario presented by the commencement speaker. He gazed into the vast sea of 21-year-old faces and saw “the future leaders” of our country, which was interesting, to say the least, in that many of my classmates had spent their four years trying to figure out the best way to overthrow the U.S. government.

I honestly don’t remember much of what the speaker said, but phrases like “world of tomorrows,” “golden opportunities” and “reaching for the stars” got tossed around.

I hate to knock the guy, but he could have done a much better job of preparing us for what lay ahead. And I can’t help but think he knew; he just didn’t want to tell us.

Knowing what I know now, here’s what I’d tell a graduating class:

Dear Class of ‘91,

Enjoy the couple hours inside this air-conditioned building because once you step outside you’re going to feel heat like never before.

You’ll walk outside and turn the corner and many of you will be lost. And there’ll be no turning back. You’ll wander down a couple side streets, then try to retrace your steps to the auditorium, and, poof, it’ll be gone.

And don’t ask the guy next to you for directions. He’s just as lost as you are.

You’re going to be on your own like you can’t believe. You may have amazed yourself by staying up all night figuring out the symbolism of Jay Gatsby or memorizing the order of the royal houses of England, but wait’ll you try to stay up all night with a bed wetter or figure out the symbolism of taking out a second mortgage.

And you think some of your profs were idiots and tyrants?

Wait’ll you start working for a living. You’ll find the people in power aren’t necessarily any smarter than you are--they just have better wardrobes and more expensive place settings than you do.

Speaking of working, some of you may be thinking of starting a job on Monday. Don’t be a sap. You’ve been in school for 16 years; don’t even think of getting a job yet. Go to Europe, go to Central America. Go to Africa. Hitchhike across the country. Just go somewhere in the world where people don’t do things the way you’re used to seeing them done. Get a little perspective, man. It’s a big world out there, and you ought to take a look at it. Struggle a little bit. Live off your wits, and don’t ever ask your parents for money again.

I see kind of a blank look on your faces. You thought I was going to talk about bay windows and two-car garages and patio barbecues and boy-meets-girl-and-everyone-lives-happily-ever-after.

If you want that stuff, you’ve got plenty of time to get it. But for now, go off by yourself without the pressure of work or school. Get to know yourself. Get a handle on what you think constitutes success and failure. Convince yourself that you don’t need to meet other people’s expectations. And if they ever invent something called cable TV, don’t get hooked on it.

I see the pep band’s about to break into “Pomp and Circumstance,” so I have to go.

The world awaits. Have at it.

And fear not.

Dana Parsons’ column appears Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. Readers may reach Parsons by writing to him at The Times Orange County Edition, 1375 Sunflower Ave., Costa Mesa, Calif. 92626, or calling (714) 966-7821.