Graduation Speeches

Commencement Address for the "Average" Student

Honor those hard-working grads who didn't quite make it to Harvard

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By Susan DeMersseman / May 24, 2004

BERKELEY, CALIF.

Graduation season is here. Soon millions of students will be leaving for college or other pursuits. But I wonder how some of them will be affected by the speeches and awards at their commencement ceremonies?

I, along with other relatives and friends, have listened to hours of speeches and watched dozens of the 4.0's come up to the stage for award after award. As I've watched the faces of those not called, I've wondered what it must be like to be a solid "C" student, or one who struggled to hold on to a "B." Did those "average" students feel that, after all the hoopla for the award winners, their fate of mediocrity was sealed?

As I sat through one of the longer events, I started composing an address for those "other" kids:

Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests, congratulations to the valedictorian and the 4.0's. I wish them well, but this is for the rest of you.

You're not off to Stanford or Harvard. Maybe you're going to community college or state college, or your second or third choice. Or maybe you're going to try something different. Good for you! You are all about to do great things. Ahead of you are opportunities for success that you haven't even imagined yet. Maybe success by worldly standards; maybe success by your own standards.

I have one piece of wisdom to share. Much more of our future than we sometimes realize is a matter of chance, and a lot is what we make of those chances.

You might, for example, get a part-time job with a landscaper, find that you love it, and go on to create beautiful environments that bring joy and pleasure to others. Your college roommate's dad might own a business that gives you a summer job, and you might end up running the company. Or you may find the only class that meets a requirement one semester is "Geography of Water" - and you get hooked and eventually design clean-water systems for developing countries.

One of my favorite sayings is, "God laughs, when man makes plans." I don't mean don't plan. But some of those perfectly planned 4.0 lives may take unexpected turns and so will yours. Be ready to make the best of them. The doodles that always got you in trouble may be the groundwork for a cartoon series, the design for a new building, or might enhance the lessons for your future students.

One of those 4.0's might find a medical cure for cancer. But you might find a cure for loneliness. One day you might comb an old woman's hair into a neat little bun, push her wheelchair to a spot next to her favorite rosebush, and listen as she tells you about her garden.

Whoever you were on Commencement Day, whatever others expected of you - well, that's done. Now you get to reinvent yourself. If you were always the super-neat one, you get to loosen up. If you were the class clown, you get to try being serious.

Treat every class as if it's important. You never can tell. Even if you don't become an astronomer, that astronomy class that filled a requirement may turn out to be valuable. You'll acquire study skills that will help you in the next class. Or some star-filled night you may lie on the grass with your children and teach them about the wonders of this universe.

Have faith in yourself. Most wonderful, successful people never went to the stage for an award. Many were a lot like you. They kept their minds and hearts open, found a niche, and made the most of it.

So can you. Congratulations.

Prom Progress

I’m sure there is still a lot of drama around proms these days -- both good and bad drama, but there also seems to be some progress in this cultural institution. My prom experience goes back many years to the time when prom was a very big deal (sometimes ordeal). One had to have a date and be asked by the boy, even if he were put up to it by the machinations of mutual friends.

The drama back then came from many sources, the decorations, the romances of the couples and the creative ways the guys tried to sneak alcohol in to the dance. 

The dress was a major production. Mine was made from a Jackie Kennedy inspired Vogue pattern of silk brocade my brother brought from Japan. The hairdo was its own event -- piled high and stuck together with at least a half can of Aqua Net (that smell still brings back memories,) Oh yes and there was the date. Mine was, in my opinion, the best looking guy in the high school. My priorities at the time were such that I programmed myself out of honors classes to have classes with him.

Now the date thing is neutralized to some degree.  Teenagers often go in groups rather than paired up and they seem to have just as much fun. The awkward, expensive dinner before the prom is now in some cases replaced with a little  “pre-party” or dinner provided by the parents and where the parents attend and take gobs of photos. Some schools include a light buffet at the prom site to offset the dinner hurdle.

While a ridiculous expense, the worry over driving is frequently addressed by a group renting a limo. Many parents help with this because of safety concerns. In spite of these changes the overall cost can still get pretty crazy, especially if the family buys into the celebration. In high school my son was the right “accessory” to be chosen by many girls at various high schools. The girls seemed to choose their entire outfit first and then pick a guy that would go well with it. My son was always willing to wear the right color tie or shirt and even the tall girls could wear their spike heels with him. One family was so determined that their only daughter have the perfect prom that the dad asked my son to meet him at a clothing store. There the dad chose and paid for my sons ensemble so that it went perfectly with that of his daughter. The pictures are gorgeous.

In spite of such rare excesses there are improvements in the cost, where many communities offer dress fairs at which girls who might not be able to afford a fancy outfit choose from a large selection of donated dresses and accessories.

The progress has resulted in changes that can reduce the expense, increase the safety and increase inclusion. There will, in spite of all this, be enough drama to create some long lasting memories. I don’t know if there is a way to have a teenage rite of passage with out a bit of drama.

Mother's Day, a Gift to Children

If you are a father or if you know of a mother who is without a spouse or without the father's support, one of the kindest things you can do is to help her children celebrate her day. It's so good for kids to understand that not everything is about them and to experience the incomparable joy of making someone else  happy. In the process of preparing something special for their mother children learn how to put themselves in her place and create something that speaks to her desires. The following article addresses the different languages that express love -- from a new hedge trimmer to a walk in the park. For a mother  who might not expect a celebration of some sort it will be an even greater joy. 

What Mother's Day language do you speak?

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By Susan DeMersseman / May 6, 2005

BERKELEY, CALIF.

I know there are some women who would be very unhappy if they received a new hedge trimmer for Mother's Day or some other special event. I am not one of those women. I would instead be upset to receive an expensive bouquet of roses. But I realize there are women who feel exactly the opposite.

Understanding these differences has a big effect on relationships, understanding that there are many different languages of love.

I like to bake, but my husband, who is not fond of sweets, would not hear, "I care about you," in a batch of freshly baked cookies. He might appreciate the thought, but he would be much happier to get me out of the kitchen and off to a hike in the mountains.

We can learn to hear "I care about you" in someone's gesture, even if it is not in "our language." Over the years we learn that each person has a unique way that they express affection and love, and each person has a unique set of gestures they perceive as loving. Understanding on both sides makes it work.

At first, I didn't hear "I care for you," when my husband washed my car. Originally I thought, "I can just run it through the car wash." But then I realized that it was important to let my husband speak his language of love to me and equally important that I read it that way.

Gifts and gestures that express caring vary so broadly. One friend shared that her preferred combination of loving gifts and gestures was as follows: any high-tech add-on to her computer and someone to follow her toddler around and pick up all the clutter.

My own objection to expensive bouquets is not to flowers. I love flowers, but I am a gardener and an annoyingly practical person. I would rather have a plant for the yard. Once in a while, I do appreciate the gift of a certain perfume, but wonderful gardening tools are my real luxury. And even more wonderful - someone to follow me around and pick up the clippings as I prune.

As a mother, I have found wish lists a good way to help with translating these unique languages we have. My Mother's Day wish list always includes the request that the sometimes-unsweet siblings will be sweet to each other.

The first wish list included what I wanted for dinner. From that wish list, my family developed a traditional Mother's Day menu to speak my language. And just as important - though I do not like breakfast in bed - I "oohed" and "aahed" when my children were little and graced me with this honor. Breakfast in bed is not, in my language, a loving gesture, but it was in theirs and so it was important to "hear" and understand their language.

This comprehension of others' emotions even when not perfectly expressed is maybe the most loving language of all.

To this day, I remember the way that my father raved about the weird little salads that 5-year-old me served him on jar lids. One of his "favorites" was crumbled up saltines on shredded carrots! I love that he understood my language. His language was the understanding.

• Susan DeMersseman is a psychologist and parent educator.

My Chapters

Stories in Books

On this website I share previously published articles and new work, but I also have chapters in a few books. In the bookstore or library I invite you to take a peek at these and when I get around to it I will check with the publishers about reprinting rights and will place them on this web site.

1. “The Best Day of My Life” in an Anthology titled Chocolate for a Woman’s Soul. It describes the day I found out that a precious friend was diagnosed with cancer and being so far away that I could only pray – by living the best day I could.

2. “The Green Chalk Heart” in the Anthology A Cup of Comfort `for Courage. This is a story of the amazing empathy and kindness one five year old showed to another.

3. “It’s What You Answer To” in The Teachable Moment edited by Rebecca Branstetter. This is a nice gift book for teachers; my story is about a girl teaching me how to deal with teasing.

4,”Diamond in the Rough” in One Size Does Not Fit All, edited by Randy Howe. My work sometimes let me see the goodness in some of the “bad” kids and help others see it too. 

5. “Tan Babies” (My title was, My father would have loved my children) in Tim Russert’s collection titled Wisdom of Our Fathers. In spite of his generation my father would have loved my children because they were mine and because of what a fine person he was.

Be Yourself? Which one?

I posted this a while back, but the value of a blog is that you can reissue pieces that might be missed by new readers

Knowing Who You're Not

I often listen to writers and literary types interviewed on NPR. Once in a while, I think, "I should read that book, or I should write that way."  Then, those years of experience in my skin gently pull me back into that skin, and I think, "I have come to terms with the reality that I am not a reader and that I write from who I am".  In writing, people often talk about "finding your voice."  For some people that voice grows out of discovering who one is.  For me that voice has helped me find out who I am -- moreover, who I am not.

In the 60's and 70's the phrase  "Been there, done that" was common.  Part of those times for many of us was to go there and do that, as much as possible. It was the time of the Renaissance man and woman.   

I have baked bread, made candles, developed my own photographs, given my own perms and grown my own food. But now, I know that I will never make a giant quilt; I have given away the fabric I'd been saving for years.  I will not weave a blanket.  I donated the boxes of yarn.  I will not make a twig table from the birch tree trimmings.  I'm giving the wood to a man who makes birdhouses.  And I doubt if I will ever be a reader.  Friends know better than to give me books or even recommend them. 

When I was a youngster, people always used to tell kids, "Just be yourself."  Now, when I do workshops for adolescence I ask them, "Do people still tell kids that?"  They all nod their heads with expressions of annoyance and resignation.  I understand their annoyance.  It took me years to figure out why I hated to hear that advice.  It was because, as a young person, it is the hardest advice to follow.  "Be yourself? "  "What self?  This emerging blob of identity has a different self from hour to hour. 

So when I talk to the students I say.  "It's the hardest advice to follow while you're young.  Ignore it with the same grace that you handle the equally false statement, 'This is the best time of your life' ".  First step, figure out who you are, but don't be in a big rush.  It's a worthy adventure and it takes time.  Perhaps a lifetime."

            After many years I have figured out, to a level of some comfort, who I am.  An additional benefit is that I'm almost equally sure of who I'm not.  I have given up many  goals, with surprisingly little regret. When I do stress management workshops, I talk about the value of having a list of priorities, but the equal value of realizing that to accomplish numbers 1, 2 and 3, you may need to cross 8,9 and 10 off the list.

            Now, when I see a neat little piece of furniture that requires refurbishing, I remember that furniture refinishing is in the "8,9, 10" category.  I try to follow the advice of an antique dealer and friend.  "When I was young I took on all kinds of projects and my basement filled up with unfinished projects.  Now my motto is, "Don't buy work'".  The work I no longer buy, is the work of being someone I am not.  I'm pretty sure I've figured that  one out.   Haven't been there, haven't done that -- and that's just fine.

OPED IN CHRISTIAN SCIENCE MONITOR

Today the Christian Science Monitor published an oped piece that I wrote, hoping for a better world.  It can be reached at this address. Please share if you think someone you know will relate. Susan

http://www.csmonitor.com/Commentary/Opinion/2012/0402/How-to-raise-African-American-boys-like-Trayvon-Martin-to-be-careful-not-paranoid

Easter - Again

Time for Peter Cottontail to be a boxed-up bunny?

Susan DeMersseman, Special to The Chronicle

Wednesday, April 16, 2003

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In our basement, next to the many boxes of Christmas decorations, is a single box filled with the decorations of my favorite holiday. In it there are a few special baskets, a Ziploc bag filled with that messy green stuff that's supposed to look like grass, and all kinds of bunnies. We even have a set that is our family -- a mother bunny, a father bunny and two little bunnies.
But this Easter for the first time, the bunnies will stay in their box, next to the egg-decorating material and the array of little stuffed rabbits that usually snuggle on the window sills.
This year there will be no hunt for Easter eggs, and I don't think my big teenagers will miss the hunt or the bunnies. They're more concerned with acceptances from colleges and making plans with friends. The arrival of Peter Cottontail is the last thing on their minds.
My fondness for this holiday goes way back. I have many tender memories of Midwestern Easters. The celebration of renewed hope, cakes made in the shape of lambs, eating all the candy I saved and didn't eat during Lent and the chance to wear a frilly new dress under a heavy overcoat and trudge through the snow to church in slippery little party shoes.
How could you not love that -- and the bunnies?
I could decorate this year, but we are all going different directions on our spring vacations. We'll visit potential colleges in the area, friends in Georgia and art museums in Boston and New York. Peter Cottontail would not know where to find us anyway.
Still, traditions die hard in this family. One year, when my sister-in-law threatened to change the menu for Christmas Eve dinner, there was a near mutiny. So the box of decorations will stay just where it is and in a few years, when my children are old enough to value what it was like being little, they will say, "Whatever happened to the bunnies?" or "Don't we get Easter baskets anymore?" And I'll be ready. The baskets will be nearby. And the little marshmallow chicks and jellybeans? I think I'll keep them handy each year, too. You never can tell when it might be time for the bunnies to return. This is, after all, a holiday about rebirth, so it seems only right that that the tradition will emerge again someday in a new form.

E-mail freelance writer Susan DeMersseman at home@sfchronicle.com.

Read more: http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2003/04/16/HO237257.DTL#ixzz1qo9aTNoB

Facebook Friends

To my Facebook friends (not ones I connect with on Facebook, but ones I connect with in real life who have Facebook pages.) Greetings. I don’t have a Facebook account. I know I will someday, but I currently have so many ways to waste time that I hesitate to take on another. I felt the same way in college, when all the girls at my little women’s school were playing bridge or attached to certain soap operas. I’m naturally so good at wasting time that I didn’t feel the need for another method.

 I’m somewhat hesitant to have a Facebook page, because I don’t know how not to accept every request to be friended. I can barely get away from the mildly crazy people in the super market who want to share their life stories. I’m sure there are ways to handle that issue, but I’m still not ready. A cell phone might come first. Maybe my no Facebook and no phone zone policy are part of an elder rebellion phase.  I saw an old friend recently in the store and she shared that she has quit driving – as part of a spiritual practice. Maybe I should tell people that my lack of a phone and Facebook account are part of a spiritual practice. Maybe not.

My fellow writers say that Facebook is the place to promote your blog and other writing events. But until I give in, I am grateful to my readers who often post my articles on their Facebook pages. Please keep it up. I will join you someday and promise to “friend” you all.

Cheers, Susan


After I wrote this I found the following quote by Albert Camus, "Every act of rebellion expresses a nostalgia for innocence and an appeal to the essence of being."  HMMMM.

Plum Blossom Season

For most of the year the plum tree in our back yard is a nuisance. It hangs over the driveway and drops its seasonal debris on my car. In the fall the leaves drop. In the summer the plums drop or are thrown down by the squirrels. And at random times the raccoons break off a branch that lands on the hood and causes a small dent or scratch. BUT for a few glorious days in the spring the tree completely redeems itself.

If we are really fortunate and the rain or wind don’t come at this time we are treated to a wonderful event. The tree makes the yard smell divine and it looks like a giant party dress made of lace. From my office window I have a special treat when the sun is setting. The light is warm gold on the top of the Oak behind the bright white plum. The pictures here are a feeble attempt to capture and share this moment.

So when the leaves fall and the sticky plums cover my car I remember these few days. It’s all worth it.

DEER RESISTANT -- I AM

I do not trust deer. They were busy last December in my yard when I wrote this article, but we haven't seen them for weeks. I guess they ate everything, moved on and are waiting for the tender shoots of my hydrangeas to sprout again. I'll know they are back when I find those tender shoots nibbled away.

The Revenge of Bambi: Yes, deer are vengeful creatures

Our quiet little street is not far from a wilderness area. The deer used to live there, but it seems that they have come to prefer the menu in our neighborhood. We on the street have a long list of strategies for peaceful coexistence with the deer. Top of the list are “deer resistant “ plants. We have come to understand this to mean something they just haven’t yet developed a taste for and next season they will. This year they are eating ivy and a hedge they’ve never touched before. One other strategy is deer repellant, store bought and home made. The key is to use ones so unpleasant that you don’t even want to go in the yard because the smell is so bad. These eventually wash off, and I think the deer have gotten used to the one I made with hot peppers and clove oil.

The other strategy is a barrier. Some people have fences, others have deer netting and I have a set of garden chairs and a solid hedge. This had been working well to keep the deer out of the backyard. That is until the deer got really ticked off at me.  I believed that’s what happened this week. Two days in a row I found them in the front yard eating the last few apples the squirrels had dropped for them. In each case I turned the sprinkler on them and they bounded off -- only to stand in the middle of the street and look back at me in what could only be interpreted as disdain.

So this morning when I went to put things in my compost bin I checked and my barrier of garden chairs and hedge was still in place.  That barrier protected the roses I had just propagated and the hydrangeas that were fading and falling asleep for the winter.

Then as I went back into the house I saw that the little rose bloom I had been waiting for was gone. And as I looked around I saw many other plants had been given crew cuts. I’m convinced that the deer were determined to get past my barrier to get back at me for turning the sprinkler on them and denying them the apples.

I have other reasons to believe that deer are vengeful. I have been their target before. Last year they took their revenge by coming up on my porch, eating my tomato plants and leaving a pile of droppings. I’m certain they wanted me to know it was them and not the squirrels. I don’t recall the transgression that warranted that retaliation.

Today in my own act of vengeance I sprayed everything with the smelliest concoction I could find and I added reinforcements to my barrier. Tomorrow I will be on the lookout and hope they don’t recognize my car, because the deer in our neighborhood contain a criminal element.  Last week my neighbor was stopped at the corner and the buck came up and rammed his car. There are now punctures in the door of his Toyota. What’s worse, my neighbor couldn’t drive off. He had to stop and help a lady who had been so startled by the attack she fell into the hedge!

I guess I should be happy that I only lost the tender tops of a few plants, but the battle is not over -- for them or for me. 

Parental concerns, then and now

I wrote this several years ago when my children were teenagers. Talking to the parents of teenagers these days things have not changed a lot.  One hundred years ago, ten years ago and now -- there are shared comforts. 

After fighting in the Civil War, my grandfather married the daughter of Swiss immigrants and took off to homestead.  One hundred years ago, my grandmother was raising eight children as a homesteader in Dakota Territory.  The family would eventually move from their sod hut on the prairie into a nice house in town.  But for many years, their life as homesteaders was often dangerous and difficult.

         During my twenties when I was filled with angst, I would try to snap myself out of it and regain perspective by reflecting upon my grandmother and what I thought might have been her concerns.  I imagined that she only worried about real things, life sustaining, survival issues.  She was not worried about which college to apply to, which man to marry, which issue to struggle for.  She was probably just happy when her children were snug and safe in their beds at night.

         Now, these many years  later, I am the mother of two teenagers.  They are good children, but they are in this world.  They are exposed to risks and values that scare me.  When they are out in the evening, my ears hear every siren (I don't notice them on nights when they are in).  When they meet a new friend, I pray that this person is someone with good sense and good values.  When they listen to music that makes me shudder, I hope that their core of goodness will not be affected.  When they're off on their bikes, I hope they are not in the path of a crazy driver.  When they are out in the cars of other teens, I pray that the driver doesn't need to impress or show off for anyone.

         One hundred years have passed, but some things have not changed.  I am now, just as I have imagined my grandmother to be. I am happy when my children are snug and safe in their beds at night.

Pretend -- no need to search

Some readers prefer to read the article here rather than on Yahoo, so here it is.

"LET'S PRETEND"

Parents these days enroll their children in lots of enriching camps and classes. Lucky kids. And other lucky kids just putter around their homes or yards pretending. "Let's pretend" were the words that commenced most of childhood play for generations. With rich imaginations children created exotic and fantastic worlds in which they were the main players.

Empty packing boxes became all kinds of little shops and vehicles. A line of chairs in the dining room became a bus or train. A bedspread thrown over a sawhorse became our tent on the Amazon. In our own attic was a box of fancy dresses, suits, hats and old jewelry. We became Mom and Dad or duke and duchess.

I have nothing against the kind of "enriched childhood" many parents are trying to create. I just don't want kids to miss the richness that comes from their own unique imaginations.

When I see the Kindergarten children in a school where I'm the psychologist with baskets of dress-ups in their play area, I am grateful. This may be one of the few places where these developing minds get to exercise the capacity to imagine. Too often these days children's imaginations are hijacked by television or by toys that require a specific story line.

As children we often had as much fun making our toys as we did playing with them. When I wanted to play secretary, I spent an entire afternoon making a typewriter from a little black box and circles of paper that I carefully cut out, labeled with appropriate letters and glued on the box. When we wanted a swimming pool we spent a whole day digging a hole, placing a tarp and running water. All for about 30 minutes of splashing. Our mother had suggested the location of the "swimming pool" and a few days later a big lilac bush was planted there. (Guess mom had a little imagination too.)

Children still have these impulses and with a little unstructured time will organize an activity, create and pretend. My daughter was one of those children who absorbed all the tape and cardboard in the house into her creations. One year I gave her a shoebox filled with tape, scissors, cardboard etc. as a Christmas gift. She loved it, managed to use it all up in short order and continued to gather the tape from her parents' secret hiding places.

I became convinced that one of the ways we encourage imagination is by tolerating messes. Sometimes the imagination of my children resulted in chaos in the living room, where every stuffed animal and piece of doll equipment became part of some elaborate setting. I must confess that it was often tempting to just let them watch cartoons because it created less mess. On the other hand the mess created from too much media can be in their heads rather that on the living room floor. Much harder to clean up.

Some children are natural directors in pretend plays. "You be the princess, and you be the horse and you be the dad." My daughter was one of those directors, and to be allowed to play with her and her friends she would tell her little brother, "You be the monster". It's hard to know what impact her training had on him, but there were times when he played that role too well. Fortunately he escaped the type casting and is now the most wonderful grown son a mother could want.

Toys that have multiple uses and, even better, time in the great outdoors can spark the "pretend potential" in children. I hope every child gets to make mud pies at some point in their childhood. Even pretending with them can help. I'm certain that our now grown children became the creative cooks they are because of the hours we spent pretending to be restaurant patrons and ordering wildly exotic dishes.

One of the best friends of imagination is boredom. We have to let kids be bored every now and then and let them find inspiring materials around to create their own fun. In these critical times we need rich imaginations to solve our many problems and equally important to bring joy and laughter into the world. Even if it means more messes in the living room -- it's a small price to pay.