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Dear graduates of the Class of 2020. For reasons you already know, you are part of history. You comprise one of the most unusual graduating classes ever.
And may I offer a confession on behalf of the adults in your lives?
You? You probably can't become whatever you want. It’s a ... fib. And people who have loved you for a long time have repeated it over and over.
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“Just dream big and before you know it you'll be playing in the NFL or the NBA or performing at the Grammys with Billie Eilish!”
Or my big dream — winning a gold medal in table tennis. (I didn't.)
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You should know that you're probably not going to play in the Super Bowl and you're probably not going to dunk on Lebron James and you're probably not going to sing a duet with Billie Eilish.
But here's what you can do. Instead of focusing on the what you become, you can worry more on the who you become. The who in you.
Now sure, some dreams are absolutely worth hanging onto and if you're dreaming of hitting a home run in game seven of the World Series, who am I to tell you to stop?
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But your legacy? That thing that you leave behind? It isn't going to be about money in the bank or professional accomplishments or how many Instagram followers you have.
Your legacy isn't tied to the what, it's anchored in the who.
What good is it to have millions in the bank and be wealthy, but to treat people poorly?
What good is it to crush it on Apple Music if the messages of the music aren't meant to move and motivate people?
What good is winning the Nobel Peace Prize or a Pulitzer if people are not put first in your life?
In five or 10 years you're going to come back and have one of the most bizarre high school reunions in history. You'll stand around some stale hotel ballroom or under a pavilion in a pretty park and most of you won't be talking about prom or senior skip day or what it was like when your obnoxious uncle blew that fog horn at your graduation.
But you'll still remember plenty of your high school experiences.
I remember plenty of mine. And I remember my own reunions.
What does this all mean for you? It means that as you transition through one of the strangest seasons of your lives, it's time to ask yourself not what you want to be, but who you want to be.
I remember thinking how much we’d all grown. What I didn't remember — and honestly I'm not sure anyone else did either — was who was prom king or queen. I also don’t remember whether or not we beat our rivals or who starred in the spring musical.
It's certainly not as if those things didn't matter — of course they did. But there is so much that matters so much more.
I remember looking around the room at the aged and experienced faces like mine and remembering how they treated me and how they treated one another.
Were they kind?
Were they forgiving?
Were they generous?
Were they honest?
Did they stand up for the little guy?
And, of course, I asked myself the same questions.
Sure, they were discussions about college and careers and kids and who's changing the world. But I can't really tell you what they'd become, I only have a sense of the who.
They’re people who love their families.
People who care for their communities.
People who donate time and money to movements that matter to them.
People who love their neighbors, their country, their God.
So, what does this all mean for you? It means that as you transition through one of the strangest seasons of your lives, it's time to ask yourself not what you want to be, but who you want to be.
Yes, go to college or trade school and get a degree and earn a living and make a name for yourself. Sure. But don't become so focused on what you are and titles and bank balances that you forget who you are.
A few years ago I spoke at a more traditional high school graduation ceremony with thousands of people and hundreds of grads and all the pomp and circumstance.
In the months and weeks and even minutes before I spoke, the administration communicated that I needed to be careful about not injecting religion in any way into my remarks.
Perhaps understandable, it was a public school and that particular school in that particular community represents dozens of nationalities and faiths or no faith from around the world.
But today? Today there isn't a principal looking over my shoulder waiting to cut my mic or tackle me from behind. So let me say this.
As you focus on who you're becoming, don't lose sight of who you already are.
You are a son or daughter of a literal, loving, everlasting God.
The world will do everything it can to persuade you as you roll into adulthood and independence that the traditions and faiths of your fathers — and mothers — are false.
Now the easy thing to do would be to tell you to take it from someone who knows, right? Take it from me, someone who has asked a lot of questions and studied and pondered and come to my own conclusions and so heavens to Murgatroyd you should trust me!
No, don't take it from me. Take it from Him.
When you wonder if you can become the who you want to be?
Look up and ask who you already are. A son or daughter of a literal, loving, everlasting God. He will tell you.
Graduates of the class of 2020. Go be great. Go change the world with the who inside you.
On behalf of your family and friends and people who love you more than you can possibly know, we think that the who in you is already pretty great.
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We love you. We're proud of you. And we cannot wait to see you days or decades from now. Not because we're worried about what you'll become, no, we're so confident in who you'll become.
Feel loved. Because you are.
Congratulations — you did it.
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