My Northwest Rankin Commencement Speech (more or less)

I don’t write speeches. But I have written what I basically said to Northwest Rankin’s graduating seniors last Thursday night.  It was a huge honor to get to address them and I wish them a blessed future.

 

He was a used dog.  Not a rescue dog, mind you – you lose that title after your second family. No, Banjo was high-mileage used a dog.   He started his life in Nashville but was soon relocated to a family in Atlanta. His first family wasn’t fond of him digging trenches in their wood floors when he was left home alone.  His second family was loving but had another male Border Terrier named Bullet.  I don’t care who you are, things aren’t going to turn out well if you live with someone named Bullet.  So we got the call from the breeder we had gotten our other dog from.

“I have a free dog for you.”

I heard, “I can double your vet bills.”

But we drove to Atlanta anyway. There the little brown dog Banjo walked across room and into our hearts.

(Yes, it is a proved fact that my wife did indeed come through Alabama with a Banjo on her knee.)

When Banjo was 10, our third son was born. Banjo would get up every two hours in the middle of the night with him. We thought, “How sweet, he has empathy.”

No, Banjo had diabetes.

I didn’t want to show my sons that dogs were disposable. And honestly, he was a big part of our family.  So guess who got to give Banjo insulin shots twice a day?

Yup, me. Mr. I hate needles.

When he was 14, my family was out of town on vacation. I was stuck at home with Banjo because I couldn’t’ get off work.  One night, I came home and found him half-dead on the kitchen floor. In tears, I rushed him to the emergency vet.

At 3:30 in the morning, they called me to say, “You might want to come say goodbye to Banjo. He won’t make it until dawn.”

All 6’2” of me lay on the table blubbering next to a silly dog. I raised his little black ear and said, “Buddy, if you beat this, I’ll write the check.”

And before I could get the last word out of my mouth one of his eyes popped open.

Three days later, he walked out that vet clinic. And I wrote the biggest check I’ve ever written.

I tell you this story because Banjo proved something to me: If you have it in here (the heart), you can do anything you want to do.  Banjo’s spirit lives in me to this day.

When I was eight years old, I knew what I wanted to do when I grew up. My family would sit around the dinner table (remember when we did THAT?) and would talk about the day’s events.  I used to love the crazy cartoons on the editorial pages.  Those drawings lit a dream inside of here.  But I had to fail miserably before that dream could come true.

In 1991, I graduated from the University of Tennessee with a wheelbarrow of honors and awards. I knew I was going to move to New York and take on the world. Instead, I moved back home and got a job as a night janitor at Pope High School in Marietta Georgia.  It was my fifth year in high school.

I thought it was the worst moment of my life.

So what did I do? I threw the World’s biggest pity party.  And you know who enjoys a pity party? Only the person who is throwing it. But mine was so epic that I even had snacks.

I was miserable. And sought company. I walked around school with a Xerox of my diploma on my trash barrel and a cloud over my head.

And I did that for six months.

One weekend, I went to church. I highly recommend it (I go at least twice a year whether I need to or not.)  As the priest started his sermon, he started talking about the parable of the talents.  You know that story – a master leaves town and entrusts his talents (currency) to his three servants. One gets 10. One gets 5 and one gets one. The two servants worked hard and multiplied their talents. But the one who received one buried his.  He was afraid he’d lose it.

At that moment, I realized I was the servant who had buried his talent.

I was afraid. I was wasting my talent.

So the next day, I got busy. I drew the teacher’s husband’s caricatures. I did T-shirts for the Cross Country team (I cleaned the coach’s room).  I drew on the walls and cleaned it off (I was a janitor after all.) I had a new attitude. And doors began to open.

One teacher said to me, “You have a great attitude (something I hadn’t heard in a while) – I had a friend who works at the local paper. How would you like an interview?”

“Ha. Of course not. I’d rather clean this textbook out of the toilet.”

Three months later, I was pushing a mouse, not a mop.

Another custodian came up to me one day and asked me a question that would change my life.  Her name was Maggie and I thought the world of her. Her husband was a pilot for Eastern Airlines and had lost his job due to a pilot’s strike. Maggie, who had never had to work, swallowed her pride and worked at the school to keep her family together.  One day she came up to me and asked, “How would you like to go out with my daughter?”

I thought, “Your standards are pretty low for your daughter. It’s not like I’m going to be a doctor.”

Well, I met that daughter and she had the prettiest blue eyes I’ve ever seen.

I tell you this story because if I had not had the worst moment of my life, I wouldn’t have had the four best moments. I got to see those blue eyes walk down the aisle. And I got to see my three boys born with those same beautiful eyes.

The worst moments turn into your best moments.

The worst moments can have silver linings. But you have to look for them. They get you through the toughest of times.  I’ve had other “worst moments.” And when they happen, I know that blessings aren’t far behind.  I’ve been fired and I’ve been made part-time.  Each “terrible” moment did something very important:  It pushed me out of my comfort zone.  There is no more dangerous place than you comfort zone. IT’s that place where you don’t even try. It’s where you bury your talents.

You will stumble. You will trip.  You will faceplant.  But remember, it’s not what happens to you. It’s how you respond to it.  And how you respond to it is determined by what’s in here.

I think about Banjo a lot. He’s not longer with us, but his spirit lives on. I hope you’ve caught a little of it tonight.  You’re about to go out into the world and do amazing things. You will try new things. You will fail. You will succeed. You will chase your dreams.

As I close, just let me say this. I believe in you. And like your parents, I am proud of you.  I dare you to do great things. And I know you will. Have the spirit of Banjo.

Bless you and Godspeed on your amazing journey.