One last thought for the graduates

Maxine Cohen

This is not the column I started out to write. It morphed into

something else when I saw the extensive graduation coverage in the

Pilot -- a full page on the graduating class at each of the high

schools. I was touched by the sheer joy and hopefulness of youth in a

way that I’ve not been touched by such things in quite a while.

I think that’s because I just recently went to my high school

reunion. Suffice it to say, it has been many years; the specific

number will not be divulged here. We held a senior’s prom at my alma

mater in good ol’ New Jersey, and I was even more moved than I

thought I’d be by how good it was to see all these people again and

to reconnect closely with a special few. My very first friend in the

world, from when I was 3, was there, and seeing her after all this

time was overwhelmingly wonderful.

It brought to mind the Chicago Tribune column “Everybody’s Free

(To Wear Sunscreen)” and those few words that caught me up short when

I first heard them:

“Understand that friends come and go, but for the precious few you

should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and

lifestyle because the older you get, the more you need the people you

knew when you were young.”

Hard to appreciate when you’re 18, but ever so true.

And so here’s where this column took an unexpected turn. Because I

started out thinking I was going to write about my own experience and

when I reread “Everybody’s Free,” it seemed much wiser and more

relevant than anything I’d have to say to the graduates. And so with

humility and awe, I want to offer bits of it for my column this time.

Originally, this was a column in the Chicago Tribune. Written by

Mary Schmich in 1997, it got erroneously attributed to Kurt Vonnegut

and then was made into a song by Baz Luhrmann. It was the epilogue to

the movie, “The Big Kahuna,” which is itself an intelligent

examination of the meaning of life and which I highly recommend.

So, if you already know this piece, I hope you’ll enjoy it again.

If not, you’re in for a treat.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the class of ’97 ... wear sunscreen,” she

began.

“Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth,” she wrote. “Never

mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth

until they have faded. But trust me, in 20 years you’ll look back at

photos of yourself and recall in a way you can’t grasp now how much

possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked.”

She also urged: “Don’t worry about the future; or worry, but know

that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation

by chewing bubblegum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be

things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside

you at 4 p.m. on some idle Tuesday.”

And she had these words: “Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what

you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know

didn’t know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives, some of

the most interesting 40 year olds I know still don’t.”

Among her more light-hearted suggestions were these:

“Be kind to your knees, you’ll miss them when they’re gone.

“Dance. Even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living

room.

“Read the directions, even if you don’t follow them.

“Do not read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly.

“Get to know your parents, you never know when they’ll be gone for

good.

“Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard;

live in Northern California once, but leave before it make you soft.”

And she finished with:

“Be careful whose advice you buy but be patient with those who

supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of

fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the

ugly parts and recycling it for more than it’s worth.

“But trust me on the sunscreen.”