Fr. Ralph Howe, May 14, 2004

Mr. Briggs, faculty and staff, parents, families, and graduates, I wish I could express how honored I am to give this address.

I am thankful to be in the midst of a faculty that educate our children, correct our children, and love our children.

And I am honored to be in the presence of such an outstanding group of young people, who are finishing one important phase of their lives, and about to embark on a new one.

When I told my wife and the graduate in my home, that I was giving this address, they both expressed a great deal of excitement. My ego soared for a very short moment until they reminded me that it would free up an extra ticket for the family.

That’s OK, I’m still glad to be here. Tonight is a piece of history. The history of a school that has touched lives and will continue to do so.

In 1962, my parents did something for my siblings and me that I thought was one of the greatest things in the world. OK, it may not have been only for us, but my sisters and I certainly reaped the benefit. My parents had a swimming pool dug in our back yard. It was great.

It became the social center for our home. I learned to swim in that pool. I watched my dad come home every day and swim laps in it. But the greatest thing was the people with whom we could share it.

A few years went by after the pool was dug, and my mother announced on a particular Sunday, that one of the priests from St. James Church downtown, would be bringing his family over for a swim that afternoon.

That caused great confusion for me. I was about eight years old at the time, and I had never seen a priest without a black shirt and white collar.

My sister Cynthia, a few years older and wiser, was nabbed by me, as I asked the deep theological question, “How does a priest swim without getting that collar wet?”

She didn’t know either. I guess we thought that during an ordination to the priesthood, the bishop would somehow surgically attach the collar so it could never be removed.

So the two of us, Cynthia and myself, anxiously awaited the arrival of this priest and his family, so we could see how he did it.

He must have thought we were a bit strange as we stared at him by the pool. We were surprised to see that he wore a swimming suit and a golf shirt.

It seems to me that we explained to him why we were staring. He had the perfect opportunity to make us feel very foolish. Instead, he chuckled, and explained in a very kind way how the collars were not permanently attached, and that they could be removed for swimming purposes.

That man, from that moment, became very special for me, not for any theological reason, but simply because he was kind.
His name was Ralph Webster. You can see his photograph hanging outside of Peter Briggs’ office and his portrait, unless it’s been moved, hanging in the Aldrich library. He was the first headmaster of this school.

That man began my history with this place. I do remember coming out to see the first buildings as they were being constructed. But it was Father Webster who symbolized Episcopal High for me. I found out later how much this place meant to him. It was a long time ago. The last time I saw him was at the election of a new bishop in the Diocese of Louisiana, the election of a young bishop named Charles Jenkins.

Father Webster was older, much grayer. He moved much slower. But the symbol of the man who had loved this place was still intact. So were my memories.

But one of the reasons I am so glad to be here tonight, is that my most recent history with this place and the development of new memories began with many of the people sitting behind me, about 6 years ago.

To the graduates, I will say that I may not remember all of your names. You may not remember my face, but your lives as a class have affected me and many people who are here tonight. We have shared things with you over the years when you may not have even known that we were around.

Years ago, we laughed at the thought of how monstrous the “yeast beast” assignment of Danny T. might turn out and we cried with you on the front lawn of the campus at Danny’s memorial service.

A short time later we were crying once again after the death of Carolyn, another teacher. I remember Paul Hancock, in the sermon at her funeral, saying that it was almost too much to bear. And it almost was.

I don’t need to tell anyone that there have been struggles during your time here and this past year has had its own set of trials.

But there are also many things that have been wonderful at this place, and many of those things are because of you.

On numerous occasions, by both faculty and parents, I have heard the words, “This is really a special class”. I believe it.

And those gathered here have seen it, through those of you we know personally, and those of you, who we know by reputation.

Maybe you touched us with your academic excellence or your leadership skills. Maybe you amazed us with dance or song in the VPAC, or in this chapel, and made us wonder how a high school student could act, dance, or sing so professionally.

Maybe we were with you once, in the tiny town of Iota, where the whole city turned out for a football game, and we nearly froze to death, But there was a pride in our hearts that kept us very warm. Your efforts had gotten us there.

This year, we could have picked any sport, watched you play, and walked away knowing that we had seen winners in more ways than one.
But maybe when we look at you as a class, we see winners even if you never played a sport at all.

Maybe you came into our homes for a meal, or to watch television with our kid, or maybe you just smiled and spoke to us when we came onto the campus.

But you have been a part of us, those of us who sit before you.

And so we come to your graduation, a time when we honor you, express our pride for you, and send you on your way.

I wonder what it must be like for the faculty to see you here tonight after all those years of work, remembering the way you looked when you first arrived, a bit unsure of yourselves. I wonder how hard it must be for them to see you go.

It would be hard for me to believe that this faculty could have anything less than a great deal of pride in all of you.

For most parents, it has been a very interesting year. At any moment, we may have felt a desire to hug you and never let you go. But after some occasional, let us say, “heated” discussions, we have tried to think of legal ways to wring your necks.

On behalf of all the parents here, I ask your forgiveness. But realize, that we have seen you from the moment God sent you into our lives, loving you, and knowing that some day we’d have to give you wings.

That is not easy for us.

We may be afraid that you will make some of the same dumb decisions we made. We want you to be healthy and independent, and at the same time, it is so hard to let you go.

But we know we must.

Forgive us for the times that we disagreed. Forgive us for the times we were too strict or not strict enough. Forgive us for the times we simply could not understand why you were making a certain decision. Forgive for the times we were ready to kill you.

You see something happened to you this year, that’s really been happening for quite a while. It just crept up on us. You grew up.

So now, even if you’re staying in town, we are supposed to calmly send you off. We know you are ready to go. You have told us. You have showed us with your actions.

Many of you have already packed your bags. Many have you have asked us for money.

But since you won’t get your diploma until I finish this talk, before you go, allow me a few more moments of your time. I’d like to challenge you to a few things, not because I am particularly wise, but because other people far more wise than I have passed them on, and I am simply sharing them with you.

Number 1:
Listen to others even when you think are right and they are wrong. When you stop listening, you stop learning. If you believe that you cannot be wrong, it is the biggest step toward ignorance that you will ever take.

Listen, think, analyze, then make you’re your decision.
Look beyond yourself or you will always stay where you are.

Number 2:
Never think that your actions will not affect others. They always do. If you are loving, caring, and thoughtful, people will remember. If you are a jerk, they remember that too.

Ask yourself what kind of impression you’d like to leave about yourself.

Don’t ever think that it is your body or your life or whatever you do affects no one else. It’s simply not true.

When I was in college, I had a dear friend with the very strange name of Yetta Sanford. Yetta made the decision to get very drunk and drive one night. He was killed. His decision thirty years ago still affects me today.

Number 3:
Forgive people when they mess up. There are so many people that hold a grudge for so long. They withhold forgiveness, thinking that it will punish the other person. All that does is make them bitter. Reconcile. Forgive. Let it go and you’ll be amazed how it will lighten your heart. If it’s too painful to do it face to face, do it in a letter.

Number 4:
Work like crazy at whatever you do and do your best. If you do half a job, there is always someone who will know it. You. It’s always easier to do it right the first time, than to fix it later.

Number 5:
If someone comes up to you and let’s you have it for no good reason, realize that it probably has nothing to do with you at all. They could’ve had a lousy day, been chewed out by their boss, had an argument with their spouse, made a terrible grade on a test, or a million other things. Get over it. Then be a friend to the person. It may turn out to be the best friend you ever had.

Number 6:
Rest. Lord, even God took a break after doing all that creation business. Don’t expend your battery all the way, then think you’ll be worth a durn the next day. It doesn’t work that way. Now, you may look at your parent and say, “Well look at you. You’re compulsive. You never stop. You run a crazy schedule.” That may be true, but if you follow the example of a crazy parent, you may end up being just like us. Is that something you really want?

Number 7:
Pray. Realize that there may be something out there bigger than you. Tell God when you’re happy. Tell when you’re sad.

Tell him when you’re mad at him. Tell him when you love him.

And if you think God has stopped listening, keep talking to him

Number 8:
Play. In fact, play like crazy. Laugh with your friends. Call ‘em up. Run in the rain. Enjoy each other’s company. Hug and kiss. Love life, because it is great. The world does not laugh enough.

We don’t laugh at ourselves enough. We can accomplish great things. We can get our work done. We can be efficient, and all the time seeing the humor in life. So play, and smile, and laugh.

And finally, number nine:
Love. It is the best gift you’ve ever been given. But share your heart with the person that let’s you be your best. If one person in the relationship is doing all the taking, that’s not love.

Don’t think that love is wanting to be with someone. Love is when you cannot live without them.

To Episcopal graduating class of 2004, I wish all the best.
Thank you for showing us how special a group of people can be. Godspeed.