KIT
Karen Johnson
Upper School Director
CLOSING REMARKS Dearly beloved We are gathered here today To get through this thing called life
Electric word life It means forever and that’s a mighty long time But I’m here to tell you There’s something else The afterworld I remember this song. I remember the impact it had on me. Summer of 1984. I had just finished 6th grade, and I was headed to Woodland Junior High in the fall. Not only that, I was going away to skating camp in Colorado Springs that summer … all by myself. No parents, no brother, no more feeling isolated at school, no more small-town Minnesota … I was about to embark on a solo kind of travel — not just geographically, but in terms of my identity, in terms of my points of reference and points of view. It was a big deal in my 11-year-old life. From my perspective, the summer of ’84 was “the afterworld.” That summer I was in the very definition of liminal space (and I know students from my Anthropology class know exactly what that means) — it felt like I was going through a rite of passage. I would come through a different person, in a different headspace, with a different orientation to the world, with different responsibilities. Rites of passage are transformational events, but they’re not always pleasant experiences. And, I would argue, in our society they are not always planned or intentional. In other words, sometimes you don’t get a choice. Everything over this last year smacks of trauma. Everything. We are hurting in some very clear ways, and in many non-obvious ways, too. Enduring trauma is a ritual all on its own. You’ll go through many rites of passage in your lives — think of them as “firsts.” First time you drive a car. First time you rent a car. First time you submit an insurance claim on your own insurance on your car. These examples may seem relatively forgettable, but some of your firsts won’t be. First time your life is severely disrupted by a global pandemic? Yeah, that’s a first for nearly everyone on earth, and that fact makes this moment a particularly notorious one — these are the kinds of rites of passage that are unforgettable, even if you tried. Every one of you — everyone here today — will remember in much finer detail these past 15 months and the trepidation that still remains. So, I want you to sharpen your focus even further, especially you, Class of 2021. Focus in on this very moment. Close your eyes if it helps. Take in the air, the heat, the sounds, the scents. Take a mental polaroid of the people here today to share in this moment — your classmates, your friends, your family, your elders, your teachers, your coaches, your mentors. The people you rely on to help you get through this thing called life. Center on this moment and promise to use it as a tool, a reminder, for when you’re on the cusp of your next milestone, your next first, your next rite of passage. It’s a reminder of your endurance, that you can stick it through, that you have strengths you didn’t know were inside you. As I opened with the beginning of Prince’s Let’s Go Crazy, so too will I end: Hang tough children. Friends, family, colleagues, and community, please join me as I formally present to you, Roeper’s graduating class of 2021 — Congratulations!! F
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Center on this moment and promise to use it as a tool, a reminder, for when you’re on the cusp of your next milestone, your next first, your next rite of passage. It’s a reminder of your endurance, that you can stick it through, that you have strengths you didn’t know were inside you.
