The heart has its own memory, like the mind. And in it are enshrined the precious keepsakes into which is wrought the givers loving thoughts. – Longfellow
The above quote was placed by my mother on the opening page of a collection of writings that she gave to me 25 years ago. One of those pieces was a letter that was sent to her and my dad by the principal of my high school back in 1975. Seeing that we are near that commencement time of year, I don’t think he would mind if I shared parts of it with you.
Dear Senior Parents:
Catholics High’s control over your sons ends with graduation next Friday night…but our concern continues. In a way, that concern increases on graduation night itself, and that is why I am writing you.
Unfortunately, there are some graduates each year who have the mistaken notion that heavy drinking is an American custom following graduation ceremonies. Tragically, there are even some parents who agree with them and not only smile tolerantly and permissively, but even provide the alcohol.
Some parents close their eyes to the fact that their sons rent motel rooms for all night parties where some boys (and their dates) drink themselves into a stupor. Last year I heard one such parent make the remark, “Well, they only graduate once, so let them have a good time.”
I agree that the boys should have a good time, but I disagree that alcohol is necessary to have that good time. The recent tragic death of six teenagers in Camden is fresh in my mind, and I wonder if it will be necessary for such a tragedy to take place here before this type of parent will realize what dangers are inherent in permissiveness.
As you know, the word COMMENCEMENT means “beginning” ... in this case is the semi-official beginning of young adulthood. How contrary to everything we’ve tried to teach our boys if they begin that adulthood by losing control, through drinking, of the intellect and free will that sets them apart from animals and makes them sons of God!
May I suggest the following might be done: (1) that fathers let their sons know in no uncertain terms what is expected of them by way of graduation night conduct and (2) that parents of seniors who are friends get together and have small parties with great amounts of food and soft drinks.
Please don’t think I’m a meddling old fool going beyond my rights as a principal. The Class of 1975 is a very special class to me. A month from now, I want them to look back on their graduation night without any shame. I want them to look back on it with the happy and very satisfying thought that in the hours immediately following their departure from Catholic High, they began, even then, to live the life their alma mater has tried to prepare them for.
Sincerely yours, Father Tribou
P.S. I thank you with all my heart for allowing me to share the pleasure of your sons’ company these past four years. Had I sons of my own, they could not have brought me as much happiness as the boys of ’75.
24 May 1975
In reprinting this keepsake, I considered leaving out that P.S. part, but then I decided it would only enforce what the poet called “the giver’s loving thoughts.”
Much has changed in 37 years. One of the big differences to me seems the frequency of tragic deaths of young people. If you are naïve, like I was a year ago, and think it can’t happen to someone you’re close to, well, like I say, I was naïve.
I had Father Tribou for English Literature, and one of the plays we read was “Our Town” by Thorton Wilder. At one point in the play, Dr Gibbs was talking to his wife about their son, George, when he said “I’ll tell you, Mrs. G., there’s nothing so terrifying in the world as a son. The relation of a father to a son is the confounded awkwardest…I always come away feeling like a soggy sponge of hypocrisy.”
Having a son of my own, I know what Dr. Gibbs means. If you have one then perhaps you do also.
On the other hand, having once been an 18-year old son myself, it is probably true that my dad sounded awkward to me at times, but when I think of him, that really isn’t what I remember. What I remember is that he did talk to me about things that were important to him. What I remember is that he made the effort.