Landing the plane for a special set of graduates

Somewhat personal post today.

Yesterday was our annual commencement at Lehigh. We had C.J. McCollum back to address our graduates. You may know him as the wunderkind point guard that led Lehigh to a historic win over Duke in the NCAA Tournament in 2012. C.J. also majored in journalism here at Lehigh, and even beyond his NBA exploits in Portland and New Orleans, his post-graduate career has been a marvel. He’s currently president of the NBA Players Association, and he’s been both a community philanthropist and entrepreneur. He represents the best of what Lehigh can be.

He said something in his address (which you can and should watch here) that struck me:

“As newly minted graduates, the world will give you a moment to revel in being a star. Savor the moment, then realize that your family, friends, can’t forget the enemies, professors, librarians, coaches, chefs from campus dining—those who surrounded, nourished, lifted you up and pushed you forward—made today possible.”

The words hit me hard in unexpected ways. The students who got their degrees yesterday were the source of most of my worry during the pandemic shutdowns. They got a semester of “normal” Lehigh as freshmen before it was all taken away from them halfway through the spring semester, followed by a year of remote classes.

Every one of our student cohorts who experienced that time from spring 2020 to the end of spring 2021 struggled in their own way. This particular group barely got to know college, and when they returned it wasn’t normal. They were resilient as hell and battled through a lot of grief. They finished and won, but they were changed. Classes weren’t quite the same when we were all back. There was some sadness and sense of loss in part knowing that they got a front row seat to all of the civic erosion that became apparent during the worst of the pandemic, and it wasn’t some abstract feeling for them. They lost real, tangible parts of their college experience because of it.

It struck me during the ceremony how nobody said the word “COVID” but alluded to it in other ways. We’re in the stage of the grief cycle where we don’t talk about it because that just brings it back, which is a shame because there is a story of strength and adaptability to be told in the rubble.

But C.J.’s quote above, while not about COVID, was informed by the wisdom from that time. It takes all of us to hold each other up. There’s no losing in being a helper, and there is no winning in thinking our success exists solely because of our individual efforts. Accomplishment without honoring the network and remembering the people who wounded you or kicked you in the butt is incomplete. These are the people that pushed you to greatness. There was such humility and understanding in C.J.’s words. Good for making sense of that COVID shutdown moment, and a lesson for life.

On the walk up to the tents after yesterday’s commencement ceremony, I was talking with a colleague about how I have two favorite days during an academic year: the first day and the last day.

The first day is full of wonder and possibility. Returning students have adventures to share about and to apply to their education, and new students arrive full of promise and excitement. Commencement Day is an ending, or rather the end of the beginning. It's a celebration of four years of dedication.

My schedule has me typically teaching freshmen and seniors, and so it's not uncommon for me to see student through their four-year journey, from beginning to end as a bookended experience. I also advise a lot of freshmen. What I'm saying is Commencement for me often is a chance to see that ending after being witness to the boundless possibility of the first day. I see the trajectory and promises fulfilled, and it remains one of the best parts of my job.

Sunday was that kind of day, but especially for this group that soldiered on through difficult times. We all did. I taught classes for 2.5 semesters from home while my own kids were underfoot, often struggling themselves. My students lost their Lehigh, then got it back in some form. Commencement was celebration and catharsis, in that sense. They—and by that I mean we—made it. We landed the plane, and we did it together.

Now it's time for them to go make a better world than their elders handed to them. I'm hopeful about the future because I get to teach to our future, and I cannot stress enough how much I loved teaching this group of students despite the hardship we endured together along the way. While this group has experienced the most maddening and selfish aspects of a society during the worst of times, they now have a chance to lead, and they will. And they are so restive, so eager to turn back some of the regression we’ve seen the past few years. Just you watch; GenZ is coming and they’re a dynamic group.

C.J. said something else profound:

No star stands alone. It’s always surrounded by other stars and celestial bodies and can’t shine on its own light. Like people, it takes a constellation of effort, support, and contributions to create a dazzling display in the endless expanse of space.

We need each other to be brilliant.

There is another layer past this. My students out there, making a difference. I’ve been at this nearly 15 years now, enough to collect my own galaxy, and it’d be foolish to consider my own impact and legacy without thinking of the students I’ve gotten to teach over the years. I added more to that number Sunday, and it’s a group I will remember with particular fondness.

Commencement is the end of the beginning.

Jeremy Littau is an associate professor of journalism and communication at Lehigh University. Find him on Mastodon or Twitter.