Post Forty-Nine: Bragging on my Brother
My twin brother has been chosen by the graduating Senior class at A&M Consolidated to give the faculty address at the commencement ceremony on Friday, May 26th. I'm proud of him: he is obviously an excellent teacher, and has truly found his life's calling.
I haven't reached mine, cause mine involves being a rock star. But I digress.
Anyway, he has shared his commencement speech with me, and I wanted to post it here for posterity. So here it is:
Subway Sandwiches changed my life. Not in the sense that I lost 150 pounds by eating nothing but lettuce sandwiches for a year, but that it was Subway that played an integral role in my decision to become an English teacher.
An explanation is probably in order.
I had come to Texas A&M to become a veterinarian, but after 2 and a half years as a biomedical science major I discovered that getting into vet school apparently takes more than a “love of animals.” It also takes “good grades” and an “understanding of science.” So, after talking to my advisor about my chances of getting into vet school (he apologized for laughing after I told him my GPA), I did some soul-searching and came to the conclusion that I should select a major that would play to my academic strengths and interests: a love of reading, a talent at writing.
So I switched to Political Science.
Looking back I would think the word “science” in the name of the major would have been a deterrent…but the first meeting of the first political science class I attended was enough for me – I changed my major to English that afternoon and, for the remainder of my A&M career, actually enjoyed my classes. Reading five novels over the course of one semester? For one course? I loved it. Going to Sterling C. Evans Library and poring through the stacks, looking for sources to support my research papers? I actually looked forward to it. I had finally found my calling.
It was too bad I had no idea what I was going to do with my life. (Okay here comes the Subway part).
Now, throughout my college career I held a number of part-time jobs to provide for the basic necessities of college life – Double Dave’s; Freebirds; beer; you know -- the essentials. One such job was at Subway – I was a Sandwich Artist, meting out my masterpieces to the hungry masses.
It was my final semester at A&M, and at this point in my life I had determined that I would become a pastor; I would later spend seven of the coldest months of my life up in Minnesota figuring out that that was not my true calling. It was one event at Subway that helped me make that decision.
I was working the lunch shift one day late in the spring and we were busy, as usual. In walked this kid, probably about 14 or 15 years old, slowly making his way to the counter, holding a small piece of paper in his hand. He stood back a bit, looking from the paper in his hand to the menu above a few times, and then let me know what sandwich he wanted. I started making it for him and then got to point where I ask him what “fixins” he wanted on it. He looked back down at that piece of paper and then just handed it to me.
It was a completely different sandwich than the one he had ordered.
He couldn’t read.
I think at this point my stomach tied itself in a couple knots. Subway being busy, I went back to make the correct sandwich for him and fixed it up according to the instructions on the paper. I rang the sandwich up and handed it off to him. I watched him head toward the door. As he pushed open the door he hesitated and turned to look back at me – and just gave a bit of a shrug. Then he was gone.
And although he was gone he didn’t leave me. I thought about him the rest of the day, wondering what I could do. I went home that day and talked with my fiancé about him. I mentioned him in conversations with my parents and my friends, all of whom nodded solemnly and said it was too bad for that kid. It wasn’t enough, but at the end of the semester, I left Subway and College Station behind me bound for Minnesota and seminary.
Funny thing is, the kid followed me up there.
Throughout my time at seminary I struggled with whether I was truly called to the ministry. I did not hold the same enthusiasm for the classes I was taking up there as I did for my English courses back at A&M, and I spent much of my time in my dorm room thinking “Well, if I leave seminary, what do I do then?” The kid helped me answer that question. When I found myself asking “What will I do?” that day at Subway would often play again in my head. Eventually, the thought became too strong to ignore – I was being led, if not outright pushed, to teaching. (Did I mention it was cold up there? I’d walk outside and my nose hairs would freeze – it’s a unique sensation).
In truth, I had never considered teaching. My own high school experience consisted of me attempting to make it through my four years as quickly and as uninvolved as possible. At the time I knew I was bound for greater things and, upon graduating, would never go back to high school again. Besides, as a teacher I’d actually have to get up in front of a roomful of people and talk to them – the idea of public speaking scared me to death (life’s little ironies). But I couldn’t shake the memory of that kid, and the thought of sharing my passion for literature and writing began to grow from there. I talked with my fiancé and my parents about what was going on in my head, and eventually made my decision. And so, seven months into my seminary education, I packed up my stuff and made my way back to College Station to get my teaching certification.
I have never regretted that decision, nor have I regretted the path it took me to get there. It is struggles that strengthen our character, successes that shape our hearts. Our God, our families, our friends, advise us, support us, and even carry us at times. These people and times are often easy to identify and appreciate. Your first job, the person you marry, the children you might have; all play an integral role in determining the person you will be, the life you lead. But equally as important are the seemingly random happenings that speak to us and guide our paths. A complete stranger changed my life, and I am pleased to say helped guide me to a profession, and students, that I dearly love.
It’s no secret to those who have been in my classroom that I am a fan of J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings. And Mark Twain. And Anthrax. In ending this address I’ve been tempted to throw in something from each of them. But I think a passage from Tolkien is the most appropriate on this occasion. In The Fellowship of the Ring, Bilbo tells Frodo that “It’s a dangerous business going out of your door. You step into the Road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to.”
There is no knowing where our Roads will take us – that’s both the joy and risk we face in walking them. The Roads we travel are never alike – some are more direct than others, some more difficult. In the end, though, our travels change all of us.
Revel in that change.
Congratulations, A&M Consolidated, Class of 2006.
I haven't reached mine, cause mine involves being a rock star. But I digress.
Anyway, he has shared his commencement speech with me, and I wanted to post it here for posterity. So here it is:
Subway Sandwiches changed my life. Not in the sense that I lost 150 pounds by eating nothing but lettuce sandwiches for a year, but that it was Subway that played an integral role in my decision to become an English teacher.
An explanation is probably in order.
I had come to Texas A&M to become a veterinarian, but after 2 and a half years as a biomedical science major I discovered that getting into vet school apparently takes more than a “love of animals.” It also takes “good grades” and an “understanding of science.” So, after talking to my advisor about my chances of getting into vet school (he apologized for laughing after I told him my GPA), I did some soul-searching and came to the conclusion that I should select a major that would play to my academic strengths and interests: a love of reading, a talent at writing.
So I switched to Political Science.
Looking back I would think the word “science” in the name of the major would have been a deterrent…but the first meeting of the first political science class I attended was enough for me – I changed my major to English that afternoon and, for the remainder of my A&M career, actually enjoyed my classes. Reading five novels over the course of one semester? For one course? I loved it. Going to Sterling C. Evans Library and poring through the stacks, looking for sources to support my research papers? I actually looked forward to it. I had finally found my calling.
It was too bad I had no idea what I was going to do with my life. (Okay here comes the Subway part).
Now, throughout my college career I held a number of part-time jobs to provide for the basic necessities of college life – Double Dave’s; Freebirds; beer; you know -- the essentials. One such job was at Subway – I was a Sandwich Artist, meting out my masterpieces to the hungry masses.
It was my final semester at A&M, and at this point in my life I had determined that I would become a pastor; I would later spend seven of the coldest months of my life up in Minnesota figuring out that that was not my true calling. It was one event at Subway that helped me make that decision.
I was working the lunch shift one day late in the spring and we were busy, as usual. In walked this kid, probably about 14 or 15 years old, slowly making his way to the counter, holding a small piece of paper in his hand. He stood back a bit, looking from the paper in his hand to the menu above a few times, and then let me know what sandwich he wanted. I started making it for him and then got to point where I ask him what “fixins” he wanted on it. He looked back down at that piece of paper and then just handed it to me.
It was a completely different sandwich than the one he had ordered.
He couldn’t read.
I think at this point my stomach tied itself in a couple knots. Subway being busy, I went back to make the correct sandwich for him and fixed it up according to the instructions on the paper. I rang the sandwich up and handed it off to him. I watched him head toward the door. As he pushed open the door he hesitated and turned to look back at me – and just gave a bit of a shrug. Then he was gone.
And although he was gone he didn’t leave me. I thought about him the rest of the day, wondering what I could do. I went home that day and talked with my fiancé about him. I mentioned him in conversations with my parents and my friends, all of whom nodded solemnly and said it was too bad for that kid. It wasn’t enough, but at the end of the semester, I left Subway and College Station behind me bound for Minnesota and seminary.
Funny thing is, the kid followed me up there.
Throughout my time at seminary I struggled with whether I was truly called to the ministry. I did not hold the same enthusiasm for the classes I was taking up there as I did for my English courses back at A&M, and I spent much of my time in my dorm room thinking “Well, if I leave seminary, what do I do then?” The kid helped me answer that question. When I found myself asking “What will I do?” that day at Subway would often play again in my head. Eventually, the thought became too strong to ignore – I was being led, if not outright pushed, to teaching. (Did I mention it was cold up there? I’d walk outside and my nose hairs would freeze – it’s a unique sensation).
In truth, I had never considered teaching. My own high school experience consisted of me attempting to make it through my four years as quickly and as uninvolved as possible. At the time I knew I was bound for greater things and, upon graduating, would never go back to high school again. Besides, as a teacher I’d actually have to get up in front of a roomful of people and talk to them – the idea of public speaking scared me to death (life’s little ironies). But I couldn’t shake the memory of that kid, and the thought of sharing my passion for literature and writing began to grow from there. I talked with my fiancé and my parents about what was going on in my head, and eventually made my decision. And so, seven months into my seminary education, I packed up my stuff and made my way back to College Station to get my teaching certification.
I have never regretted that decision, nor have I regretted the path it took me to get there. It is struggles that strengthen our character, successes that shape our hearts. Our God, our families, our friends, advise us, support us, and even carry us at times. These people and times are often easy to identify and appreciate. Your first job, the person you marry, the children you might have; all play an integral role in determining the person you will be, the life you lead. But equally as important are the seemingly random happenings that speak to us and guide our paths. A complete stranger changed my life, and I am pleased to say helped guide me to a profession, and students, that I dearly love.
It’s no secret to those who have been in my classroom that I am a fan of J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings. And Mark Twain. And Anthrax. In ending this address I’ve been tempted to throw in something from each of them. But I think a passage from Tolkien is the most appropriate on this occasion. In The Fellowship of the Ring, Bilbo tells Frodo that “It’s a dangerous business going out of your door. You step into the Road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to.”
There is no knowing where our Roads will take us – that’s both the joy and risk we face in walking them. The Roads we travel are never alike – some are more direct than others, some more difficult. In the end, though, our travels change all of us.
Revel in that change.
Congratulations, A&M Consolidated, Class of 2006.
posted by Juggernaut at
4:50 PM
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