The following address was delivered by Corey Stern to the graduating seniors at the university's Commencement exercises on Saturday, May 13. Stern, a history major from Mt. Sinai, N.Y., who served as vice president of the Student Government Association, continued a new tradition of having a member of the graduating class speak at the undergraduate ceremony.

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Graduation 2000
by Corey Stern

I remember wearing those footsy pajamas -- the ones that didn’t end at the ankle. The pajamas that covered the feet like a glove.

I remember playing with star wars action figures and GI Joe men, and WWF wrestling figures. I remember chasing the ice cream man and riding high on a swing in my back yard and jumping off.

I remember watching "Duck Tales" and "Thunder Cats" and "He Man." I remember watching Disney specials every Sunday night. I remember the "Dukes of Hazard" and the "A-Team." I remember the Space Shuttle Challenger and the 1986 Mets. I remember tight rolling jeans and rolling up the sleeves on my t-shirts.

I remember super hero Underoos and Classic Reeboks. I remember my hamster "Snufulufugus." I remember Twisted Sister and Cindy Lauper. I remember "We are the World" and "Thriller." I remember Dale Murphy, and Tom Hanks in "Big." I remember pre-ESPN sportscasts and "3-2-1 Contact." I remember "The Karate Kid" and "Back to the Future."

I remember riding my GT Performer to the local gas station to get a slurpy. I remember when my sister Jennifer was born and I thought that she looked like a Cabbage Patch Kid. I remember "The Wonder Years." I remember Speedo bathing suits and the Rayon button-downs.

I remember when my brother Brian was born and I thought that he looked like "E.T." I remember "Gremlins" and "Goonies." I remember "Where’s the Beef?," and square dancing and riding the yellow school bus. I remember "Family Ties" and "Who’s the Boss" and "Growing Pains." I remember "The Jeffersons" and "Good Times," and "Saved by the Bell."

I remember spin-the-bottle and shaving my upper lip for the first time. I remember wearing deodorant and my first spray of cologne. I remember Alyssa Milano and Tiffany and Debbie Gibson. I remember the New Kids on the Block. I remember gel and mousse.

I remember "Hoosiers" and "Rudy" and "Field of Dreams." I remember "The Natural" and "Ghostbusters" and "Cocktail."

Why did twenty-two seem so old when we were ten?

When we were freshmen, we stared into our mirrors and saw children, but we wanted so badly to see adults. We wanted to fall in love with a wife or a husband; however, we first needed to fall in love enough with ourselves to fall in love with anyone or anything else.

When we were little, our parents provided for us and took care of us and tried to give us the things that we needed to become good people. Then they let us go.

How many nights have they spent lying awake, hoping that we were okay? How many mornings have they woken up, hoping that we were safe, that we were happy?

How many mornings did we wake up lacking a sense of purpose? How many mornings did we struggle to get out of bed, to feel okay enough about ourselves to face the world?

I don't know whether we are kids or adults. I don't know whether to be happy or sad. I don't know whether to celebrate, or mourn the deaths of our eleven classmates who have died in the last eight weeks. I don't know how to thank our parents, or how to say goodbye to our friends.

What I do know is that Mt. Sinai, New York is a small town three hours east of Manhattan. It's where I grew up. People hear "New York" and they think about the big city -- Broadway, movie-stars, tall buildings, hustle and bustle, the stock market, hot dog vendors, taxicabs, pizza parlors, the Mafia, and YANKEES.

Mt. Sinai, however, sits on the Long Island Sound, fourteen miles of water away from Bridgeport, Connecticut. I used to walk down to the docks and watch the boats pull in and out. I'd walk past peach farms and tractors to get there.

I'd sit for hours on the pier thinking about my first kiss and my friends and my dog Zac and wonder what he was thinking about. I'd wonder about love and life and getting old and growing up. Some nights I'd stare at Bridgeport and wonder if someone there was staring back at me.

I traveled for a year before I came to college. I spent weeks in London and Egypt and Vancouver and Warsaw. I watched Lakers games, British plays and walked through concentration camps. I read books and took pictures.

I realized when I was traveling that the world is big, and I am small. I learned about humility from a little naked Polish boy who was begging for money in the middle of Warsaw. I learned about hope from children at a Ronald McDonald house in West Virginia who were fighting cancer. I learned about natural beauty from the Vancouver Isles. I learned about courage watching Magic Johnson return to the basketball court two years after he announced that he was HIV positive.

On a Saturday in 1995, I took a bus from Atlanta to Athens. I walked through the Arch and my life changed. The apprehensions, insecurities and inhibitions that exist within every eighteen-year old surfaced within me. I sat on the steps of the university Chapel and thought about the speed of the eighteen years. I thought about my family being far away. I thought about my parents getting divorced and my dog being lonely and how I wanted my first kiss back. I believe my life became real on that day.

I am one of the luckiest human beings alive. I'm kind of little and I'm kind of skinny, but I got to play varsity basketball in high school. I'm not the smartest kid in the world, but I've learned something from every one of my teachers and my classmates who all know at least one thing that I don't. Most importantly, however, I am lucky because I understand that life is good. That Polish boy could have given up and stopped begging, those cancer patients could have stopped fighting, Magic Johnson could have stopped living. But we go on because we believe there is more in front of us. We cry because we know what we're missing. We get sad because we understand what it means to be happy. We love because we know how it feels to be loved.

Last June, I became an official Georgia resident. A man in charge of residency let me tell him my story, and he believed in me enough to claim me. That was the proudest I have ever felt in my life.

Some days I wonder about the boats. I hope in my heart that there is a boy in Mt. Sinai staring at Bridgeport, walking past peach farms and tractors, wondering where he'll be in five or six years. I hope he realizes how lucky he is.

Thank you, Athens, Georgia, for being our foundation of safety. Thank you, for being a friend to us, and a parent to us.

Thank you for never treating me like a Step-son of the south, but for letting me build a life here, and allowing me to feel like one of your own.

Through my readings of Sir Thomas Carlyle I have learned that doubt, of any sort, can only be removed through action. Whether as children or adults, do not doubt yourself. Do the duty that lies nearest thee.


My good friends, my fellow classmates,

Let us go forth into the world and be good people, good parents, good neighbors, good children, good brothers and sisters to our siblings. Let us not get so consumed in our lives of work that we forget the people that carried us here. Whatever thy hand finds to do, do it with thy whole might. But only work while it is day, for when night comes, no one should work. Spend that time as the co-CEO of the families that you build.

Live each day for our eleven friends who will never have that chance again.
Congratulations, and good luck to you.