Dear Class of 2011,

I must say that I was quite surprised when the instructor called to ask if I would be willing to write the graduations speech this year.

‘To what do I owe the honor’, I asked.

I could sense the instructor hesitating. ‘Considering your writing, Yiftah, this is an opportunity of a lifetime.’

I held on to the phone while I pulled up a chair.

‘Can we make it look as if I volunteered?’ I asked.

‘Your shame is safe with me.’

Knowing that the bar was set low was somewhat comforting, still I had my concerns.

‘What would you like me to talk about?’ I asked in a weary voice, hoping that denial would win over despair.

‘Try to leave the audience with a memorable message.’

The instructor hung up, leaving me to weigh in on my prospects. The fact that the guidelines were meager was only part of the problem. This is not a common graduation. Most of you have jobs, some of you do not descend from Stanford Alumni and every naive youth has an astute elder looking over their shoulder. The wealth of life experience embodied in this group – as I have come to know it through your writing – is so vast. As writers you have the privilege to choose your audience and annoy the rest of humanity, but by accepting to address you tonight I have forfeited that privilege. How could I possibly conjure a single succinct message, fine-tuned to appeal to such diversity?

To make matters worse, I am a private and reclusive man, who since elementary school has systematically avoided attending my graduations except for driving school which concluded with little fanfare. I had no idea what needs to be said on an occasion such as this. Yet I was touched by the fact that driving school focused on the journey rather than the destination. The messages were memorable, and at the same time untainted by false hope, practical but not condescending, free of antagonism and bonding.

In the same spirit, rather than impose my opinions on you, I have chosen to share a few ideas and let the dice fall as they may.

What better a dice than a George Washington quarter? What better opposites than ‘heads’ and ‘tails’ incongruently juxtaposed against each other, so near and yet so far. Must a coin always fall on one of two sides, one which wishes well and the other bodes ill omens? Why do we pit young against old, poor against rich, vegans vs. meat eaters? Where is the middle class? Can there be three way coins?

Of course there can.

A quarter is 24.26 millimeter in diameter, and 1.75 millimeter wide, if we stacked 14 of them we would have a cylinder which fell on one of three sides with even probability. We would have middle ground. All of a sudden we could have turtle people between cat and dog people and midlife would no longer be a crisis. Perhaps, if you allow me, I would like to hypothesize what could have been had Joshua used a Dodecahedron to allocate homesteads in the Holy Land. Perhaps there is a story there. Think of how much richer writing could be if the term ‘flip of a coin’ meant more than binary choices? How much more colorful the world you write about could be.

Always look for the bright side – now that you can have as many as you want. If you have children you no longer have to ground them. Thanks to Facebook they have grounded themselves. Do not spend your time sorting through their socks. You can prove by induction that all socks have the same color. I would give you the proof, but my time is running short. I have no idea whether this can help with writing, but perhaps some of you would like to investigate further.

Tonight, when the speeches die down, and the food has been eaten, when we have concluded the handshakes that forge lasting relationships and the forceful hugs which immediately break them, please take a few more moments to celebrate the beauty around you, as it expresses itself in architecture and art. When you leave the building turn to your left and walk to the entrance of the quad. Enjoy the beauty of the masonry, the soft colors of the stones in the moonlight. Walk up the path towards the church. Notice the monument honoring the Burghers of Calais on your left. What a wonderful saga of selfless devotion and sacrifice, honored forever by their bronze sculptures. Turn and walk back and to your left, following the path to the museum and the garden of sculptures on its south side. Walk from the gates of hell, to the Thinker. Stop to appreciate the unlimited depth of human imagination. Enjoy the moment, contemplate the beauty, listen to your feet treading on the gravel paths, listen to the growing silence of the night, smell the autumn leaves, taste the air, good scenes engage all senses, think of the creative powers vested in you, free your emotions, embrace your freedom to think and do your best to remember where it is that you left your car.