A momentous day for Noah and his parents

On Sunday (May 15, 2011), Noah graduated from the University of Minnesota with a major in political science and a minor in philosophy. His dad and I are very proud of him, and it was a happy day for all of us. Noah outside Mariucci Arena after the ceremony with me and his dad, Steve Johnson.

Noah with his parents in Robbinsdale; we took him out to dinner at an Italian restaurant and toasted this wonderful day.

Noah with his dad and his stepmom, Ann Johnson.

*****

I found the graduation ceremony very emotional and meaningful. Despite the fact that there were more than 2,000 graduates from the College of Liberal Arts and the whole thing could have been very unwieldy, it was well organized, with beautiful live music and excellent, thoughtful speeches. The keynote speaker was poet Michael Dennis Browne, who read poems by himself, N. Scott Momaday and this one by Marge Piercy. which is one of my favorites -- "To Be of Use":

TO BE OF USE

The people I love the best

jump into work head first

without dallying in the shallows

and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.

They seem to become natives of that element,

the black sleek heads of seals

bouncing like half submerged balls.

I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,

who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,

who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,

who do what has to be done, again and again.

I want to be with people who submerge

in the task, who go into the fields to harvest

and work in a row and pass the bags along,

who stand in the line and haul in their places,

who are not parlor generals and field deserters

but move in a common rhythm

when the food must come in or the fire be put out.

The work of the world is common as mud.

Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.

But the thing worth doing well done

has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.

Greek amphoras for wine or oil,

Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums

but you know they were made to be used.

The pitcher cries for water to carry

and a person for work that is real.

-- Marge Piercy