Here’s the thing about an education: once you have it, no one can ever take it away. It can’t be lost, or stolen, or repossessed; it doesn’t break, or get worn, or go out of style. It empowers you to become most fully who you are, and it enables you to keep on becoming. An education is your greatest gift to yourself.

     So great a gift comes not without obligation, of course. The measure of a mind is taken not just by the amount of knowledge one has acquired, but by one’s ability to apply that knowledge; the measure of a man is taken not just by what he knows, but by what he does with what he knows; the measure of a life is taken not just by that one achieves, but by what one contributes to the greater good through individual achievement. Knowledge is power, and that power must be used for positive purpose; otherwise, its power corrupts the mind, and the man, and the life.

     While these may sound like words of inspiration for college freshmen – and I have, indeed, often delivered some version of them in the classroom – they form a great deal more than just a motivational speech. To me, they embody the central values that have largely directed my life, first as a student, then as a teacher, a writer, and a parent. And for all the satisfaction each of those roles has brought me, none has been more important, or more fulfilling, than that of being your Mom. You see, beyond my commitment to the ideals of education, experience has taught me that it is the character one brings to the classrooms of life that ultimately determines the difference between emerging as truly well educated, or merely well schooled. And you, Aaron, have had qualities of character since you were just a child.

     Aristotle long ago defined them as ethos (ethics), logos (logic), and pathos (passion). We recognized your passions first, I guess: “math and art,” I had written in your baby book while you were still a pre-schooler. And sure enough, as you grew and developed into a boy, your passions shaped your dreams and put you on the path to discovery. You were an eager, able learner, often wise beyond your years; what didn’t come easily came through sheer will and determination. I never saw such perseverance in a child – or such busyness. You were always organizing something (or someone), creating a project (or a city), or planning a trip (even if it was only down the street). You were interested in almost everything (even calamity – especially calamity), and so we took you everywhere and treated you like a little adult. It seemed only natural since you were such a smart, reasonable little person.

     With adolescence came the challenges of choice and disappointment, and the emergence of the personal traits that characterize you: honesty, loyalty, tolerance, and sensitivity. You were, as we so often heard, “such a nice young man,” someone who could be trusted with house keys and pampered pets, someone who could brighten an older person’s day or make a little kid laugh. “Aaron knows who he is and what he is about,” I remember suddenly realizing one day when you were in high school. And a few years later, while we were standing in the kitchen and for no particular reason, I remember realizing that you had become a man.

     And now you are also a truly well-educated man, not because the A&M School of Architecture has awarded you a graduate degree today, but because of who you were before you even got here. Aristotle would be proud. So are we.    

May 9, 2003

Posted in tribute to our son who passed away last week after a protracted battle with early onset colon cancer.