A Farewell from Barry Holloway
Photo from Pexels by Emily Ranquist.
Dear Seniors,
First, let me get straight to the point and congratulate you all on navigating your way through the last thirteen years of school, and I wish you all the best in everything you do after leaving Hamilton. When kids complained about Hamilton, I would say, “You’re only here for four years. I am serving a life sentence--at least you can get out for good behavior!” It was a joke that always drew laughs. But as it turns out, it wasn’t really true. I am getting out this year too.
I have accepted an offer to be the dean of students at Janesville Craig High School. I am very thankful for my ten years at Hamilton, all the people I’ve met, and all the ways it has prepared me for this next step in my career.
Many great things are happening in our family right now. We are building a new house, my wife is going to help start a research lab at UW-Madison, and we are expecting a little girl this October. This means I know exactly what you are going through right now. You don’t know whether to be excited or terrified by all the changes happening in your life.
Senior-in-high-school Barry couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have a career, a new house, a family, but to be honest, I don’t think the Barry I am now quite understands it either. I’ve got some bad news for you--being an adult doesn’t unlock any higher level of enlightenment. The Charger Press has asked me to write the senior class a letter because, for whatever reason, it is a graduation tradition to have adults pass along their wisdom to children even though what kids actually want are graduation cards filled with cash or checks.
As an adult, I may understand things that most high school seniors don’t, like paying taxes or enjoying movies without explosions, but I don’t feel particularly confident I can tell you anything that will stick. Wisdom is a lived experience, but I will try my best…
I am excited for you--what you are about to do. You are about to learn a lot about yourselves and who you are going to be. That process will be long and sometimes painful, but it is a critical aspect of fulfilling your purpose in life. I wouldn’t give you an answer then, but I will give you one now.
Younger versions of me would have said our purpose was “happiness,” “service to others,” or “to love and be loved,” but I don’t believe that anymore. I think our purpose is to “acquire knowledge.” I know that’s not very glamorous, but in the end, you cannot be happy unless you KNOW what makes you happy, you cannot serve others unless you KNOW what they need, and you cannot love or be loved unless you KNOW yourself and others.
Maybe I am biased as a teacher, but everything that adds any value to your life must be learned. You must know how to read to enjoy a book. You must know a specific set of skills to be good at your job. You need to know how to work a smart TV to watch Euphoria on HBO Max. Everything in your life can be categorized by what you know and what you don’t know.
Even an emotion as venerated as “love” is really about knowledge--you love knowing that person. You want to know everything about them. What is their favorite music? What do they like to eat? You want to know every scar and freckle on their body so that you can map them out in your mind and never forget them. You’ll want to know every way you can make them happy and keep them near you. I am ambivalent about trains. I am certainly not allured by their existence, but my three-year-old loves them, and I love him, so I have read books, magazines, talked with old men at numerous model train stores, and attended model train conventions. I know the difference between a hopper and a gondola because I love my son, and he loves trains.
Even grief is really about knowledge. In some ways it’s about coming to terms with knowing you will never see that person again. In other ways, it’s about fighting the loss of knowledge. Twenty years ago, my best friend died in a car crash, the wreckage of which didn’t remain contained to the site of the accident; it spilled out into the lives of everyone who knew and loved him. I’ve spent the last two decades trying not to forget the sound of his voice, the fun moments we had together, and the way he would enter a room.
These moments, good and bad, are what seem to define our lives, and it should be noted that sometimes it is hard to receive the knowledge and understanding they bring us when we are too stuck in the past. Old people, places, things, and ways of thinking distract us from experiencing life in new ways, which could make us happier and more fulfilled.
My favorite part of being a teacher is getting the opportunity to start over every year. If you aren’t going to be a teacher, your high school graduation will be one of the few moments in your life where you get to reinvent yourself. Take it. Whatever you were or weren’t in high school doesn’t matter outside the walls of Hamilton. In fact, if you talk about that goal you scored or your class rank after June 9th, people are going to think you are weird. I understand the temptation of looking back, but literature is filled with characters like Lot’s wife, Orpheus, Jay Gatsby, and Troy Maxson who are punished for their inability to keep looking ahead.
As you leave Hamilton, I hope you embrace how little you know. Whether you are heading off to more school, the military, or joining the workforce, I hope you enter those spaces with open minds, ready to learn the ways you can be a better person to yourself and to others.
All the best,
Mr. Holloway
