US English Teacher Tex Tourais Addresses the Class of 2025

Each year, the graduating class at MICDS selects a teacher from whom to hear remarks at Commencement. This year, the Class of 2025 chose Upper School English Teacher Tex Tourais to share his thoughts. Mr. Tourais, as usual, did not disappoint.

It is my distinct honor to be the seventh person to welcome you to this year’s MICDS Commencement Ceremony. So, welcome, parents. Faculty. Board Members. Brothers and Sisters. Little bitty babies. That one guy in the back. I don’t know you. Welcome. The Class of 2028. Huh? 6? 202-FIVE. Class of 2025. I will never forget you. Precious, precious class of 202…5. I would love to celebrate you, to spend our time together singing your praises, but we all know that this is neither the time nor the place*. So: Humanity. Instead, let’s discuss humanity. Compassion.

Compassion is, some think, the defining characteristic of humanity; some, empathy. They are both wrong. Our defining characteristic is the overwhelming urge, when we’re holding a fork. And we see an electrical socket. To shove that fork into that socket. Life is just eating, sleeping, and “I should not do this, but I gotta know!” There is a striving towards the unknown that is so deeply engrained in the human psyche we just can’t help taking unnecessary risks. “Curiosity killed the cat,” we say. And cats say, “Me? Sleeping 18 hours a day in sunbeam? I might fall in a jug occasionally, but you’re not going find a pile of frozen kitties on top of Mt. Everest, are you?”

Yet in every nook and cranny of this earth you can poke your nose into, you will find someone got there first and it killed them. Human skeletons are scattered across the wildest, most desolate places. We can’t wait to find new planets to stash our bones upon. We poke and prod and combine limitless curiosity with reckless arrogance and just enough intelligence to get us further than we should go. This is our great weakness and our great strength. The true sign of mankind’s intelligence is not the facts we know; it’s the lies we invent and the vast worlds of ridiculous combinations we create. Toilet bowls. That make phone calls. Who would…? But, when? When would I…? But, most importantly… Who??? <turn to seniors> Never. Call me. From your toilet bowl.

My point is this: It’s not tool use that is the true sign of human intelligence; it is tool misuse. Is it unintelligent to stick a fork in a light socket? Sure. But is it less intelligent to never think to stick a fork in a light socket. Yes! That is objectively less intelligent and less curious and less adventurous and less Magellan-y. For what is life but reaching for an answer? / And what is death but a refusal to grow? / Magellan had a dream he had to follow. / The sea was big, his ships were awkward, slow. / And when the fever would not set him free, / To his thin crew, “Sail on, sail on!” he cried. / And so they did, carried the frail dream homeward. / And thus Magellan lives, although he died.**

Which brings us to major leaps forward in exploration and technology. Major leaps forward happen simultaneously with ridiculous technologies emerging together and allowing for combinations that act as force multiplies for each; they exist across every stage of social evolution, and they are always a problem. One could argue that society exists in order to manage our technological advancements. Grog invents fire; Flerk immediately tries to stick his tongue in it; Blarg takes a can of prehistoric hair spray, pitches that into the flames. Sparks and pain. Sparks and pain. Society creates rites and rituals and ceremonies around fire to limit its threat and protect its children against the dangers inherent in its existence.

But that takes time. We always forget that. That first generation of fire-users is always going to get singed. Our mores and laws are just one long list of failed innovations. Laws are a recording of the moment right before we discovered some new tool use was dangerous. In Alabama, it is illegal to drive blindfolded because someone thought to combine car with blindfold and it did not end well. And I didn’t say “Mobile, Alababma,” or “Birmingham, Alabama.” “Greenbow, Alabama.” So many people were driving blindfolded across that the state legislature had to step in. And, it is illegal in Fairbanks, Alaska, to push a moose out of an airplane. Countless people looked at the grandeur that is moose, saw the antlers and thought, “If he really wanted to, I bet he could flap those.” And we had the aerodynamic technology available to find out. And people died, crushed by falling moose. Moos-es. Meese? Meese-s. Crushed by falling ungulates.

So, yes. Not necessity, but YOLO! is the true mother of Invention, and in the internet and AI together, we have invented something awesome and dreadful and it’s misuse is hurting and will hurt people. And into the dark corners of the internet we go with our little forks, and sockets abound. You plug your mind in there, and sparks and pain. Sparks and pain. We’ve already seen the damage of that. People conned, people radicalized, people disconnected from their communities, their families, their kids.

But, the Internet, AI—there is so much light there too. Sites and truths and ideas that make us radiant, incandescent. And so, if we must test the boundaries of our world, we each must choose to do it with curiosity and with love and with love of curiosity. Because we each. Do. Have. Choice. And that sounds so blindingly trite. But being common does not make something useless. Look at the toothbrush. So, we explore with our little forks and when we see a socket, we get the urge, and if we must burn, burn with love. If we must believe untruths, let them be untruths that make us brave and kind and healthy and happy and incandescent. Because light / is an invitation / to happiness, / and that happiness, / when it’s done right, / is a kind of holiness, / palpable and redemptive. / Inside the bright fields,*** we, ourselves, illuminate.

And these explorations don’t have to be great and capital “W” World changing, but they should be you changing, and you are of this world, so to change you for the better is to change the world for the better. Like Magellan, let us find our islands / To die in, far from home, from anywhere / Familiar. Let us risk the wildest places, / Lest we go down in comfort, and despair. / For years we have labored over common roads, / Dreaming of ships that sail into the night. / Let us be heroes, or, if that’s not in us, / Let us find [some] to follow, honor-bright. / For what is life but reaching for an answer? / And what is death but a refusal to grow?/ Magellan had a dream he had to follow. / The sea was big, his ships were awkward, slow. / And when the fever would not set him free, / To his thin crew, “Sail on, sail on!” he cried. / And so they did, carried the frail dream homeward. / And thus Magellan lives, although he died.**

And so, Class of 2025, on your trip round the Cape of My Hope—Sail on, Sail on—use and misuse tools, and never forget that you are the captain, not the boat.  Never allow your tools to use you.  Never become the tool of your tools. And know that the future has always been dark. We illuminate it with our curiosity, our hope. And I will oft dream of you, in your boats, incandescent, and sailing, sailing on into that dark, yet lightning unknown carrying with you the small candle of my love. Thank you.

*Martin, Steve. “Kennedy Center tribute to Paul Simon.”
**Oliver, Mary. “Magellan.” The River Styx, Ohio & Other Poems, 1972.
***Oliver, Mary. “Poppies.” New and Selected Poems, 1992.

Magellan

By Mary Oliver

Like Magellan, let us find our islands
To die in, far from home, from anywhere
Familiar. Let us risk the wildest places,
Lest we go down in comfort, and despair.

For years we have labored over common roads,
Dreaming of ships that sail into the night.
Let us be heroes, or, if that’s not in us,
Let us find men to follow, honor-bright.

For what is life but reaching for an answer?
And what is death but a refusal to grow?
Magellan had a dream he had to follow.
The sea was big, his ships were awkward, slow.

And when the fever would not set him free,
To his thin crew, “Sail on, sail on!” he cried.
And so they did, carried the frail dream homeward.
And thus Magellan lives, although he died.

© Oliver, Mary. “Magellan.” The River Styx, Ohio & Other Poems, 1972

Poppies

By Mary Oliver

The poppies send up their
orange flares; swaying
in the wind, their congregations
are a levitation

of bright dust, of thin
and lacy leaves.
There isn’t a place
in this world that doesn’t

sooner or later drown
in the indigos of darkness,
but now, for a while,
the roughage

shines like a miracle
as it floats above everything
with its yellow hair.
Of course nothing stops the cold,

black, curved blade
from hooking forward—
of course
loss is the great lesson.

But I also say this: that light
is an invitation
to happiness,
and that happiness,

when it’s done right,
is a kind of holiness,
palpable and redemptive.
Inside the bright fields,

touched by their rough and spongy gold,
I am washed and washed
in the river
of earthly delight—

and what are you going to do—
what can you do
about it—
deep, blue night?

© Oliver, Mary. “Poppies.” New and Selected Poems, 1992.