Hoo boy, David McCullough Jr. gave some recent graduates hell in his commencement address. Excerpts:
Contrary to what your u9 soccer trophy suggests, your glowing seventh grade report card, despite every assurance of a certain corpulent purple dinosaur, that nice Mister Rogers and your batty Aunt Sylvia, no matter how often your maternal caped crusader has swooped in to save you… you’re nothing special.
Yes, you’ve been pampered, cosseted, doted upon, helmeted, bubble-wrapped. Yes, capable adults with other things to do have held you, kissed you, fed you, wiped your mouth, wiped your bottom, trained you, taught you, tutored you, coached you, listened to you, counseled you, encouraged you, consoled you and encouraged you again. You’ve been nudged, cajoled, wheedled and implored. You’ve been feted and fawned over and called sweetie pie. Yes, you have. And, certainly, we’ve been to your games, your plays, your recitals, your science fairs. Absolutely, smiles ignite when you walk into a room, and hundreds gasp with delight at your every tweet. Why, maybe you’ve even had your picture in the Townsman! And now you’ve conquered high school… and, indisputably, here we all have gathered for you, the pride and joy of this fine community, the first to emerge from that magnificent new building…
But do not get the idea you’re anything special. Because you’re not.
And:
The fulfilling life, the distinctive life, the relevant life, is an achievement, not something that will fall into your lap because you’re a nice person or mommy ordered it from the caterer. You’ll note the founding fathers took pains to secure your inalienable right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness–quite an active verb, “pursuit”–which leaves, I should think, little time for lying around watching parrots rollerskate on Youtube. The first President Roosevelt, the old rough rider, advocated the strenuous life. Mr. Thoreau wanted to drive life into a corner, to live deep and suck out all the marrow. The poet Mary Oliver tells us to row, row into the swirl and roil. Locally, someone… I forget who… from time to time encourages young scholars to carpe the heck out of the diem. The point is the same: get busy, have at it. Don’t wait for inspiration or passion to find you. Get up, get out, explore, find it yourself, and grab hold with both hands.



McCullough’s speech was an intellectually lazy paint-by-numbers rehash of generational bigotries that had already become hackneyed a decade ago, except for those that became hackneyed a millennium ago.
It is the height of un-selfconscious hypocrisy for a Boomer Baby to accuse any other age cohort of being destructively spoiled and undeservedly entitled. What is the entire political pandering to the “average” voter, to the “undecideds”, to people who want a president they “can just have a beer with,” except for a celebration of mediocrity and a handing out of blue ribbons to everybody who showed up?
The bitter projectionism within McCullough’s speech suggests an underlying insecurity. It’s like he can already read the textbook excerpts that will doubtless explore how the Boomer Babies destroyed America’s economic, military, and environmental policies, so he’s trying to get his licks in in advance by sneering at how the authors will have had awkward pictures on Facebook.