Memorial Day weekend brewed hot and heavy in the San Francisco Bay Area. According to local newscasters, a warm pocket of wind swept in from the Pacific Ocean, to grace the Bay with its presence for several days. The balmy weather was a welcome reprieve to those who were entering week 11 of lock down due to the novel coronavirus. Its warmth provided hope that a new season was on its way, that perhaps the warm weather would bring with it a temporary reprieve from the harassment of COVID-19 (some Infectious Disease Specialists have mused), as well as some much-needed summer fun.
I headed south on I-80, eager to absorb the warmth of the sun browning my skin. Since leaving the Pacific Northwest to return to my native Bay, I have gravitated toward the sun. Whether greeting it in the morning on the yoga mat or working from home on the back patio, I’ve been all for returning the natural pigment to this skin which truthfully, lost some the three and a half years I spent in Seattle. That day, I traveled southwest, with the Berkeley Marina in mind.
I had the necessities: a bohemian outfit, my journal, and a cup of something delicious. After parking at the marina, I wandered across the meadow, then selected a bench with the arms of the Golden Gate stretched out towards it. I wrote for a couple of hours, blown out by the breeze sweeping in off the Pacific, before making my way over to UC Berkeley. On Telegraph, I ordered Kamikaze fries to-go and devoured them under a wooden canopy of California Redwoods, while taking in the view.
Graduating students posed under the moss green arches of Sather Gate with their boyfriends and girlfriends or parents, before stepping back wistfully to remember all the times. All the frantic sprints across campus to turn in papers or slide into class as toll of the Campanili rung overhead. They stood back and remembered. We all remember those times when we were young(er) and perhaps more idealistic. When we made our first real, true friends whom we (not circumstance) chose. When we fell in love (or thought we did). When we laughed so hard, we cried, and vowed things would never change, though we knew they must. Those memories deserve to be remembered. They deserve a moment of remembering.
I watched the wistful, accomplished students posing for their family members under the Gate and inhaled the remaining fries. Then I wander/wobbled across campus, remembering, too.
Cal was where my dreams of academia first began. I was (mostly) raised in Pinole, a town 15 minutes north of Berkeley, whose demographic was mostly suburban, middle class, and white. Weekly, my parents would load us kids up and take us to Oakland for church and then Berkeley, for Sunday dinners at my grandparent’s house. This tradition gave me a glimpse into a way of being which resonated more deeply with me than the town where we lived. Berkeley was free and eclectic. People were not afraid to wear caftans of many colors or burn incense, to rock dreadlocks or lounge around in parks waxing philosophical. People were not afraid to risk their lives to climb trees to post “Free Leonard (Peltier)” signs at improbable junctions. People in Berkeley were not afraid to be a little weird, or a little militant. They were definitely not afraid to challenge the status quo.
It was only natural that my creative, idealistic, free spirit would be drawn to such a place. By the time I was in high school, I would occasionally create adventures around Cal’s campus, wandering the route from Café Milano, across Bancroft, passing the bookstore, Sather Gate, the Campanili, the library. It was on this campus that my intrigue of academia was fostered, as I gazed up at the stone pillars and columns of the buildings and dreamed of the knowledge within. UC Berkeley was the place my love affair (perhaps not with books, but institutions of higher learning) began.
I have since earned a Bachelor of Arts in Creative Writing (which you could not pay me to trade in) because those four years gallivanting around San Francisco with women of color and gaining an affinity for good literature and life experience and red wine evolved from it. My love of the written word was given space to bloom at San Francisco State, and fostered by frequent jaunts to the Pacific Ocean, which rose and fell just heartbeats away.
The Master of Arts in Theology & Culture was even more of a stretch (for employers) but the skills I learned navigating the places where theology, community, lament and story intersect at The Seattle School of Theology & Psychology is work that will never be undone in me. The relationships and growth developed throughout that experience are not things I would give back.
I have built my career on college campuses: Columbia University, Stanford, Seattle U, and now University of Washington. What I love about these institutions is what Cal instilled in me so many years ago--- a culture of learning. I love the atmosphere of students walking to and from classes and the knowledge they attain within. I love the small groups and the discussions, the study of subject matter to which there is no end, and the possibilities which come with the process of entering an environment whose sole purpose is to cultivate learning. The culture I purpose my life around is one of growth and learning. The culture so many faculty members, administrators, and lecturers cultivate is one of curiosity and intellect.
So, to the wistful graduates remembering their accomplishments, even without the usual pomp and circumstance, congratulations! Long live the life-long learners, the teachers, professors, and students; the nerds, the scientists, the Ravenclaws. May they go on to become the infectious disease specialists who will create vaccines which prevent the viruses like the one the world is battling now. May they go on to create and evolve the technology which brings us closer together rather than further apart. May they become the writers who name their stories and show others it is possible to change the narrative. May they continue to challenge faulty policies and systems set in place to prevent certain people groups from succeeding. May they evoke hope even in the face of evil. May they usher in the hope of change, in the legacy of Barak Obama. May communities like Cal persevere, evolve, and continue to inspire us to be curious and to challenge the status quo, even in times of tremendous challenge and tumult.
Cal graduates (and all graduates), I celebrate you on this chapter on your journey of learning, and the earning of your esteemed degrees! May your knowledge and passion for the work you do create meaningful impact in our world even within times of racial and health pandemics. We need you. We believe in you. Class of 2020, you take with you the memory of your education, yes. Please use the things you have learned and the skills you have acquired to evoke positive change. May you usher in hope to those in need of it most and pour the knowledge gained from your education out into world which has grown rather comfortable with its ignorance. They don’t call you “bears” for nothing…