Good afternoon and welcome. President Harrington, members of the platform party, honored guest, members of the faculty, families and friends. And special welcome and glorious congratulations to all of my fellow graduates. We have made it and we are very proud!

Before I begin, I would like to offer some special thanks. I want to thank my particular supporters, and in doing so, I hope that I represent each of the thousand friends and families who supported my fellow graduates.

It takes a village to make a social worker, and what a village has nurtured me over the last three years. I would like to thank my dear husband, who has done a million things over the last 3 years to support me, including getting up at 6 AM 3 days a week this winter in order to walk my dog in the cold and dark mornings. Meanwhile, I got dressed and ate my breakfast and packed my backpack. We met on the sidewalk outside the house and drove in triumph to a dark train station. I want you to know that we had a perfect record. In 8 months, we never missed a train. And this is a man who loves to sleep late.

I also want to thank all of the folks who read for me, the reference librarians and friends who searched data bases for me, the secretaries who scanned and emailed for me, the friends who drove me to classes and meetings and the friends who reminded me that I was indeed capable of succeeding, even when I lost heart. But especially, I want to thank the faculty of the School of social work. I have received an outstanding education, and it is thanks to their ethical standards, their respect for scholarship and research, and their particular ability to teach. Thank you, thank you thank you. I hope that we will make you proud as we enter the world of service.

We are graduating. Each one of us has finished a challenging program and will b awarded an advanced degree in recognition of the journey that we have completed. It is a glorious moment and one which I, and I think all of you, have been anticipating-perhaps even salivating about for weeks. It has been a journey, and like all journeys, it has involved risk and pain and surprise and pleasure, discomfort and joy. Also, like all journeys, it has involved taking risks and leaving the comfortable known in search of an only imagined unknown. Journeys, whether external and physical trips from one place to another, or mental and emotional trips of the heart and mind, offer the opportunity for change. In fact, it is almost impossible to partake in a journey without making a change.

What I would like to talk about is a very important piece of most journeys. That is the presence of a guide. Sometimes you may begin a journey not thinking that you need a guide, not knowing whom to ask, or even knowing that you have begun a journey. Sometimes you will have to seek out a guide and ask them to help and sometimes a guide miraculously appears at your side. Often the guide may have been there for a long time before you understand the guiding role which that individual has been playing. What ever the specific circumstances, however, a guide can be an incalculable support in facing the risks and fears which are part and parcel of a journey.

Before I describe this guide, I'd like to share what I discovered about the meaning and derivation of the word "guide." To guide means to show the way, to direct or to lead. A guide, then, is someone who shows the way. The word is related to the Old French, "guidar," which also means to show the way. What I found particularly interesting is that if you follow the derivation further back, it is related to the Old Frankish word, "witan," and thus related to words like "wit" and "wisdom." Ultimately, if you go far enough back, guide is related to the Latin verb, videre, which means to see.

I lost my vision in 1978. I was a proud thirty-year-old teacher just beginning her career in the classroom. I was an athlete, a musician, a traveler, and an adventurer. I found the loss of vision a terribly frustrating and depressing blow. I lost my job, my ability to run and read and drive. And I felt clumsy and pathetic. I felt stared at and pitied. I felt as if my previous self, my strong, agile, capable, independent self was now masked by an image of helplessness and tentativeness. I saw myself as I believed others saw me and I didn't feel that that image was a proud one or a fair one.

I learned to use the long white cane to navigate, and in my usual over-achieving way, I got good at it. I learned to travel independently in Boston and I strode out as assertively as I could. But I often had the experience of walking confidently down the sidewalk and being assailed by someone shouting, "Stop, stop!" When I actually stopped in alarm, afraid that I was about to be hit by a rampaging bicycle or about to fall into a huge hole in the ground, I found that the passer-by was trying to prevent me from hitting my cane against the very mailbox I had been looking for, the mailbox where I wanted to drop the three letters I had written. My self-image was terrible.

And then I went to guide dog school. We met our handsome, lithe black Labrador retrievers and spent every day with our instructors, learning how to give directions to the dog, how to learn routes, how to move confidently behind our speedy and athletic guides. Finally, it came the day for our first solo trips. One by one, each person-guide dog team went out the front door and down the steps, halted at the edge of the sidewalk, and then swung an arm to the left, saying, "left!" Much to my amazement, Garran turned sharp left and began pulling confidently ahead. As I fell in behind him, I was overwhelmed with one thought. "We must look cool! Here I am with this beautiful black dog moving the way I used to move!"

I felt terrific, and most of all, I once again felt powerful and confident. I wasn't feeling my way with an odd stick, weaving back and forth along the sidewalk towards an unknown destination. I was following the straight and tidy path of a creature whom I was directing, and he was taking me where I wanted to go.

That is one important characteristic of a successful guide. A good guide empowers the traveler. A guide enables the strengths present within that traveler to shine powerfully forth, no longer masked by disabling shame or lack of confidence.

I was told while at guide dog school that it would take many months for my guide dog and me to become a real team, and that until that partnership developed, our work together might not always be smooth or completely free of tension. That became abundantly clear when I got home to Salem. Away from the comfort of a familiar school and city, my dog became much less confident. I knew Salem better than he did, and that didn't make it any easier for him to relax and guide. There were many weeks when he would slow as he approached a corner, not sure when to stop. I would charge forward, reaching the curb before he did. I wouldn't let him have his head as we crossed at intersections I knew well.

I began to wonder if this investment of time and energy was ever going to be worth it. Then one day, my caffeine addiction came to the rescue. I was desperate for a cup of coffee from Starbucks. I had been avoiding the huge intersection by the post office, with its complicated series of light signals and traffic patterns. But I was impatient with myself and my fear, so I harnessed up my dog and set out. We found our way to the light and onto the down ramp next to 6 lanes of traffic. I pushed the button, lined Garran up, and waited. Cars rushed by in front of me in both directions, occasionally punctuated by a car roaring around the corner from our left. I stood still in the cacophony of sound and concentrated on the corner so far away. The buzzer rang out and taking a deep breath, I swung my arm forward and said, "Forward." Garran leapt ahead and I hung on to the harness handle with a death grip. I could feel him weave behind a car that had crept across the stop line, then in front of one which had stopped correctly. A diesel truck's motor muttered ahead of us and we passed in front of its giant bonnet. Time seemed to stop. And then suddenly, I felt the up curb, just as the cars behind us began to move. I wanted to kiss the pavement, but instead I leaned down and patted Garran, saying, "Good boy!" As I ordered my coffee a few minutes later, I realized that the elation I felt was a result of the connection Garran and I had made in that crossing. Up until that time, I hadn't trusted Garran enough for real work to begin. And from that moment of connection, the team was formed and I was able to let him guide me.

Whether or not the guide consciously works on creating that connection, none of the positive results of successful teamwork can occur without it. The traveler is always aware when the connection has been made, even when she or he is unable to verbalize it. That recognition comes in the anticipation of attending class with a skilled teacher, or exploring one's most vulnerable feelings with an empathetic counselor or struggling with the task of finding housing with a case manager.

Many people, when they first observe a visually impaired person working with a guide dog, think that somehow, the dog knows where he's going. I, too, was under this misapprehension when I first thought about getting a dog. I thought that I would harness him up, go out to my front gate and say, "CVS," or "train station," or "Salem State," and my dog would set off in the appropriate direction and deliver me to that spot. Of course, that is not the case. A minute of reflection told me that a dog really only has a very limited vocabulary and that the task of understanding an abstract concept like train station and then finding the way there would be far beyond a dog's ability. And, if I thought that maybe he might be able to guess where we were going by the first few turns, I had only to remember how many routes begin in the same way to discard that belief. In fact, a guide dog has no idea where he is going. If I said "train station" to Garran and then let him go, he would always take me to the park where he plays off leash or to the local dumpster to look for bagels. In fact, the bald truth is that I cannot see and Garran has no idea where we are going. But that is only looking at the deficits. If you look at it the other way around, Garran can see and I know where we are going. To me, this is the most important characteristic to understand about guides. As the meaning of the word tells us, a guide shows the way, but the choice to follow belongs to the traveler. It is not the guide's job to convince the traveler of when to go, how to go or even if to go. Certainly a traveler is more likely to follow the way pointed out by a known and trustworthy guide, especially one who has worked with the traveler as a team-mate, but the traveler will not truly own the journey unless she or he has chosen the ultimate goal.

I hope that each one of us here-fellow graduates, families, friends, faculty, administrators and guests-will pause a minute to savor the completion of at least this phase of our journeys. For all of my fellow travelers, I would like to express my gratitude to the guides who have shown us the way. You have made connections with each one of us, you have supported and empowered, and perhaps most importantly, you have stood aside and let us choose where and how we have traveled. After a brief pause to catch our collective breaths, it will be our job to become guides and leaders, teachers and social workers, business leaders, scholars and counselors. We have had fabulous and ethical role models so far. Now it is our turn.