Commencement Address Made to the Graduating Class
Associates Degree -- School of Social Work
University of Phoenix, Kokomo Campus
Bypass Highway 68, Holiday Inn Express
Kokomo, Indiana
January 29, 2011
Thomas R. Bohnhorst, MSW, LMSW
In Private Practice
Traverse City, MI
Gooooood Moooooorrrrrning Ko...!!! Ko...!!! Mo...!!!
(silence)
I've never seen so many Subarus in one parking lot in my whole life! What, is there a Subaru factory in Kokomo? No, wait... That's right: we're a bunch of social workers. Hey, it's 2011 people. You can remove the Obama bumper stickers now.
(silence)
But seriously, don't they have any fresh donuts here in Kokomo? I mean, seriously.
(silence)
Thank you, thank you. My fellow social workers, I come before you today to tell you a little story, my little story really, about a little social worker with a whole lotta love for his profession. First, let me color in a picture for you, my friends: The year is 1998, and I am in my agency counseling office, waiting for my next client, flossing my teeth. Don't laugh. Flossing does two major things: it stimulates the gums which stimulates the blood which stimulates energy. I would lay odds that people who take Viagra don't floss very much. Now, there's a promising research project for you. But more important, flossing will freshen the breath. You ever lean in to someone who hasn't flossed for a month? Especially a meat eater? Strand of meat gets caught between the molars and just sits there and sits there. Pretty soon it smells to high heaven. It's all you can do to breathe without grabbing a gas mask. But I should talk. One time, I was flossing and unbeknownst to me, the floss breaks off at my tooth. The client comes in -- very hyper woman, teen-age daughter ran off with a carnival -- and the whole session she's mesmerized by my mouth. Turns out that string of floss is hanging out the corner of my mouth the whole time.
By 1998, I had moved through my "unconditional positive regard" phase and what I like to call my "Gestalt funk". I'll tell you a little secret: back when I was using Gestalt on agoraphobics, I'd come home from work and listen to Grand Funk Railroad... cranked up full blast! It was very liberating! I may not have been able to get people to ride an elevator, but at least I could reverberate my own rafters! Anyway, that's why I called that stretch of time my "Gestalt funk" on account of that band and because I was kind of "stuck at home" so to speak. So, I got past those therapeutic approaches, when I discovered and sank my teeth into Solution-Focused Therapy. No psychoanalytic mumbo jumbo for these boys. They were let's-cut-to-the-chase, let's-get-down-to-some-solutions, no-nonsense theoreticians. One of the things I liked was they said, "If you can resolve the problem in 20 minutes, then just have a 20- minute session." No reason to sit there examining each other's ear wax for the whole 50-minute hour if you don't need to.
So, in comes Pete, we'll call him. In comes Pete looking like his pet beagle, his only friend, just ate Pete's last Prozac and then ran across the street and got hit by a truck. Pete had been doing this to me for three months, coming in every week and whining about every little hangnail or every time someone gave him a disapproving look. To tell you the truth, I got sick of commiserating with him or figuring out why his mother denied him her breast too soon or maybe conspiring that a different anti-depressant might give him the warm and fuzzies. So he sits down and I say, like always, "How are we feeling today, Pete?" Pete starts right in about how the alternator on his van went out, and how he has a headache, and how his mother hung up on him the other day, and blah, blah, blah, cry me a slow-moving, muddy-ass river.
I had had enough! I wouldn't let him do it to me for one more second! We needed a solution and we needed a focus! Right this second!
"Pete?" I asked him. "What is the opposite of sadness?" Pete was taken aback a bit, but offered that happiness, of course, was the opposite. "Pete?" I asked him again. "How can you tell if a person is happy?" Pete thought a moment, then offered that a happy person smiles and laughs easily. "Pete?" I asked. "Do you want to smile and laugh easily?" Pete thought for a moment, and responded that he would if he could. So I told him, "Let me see if I can offer a solution."
I stood up, removed my sport jacket and began unbuttoning my shirt. "Whoa," Pete said. "What's going on here?" I assured him it was okay, that I was helping him focus on a happiness solution. I removed my shirt and stood before him, bare from the waist up. "Now watch this," I instructed, and took a felt pen from my desk drawer, and carefully drew a pair of crossed eyes and a nose over my belly button which served as a mouth. Then with both forefingers and thumbs, I squeezed the skin around my belly button to lip synch the words as I sang: "Swing low, sweet chariot. Coming for to carry me home..."
Pete sat there stunned, eyebrows raised. He wasn't smiling and he didn't seem to be breathing. Then it dawned on me that the song wasn't uplifting enough and it didn't really match spiritually the squinched face on my stomach. So I decided to change songs, and if I do say so myself, I got pretty good with my belly button. My stupid little face then went to town, "Put the lime in the coconut and drink 'em bot' together. Put the lime in the coconut, then you'll feel better. Put the lime in..."
Pete stood up and started to leave. I put my hand on his shoulder, and said, "Hold on, Pete. We're just getting started." But Pete was having none of it and made a beeline for the door, saying "We're finished!" And that's the last I ever saw of him.
But, my friends, I was anything but finished. Oh, the agency director may have fired me over this, but on that day I set out on a new course and have never looked back. My message to you today is simple and if you don't take anything else away from our time together, at least hold on to these three precious words: pyloric sphincter valve. Believe me, the pyloric is by far my favorite sphincter. This sneaky little valve maintains balance between the stomach and the duodenum. Just think about that for a moment. Maintains balance.
One time I got drunk at a social worker seminar and a whole bunch of us piled into the hot tub there at the Wheeling, West Virginia, Comfort Inn. Alcohol completely disrupts pyloric sphincter valve functioning, and by gosh, I spontaneously vomitted right there, a massive and ghastly explosion, which of course affected the emotional state of my fellow social workers.
My friends, I came away from that experience with a profound appreciation of the pyloric sphincter valve. Hell, I had never even heard of the sphincter before this happened. It's amazing how hindsight can...
Oh, is it time for a break?
(silence)
Yes, I could use a stretch myself.
Wow, is this a fire drill? Where is everybody going?
Comments are welcome at tombohn2@yahoo.com
Associates Degree -- School of Social Work
University of Phoenix, Kokomo Campus
Bypass Highway 68, Holiday Inn Express
Kokomo, Indiana
January 29, 2011
Thomas R. Bohnhorst, MSW, LMSW
In Private Practice
Traverse City, MI
Transcript
Gooooood Moooooorrrrrning Ko...!!! Ko...!!! Mo...!!!
(silence)
I've never seen so many Subarus in one parking lot in my whole life! What, is there a Subaru factory in Kokomo? No, wait... That's right: we're a bunch of social workers. Hey, it's 2011 people. You can remove the Obama bumper stickers now.
(silence)
But seriously, don't they have any fresh donuts here in Kokomo? I mean, seriously.
(silence)
Thank you, thank you. My fellow social workers, I come before you today to tell you a little story, my little story really, about a little social worker with a whole lotta love for his profession. First, let me color in a picture for you, my friends: The year is 1998, and I am in my agency counseling office, waiting for my next client, flossing my teeth. Don't laugh. Flossing does two major things: it stimulates the gums which stimulates the blood which stimulates energy. I would lay odds that people who take Viagra don't floss very much. Now, there's a promising research project for you. But more important, flossing will freshen the breath. You ever lean in to someone who hasn't flossed for a month? Especially a meat eater? Strand of meat gets caught between the molars and just sits there and sits there. Pretty soon it smells to high heaven. It's all you can do to breathe without grabbing a gas mask. But I should talk. One time, I was flossing and unbeknownst to me, the floss breaks off at my tooth. The client comes in -- very hyper woman, teen-age daughter ran off with a carnival -- and the whole session she's mesmerized by my mouth. Turns out that string of floss is hanging out the corner of my mouth the whole time.
By 1998, I had moved through my "unconditional positive regard" phase and what I like to call my "Gestalt funk". I'll tell you a little secret: back when I was using Gestalt on agoraphobics, I'd come home from work and listen to Grand Funk Railroad... cranked up full blast! It was very liberating! I may not have been able to get people to ride an elevator, but at least I could reverberate my own rafters! Anyway, that's why I called that stretch of time my "Gestalt funk" on account of that band and because I was kind of "stuck at home" so to speak. So, I got past those therapeutic approaches, when I discovered and sank my teeth into Solution-Focused Therapy. No psychoanalytic mumbo jumbo for these boys. They were let's-cut-to-the-chase, let's-get-down-to-some-solutions, no-nonsense theoreticians. One of the things I liked was they said, "If you can resolve the problem in 20 minutes, then just have a 20- minute session." No reason to sit there examining each other's ear wax for the whole 50-minute hour if you don't need to.
So, in comes Pete, we'll call him. In comes Pete looking like his pet beagle, his only friend, just ate Pete's last Prozac and then ran across the street and got hit by a truck. Pete had been doing this to me for three months, coming in every week and whining about every little hangnail or every time someone gave him a disapproving look. To tell you the truth, I got sick of commiserating with him or figuring out why his mother denied him her breast too soon or maybe conspiring that a different anti-depressant might give him the warm and fuzzies. So he sits down and I say, like always, "How are we feeling today, Pete?" Pete starts right in about how the alternator on his van went out, and how he has a headache, and how his mother hung up on him the other day, and blah, blah, blah, cry me a slow-moving, muddy-ass river.
I had had enough! I wouldn't let him do it to me for one more second! We needed a solution and we needed a focus! Right this second!
"Pete?" I asked him. "What is the opposite of sadness?" Pete was taken aback a bit, but offered that happiness, of course, was the opposite. "Pete?" I asked him again. "How can you tell if a person is happy?" Pete thought a moment, then offered that a happy person smiles and laughs easily. "Pete?" I asked. "Do you want to smile and laugh easily?" Pete thought for a moment, and responded that he would if he could. So I told him, "Let me see if I can offer a solution."
I stood up, removed my sport jacket and began unbuttoning my shirt. "Whoa," Pete said. "What's going on here?" I assured him it was okay, that I was helping him focus on a happiness solution. I removed my shirt and stood before him, bare from the waist up. "Now watch this," I instructed, and took a felt pen from my desk drawer, and carefully drew a pair of crossed eyes and a nose over my belly button which served as a mouth. Then with both forefingers and thumbs, I squeezed the skin around my belly button to lip synch the words as I sang: "Swing low, sweet chariot. Coming for to carry me home..."
Pete sat there stunned, eyebrows raised. He wasn't smiling and he didn't seem to be breathing. Then it dawned on me that the song wasn't uplifting enough and it didn't really match spiritually the squinched face on my stomach. So I decided to change songs, and if I do say so myself, I got pretty good with my belly button. My stupid little face then went to town, "Put the lime in the coconut and drink 'em bot' together. Put the lime in the coconut, then you'll feel better. Put the lime in..."
Pete stood up and started to leave. I put my hand on his shoulder, and said, "Hold on, Pete. We're just getting started." But Pete was having none of it and made a beeline for the door, saying "We're finished!" And that's the last I ever saw of him.
But, my friends, I was anything but finished. Oh, the agency director may have fired me over this, but on that day I set out on a new course and have never looked back. My message to you today is simple and if you don't take anything else away from our time together, at least hold on to these three precious words: pyloric sphincter valve. Believe me, the pyloric is by far my favorite sphincter. This sneaky little valve maintains balance between the stomach and the duodenum. Just think about that for a moment. Maintains balance.
One time I got drunk at a social worker seminar and a whole bunch of us piled into the hot tub there at the Wheeling, West Virginia, Comfort Inn. Alcohol completely disrupts pyloric sphincter valve functioning, and by gosh, I spontaneously vomitted right there, a massive and ghastly explosion, which of course affected the emotional state of my fellow social workers.
My friends, I came away from that experience with a profound appreciation of the pyloric sphincter valve. Hell, I had never even heard of the sphincter before this happened. It's amazing how hindsight can...
Oh, is it time for a break?
(silence)
Yes, I could use a stretch myself.
Wow, is this a fire drill? Where is everybody going?
End of Transcript
hahaha, 3 cheers for the psv!
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