Flying lessons for graduates.

Byline: Bob Welch / The Register-Guard

IN THE MIDST of graduation season, here's some advice for students who are spreading their wings and flying into the wild blue yonder, where many will change the world - one latte they serve at a time. Not that anybody asked, but:

Take time to stop and smell the Williams Bread on Franklin Boulevard.

Live with the creativity of a Saturday Market seamstress and the earnestness of a Les Schwab tire jockey.

Dare to be unconventional. What would high-jumping be if Medford's Dick Fosbury had never invented the "flop"?

Speaking of flopping, dare to fail. It feels terrible when you're doing it, but it's a sign that you dared to set the bar higher. And that's the only way you'll get better.

Remember, if you move to another state and find yourself getting old and gray, it's because ya gotta get out and pump the gas yourself.

You are the legacy of parents, teachers and coaches who have invested in you and your dreams. Now, start investing in someone else's. It's like Rocket Boy Homer Hickam says at the end of "October Sky": "A rocket won't fly unless somebody lights the fuse." Go light someone's dream fuse.

Don't turn right on that red light at Seventh and High. It's illegal. And flashing your diploma in the cop's face probably won't get you off the hook.

Speaking of cops, the next time you're in the middle of a West University-area drunken riot and the bad-guy cops arrive, consider this: If you were being held hostage, those same cops would risk their lives to save you.

Most of the world's honorable people have never held an office, written a book, made lots of money, won a game at the buzzer or leased a skybox at Autzen. They live in the shadows but do great works. Obscurity is underrated.

Remember your roots. Right now, you're all about wings. Good for you. But it's always nice to have someplace to return to for perspective - and free rent.

Here's some inspiration I got last Thursday after seeing Dave Frohnmayer on campus: Be so secure in who you are that you can drive a Dodge Caravan, even if you're a college president.

Sometimes the caring thing to do doesn't look very caring on the outside. Like, say, on Coburg Road when drivers stop to let oncoming cars turn in front of them. That looks caring, but it puts the people who are turning at risk because they can't see the hidden car that's about to broadside them as they turn. Tough love, traffic-style. It's the same way in big life.

Fast-forward and think of consequences. When you get into a car after drinking, think: Am I OK with facing the parents of the kid I might kill?

The two most important words, I've found, are: "I'm sorry." But you have to mean them, or they don't count.

Here's some advice I got from a close friend who's seen both sides, a man who made big bucks as the opening act for Garth Brooks and whose 8-year-old daughter is now recovering from her second brain surgery in two years: It's sad to love only things that can't love you back.

If you work retail and a customer walks in and you're busy, at least acknowledge that the customer exists. It makes all the difference.

Inspiration from UO football coach Mike Bellotti: Play one inch out of control.

If you smoke, quit. Robert Frazier, a Register-Guard associate editor who had emphysema and died in 1977 at age 56, once figured out that he'd smoked 30 miles of cigarettes. "Isn't that great?" he once wrote. "Enough cigarettes to reach half way from Eugene to Salem and you can't put up the outside Christmas lights without stopping to rest." You're 23 or 18; you think you're immortal. You're not.

Hitch your U-Haul to a star. But don't forget the parents who paid the rental fee.

Advice I heard from Eugene counselor Debra Alexander: Forgive. "When you're consumed by hate, all you are is hate. Eventually it eats up everything left inside you."

Nobody on his death bed ever said, "Gee, I wish I'd spent more time at the office."

If you go to the Oregon Country Fair, wear something really outlandish, like clothes.

Heed the words of author Annie Dillard, who wrote: "One of the few things I know about writing is this: spend it all, shoot it, lose it all, right away, every time." Same with life. Invest your words now, while you can.

As the band Superchick sings: "Let's not wait until the end/to be the thing we wish we'd been."

The next time you see a little old lady slowly crossing the street, be patient. As my mother once told me: She's somebody's mother.

The next time you see a little old man slowly crossing the street, be patient. He's probably me.

Bob Welch can be reached by calling 338-2354 or by e-mail at [e-mail].