Eulogy for Graham Patrick Johnson

I just wanted to share the eulogy presented by one of Graham's teachers, Lisa Bender. Reading it does not reflect the beautiful presentation made by Ms. Bender. His father also gave a beautiful talk after this eulogy but we do not have it in typed form.
Graham Patrick Johnson August 8, 1990~January 17, 2006
I had the privilege to teach Graham for two years at Franklin Academy. The first year was
when he was in seventh grade: I saw him twice a day: once for Curriculum Assistance and then
later in the day for Language Arts. In Curriculum Assistance, he rarely had homework to do as he
had already completed it at home the night before. "Since I'm finished with my work, can I check
Edline to see my grades?" he would ask, With the same zest some people check their bank
balances, Graham would check the update and then announce gleefully, "I have a 102 average in
science!" "What's your average in language arts?" I would counter. "I don't know, but I have a
102 in science!"
Graham loved science and reading scientific texts. Science is logical, practical,
Predictable. He hated poetry. When we started a unit on poetry, he exclaimed, "Ugh! Not poetry!
I never understand what they mean. I know they mean something, but I don't get it."
"Graham, a poem has to say a lot, to send a message, in a shortened amount of space,"
I tried to explain. "It's like a puzzle or a code to crack: you have to read it carefully and figure
out what you know for sure, then look again to solve the 'riddle,' to understand the complete
meaning of a poem."
The class would read the poems together, and after each work, he would look at me and
grin as if to issue the challenge: "Let's see you explain that one!" I'll never forget a particular
moment when, after we had read a particular poem, he looked up at me in surprise, his eyes as
big as saucers, announcing for the class to hear: "I get it! I understand what it is saying!!" He was
so excited, so very proud, as if he suddenly realized he was far smarter than he had ever
imagined he could be. It was a magnificent moment-not only for him, but also for me as a
teacher.
In standing here before you today, I have to be honest: this celebration of Graham's life is
a puzzle, a mind-boggling riddle 1 am not capable of understanding or explaining. Eccles?
1 must follow my own poetic advice to Graham: "Figure out what you know for sure..."
I know for sure the following truths:
Graham loved his family. Graham loved his father and eagerly aspired to follow in his
footsteps, to be like him in every way. He cultivated an off-beat, quirky sense of humor: nothing
was too weird, too outrageous, too gross to say or do. He didn't joke just to get laughter-although
many of you did laugh: he did it to get the response of "Graham!" The highest praise or reward
for a joke was a semi-indignant "Graham Johnson!" Everyone who knows Graham has a
different anecdote of something he did -either intentionally or unintentionally-that was riotously
funny.
Graham loved his mother. In mock disgust, he would share some anecdote from home,
saying "Well, my mom says..." or "My mom wants..." 1 would mimic his anguished tone with a
sympathetic rejoinder: "Mothers!" "I know, 1 know...but what can a son do?" he would respond,
then shoot me a sly grin that said he wouldn't want his mother to be any other way.
He loved his parents, writing once in his language arts daily journal that his parents were
His heroes.
He loved his sisters. He would complain about them in the same pretend-disgusted tone,
but it was obvious he really treasured being their big brother. He felt responsible to protect them:
even as a young child, he would explain rules and possible dangers to them in an effort to keep
them out of harm's way.
He loved his extended family tremendously. He had a very special relationship with his
grandfather. Graham eagerly anticipated visits to Greensboro during school trackouts because he
would be free to go "hack around" with Papa. Once when the Johnson family was planning a
vacation to Mexico on Spring Break, Graham remarked, "Well, I'll go if! have to, but I'd rather
just skip Mexico and go to Greensboro and 'hack around' with Papa." They shared a passion for
technological gadgets and watching movies. Graham relished being spoiled by his Memaw; as if
uncertain about his beloved status, he would often ask, "Am I still 'the apple of your eye'?"
He also adored his Granny: he passed up accompanying the family to the Highlands Art
Festival concert in Abingdon, V A, preferring instead to spend "quality time" alone with Granny
just talking, watching movies, and eating her wonderful cooking.
His Uncle Scott and Amanda inspired him to consider engineering as a future career, and
Graham was very proud of their accomplishments. He also admired and loved his godfather,
Chris Roan, known as "Rock" to this family. Graham appreciated the time Rock spent with the
Johnsons, noting particularly that Rock always made time for his friends.
I know for sure that Graham loved all his family. He knew beyond a certainty of a

doubt how much they all loved him. I also know for sure that Graham loved his friends.
Graham had many friends. In particular, he treasured his friendships with Kyle and Nick;
he was proud of being a good friend, of being like Rock. When I would see Graham in the hall
during class changes, I would note with a smile he was the luckiest guy I knew as he was never
without the accompaniment of at least two girls. He would be smiling, they would be laughing.
As you can see here today, his friends were as varied as the colors of a peacock's feathers: no one
was too young or too old to be made into a friend. From Tracy Ann McWilliams, his After
school Care buddy, to his parents' friends and his teachers at Franklin Academy, Graham had a
special talent for making and keeping friendships. He always carried a smile, and just as he
cherished his own individuality, he recognized and appreciated the same in each of us.
I know for sure he loved his friends; his smile told us so. Furthermore, I know he
loved band.
He loved playing the tuba-an instrument he learned to play because no one else played it.
He loved music, Scottish tunes in particular, and his participation in the Franklin Academy jazz
band. He loved Lisa Norris, and he loved his wonderful, wacky, and sometimes wicked, fellow
band members. A week of summer band camp at UNC-G last summer was proclaimed, "the best
week of my life."
I am proud to say he grew to love poetry. Once he realized that he was capable of
Thinking great thoughts, of being just as profound and thoughtful as the poets themselves,
he devoured poems and other philosophical texts, delighted with the wisdom, joy, knowledge, and
passion expressed within. Last year, he stopped by my classroom to show off a massive poetry
anthology he had received as a gift; I was tickled by the contrast of this jubilant young man with
his trove of poetry and the seventh grader who had previously graced my classroom with "Ughh!
Poetry!"
Elizabeth shared yesterday that his favorite poem was one that he, his class and I had
studied together. It is "Dreams" by Langston Hughes:
Hold fast to dreams,
For if dreams die,
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams,
For if dreams go,
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.
According to Hughes, the consequences of losing your dreams are grim. However,
Graham's life was not about broken winged birds and barren, frozen fields. Graham's life was
made precious by his love for his family, their love for him, his love for his friends, his love for
band, , and his love of poetry. Perhaps it was because of the richness of love, Graham could
appreciate Hughes's sentiments about the importance of protecting and holding on to what really
matters, to the most valuable treasure of all-love.
Ironically, Graham's life is a poem: a regrettably short expression of thoughts, words and
deeds. It is an unfinished work, almost as if the poet stopped mid-thought, waylaid by an
unknown distraction. Although I have "read" and "studied" his poem with great reflection and
prayer, I am not able to explain it; its meaning will be revealed in God's time, not ours.
I do, however, challenge each of you to finish the poem of Graham Johnson. Follow the
advice of Langston Hughes: Hold fast to dreams, dreams filled with love of family, of friends, of
music, of smiles, and the beauty of that which is eternal. Hold fast to the ideals of character,
service, leadership, and scholarship. Finish the poem which Graham started; learn from the
bittersweet lessons; make your own life and that of your family, community, school, and world
reflective of the joy, humor, and appreciation which Graham personified.
Hold fast to family.
Where there is family, Graham lives.
Hold fast to friends.
Where there is friendship, Graham lives.
Hold fast to beauty.
Where there is beauty, Graham lives.
Hold fast to love.
Where there is love, Graham lives.