How I would have loved to give a speech at Wesleyan’s commencement…
Despite my failed dreams, there remains nostalgia to give me my kicks. I gave the valedictory speech at Abington High School’s graduation, in what was my first—and, I suppose, my only—public speaking performance in front of a crowd of thousands. On June 4, 2005, I approached the podium and—funny hat atop my head, tassel newly moved to the left—delivered a speech I’d been working on for (at least a few) days.
It may not have been the best—indeed, had I the chance to rewrite it today, I undoubtedly would. And it took about 10 hours for my aging (but much-loved) PowerBook G4 to crunch the DVD footage into something more accessible. But, it finally finished, and I’ve finally uploaded it to my media server.
Watch me subtly brush off threats of violence at 2:22! Watch me barely avoid choking up at 4:07! And watch me speak with what, I think, is a stronger Boston accent than I presently have.
Credit for the footage goes to Studio A Productions, an outfit about which I’ve been able to find no information. I suspect they were related to Adelphia, our cable provider at the time, and possibly Adrienne Golden’s mother, whom I always saw working the camera.
For those interested in the text, it reads as follows:
I am here. You, my fellow graduates, are here as well. Parents and grandparents, teachers and administrators, brothers and sisters, friends and family, are all here.
But are we really?
In a greater sense, it seems we are moving along this path called life, never stationary, never really standing still, though in this short moment we may seem to be here and nowhere else.
It’s odd if you consider how this thing called life has pushed us along.
Already, it’s been 1,377 days since we stepped through the rusty green doors of Abington High School. 2,105 days ago, we made the leap to junior high. And since we started kindergarten on September 9, 1992, 4,653 days have passed us by.
Yes, it seems like an eternity, but we have survived.
Yet now, each and every one of those days is gone, locked away in that treasure chest known to the nostalgic as ‘the good ol’ days’, to the pessimistic as ‘the lesser years’, and to the neutral as ‘the past’. Time and life have collaborated to poke, prod, and toss us around for the last eighteen years. And we’ve got many years ahead in which we will be poked, prodded, and tossed some more.
We are never standing still. We are always in motion. We are always going somewhere. And so, as I stand here today, not in front of you, but with you, my fellow graduates, we are going somewhere.
My eighteen years on this planet have taught me many things, though I’ll admit much learning lay ahead, for me, for you, and for all of us here today.
Historian and author Jack Adams said, “If it’s free, it’s advice; if you pay for it, it’s counseling; if you can use either one, it’s a miracle.” So because miracles are pretty cool, and because I’ve got the podium for at least a few more minutes, I’m going to share with you some of my advice, which is really just the rambling of my mind translated into something mildly coherent:
- Embrace love. Forget money.
- Hold the door for the person behind you.
- Keep your head up and remain optimistic, always.
- Speak to those who will listen. Pretend the rest are deaf.
- Smile.
- And finally, as Mark Twain once said, “Always do right. That will gratify some of the people, and astonish the rest.”
I invite you to take this advice and do with it what you will. For right now, little is certain in my mind except two things.
The first: in a short while, we will all walk out these doors, free from the chains of all-night study sessions, liberated from endless homework, and unshackled from the torture of uncomfortable classroom chairs.
And the second: we go off in only months to our own separate lives; leaving behind the common path we have followed which, for many of us, has lasted thirteen years.
Some of us will go to college; others, to a job; some will go into the service, and some will take time off. Yet the common experiences that so many of us have shared here at Abington High will reflect on us in ways we will not soon forget.
There will be no more Spicy Chicken, and no more Friday pizza. Gone are those blessed days when we could sleep in because the sophomores had MCAS. Haz-Mat teams in the halls, boisterous class meetings, and not getting in trouble for being late to school because of construction on Route 18: all these will be, in a few years, just distant memories of our time here at Abington High.
But while a chicken sandwich – no matter how tasty – may become just a memory, those people who have guided and taught us for the bulk of our lives will forever live on; your knowledge, wisdom, and guidance will forever be a part of us, and for this, we are forever grateful.
To teachers and staff, from kindergarten to the present, thank you for all your help and support throughout the years. You have made a world of difference in all our lives.
To my parents and family, the love and values that you have instilled in me have gotten me to where I am today, and are the reason I am standing at this podium.
To my beautiful girlfriend of 18 months, Erica, I owe a very special thank you. I would never have been able to make it through this year without you by my side.
To my friends, fellow classmates, and all those listening, I wish you the best of luck, and may we continue to work for a better world and a better understanding of each other.
And with that said, Class of 2005: it’s been quite a ride. Goodbye. And thank you.