Martin Luther King Jr. 1929-1968. Mother Theresa 1910-1997. Albert Einstein 1879-1955. All of these people are not remembered for their birth or death dates, but rather what they did with their dash. The dash that goes between their birth and death dates on their headstones. The dash that says what a person has accomplished in their life. The dash that takes up so little space, but holds so much meaning. What will you do with your dash? Will your dash be one of accomplishment, of success, of compassion, of love, of happiness? I wish you more than enough of all of these things to make up your dash. I heard a short story recently that I think seems appropriate to share. At an airport a father and daughter were saying good-bye to one another. "I love you, I wish you enough." The father said. She said, "Daddy, our life together has been more than enough. I wish you enough, too." They kissed good-bye and she left. Walking over toward the window where another young lady was seated, he asked her, "Did you ever say good-bye to someone knowing it would be forever?" ...
To the County High School Class of 2012: As you sit in front of me, I know what most of you are thinking at the moment. There are those who are already pondering about what life without high school will be like; those who are debating whether or not to tell your crush tonight about your whispers of adoration you’ve secretly held for four years; some simply want to get out of that ungodly chair, get that thing that isn’t really a diploma but only tells you when to pick up the thing, and then be the first one on the green bus to the grad party — you know who you are. And the rest, well, the rest aren’t even paying attention, you’re thinking, “Great, here comes one of the valedictorian speakers. Next up: a boring speech straight out of the pits of scholarly hell.” And it’s OK, I don’t mind — that sort of thing comes with the territory. But tonight, I ask that you give me a chance to break that stereotype so that I may address you in the full splendor that you deserve after 13 grueling years of work. I do not want to be known as your “valedictorian” as I stand here, c’mon guys, there is no time left to place labels on people anymore, instead I ask that you accept me as one of your peers — and as a man who will enjoy becoming a graduate alongside you.
Over the past four years, we have grown from insecure, immature freshmen to successful, focused and confident young adults. This incredible transformation has been the result of our entire high school experience. Everything from that first homecoming game, to late night cramming, to the last dance at prom. These experiences have pulled us together as a class and we have learned to love and respect our fellow classmates.
No amount of education can completely prepare us for the world that lies ahead of us. Because it presents many unknowns, it is exciting yet at the same time frightening. I know that there are still so many things that can only be learned through experience; a challenge with which we will soon all be faced. I would like to read a letter written by a woman by the name of Avril Johannes which was published in the book "Chicken Soup For the Soul." She writes this letter to the world upon her son's and his classmates' graduation and it relates some of these same ideas.
When I was in elementary school, I loved to read. I was a total nerd back then ... okay maybe I still am, but one thing has changed. Now I don't so much like reading. My favorite poet was Shel Silverstein, who wrote "Where the Sidewalk Ends." He seemed like he was a total hippie, but that's cool because I like hippies. My grandma is a recovering hippie. I like her too. Anyway, Shel Silverstein wrote about the coolest things. He wrote about magical erasers, eating whales and a boy with long hair flying away from people who were taunting him. He captured all of the things that I loved without knowing that I actually loved them. Now you may ask, how does this hippie relate to our graduation? Well, he wrote a poem entitled "Traffic Light" and this is how it goes:
Good evening. Some of you out there may not realize this but those of you who attended Suntime Middle School have been with this guy for the last seven years. I would like to ask you all, not just Suntime Middle School grads and who all else, to join me in thanking Mr. Weather for his patience and dedication to the success of our education over the years. We are the Class of 2000. The first graduating class of the new millennium. The past four years have been pretty wild. We started out as a bunch of rats in a small cage, but as time went by we learned and matured and became big rats in a new small cage, but in any case, the cage door is now opening; the handlers turning us wild things loose. As we leave "Where the Wild Things Are," home to some of the best cat fights, fist fights and food fights this side of the Cascades, I have a little surprise for all of you sitting in front of me here tonight in your caps and gowns … we ain’t seen nothing yet!
Students, faculty, family, friends, on this exciting day, I speak to optimism, laughter, and grins.
Betty Lou is right -- Our achievements of the past four years have been an honor. And so I offer my congratulations to each of you for achieving the honor that comes with high school graduation. Up to this point, high school may be the most exciting and difficult experience of our lives. We've enjoyed the carefree and happy times with WWF-style pep assemblies, dances, Junior T-P nights, and classes with friends. We've had our bad days too, though. The days when we forgot our semester project for C.I. at home, or when we couldn't stop falling asleep and Mr. Gnome made us get up to "open a window." But far worse were the times when we felt alone. We've all had days of personal crisis when we've felt rejected by those around us or alienated from them. Hopefully, we were fortunate enough to have had a friend come rescue us from isolation, but perhaps not.
As you inhale the aggregate odor of your senior class for the last time, I’m sure there are many burning questions racing through your minds: “Will I find my place in the world?” If you’re lucky. “Am I really going to graduate a virgin?” Yeah, probably. “Who is that incredibly handsome young man addressing us, and how long do we have the privilege of listening to him?” Howdy, Andrew Gonzales here, and hopefully not long; I realize that your robes are making you sweat, your thongs are making you uncomfortable, and my use of the words “virgin” and “thongs” is making your parents sweaty and uncomfortable.
There is a distinct difference between knowledge and wisdom. I can tell you that as honor society president I have seen many smart people do stupid things. Let's just say that mixing a very large lunch with a bobbing ship and an admissions officer from the University of California equals a vomitous situation.
“We are working on our relationship, I love my wife. She is entitled to a few mistakes. After all, we are only human. We will be attending counseling, as we are very much still together.” He seals it with a kiss, as the cameras flash. Then pulls her into a car.
The great big orange doors. The doors that we have grown so fond of during our four-year stay at Tropics High School -- the cafeteria doors. In an attempt to get to the Commons a split second faster than the person next to you, how many times have you opened those orange doors so hard and fast that you've gone BAM! and heard a response of a groan ... OW! Then in reaction to the yelp, you turn to see a boy with a freshly swollen red spot right in the middle of his forehead. "Sorry," you say with a cheesy grin and you skidaddle away as fast as you possibly can. You never see this boy ever again, except in the most random places and though you don't know his name, you'll always remember to never open the big orange door so fast and so hard ever again. As insignificant as he was in your life, he has taught you a lesson.
It is probably a mistake that I am standing here giving a speech for graduation. In fact it is probably a mistake that I am even graduating from this school at all -- believe me, just as most people in this class I have tested the limits of attendance, of sleeplessness, and of procrastination. At the beginning of my high schooling, I was even testing dropping out ... and if that wasn't a mistake, I don't know what was. After four years of Starr altering our minds, it seemed most fitting for me to spend my four minutes talking about mistakes. Thank goodness for them, by the way -- it is only when we truly screw up big time that we are ever stopped in our tracks -- stopped, briefly, to learn lessons of worth.
I smiled at the nodding going on between them. These two really did have a gentleman’s agreement. Charlie kissed me on the cheek and walked away.
“I love you. I love you so much, dear. You’re the one I love.” She sobbed, and hugged him gently.
To begin something new, you must sacrifice something old. To enter the real world, you must graduate your childhood.