Graduation Speech - Original Writing Essay

Nine years ago, I never could have imagined I’d be writing this essay. I was a senior in high school, and, like the rest of my classmates, I was apprehensive about the future. Unlike my classmates, I felt like I had missed the proverbial “you need to get your life together” message. I watched my classmates apply to colleges, their majors already decided and their future careers mapped out. While I was an above average student, I felt I lacked the decisiveness my classmates seemed to have. I did not feel passionate about a career or even a field of study. I felt defective. This was compounded by the financial strain I knew attending college would have on my family. It seemed wasteful to try to “find my passion” at school while squandering

Writing this commencement speech for you tonight was hands-down one of the most stressful things I have ever done. For days, I toiled over what to speak about, worried that as you sat there anxious to graduate I would bore you, or say the wrong thing. I tried to write a witty and funny speech designed to entertain you, but a lack of ability ultimately forced me to give up. This speech is the culmination of hours of brainstorming, three rejected rough drafts, editing galore, and finally me just putting my heart and soul on paper. It, as practically all commencement speeches do, contains all the expected words of praise and well wishing. It does not say anything that has not been said in the past, or that will not be said in the future, save

November 20th: a lovely cool-weather-ed day, without much worry or fear in the air; the day after my sister, who had been living at college, celebrated her birthday with us at her workplace. Overall, it was a wonderful day. It was nearing the winter holidays, after a long-needed break during the beginning of eighth grade. I was staying after school, playing in the Middle School ‘Jazz Band’, having a great time. Everything ended, and I packed my instrument away. Overall, the band was able to learn, and practice, many new pieces for the upcoming concert. I couldn’t wait to go home, relax, and do homework for the next school day! My grandfather picked me up in his white van, and started towards my house, not too far away from the middle school. We were about halfway to my house, when I noticed a drawer on the sides of the road, which looked extremely similar to the one in my house. I didn’t think much of it. It was just a strange coincidence. My grandfather and I were approaching my house, and I noticed one of my indoor-cats, named ‘Rocket’, running around outside, on my front lawn, frantically. There must be something going on. My grandfather, driving his van, reached the top of my driveway. I rushed out of his van to notice my front door wide open, with its wooden frame smashed. Something had to happen, and it wasn’t good.

Every time I go out on a stage I look at the small piece of paper in my music folder, one with hand written words that now hold so much meaning to me. I think all the way back to the first time I sang in front of an audience and of the complete and utter disaster that it was. However, I also think of how far I have come. It all started in fourth grade when my school had their annual school talent show. I had sang in the church choir with a group of around twenty other kids, but this was different. I had practiced my song multiple times over, and had asked my friend to play the piano while I sang. The day I walked into the school will never leave my memory. It was so tense you could taste the anticipation in the air. I walked in and sat in my seat where I memorized the student I would come up after. Time seemed to speed up impossibly fast, and the next moment I was being called onto the stage. The only sound I could hear was the pound of my heart, and my friend fuzzily asking in the background, “Do you want to go a cappella when I turn the pages?” I nodded agreeably because I did not want her to know I did not know what the word meant. Now I know it’s meaning is “without instrumental music” ("A Cappella."). Too soon, we were standing on the stage, and I had started to sing the song. I thought everything was going well until it came time for her to turn the page and she stopped playing. I waited patiently as she waited for me to sing. We were both waiting, and the only sound

It was her freshman year. She walked into the school feeling more nervous and frightened than she had ever felt previously in all nine years of attending school. Quaking in her shoes, she roamed the halls, frantically searching for the right classroom, fearing a possible encounter with a senior who would more than likely karate chop her to the ground before she even had a chance to run. Every year that she could remember there was a new friend whom she had latched onto in an attempt to survive the year. Yet freshman year, as she became more acquainted with her surroundings and the occupants of the building, friends were found in people she never would have imagined. She had finally found the group of friends she knew would stay by her side her entire highschool career; or all of theirs anyway.

As I grew up I constantly spelled out my brother’s name backwards, instead of CHRIS I spelled it SIRHC or I would say things such as, “noodles spaghetti”. I assumed it was standard for kids my age. A few years later, during my first few years in school, my teacher explained to my mom that there was a high possibility that I was dyslexic. Due to this, that same teacher moved me into a slower class; a class intended for intellectually disabled students. Although the students in the classroom were lovely, I was furious that I was branded as “incompetent” or “sluggish”. After a few hours of analyzing this unexpected change, I panicked and decided that I needed to construct a plan that would get me back into the “regular” classroom. As soon as I got home that day I sat at the dinner table and read book after book. I read everything from my school books to cereal labels; I was determined to be placed back into the “regular” classroom. It took a few months, but after studying hours and hours with my helpful and optimistic mother I was placed back into the “regular class”.

The morning was as clear as glass. The sun shined through my window, waking me up from my sleep. The air tasted like water, as if I was tasting the Earth. I sat up to put on my slippers and walked to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and dressed to get ready for summer school today. I recently started, so I don’t especially know my way around. At the same time, I never wanted to go to summer school, but my teacher said it is mandatory to go, or I will get held back from grade level. Now that I finished getting ready, I walked out from the bathroom to the kitchen.

I still remember coming home from school when I was six years old saying, “Mommy, I’m so happy that now boys and girls are equal.” We had just learned about how things used to be and I was happy we had come so far. But I remember being eight and getting in trouble for yelling at a boy in my class. It didn’t matter that he had called me stupid, all my teacher said was “Boys will be boys, but good girls don’t fight back.” And then at ten years old I remember walking around with my family, hearing words I had never heard before screamed out of cars at me, not knowing what they meant, but knowing that whatever they meant wasn’t right. I remember my mother telling me I couldn’t wear that dress anymore, because she didn’t want people

I was walking to school, like usually because I missed the bus again. My house was only four blocks away and it was a rainy day and a cold one too. When I finally made it to school everyone was already going to their classes .

It 's the minute details that are vital: the small things are what make big things happen. There are certain flashbacks of one’s childhood that stay forever in one’s mind. There is one day in particular that is still fresh in my mind. It was the fall of third grade, and I forgot to pray Shacharit that morning. My evident passion for Tefillah began at a young age. As the realization dawned on me, tears were suddenly streaming down my face. This had never occurred to me before, and I felt nervous. I had realized the power of Tefillah in first grade and I was motivated to pray out loud every single day even on non-school days. How could I forget to pray to G-d that morning? With lips quivering, I immediately wondered if G-d would punish me. My mother, one of my prime role models explained to me that it is okay to error and that it is never too late to pray. The one time I forgot to pray to G-d was a critical juncture for me during my childhood. As a result of this occurrence, I realized over time that mistakes do happen and that one can move forward after. That day was one of the roots of determination that emerged over the years. This one seemingly small and insignificant event impacted my life and will continue to be a precedent for further goals and choices.

Princeton was my Paris not Nolan. My parents talked to each other and asked me more questions about Nolan. They couldn 't believe that I finally had a boyfriend. "Boyfriend" and "Nolan" in the same sentence made me lose my appetite. Mom and dad told me they wanted to meet him soon.

When I was younger, I wasn’t sure which career I wanted to pursue after leaving school, but I was certain that it needed to be something that was hands on as my favourite subjects had always been the ones where I could use my hands, such as art, metalwork and woodwork. I remember one project I was particularly proud of was a square coffee table made from walnut that I built in my woodworking class, I was given a brief with the dimensions and left to design and build it myself.

It’s been two years, and yet if somebody asks me about that day, my voice will crack. By “that day,” I mean the day I came home from MacArthur Elementary School to find my Golden Retriever, Honey, splayed out on the asphalt near our driveway, her head bashed open, her body lifeless but still warm. It’s an image I can’t seem to shake, as much as I try.

The Bentley pulled up outside of the school and garnered quite a bit of attention as you and Jennifer stepped out. Most of the school was watching as two extremely pale kids walked through the school. You separated from Jennifer as she had found her classroom. You then went and found your own classroom. The teacher in your homeroom instantly recognized as Miss Kazate, head of science. She kept you at the front and waited for the rest of the class to arrive.

Have you ever moved before? Have you ever had to say “goodbye” to a best friend, and you knew you were never coming back? Well, I have. I have many times, in fact. But, this time was different. Here’s how it all began.