Graduation Speech - Original Writing Sentences

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

We live in a time in which everything is categorized by lists, whether it’s a dreaded school rubric or a David Letterman Top Ten List. As the millennium turns, we are deluged with lists: the best books of the millennium, the greatest songs of the millennium, the most influential people of the millennium. Personally, I may be sick of all these lists, but no graduating class of 2006 could let this occasion slip by without one more list: The Top Ten Things I Learned in High School. So listen along and see if your experience parallels mine. Here goes:

Day one of sixth grade, there I was excited yet nervous, very nervous. I had no idea what was instore, no one I knew previously was going to Jefferson with me. I was sitting in Mr. Bausch 's language arts class. For our first assignment we had to make a cereal box about our selves. Once we were finished we had to present in front of the class. Once my name was called I went up and stood in front of the class. My legs were shaking and my heart was pumping. I speed right through it and hurried back to my seat I was so proud of my self. Now in eighth grade, we had to present a motivation speech, I got up and confidently presented it to the class. I have changed a lot over a course of three years looking back I am absolutely amazed. I love

I walked over to where me, and Frank sat he was picking at some tape on the desk impatiently. "Hey." I sat down, he smiled, "Hey Gee!" Frank smiled, "Can 't wait for music!" He said excitedly, I chuckled. His favorite class was music, which we had after gym. I only have three classes with Frank, but I have all my classes with Ray. He can be a bitch, but he 's a bitch who 's my best friend.

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

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”.

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 always particularly early getting to class, but today I was running a little late. I shifted my backpack 's weight nervously from shoulder to shoulder as I hurriedly made my way down the fifth grade hallway. I skipped into the class room with just enough time to take my seat as the teacher began to take roll. The teacher managed to get the room quiet enough to tell us that we were expecting a guest speaker that morning. "Perfect timing! Here he is now." As she finished telling us his name he reached the doorway and knocked rhythmically on its frame. He waddled up to the front of the room and introduced himself with the biggest smile on his face. "Hey guys I 'm Mr. Womack!" He was a short fat man with patches of thin brown hair lining the sides of his head. "I am the band director at the middle school, and I am here to talk to you guys about joining band!" I perked up from my typical 'slid down in the bottom of my seat ' posture so I could pay more attention to what he had to say. "Has anyone ever had a family member play a musical instrument?" He looked around the room filled with wide eyed fifth graders squirming in their seats half listening. I wanted to pipe up from my small blue desk to say I have, but I was so painfully shy it made that action almost impossible to preform. After what seemed like forever he dismissed his question and moved onto the next. "Would anyone be interested in playing an instrument in the middle school band?" Almost instantly every hand in

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.

I sat on my bed, casually waiting for my mom to hurry and take me to school. The air smelled like the fish market from across the street. Cars were honking outside and the babies from upstairs were screaming at the top of their lungs.

It does not matter how slow you go as long as you do not stop. -Confucius

My mom drops me off in front of the large store, “good luck Sarah you will do great! See you at 6” she says as I quickly jump out of the car. I walk up the automatic door with butterflies in my stomach while repeating to myself, “don 't worry you 'll be fine” over and over again in hopes if I say it enough it 'll become true. The automatic doors open with one swift motion I then walk towards a second set of automatic door. When these doors open I am greeted with a gust of nice cold air and the constant sound of beep beep, shopping carts wheeling around, the sound of cash registers opening, receipts printing off, and bustling people. I freeze trying to figure out where to go in this large store but before I can start to panic I am greeted by a small masculine looking women in her mid 20s with an extremely laid back attitude. “Here” she says as she tosses me a navy blue polyester smock with the words “Crosby’s Marketplace” embroidered on the pocket and a cross tie.

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 there classes .