Valedictory Address
- Submitted by: lilchangstaboy
- Views: 658
- Category: English: Creative Writing
- Date Submitted: 01/25/2011 07:46 PM
- Pages: 6
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Valedictory Address
It’s that time again. The time where the graduating class sits and listens to me, the chosen student, speak while their fingers itch to throw their graduation caps in the air. The band is at the top left corner as usual and Mrs. Fergusson is hanging on my every word waiting for me to finish so that she may lead the band in a tumultuous chorus of music signaling the last bite of one slice of the delicious cake that is our lives.
Of course last year and the year before last year, I was sitting where my fellow tubas players sit now; in a church pew extremely unfit for the large berth of our golden instruments. I remember clearly how much I wished to be where I am today. Here. Graduating. But during my last year at FRC I realized that everything is too short, especially time.
It seems like yesterday when we all arrived at the welcoming barbecue. I'm sure I wasn’t the only one that felt shy and worried and insecure. When I look back on that day, I realize that feeling that way was quite reasonable, because after all, no one knew what to expect from this new school. It was like opening up one of the Russian nesting dolls dolls. Except this one had not only a smaller nesting doll under each layer, it also had a surprise.
As time passed, I could see that I wasn’t the only one that became sick of opening the nesting doll. It was layer after layer after layer. There were too many surprises of homework assignments, than there were of outings. There were too many surprises of tests and other evaluations, than there were of fun event and movies. It became tedious and I felt like Greek God Atlas, holding the weight of the world on my back. It was heavy and I wanted it to end.
One day as I was going for a walk at Kings Park with my best buddies (yes I like walks, no big deal) I realized that the terrors that I and the people around me had associated with school were actually gifts. The many assignments taught us patience as we got through them one by...
It’s that time again. The time where the graduating class sits and listens to me, the chosen student, speak while their fingers itch to throw their graduation caps in the air. The band is at the top left corner as usual and Mrs. Fergusson is hanging on my every word waiting for me to finish so that she may lead the band in a tumultuous chorus of music signaling the last bite of one slice of the delicious cake that is our lives.
Of course last year and the year before last year, I was sitting where my fellow tubas players sit now; in a church pew extremely unfit for the large berth of our golden instruments. I remember clearly how much I wished to be where I am today. Here. Graduating. But during my last year at FRC I realized that everything is too short, especially time.
It seems like yesterday when we all arrived at the welcoming barbecue. I'm sure I wasn’t the only one that felt shy and worried and insecure. When I look back on that day, I realize that feeling that way was quite reasonable, because after all, no one knew what to expect from this new school. It was like opening up one of the Russian nesting dolls dolls. Except this one had not only a smaller nesting doll under each layer, it also had a surprise.
As time passed, I could see that I wasn’t the only one that became sick of opening the nesting doll. It was layer after layer after layer. There were too many surprises of homework assignments, than there were of outings. There were too many surprises of tests and other evaluations, than there were of fun event and movies. It became tedious and I felt like Greek God Atlas, holding the weight of the world on my back. It was heavy and I wanted it to end.
One day as I was going for a walk at Kings Park with my best buddies (yes I like walks, no big deal) I realized that the terrors that I and the people around me had associated with school were actually gifts. The many assignments taught us patience as we got through them one by...