Graduation Speech '03

Hundreds of blinking eyes surrounded me, and to my contempt, were now entirely focused on me. I had never seen our gymnasium this full before, except for a basketball game, maybe. But the cheer and clamor from the games was now replaced by a polite golf clap. I never really wanted the spotlight and my heart was beating heavy, but my legs kept moving toward the podium. The polite clapping ended and a nervous silence entered the room. What the hell was I doing here? Doesn’t matter. The only way out of this is through it. I take a deep breath, look at the crowd, and begin telling the biggest lie of my life.

“Good evening, everyone. It’s an honor to stand here today as a member of the Lake Woods High Class of 2003. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Sam...”

I’m already out of breath. I pause to find my voice. Their warm, supportive smiles become frozen in place and transform into inquiring glares. “Oh no…Is he going to choke?”

“Today is a celebration of everything we’ve accomplished this year…”

I try to channel my uncle, who was a preacher, and pretend I have enough charisma to be up here. But as my mouth listlessly recites the words I wrote on notecards, my eyes scan the bleachers. Family, siblings, staff, and younger students filled the ascending rows. The wall above the bleachers was adorned with dozens of signs made by our Pep Club, with “Go Rockets!” and “Soar Into the Future!” written in blue and silver glitter. My personal favorite was, “Our Dreams Have No Speed Limit!”

The lights above me were beginning to make my forehead sweat. Who thought we needed these huge spotlights?

One of them cut a clean white beam through the crowd and landed on a small gap in the bleachers—two white signs with “SAM’S FAMILY” printed in bold black letters, needlessly reserving the space. I blinked. The signs were gone. I wipe the sweat from my eyes and check again. Just Kenny Washam’s parents sitting there now—his dad, Bud, trying to silently clean up and hide the can of coke he just spilled on Abby Smith’s purse before she notices. Mackenzie Norman’s mom sat a few rows down, eyes already glassy and trembling and fixed on me.

I do as Ms. Riordon taught us in speech class and make sure to talk to everyone in the audience. I must not let my eyes become fixed on Mackenzie’s mom, Bud Washam, or “Launching Into Tomorrow!”, no matter how much the silver glitter draws the eye.

For this next part, I’m supposed to turn around and look at my classmates.

“To my fellow graduates: we’ve shared classrooms, challenges, and victories. We learned from more than teachers and books. We learned from each other...”

Even though Randy is whispering something into Elaina’s ear that made her smirk, and even though I think Carly looks like she’s got her hand on Anthony Nappi’s crotch, my gaze fixes on the royal blue door behind them, in the far corner of the gymnasium, that leads to the boys locker room. My first gym class in 9th grade, Danny Palmer stole my Fossil watch out of my gym bag in that locker room while we played dodgeball. I told Mr. Braun what happened and he made everyone line up on the baseline of the basketball court, gym bags unzipped for inspection.

We lined up for role call every day on that same damn base line. Respond quickly with a “Yes Sir!” when Braun says your name, or it’s pushups for you. But the biggest concern was always the ball-taps. The humor teenage boys find in smacking another kid in the junk was lost on me. This was just a reality of life one has to deal with and I learned how to play defense. When you line up for attendance, you cover your balls with both hands. Marco Oliver once threw up on the floor after David Slusher got him good. It was a real riot.

And there were the visitors’ bleachers, where Danielle and Kelly would sit when they said they had their period and couldn’t do gym that day. The boys would play Shirts vs. Skins and those two would sit up there writing the name of the boy they were in love with that week all over their trapper keepers.

I turn back to face the bleachers. The expectant silence weighs heavily on my shoulders.

“To our family and friends who’ve supported us – thank you. Your encouragement, patience, and belief helped to make this day possible…”

I try to sound confident. Some camera snaps and muffled coughs break through the silence in staccato bursts. Every eye was still on me. I hadn’t lost them.

“… We share this achievement with you. And to the future Rockets that will walk these halls…”

Mackenzie’s mom let out a single, loud noise like a sob and the woman sitting next to her in the bleachers places a hand on her back.

Yes, every eye was on me. They all knew what happened. The poor boy. What a loss to endure. Their eyes shimmer at me. The poor boy. But look how well he’s doing.

“Keep your curiosity alive, embrace challenges and know that you are part of a legacy of resilience and hope.”

The words hit the mic and bounced off the gym walls like balloons that never popped. They just floated there, stupid and weightless.

But they believed it, and that’s the worst part. And I had no choice but to believe in the lie with them. Nobody wants to hear about how you stopped visiting colleges, or going to church, or talking about the future. Everything had become so much about the past this year. But those are just the kind of things you don’t want to say in a speech.

I glance over at Ms. Riordon as I approach my final line. A quote. Just what she suggested. Her arms are crossed across her stomach. When our eyes meet, she gives me a subtle thumbs up with her left hand without moving her arm.

“T.S. Eliot said 'What we call the beginning is often the end…”

The end of my speech would be the beginning of my new life, and I couldn’t wait to get on with it. A compulsive smile formed at the corners of my lips.

“… ‘And to make an end is to make a beginning.’ Congratulations Class of 2003!“

Marty Allen screams “We did it!” just before Pomp and Circumstance floods the gymnasium. I look for the front door, but it’s been covered by the balloons. The gym is so thick with them I can’t even make out the illuminated red “EXIT” sign hanging above the door.

Devin Stevenson tries to toss his cap in the air, even though you’re supposed to do that outside. A few people around him see it and join in. Their hats didn’t make it more than a few feet above their heads before they smack off a cluster of balloons and fell back down.

I place the microphone gently back down on the podium and exit the gym through the back lunchroom hallway. Red and orange and yellow and blue and green balloons burst into the hallway with me, relieved to be out of the packed gymnasium. I walk past the bathrooms where Robby Kuehler said he got head from Ashley G. during study hall, and I'm momentarily startled by a Pop! Pop! Pop! behind me as the balloons explode from the immense heat under the gymnasium lights. A few screams ring out at first but quickly turned to excited cheers as colorful bits of latex rubber begin showering the crowd like confetti. But I take the cheering for myself and proudly continue down the hall.

Only 23 more steps and I'm in the wood shop. I pass the workbenches and the circular saw, the row of jig saws and the planer. I inhale the cedar and pine wood chips deeply, then shove open the fire exit door. I toss my cap into the dumpster by the back door and add my gown for good measure, make my way to my car, and drive out of the parking lot with my windows down. I can still hear the cheers, still see stray balloons floating into the sky when I got to the end of the block and turned right toward home.