by Samantha Merwin
Friends and family, on behalf of my fellow graduates, I thank you for being here. To the Class of 2009: I know all you want is your diplomas but hold on, we’re almost there.
Don’t you all hate when you’ve been working so hard on something for what seems like forever, and you’re so relieved to finally finish, but when you hold it up for approval, all you get is, “Well, it’s a good start”? High school’s pretty much like that. We’ve all been plugging away for the better part of four years now, and it seems like a lot, especially if you measure the time in how many principals we’ve had. Really, it’s just a start. Sure, as of now, we’ve spent most of our short lives in school, but as we grow older, this time has grown smaller and smaller.
Smaller, maybe, but no less significant. No, the information we learned within these walls isn’t really that important. In fact, I bet in thirty years the only thing we’ll remember from class is the quadratic equation song. But what we’ll always have with us is Hoosick Falls, and what this school and this town made us want – more. This class has never settled for average, and I don’t see that changing.
The Sex Pistols told us, “don’t know what I want but I know how to get it,” and I think that’s the best way to describe this class. We’re still pretty immature, and we’ve got a long way to go. We’re all leaving Hoosick Falls behind without the slightest idea of what’s coming next, and that kind of scares me, but for some reason, I have confidence. I trust the people you see behind me to do great things, whether they believe it or not. Once we figure out what we want, we won’t be stopped until we get it.
The challenge then lies not in achieving our goals but in formulating them and distinguishing what we want from what we think we should want. Think about the things you accumulated here, the ones that gave you pride – how many sectional titles you won, how many APs you took, how many clubs you were in, how many friends you had or what you wore around your neck at graduation. What did those things mean to you? Do you treasure them because they fulfilled you? Or because you wanted people to see your plaque, your sash, your success? If, inside, you felt no different after achieving these things, then what kind of achievements were they, really?
Sharing is a pretty basic concept that we all learn in kindergarten, but what we aren’t taught is that maybe sometimes it’s okay to be selfish. It’s difficult for us to disregard what others tell us, because by doing so we must be alone and that’s frightening. Maybe we fear our own potential, I don’t really know, but sooner or later, we all have to be alone. Tonight we have all actually followed a dress code for once, but this seemingly homogeneous class is a group of very different individuals, and as we shift our tassels to the left, we also move, alone, each by his own means, to his own end. Robert M. Pirsig said that “Peace of mind isn’t at all superficial, really… The ultimate test’s always your own serenity.” The only thing I ask of my class is that we all pass this test, but who am I kidding? We can do anything.
A lot of people had asked about my speech, this speech. “Have you written it?” “What’s it about?” “Am I in it?” Many told me that they were looking forward to it, but why? How could they know it would be any good? What do I really have to offer? Truthfully, not much… yet. I have no worldly experience, and the only real advice I have to give is for you, our friends, family, teachers and innocent bystanders – watch out. Watch out for the Class of 2009. This isn’t the last you’ll be seeing us. This is just the start.