Speeches

It’s a rare occasion when something you did in high school that you thought was funny back then, actually kind of holds up a dozen years later. Also, it’s a rare occasion that I post on this blog these days, so today is a special day because you get both.

So I was to be Valedictorian of the class – no big deal – but it was a few days before graduation and I hadn’t prepared a speech. Instead of actually trying to come up with something meaningful to say, I dicked around and wrote a few “pretend” Valedictorian speeches to pass around to my friends. I came across them again when I was digging through my old junk at home over Christmas, and discovered that (1) they are surprisingly still a little funny, or at least cute in a moderately offensive way, and (2) I had the handwriting of a learning-disabled 5-year-old.

I also found the text of the actual speech I used but, even though I know my dad still raves about it, I’m afraid that one didn’t stand the test of time. Like, to the point of being really embarrassing. So these are all you get…

1998 HHS Valedictorian Speech, Draft #1

Hillsboro High School has had a history of producing some great classes of students.

No doubt, incoming students are the hearty sustenance of any school. The down-to-earth, hard-working, and gritty of us were the meat; and some, the sweeter students, maybe more like a dessert to keep a happy balance. But the point is, once we were brought together, we mixed well.  Our teachers churned us through their classes, injecting volatile facts into the mixture to break apart stubborn old ideas.

We traveled the long, winding path of our high school careers to arrive here, at the cusp of our exit [Editor’s Note: I think we can see by now where this one’s going]. We can see the light at the end of the tunnel. For some, it was a struggle for the school to pass us. Others slid right by without any extra effort. But we are here tonight. With one final, satisfying movement we will be pushed out into the world. We entered this school separately but we leave as a single unit, molded together by our experiences here, and ready to be deposited onto society. Class of ’98, make a splash out there!

Draft #2

We have had many years of education at this school, but we’ve learned very little about the most important subject of all: death.

We all die, whether it’s in a gruesome car accident, lying peacefully in our beds at night, or even decapitation. It’s all the same. All the goddamn same.

I challenge you tonight, seniors, to start brooding over what’s most important to all of you, namely, your untimely demise.

It will happen to you someday. So why wait? – set a time and date and end it all… and if you think you should take someone with you, go ahead, it’s probably for their own good. Knock off a member of the faculty or something, but make sure you plan ahead! Remember, the Grim Reaper is waiting. [Editor’s Note: This was before Columbine so get off my back, ok?]

Draft #3

Our career at HHS has been a regular orgy of learning and new experiences [Editor's Note: Oh no.]. We started slowly in junior high, grabbing at knowledge and handling new concepts gently. It was at this time that the teachers began to uncover the most interesting subjects, revealing everything they could. This new knowledge excited us, and we were ready to stand up to the challenges before us.

Before we knew it, we were thrust into high school. We quickly found that the harder we pushed, the more we got from school. Most of us also realized, however, that we couldn’t go too fast for fear of bursting under the stress.

Eventually it became routine, going in and out and in and out of that school building. But all the while we knew that we were building up to something big, something wonderful.

And here we are now, at the climax of our high school career. After tonight, we will explode out into the world, each of us traveling down our own paths. Some of us, if we succeed in life, will eventually reach our own little nest egg. Others will not be so lucky. But wherever we end up, we will know that we were the cream of Hillsboro’s crop.[Editor’s note: Um, sorry.]

So as you can see, I discovered metaphors at age 18 and hung on for dear life. Also, this exercise makes it easier to understand why nobody wants to read anything written by teenagers.

And that’s all for now.