Graduatin'

The Final Column as it Actually Appeared in The Righetti High School Legend, June 2009

Well, folks, it's that time of year again. If you listen hard enough, you can almost here strains [of] "Pomp and Circumstance" echoing in the wind. This year, the song is playing for me. That means that this is The Last Issue. But let me stop before I go all sentimental on you. I hate to admit it, but I really am a sentimental person. I thought I was immune to the boo-hoo graduation sickness, but I guess I'm not. I actually wanted to give a speech at graduation. I tried my darnedest, but I didn't make the final cut. But with this big, empty page of newspaper before me, I can give my speech anyway!

****

So, here we are graduating. Here I am, giving a speech about it. Life is funny. But, before I say anything else, I must give thanks and commendations to the band. They are sitting right over there; cold, bored, and ruing the day Edward Elgar composed Pomp and Circumstance without a thought to the pain it would bring generations of band students. I was over there every year of high school and remember listening to speeches just like this and thinking APff. What does this have to do with me? I=m not graduating yet!@ and AHow could you ever feel sentimental about Righetti? High school is totally not that great.@ AWhen can I eat lunch?@ So, guys, I=ll be brief and try to stay away from sappiness and cliches.

When I first witnessed this ceremony four years ago, it was strictly business: I came with the band. I didn=t know the graduates that well and they seemed old and distant. And after 30 minutes of playing the same four lines of music over and over, I was tired, bored, and pessimistic. The rest of the ceremony floated over my head with the A>06" mylar balloons.

The next year, I brought my knitting and completed much of a shoulder bag as I listened to the speeches. I still regarded them and the whole event with disaffection, maybe even more than before. Sophomore year had been the height of my antisocial days. I rolled my eyes at school spirit and laughed at the idea that I could ever be sad or wistful about leaving.

But last year, something changed in me. That time, I felt different as I watched the stream of purple squares ascend the stage. These seniors were closer to me, and I felt more affected by their passing. But the bigger change was within myself: I was then aware that I was in the second half of high school. It was the better half, too. I felt wiser, friendlier, more open. High school was finally making some sense! We reach a point, sometimes sooner, sometimes later, when we groove into our situation. I did just as I realized that this was the last graduation I=d watch from the band bleachers. Next year, I=d be the one in purple, the one looking old and big and distant, maybe even the one given the sappy speech.

This revelation brought with it a wave of sentimentality. Oh, man, even me! Darn it all, I=m just a big softie. But I think there was reason behind my sudden nostalgia. I redefined school spirit in that moment. It doesn=t have to be this blind love of high school, the time or the place; but rather, it=s camaraderie (and sometimes commiseration) with the people who went through it all with you. After enough time, bonds develop regardless of where we fit in (or don=t). Until this time, I=d thought that high school and all its pageantry was just for the popular kids, the recognized names, the frequently pictured in the yearbook faces, the Abest of the best@ winners. But no, it=s not. Those methods of judging worth are bunk, utter and complete bollocks, because our experiences are way bigger.

I=m getting pretty philosophical, huh. Sorry. This is all to say that I feel impelled to give a speech so that I might reach out to all the unrecognized people, the also-rans, the non-winners. This speech is for you. I=m one of you, myself.

And speaking of this speech, well, geez. That day last June as I packed up my saxophone and first considered writing a speech seems so distant now. My head swarmed with ideas and I don=t even remember half of them. This whole speech writing thing is actually really, really hard. I am sorry I ever looked down on past speakers.

At this point in our lives, we seniors are feeling a great many strong emotions, some contradictory. It=s hard to say anything neat and nice and unifying about it. It=s confusing: we have joy, we have regret; we have excitement, we have fear; we are commencing, we are saying good-bye. We want to be cool, shrug this off and get on with our lives, but the people, places, and experiences we are leaving behind demand some recognition.

I can=t tell you just what you should make of these conflicting emotions. Graduation seems to be composed of antithetical ideas and there=s no escaping the push and pull of this growing up time. But, we shouldn=t even try to escape it. Now we must become the thing that lies between the opposing ideas, stoked by their friction into a greater sense of who we are and what we can be. As one of my favorite authors, F. Scott Fitzgerald, said AThe test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind and still retain the ability to function.@

Gotta stop myself before I get any more grandiose than that. We are all being tested and that=s a good thing. Sometimes, it gets really hard to function (I bet I=m not the only one that procrastinated like mad with that senior project). But function we did, because, well, we=re here aren=t we? And what better way to end my speech than on this obvious statement with convoluted existential undertones. Never stop pondering.

Thank you, everyone, for staying awake. My ego is much better for it. I hope you got stirred up or at least a trifle amused by that speech. If you didn=t; at least it=s over now. Good-bye, everyone.

****

So, you won't be hearing that speech at graduation, but if you go, you will get to hear me perform a certain march for 30 minutes or until I have an aneurysm, whichever comes first. Yes, I decided to play with the band this year as a volunteer. After all those years of loathing the performance, I realized that it was actually sort of important. And this year, with so many seniors leaving the band, we were very much in want of musicians. I decided I wasn't really interested in doing the rehearsed walk into the bleachers, anyway. My place is in the band. That's...nerdy. Darn right. This has been Confessions of a Nerd with Maya Garcia. That's all, folks. Thank you very much. You have been a very lovely audience. I'll see you in the funny papers. Live long and prosper. Good night, and good luck.

So it goes.

"College-Level Insight" or something like it:

I think I got a little egomaniacal here. It was hard not to -- I received more praise and social acceptance as the writer of this column than I as a nerd knew what to do with. So I got a little wordy and also used my page to give my graduation speech (which was deemed by the judges to be too long and too highbrow for the audience -- a pretty nice rejection, as far as they go) a place. It was also a convenient last-minute change from my big love confession. I'm still ambivalent about the whole thing. I like my writing in the intro and end paragraphs (minus that typo and the rambling towards the end...), but feel they were pretty extraneous and made the whole thing pretty long. But the Vonnegut reference at the end co-ordinates nicely with my drawing of a Tralfamadorian...(I had just read Slaughterhouse-Five). About this time I also began to take up a bit of a Tralfamadorian worldview -- life will be life and the past is past. I cannot change what I did, so I must find peace with it.

But unlike a Tralfamadorian, I can't see the future, so I look forward with interest to the nerdy experiences and humorous commentary in my life to come.