Mr. Jewell, Honoured Guests, and YOU, fellow Graduates.
It is my honour tonight to speak for this graduating class - to say good-bye in the same room where five years ago (maybe six) we said HELLO.
Though I have a bird's-eye view of you, it's hard to recognize anyone. The last time we were all together, most of us looked as Ophelia described Hamlet in his madness - no hat upon his head, his stockings foul'd, ungartered and down to his ankle, pale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other, and with a look so piteous in purport - as if he had been loosed out of hell to speak of horrors - so we looked as we came to write our exams. We hardly spoke to each other, but stumbled by and muttered something about lentil soup for supper again, pauvre maman, or columnae carnae, of vertebrata amphibia rana pipiens - That's the frog's air-conditioning system - or leaned against the nearest wall, reflectively, introspectively all the while quite intelligently, of course, and quoted "TO BE OR NOT TO BE". At that time indeed, most of us felt as if we weren't.
Those days - Those exams -how we began to hate the sight of algebra theorems, grammar rules, books of any kind, the Jarvis gym, and each other. We swore that once this mental war was over, we never wanted to see these "hallowed halls" again. Now it is over and here we are - no longer really a part of Jarvis - even tonight is a recognition of what has been done. But as we walk by familiar rooms -in a very sophisticated and detached way, we can't help lapsing back into an enthusiastic rush of - Remember when? ...
Well, what do we remember? I remember thinking that grade thirteen was the epitome of knowledge and sophistication; that Jarvis was really a minor United Nations where one sampled sardine and jam sandwiches, and learned useful Bulgarian phrases. I remember developing ulcers and gray hair, recruiting people for the French
If you don't remember friends you've made, teachers you've admired, ideas you've gained, anything more than the facts that got you that diploma, it's a pity. It's not the irregular verbs that are important it's learning that everything doesn't follow a strict and laid-down pattern. It's not
that's important. It's
using logic. It's not exams in themselves that are
important. It's learning to use your mind, learning
self-discipline. These untaught lessons constitute
real education - education that means
learning to think for yourself. This process we
learn in high school - high school not as a
specific place, but as a state of mind. Think of
our high school years - thirteen to eighteen or
nineteen. There's quite a change from one end
to the other. This growing up could have (and
would have) happened elsewhere - but it
didn't. We were here, at Jarvis, and for that we
can thank teachers and friends who have influenced us.
We are no longer the same as when
we entered.
An eighteen-year-old cannot be treated in the same way as a thirteen-year-old. That is why we don't regret leaving Jarvis. We've outgrown the high school institution. Certainly it has done us much good, but indeed, its job was to see us outgrow it - in mind and character. And now, though I don't think we're standing in the middle of some great crossroads, we certainly are in heavier traffic.
An institution that has existed for any length af time develops traditions. This commencement and valedictory are some of them though August was the real nail-chewing month; tonight marks the official recognition of our teachers, parents and our own efforts. Everyone sits in polite silence to listen to the proceedings - parents watching children, friends watching friends, teachers watching pupils. What are they watching? What is the result of these efforts? I don't think we can know yet. We won't know how important these five years really were, what meaning they really gave our lives for many years - perhaps only when we send our own children to high school -when we have gained some perspective on life.
Right now, we pass as another of Jarvis' graduating classes. The school and its routine will go on without us, unbelievably enough, and all we can do is keep our happy memories, turn around to say, thank you and good-bye, then look ahead to go on.
Thank you,
Taida Ibergs