High school means (meant) a lot of different things to a lot of different people. It could have been a period of extreme social awkwardness and summed up by a feeling of complete dread upon waking up each weekday. It could have been a period of social or intellectual blossoming to be looked upon fondly years and years from our graduation date. Or it could have been somewhere in between. Regardless, you probably found something you’re good at. You probably found plenty of things you’re not good at. You probably made some good friends and at this point in your high school career one of your biggest worries is how you’re going to keep in touch with the people you’ve met once everyone has moved on and is attending the university of their choosing. You have probably had some really embarrassing moments and you probably have accumulated some monumental tales of adventure that you’ll share for years. You have probably made your fair share of Mean Girls references. Don’t deny it: you love that movie.
One hobby that I have recently picked up is thinking about freshman and sophomore year and being mortified by the things that I can remember. Those years seem like eons ago, thinking now about how I’m about to receive my diploma, how I’ve been essentially “done” with high school for a while now, and how I can legally purchase a shotgun if I so wish. Back then, all of this senior-related business seemed so unreachable, like it could never happen to me. But then I became a second-semester senior and my fairytale (which is actually just a long series of hassles) finally happened. And it couldn’t have happened any sooner, because sorry high school, but I’m getting tired of you and I’m ready to move on to bigger and better things. No offense.
I have met some really great people at this school and I have met some seriously not-so-great people. My level of faith in humanity peaks and dips like a sin graph (Ms. Coon) or a tide chart (Mr. Perkins) based on the people I meet here. It really pains me to see the great ones go, some of whom I’m sure I will never speak with again after graduation. And it will do me no good to smirk to myself knowing I will never have to deal with some of you again, because I am sure I will meet people just as aggravating in college. At this point, though, it’s a little bit sad seeing even those people go. I have spent two-ninths of my life at this school, and I take comfort in routine.
So while I have the opportunity, I would like to say goodbye to: the people who would always say “hi,” the kids who would play along with my antics, the kids who would always try to tell me about their Pokémon, concerned teachers, forgetful teachers, kids who are always running places, people who sing late ‘90s-early ‘00s songs with me, people who draw me pictures, teachers who gossiped, future musicians, future astronomers, girls who wore bump-its, my best friends, and my okay friends. Goodbye. We came here as naïve, immature children, and we are leaving here, four years later, as naïve, immature adults.
Not to sound cheesy, because I hate that more than most things, but whether you’re leaving University City High School to become an Olympian, a bear, or a banana slug, we’re all still a small part Centurion and I wish the graduating class of 2011 the best of luck with every future endeavor.