This essay will examine the past, present and future reactions to my high school graduation, incorporating semantic reactors, such as thinking, emotions, self-motivation, and electro-chemical.
Twelve years of schooling led up to this afternoon, thirteen if you count kindergarten. For four years of high school, we had been waiting for this day, talking about it, getting closer and closer as each class moved us up a little nearer to what we thought would be freedom. From the timid days of freshman, to the nowhereness of sophomore year, to junior year when it all started to come together, and finally, senior year, when suddenly the end of the road was visible; four years finally reaching fruition.
In September of that year, I thought June would never come. Nine months more, like waiting for a child to be born. Finally, we were the seniors. There was no one else above us. We were the big fish. It was the year we had been waiting for. It was the year we finally were “outta here!”
Then suddenly, as the winter turned into spring and the graduation preparations began in earnest, as they had for a hundred classes before us, “outta here” began to seem maybe not such a great idea. The world outside was waiting for us, and reality began to clamp down on our high school souls. Already we had jobs, already we had cars (well, some of us), and boyfriends, and college acceptance letters.
But up to this point, it had been an ordered existence that we had taken for granted. Yes, we rebelled against the structure of midterms and dress codes and tardy slips. Yes, we grumbled about the unfairness of the rules and regulations. Certainly, once we had “our freedom”, we would never have to deal with rules like this again.
The Essay on High School and Extremely Diligent Worker
I am an incredible and miscellaneous scholar. I am multi-talented and I am far more superior than your “average individual”. In all four of my high school years, even though high school was a bumpy ride, I have never ceased to surprise my family, friends, and teachers with my academic and physical achievements and excellence. A scholarship is not rewarded to those who do not want to be rewarded or ...
But on that June afternoon, standing with the rest of my class, clutching the notes for the speech I would make in front of the friends and family gathered to watch us march down the path to the strains of “Aida”, the words of my class song, to which we had made up endless parodies, began to run through my head like a mantra. In the hot afternoon sun, with the rustle of robes behind me and the muted buzz of conversation in front of me, those words suddenly took on a poignant and special significance.
This was my “high school song”. These were my “high school years”. When I was in grade school, this is where I’d wanted so badly to be, one of the big kids, and now it was over. The song I’d sung half-heartedly at assemblies seemed so special suddenly. No other class would ever sing it. No other class would ever be here, in exactly this time, in exactly this place. We would meet again as adults, with children and careers and tragedies and triumphs to talk about, but we would never be this old or this innocent again.
I felt the tears in my eyes, and a complete awareness of the light coming through the trees, the principal hurrying back and forth making sure we were all lined up properly, the back of my father’s head as he tried to balance his camera for the best shot possible as I came down the aisle. I tried to freeze these things into my memory, and for a moment, there was nothing more that I wanted to do than to turn around and go back, not so much into the empty classrooms, but back into a secure and ordered childhood, rather than this new world that was waiting for me to enter it.
The music that we had practiced to for what had seemed endless weeks started up, for the last time, for the real thing. Glancing back, I saw the emotions I was feeling mirrored on the faces of my friends. Fear, jubilation, sorrow, joy. All mixed together and brimming in our eyes as the principal began shooing us through the gate that would mark not only our graduation, but our passage into life.
We had rehearsed the march with empty chairs, but now we were passing real people. I caught my mother’s eyes as I went by her, and she was crying. We filed up onto the stage and I looked out into a sea of faces, wishing us well, congratulating us on our respective successes. As they began to read off the names, I felt my heart at me again, as if to say, “You can’t go back again.” Then I heard my name and I went forward to receive my diploma.
Teenage Violence In Schools
Page #1 Teenage violence in schools has become a tremendous concern to many people. School violence over the past number of years has been increasing and family life, the things that occur in schools and the neighborhoods that the teenagers (that commit the crimes or violent acts) live in are some of the major factors. These are not necessarily the only causes to teenage violence. Family Lifestyle ...
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