Thank you to the administrators, teachers, families, and students who have made these last four years an incredible experience full of growth and learning.

 

It’s a pleasure to have all of you here today and an honor to speak before you.

 

To my fellow graduates, we made it. I mean, we made it on time. Normally a quarter of us show up fifteen minutes late, Marylou's in hand, nonchalantly sauntering into class. Don’t worry, no more tardies at Pembroke High School from here on out. 

 

Which brings us to why we are here: Pembroke High School. We are graduating. It’s not only no more tardies for us, it’s no more classrooms without windows, or secret pools on the roof, or top-tier school chicken tenders. It’s no more trying to get out of the senior lot before the busses and no more Google Meet assemblies with Mr. Talbot. 

 

We are leaving this school, for many of us for the final time, and I’m not sure which is more poignant: the unfathomable relief or the inexplicable tinge of sadness.

 

Walking into the halls of Pembroke High School four years ago as young, unknowing freshmen, the world seemed pretty scary. The upperclassmen were like giants. We did not know where any of our classrooms were. We were frightened of biology and geometry and being cut from the soccer team. And when we weren't scared of academics and extracurriculars, we were pretty scared of each other.

 

We were scared of not knowing anyone in our class,  anxious from the middle school shenanigans that haunted us. We dreaded not having anyone to sit with at lunch, but maybe were even more mortified by the thought of having Mr. Rix try to find us, someone, to sit with.

 

And from these fears, what emerged?

 

Empathy.

 

Empathy. I’m sure many of my fellow classmates remember reading To Kill a Mockingbird in our freshman year English class, and for those of us who had Mrs. Talbot as a teacher, we should remember that one powerful word. 

 

Empathy.

 

That was one of the first lessons we learned at this school, and the lesson many of us carried throughout our time here. So it seems fitting to end this journey with how we began: by talking about empathy.

 

In my sophomore year, I went on the DECA field trip. None of my close friends were attending, and I was rooming with upperclassmen whom I did not know. So, I spent the day with some of my fellow classmates, all friends with each other, who welcomed me when I felt alone.

 

For twenty-four hours, these people dissipated my loneliness and made me feel seen.

 

I don’t know if I ever thanked you for that. It truly meant so much to me.

 

How many times has a classmate whispered a “you got this” before a presentation? Or let you join their group during partner work? Or the countless other instances where someone reached out to you to help?

 

We all have these moments, these times where we feel lost, anxious, or embarrassed. We feel alone, we feel scared, and so often does someone step in and shout a quiet, but resounding, “I hear you and I am here for you.”

 

And they might not even know they are shouting. But they are. We hear them.

 

So please, as you have done these last four years, shout out that encouragement. And let us continue shouting wherever life may take us. Let roars of kindness come over us, let calls of compassion fill our lungs, and let us speak kind words and conduct kinder actions.

 

And let empathy be the unyielding providence that guides us, provides for us, and unifies us.

 

We’ve all experienced this compassion. I don’t know when or why, but I do know we all have. So I invite you all to reflect and think of the small acts of empathy that made you smile on a bad day.

 

Was it that time you struggled to understand the unit circle in pre-calc? Was it when your teammate cheered you across the literal hurdles on the track surrounding us now? Or when someone helped you draw that eye in art class?

 

It could be when someone asked you if you were okay after falling over on the main staircase, or held the door open for you when you were late for English, or even got you paper towels when you dropped and spilled your hydroflask.

 

These could come from anybody, a teacher, a classmate, a friend, or a stranger, but these acts of empathy can make the day all the more brighter.

 

So now I ask that you say thank you for the small kindnesses, that you will imbue support onto those around you, that you will endeavor to enhance the lives of others, and that you will stymie apathy and indifference and move forward with compassion.

 

And thus the cycle of empathy will continue. 

 

Thank you all for having empathy, and thank you all for putting up with my speech. I promise I’m almost done.

 

Next year, when we walk into the halls of whatever college, trade school, workplace, or even the armed services as young, unknowing freshmen, employees, or recruits, the world is going to seem pretty scary. The upperclassmen, our bosses, and commanding officers will be like giants. We won’t know where anything is. We will be frightened of multivariable calculus, a presentation we have to give, or a five-mile run in full gear. But unlike at the start of high school, we will not be scared of those around us. Because now, we hold empathy.

 

So as we leave this school today, moving forward with arms outstretched, let us grasp hands and walk together. For, with empathy, we are together.

 

Thank you and congratulations, class of 2022.