Graduation Speech

Dear graduates, faculty, parents, and esteemed guests,

We've gathered here today to commemorate, the egress of one class and ushering in of another to these hallowed halls of Grosse Pointe North High School via a graduation ceremony. However, it is more applicably a death, than a graduation. Please, lend me your ears, so as to stiffen the morbid conjecture that is immersing itself within your minds at this very moment. For you see, in the days of yore, when Norsemen still roamed this earth, they believed irrevocably in the notion of death as the ultimate triumph of an assailed human body and spirit; not as a catalyst of immense dread and anxiety. Yet, many of the individuals present on this field would indubitably remonstrate this ideology today. Nevertheless, I will attempt to disperse the doubt among the vast audience of my peers, proud parents, administrators, principals, and counselors.

Gerry, an Irish Abbey Road Studios doorman in 1972, simply stated "I am not frightened of dying. Any time will do; I don't mind. Why should I be frightened of dying? There's no reason for itÐ'--you've gotta go sometime" Such is the epitome of Norsemen beliefs that to perish in any form of mortal struggle will inevitably lead to victory by gaining entrance to Valhalla. ValhallaÐ'...quite common diction in the proximity this educational institution. Now stop and ask yourself; "What is Valhalla and how does it levee any consequence over us; the seniors who are moments away from receiving our diplomas? Still don't know (rhetorical question)? Well, Valhalla is the the home for those slain gloriously in battle in Norse mythology; where who are welcomed by Bragi (God of Poetry) and escorted by the valkyries (minor female deities, whose purpose is to choose the most heroic of those who have died in battle and to carry them off to Valhalla). It is said to have five hundred forty doors, so wide that eight hundred warriors could walk next to each other, walls made of spears, a roof made of shields and benches covered with breastplates. It is said that there is room enough for all those chosen. Here, every day, the slain warriors who will assist Odin (our equivalent to God or divine, omnipresent spirit) in RagnarÐ"¶k, the gods' final conflict with the giants, arm themselves for battle, and ride forth by the thousands to engage in mock combat on the plains of Asgard. At night, they return to Valhalla to feast on roasted boar. Now that the entirety of the audience present tonight is informed of my seemingly erroneous claims, I will regale you all with a story from my past in order to "stress the validity" of my epiphany.

The date was January 2nd, 1996. With our Winter Break vacation were dwindling away, my sister and I concluded the best way to celebrate our final night free from the confines of Monteith Elementary School was to play a rousing game of tag indoors. As Holly and I dashed up and down the hallway as young children do with no thought of the consequences. Suddenly the family room door, which previously contain four glass windows, now had only three, when door had been flung at my outstretched right arm in an my sister's attempt to inhibit my progress towards her. I remember a chunk of shard strewn skin that had fallen to the floor juxtaposed to my right arm. As I laid there bleeding profusely, bawling my eyes out, and screaming copious pleas for help from my parents. My sister dashed from the room in order to acquire the assitence of my parents. My Dad fastened a tourniquet, my Mom started the car, and I was briskly whisked to St. John's Hospital Emergency Room (anecdote).

Once the surgery to stitch the broad gash back together had concluded, a cast had been placed