The Graduation Speech We Still Talk About
June 3rd, 2009 by Sue Blaney
It was 2003 when I watched Joey Lawton walk up to the podium at the Acton-Boxborough Regional High School graduation. As I remember it he was barefoot, and his shorts and Hawaiian shirt were visible when his blue gown blew in the breeze. I confess to skepticism as he approached the mic, a fact I’m not particularly proud of, but it highlights the significance of the fact that I am about to share his entire speech with you – again. I’ve shared this before; and will continue to share it with parents of teenagers, even if some of the details are beginning to look dated. Parents are always moved. And parents still talk about this speech….six years later.
The insight Joey shares about teens’ social world is profound and will give you a view inside those school walls that will enlighten you.
Thanks Joey.
A Rope of Sand by Joey Lawton
I can remember way back when in junior high, I was a freak and proud of it. I wore all black. I painted my fingernails. I didn’t skateboard, but all of my friends did. We listened to KoRn and Limp Biskit and could hide small armies in our pant legs they were so wide. We were self-designed outsiders and proud of it. If you wore Abercrombie and Fitch or played sports or cared about school, we didn’t even want to look at you.
This self-imposed segregation wasn’t confined to my circle of friends, of course. Everyone did it. Athletes with athletes. Straight-A minded students only with other straight-A minded students. The cliques went on and on. Just a look into the cafeteria on any given day would show you just how strong the social walls were. However, a scandal arose one day.
It was nothing to begin with, I think I loaned him a calculator in math once, but I, Joey Lawton, Marilyn Manson worshipping hooligan, became friendly with one of those things, one of those sports-loving preppy kids, one of those – those – those jocks named Barry xxxxx. I tried to hide it, but it could only stay hidden for so long. Then it happened. We said “Hey” to one another in the hallways one day. We both quickly looked away, but I knew that my friends had seen it. “Joey, who was that?” one asked, peeking out from beneath her trench coat. “Oh, um, just a friend from math class,” I said. “You’re friends with a jock?” Oh no, I thought, Here it comes. “Joey’s friends with a jock!” they all jeered. It was humiliating. I tried making excuses, but the damage had been done. They all knew.
Over the next few days, the episode was forgotten, and my friends and I moved on. We didn’t speak of the incident though. But during the next few months, things began to happen. For instance I learned that my friend Dave xxxx, a skateboarder by day, at night attended Boy Scout meetings. And all through the school, the once rigidly constructed social borders began breaking down. My casual friendship with someone outside of my own circle was by no means the breaking point for all of this inter-clique mingling to occur, but to me it meant something.
The social boundaries that I used to treasure so dearly as my shortcut to thinking were beginning to disappear. I was learning that I could no longer look at someone and assume that I knew who he or she was.
Fast forward a few years to high school. The embarrassments that were those two years of Junior High have long since passed, and we’ve all somehow found the strength to move on with our lives. We all still pass a shudder, though, thinking back to Mrs. McClure’s gym class or to those long hours spent in Mr. Hughes’ office for stealing ice cream in the cafeteria. And those walls that I spoke of, too, are remembered with no small wince of embarrassment. Because you remember Dave that I mentioned earlier, the skateboarding boy scout? Well, just a few short months ago he went on a road trip with not one, but several members of the football team. It wasn’t an isolated occurrence either. Perhaps you know of the legendary Daniel Lxxx? The boy who carries around no fewer than two calculators in his fanny pack along with an entire desk set’s worth of pens, pencils, and highlighters? It turns out he’s got a creative side.
In fact, he was in my creative writing class last year with Mr. Young. And you know what? He’s really good.
The list goes on and on. There is no order anymore: skateboarders listening to rap, AcaDec kids hanging out with the Academic Support Center kids, Danielle xxxx going out of her way to give me a ride home from work once last summer. I’ve traded in my Marilyn Manson and KoRn for The Grateful Dean and Belle and Sebastian. The pant legs have narrowed and the social borders have widened until they’re almost a non-presence.
I remember being 12 or 13 and getting angry seeing high school seniors spray painting their graduation year all over town. I just couldn’t figure it out. How could they care so much? Are they so proud to be a member of their class that they’re willing to follow through with this seemingly hollow act just to show it off? Why does it matter so much? At the time I couldn’t imagine caring about a classmate outside of my own little clique. It was preposterous.
But now that we’re done, now that I know I’ll never get to fill out crossword puzzles with Sparsh in Murphy’s English class anymore, or trade gossip at the bakery with Laura xxx, or get a high five from Mike xxxx in the hallways, or apologize to Anne xxx for missing the Spectrum deadline again, or just hang out with Spencer Sxxxx listening to The Clash in his basement freezing ourselves half to death, I can understand the desire to go out and illegally deface the town with the numbers 03.
It’s pride. Pride to be a member of this class. A class that, for all of its shortcomings, is a group of simply wonderful people: Steve xxx and his Machiavelli reading list, Jake xxxx and his eerily positive attitude towards almost everything, Meghan xxxx and her, well, dramatic style of sneezing, Max xxxx and his complete and utter shamelessness. I feel that we’ve grown so tight as a class, as much as I want to get as far away from this town as possible, there are going to be 350 people that I’m going to miss tremendously.
It’s been a while since I’ve said much to Barry xxxx, but I want to tell him and everyone else in the Acton-Boxborough Regional High School graduating class of 2003 that we’ve had a great run, and I’ll miss them and our time together always.
Thank you.
Category: High School, Middle School, Peer Pressure & Friends | 4 Comments »


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