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| Zoey with the visual for her speech |
LJCDS has a tradition of having the seniors write a speech and present it to their advisory, which is like homeroom. Each advisory votes on the best speech and the students then give their speeches to the whole senior class (about 110 kids.) A final speech is chosen and it is presented to the whole school at graduation.
Zoey presents her speech today and this morning she read it to us for practice. I had not heard it, actually, I don't even think I had read a copy at any point in the writing process. Must have been too busy with the college applications...
Once upon a time, there was a young girl. This young girl had a dream: to grow up, become an astronaut ballerina firewoman dinosaur, cure cancer, and marry a movie star. While this young girl might have gone on to do all these things and more, I wouldn’t know because that girl was not me.
I am different. I live in a mid-sized town in north San Diego County, but I go to an exclusive private school in La Jolla. My parents cannot afford to buy me a car, like many of my classmates’ parents can, so I wake up at 5:45 every morning to get to school by 8 because it takes an hour to get to school on the school bus. Instead of traveling to places like Paris, Ecuador, or even Mexico for spring and summer breaks, more often than not I am at home or my second home, the Barnes & Noble my mother has worked at for almost my entire life, curled up in a squishy chair with a good book. My parents have never believed in the merits of television or video games, so I grew up with only books to entertain me. Thanks to the wonders of the Internet (which apparently begins with a capital I) I’ve been able to tune in to the pop culture of my generation in the past few years and no longer seem to live under a rock, but this change is only recent. When I was younger, there were three things I was absolutely certain would be in my future. I defined myself by these three things, using this skeleton to flesh out the rest of what my future would be. Looking back, these things that were then so important to me seem silly, but not too silly to share them. I was going to be Zoey Turek, a citizen of London, England who had a tattoo and owned a motorcycle. While I would still like these things to happen, I no longer define my whole future through only small details.
If any seniors remember me back in 7th grade, you’ll probably remember that I was a bit weird. When I first arrived at Country Day, the differences between my new classmates and myself seemed overwhelming. I had come from a public middle school with approximately the number of students Country Day has in total in only 3 grades. I went from being lucky if I spotted a friend amidst the rush of students to knowing every single student, not only in my grade but the grade above as well. In order to cope with my new intimate setting, I decided to completely reinvent myself into the kind of student that goes to a school like Country Day. Most of my new classmates had not experienced the awful feeling of being funneled from a relatively small elementary school to a monstrous middle school where my favorite game became “find your friends before the lunch period is over”. Grade levels at Country Day function like small towns, and being the new kid is like moving into town barely knowing where you’ve moved. My awkwardness in 7th grade can be chalked up to my misguided attempts to fit into this pre-established community. I had landed in a pond of individuals, a fish who had been used to swimming unnoticed in the ocean now forced to habituate to a personalized aquarium. Everyone at Country Day was such an individual, and I decided that the best way to fit in was to stand out as much as possible. If I demonstrated constantly that I was as much my own person as everyone else, then they were sure to welcome me, right? I can assure you through experience that this is not the best logic. All my attempts at fitting in by standing out might have had exactly the opposite effect I was looking for, but I was lucky enough to find a group of fish that were used to accepting those new fish that acted a bit weird but really meant well. Without them, I surely would have become a social piranha (get it? Pariah, piranha… hah…)
Because my transition was so rocky, I am fascinated with the even newer students that have joined the community in my 6 years at Country Day. I often wonder what kind of person I would have become if I had not found my “clique,” but it is impossible for me to picture my six years at Country Day any other way. At the beginning of each year new students are faced with a dilemma that I remember vividly: whom should I hang out with? What group do I fit best in? Who is willing to hang out with the new kid? I’ve tried to figure out some kind of mathematical equation that determines which group a new kid will join, but as of now I’m stumped. Somehow, magically, everyone seems to find the group that they fit perfectly with and which fits perfectly with them in only a week or so.
I am lucky. I can make friends wherever I go, in part because I am more comfortable being in a group than being alone. I love the power being in a group of people gives you, but I love feeling a sense of belonging the most. I’m the kind of person that will go all-out for spirit days, wearing blue and white overlapping soccer socks, blue eyeliner and mascara, and blue ribbons in my hair in addition to a Torrey shirt (my closet has WAY too much blue in it). I love the sense of belonging to something bigger than myself, and while seeing everyone wearing the same color kind of freaks me out, I love feeling part of a whole. I love joining clubs, participating in sports teams, going to sports games, and essentially everything Country Day has to offer. I’ll admit it, I even love riding the bus and knowing the name of (almost) every single high school student. I’ve become friends with people whom I normally would never have talked to by riding the bus, and trust me, there’s no way to not be friends with people you see every morning and every afternoon. Like I said earlier, Country Day really feels like a community to me, and not knowing someone’s name is like not knowing your neighbor.
Possibly the most important quality I possess is loving a group mentality but remaining a thoroughly defined entity the whole time. And now we reach the main point of my speech. I’ve brought along a visual aide to illustrate these qualities: A rainbow penguin. As you all know, penguins are black and white, a fact that has made them key specimens for demonstrating uniformity and monotony. However, this penguin is rainbow-colored, a quality that no other penguin possesses. This penguin is still obviously a penguin, but it has defining characteristics that differentiate it from every other penguin. I am a penguin because I cannot live without the support provided by a community, and more personally, my friends. Yet I am a rainbow penguin, because I have a way of standing out in a crowd.
I’m not quite sure exactly who I am, but I don’t think anyone can truly know who they are by the time they graduate from high school. Getting to know oneself takes much longer than 18 years, and I’m not going to rush the process. I enjoy the freedom not knowing exactly who I am has given me, a freedom to experiment with my image, testing out multiple different personas. Sometimes I’ll ask my mom if what I’m wearing looks good, and she’ll shrewdly reply, “Not really, but you’re a teenager so you can get away with it.” I’ve had every hair color (except blonde) and almost every haircut in the books, and I love wearing quirky clothes no one else would dare try. While it may not be completely obvious, I actually do like clothes and the infinite possibilities that await me when I open my closet door in the morning. In a way, this experimentation has helped to define my sense of self; perhaps I am the kind of person who thrills at constantly reinventing myself. But no matter what I wear, no matter what color my hair is, no matter who I am friends with, I will enjoy every minute of my journey to discover who I am, especially while speeding across a bridge over the Thames on my Ducati, the wind whipping through my multi-colored hair and a rainbow penguin tattoo on my shoulder.
Once upon a time, there was a young girl. This young girl had a dream: to grow up, become an astronaut ballerina firewoman dinosaur, cure cancer, and marry a movie star. While this young girl might have gone on to do all these things and more, I wouldn’t know because that girl was not me.
I am different. I live in a mid-sized town in north San Diego County, but I go to an exclusive private school in La Jolla. My parents cannot afford to buy me a car, like many of my classmates’ parents can, so I wake up at 5:45 every morning to get to school by 8 because it takes an hour to get to school on the school bus. Instead of traveling to places like Paris, Ecuador, or even Mexico for spring and summer breaks, more often than not I am at home or my second home, the Barnes & Noble my mother has worked at for almost my entire life, curled up in a squishy chair with a good book. My parents have never believed in the merits of television or video games, so I grew up with only books to entertain me. Thanks to the wonders of the Internet (which apparently begins with a capital I) I’ve been able to tune in to the pop culture of my generation in the past few years and no longer seem to live under a rock, but this change is only recent. When I was younger, there were three things I was absolutely certain would be in my future. I defined myself by these three things, using this skeleton to flesh out the rest of what my future would be. Looking back, these things that were then so important to me seem silly, but not too silly to share them. I was going to be Zoey Turek, a citizen of London, England who had a tattoo and owned a motorcycle. While I would still like these things to happen, I no longer define my whole future through only small details.
If any seniors remember me back in 7th grade, you’ll probably remember that I was a bit weird. When I first arrived at Country Day, the differences between my new classmates and myself seemed overwhelming. I had come from a public middle school with approximately the number of students Country Day has in total in only 3 grades. I went from being lucky if I spotted a friend amidst the rush of students to knowing every single student, not only in my grade but the grade above as well. In order to cope with my new intimate setting, I decided to completely reinvent myself into the kind of student that goes to a school like Country Day. Most of my new classmates had not experienced the awful feeling of being funneled from a relatively small elementary school to a monstrous middle school where my favorite game became “find your friends before the lunch period is over”. Grade levels at Country Day function like small towns, and being the new kid is like moving into town barely knowing where you’ve moved. My awkwardness in 7th grade can be chalked up to my misguided attempts to fit into this pre-established community. I had landed in a pond of individuals, a fish who had been used to swimming unnoticed in the ocean now forced to habituate to a personalized aquarium. Everyone at Country Day was such an individual, and I decided that the best way to fit in was to stand out as much as possible. If I demonstrated constantly that I was as much my own person as everyone else, then they were sure to welcome me, right? I can assure you through experience that this is not the best logic. All my attempts at fitting in by standing out might have had exactly the opposite effect I was looking for, but I was lucky enough to find a group of fish that were used to accepting those new fish that acted a bit weird but really meant well. Without them, I surely would have become a social piranha (get it? Pariah, piranha… hah…)
Because my transition was so rocky, I am fascinated with the even newer students that have joined the community in my 6 years at Country Day. I often wonder what kind of person I would have become if I had not found my “clique,” but it is impossible for me to picture my six years at Country Day any other way. At the beginning of each year new students are faced with a dilemma that I remember vividly: whom should I hang out with? What group do I fit best in? Who is willing to hang out with the new kid? I’ve tried to figure out some kind of mathematical equation that determines which group a new kid will join, but as of now I’m stumped. Somehow, magically, everyone seems to find the group that they fit perfectly with and which fits perfectly with them in only a week or so.
I am lucky. I can make friends wherever I go, in part because I am more comfortable being in a group than being alone. I love the power being in a group of people gives you, but I love feeling a sense of belonging the most. I’m the kind of person that will go all-out for spirit days, wearing blue and white overlapping soccer socks, blue eyeliner and mascara, and blue ribbons in my hair in addition to a Torrey shirt (my closet has WAY too much blue in it). I love the sense of belonging to something bigger than myself, and while seeing everyone wearing the same color kind of freaks me out, I love feeling part of a whole. I love joining clubs, participating in sports teams, going to sports games, and essentially everything Country Day has to offer. I’ll admit it, I even love riding the bus and knowing the name of (almost) every single high school student. I’ve become friends with people whom I normally would never have talked to by riding the bus, and trust me, there’s no way to not be friends with people you see every morning and every afternoon. Like I said earlier, Country Day really feels like a community to me, and not knowing someone’s name is like not knowing your neighbor.
Possibly the most important quality I possess is loving a group mentality but remaining a thoroughly defined entity the whole time. And now we reach the main point of my speech. I’ve brought along a visual aide to illustrate these qualities: A rainbow penguin. As you all know, penguins are black and white, a fact that has made them key specimens for demonstrating uniformity and monotony. However, this penguin is rainbow-colored, a quality that no other penguin possesses. This penguin is still obviously a penguin, but it has defining characteristics that differentiate it from every other penguin. I am a penguin because I cannot live without the support provided by a community, and more personally, my friends. Yet I am a rainbow penguin, because I have a way of standing out in a crowd.
I’m not quite sure exactly who I am, but I don’t think anyone can truly know who they are by the time they graduate from high school. Getting to know oneself takes much longer than 18 years, and I’m not going to rush the process. I enjoy the freedom not knowing exactly who I am has given me, a freedom to experiment with my image, testing out multiple different personas. Sometimes I’ll ask my mom if what I’m wearing looks good, and she’ll shrewdly reply, “Not really, but you’re a teenager so you can get away with it.” I’ve had every hair color (except blonde) and almost every haircut in the books, and I love wearing quirky clothes no one else would dare try. While it may not be completely obvious, I actually do like clothes and the infinite possibilities that await me when I open my closet door in the morning. In a way, this experimentation has helped to define my sense of self; perhaps I am the kind of person who thrills at constantly reinventing myself. But no matter what I wear, no matter what color my hair is, no matter who I am friends with, I will enjoy every minute of my journey to discover who I am, especially while speeding across a bridge over the Thames on my Ducati, the wind whipping through my multi-colored hair and a rainbow penguin tattoo on my shoulder.
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