Samr
09-01-2005, 06:50 PM
This is the speech I have to give infront of about 600 students and faculty. The speech date is September 29, but I finished this a bit early so I could have as much time as possible to work out the kinks. So if anyone could take maybe 2-3 minutes to read this, and offer ANY kind of advise (good or bad), it would be greatly appreciated. I am already nervous as hell.
Hopefully you like it. It is worth the read.
Senior Speech
“There’s no thrill in sailing when the skies are clear and blue, there’s no joy in doing things which any one can do. But there is some satisfaction that is mighty sweet to take, when you reach a destination that you never thought you’d make.” -anonymous
I was a daredevil when I was young. My parents hated taking me skiing, because I would simply point downhill and conduct physics experiments to decipher my terminal velocity. There was very little that fazed me, mainly because I was young, stupid, and had no reason to act otherwise.
Then, when I was nine years old, I fell victim to both a lack of coordination, and roller blades. I remember lying on ground, my left wrist in the shape of an S, and screaming at the top of my lungs. A hospital bed, morphine, a bit of anesthetic, a bone re-setting I don’t remember, and two days later I emerged with a fiberglass cast and a newfound sense of fear of everything the natural world has to offer. Enter Chuck.
Chuck is the anti-me. I am almost positive my mom married him simply to provide an ironic contrast to everything that I do. He is an absolute perfectionist, and, if he cannot make a problem work the way he wants, he applies copious amounts of physical strength to the situation until it is resolved- a practice affectionately referred to as “powering his way through.” I enjoy looking at the bigger picture. Will a clean room really make my life easier? What’s the point in doing my homework now when it is due next Thursday? There’s no need to change that light bulb; I can still see. Meanwhile, my runner’s build all but removes physical strength as a viable solution to any problem.
But Chuck doesn’t just view life from a different set of eyes (helped by the fact that said eyes are about half a foot lower than mine), Chuck also views it slower. Sailing, specifically, is much slower than my preferred, gasoline-involved methods of hydro transportation.
When he and my mom started dating, I was introduced to Chuck’s sailboat, a Soling. Soling is the Ferrari of sailboats- specifically designed to boost the ego of its captain and scare the scare the lifejackets off any passenger daring enough to squeeze into the cockpit for the ride. Also, it was red, which makes it exponentially faster. I was introduced to sailing by force, with no real option of standing on the shore.
I never quite understood the attraction to sailing. The faster you go, the more the boat keels, or leans, to one side. Once you lean too far, the boat capsizes and you become a clip on World’s Wildest Rescues. Someone explain to me which part of this is fun.
Needless to say, I was happy when the Soling was sold for the Una Mas, a 42-foot RV with sails. The Una Mas was a tank of a ship, treating hurricane-force winds like a summer breeze and dolphins like speed bumps. It also had a cabin, which meant I could eat and sleep and harass my brother while we cruised around Corpus Christi Bay.
After spending the night on the water, we pulled up anchor and prepared for the hour-long trek back to the marina. The normal course of action is to check the weather report. You know, in case there is something like strong winds or Hurricane Floyd threatening to extend your voyage. My older brother, Justin, was given the task, and then summarily ignored after no news was relayed. The assumption was that we were good to go. So we did.
I remember the moment vividly: I was at the helm, thinking I was cool and macho because my 5-foot-nothing frame was steering a boat the size of a trailer house, while my step dad was wandering around the cockpit pulling on ropes and looking for things to fix. We were about halfway across the bay, enjoying the sunshine and warm weather, when the temperature decided to plummet approximately 20 degrees in 15 seconds. In a matter of moments, the clear sky had gone black, the thermometer was having seizures, and my pants were wet. Someone didn’t check the weather report.
If the Una Mas was Apollo 13, and the jet stream was Kevin Bacon, then our oxygen tanks had just been stirred. As the events slowly began to register, my step dad did something I thought he would never do- he asked for help. “Sheri, Justin….can y’all come up here? ... I… I think we have a problem.” What happened next can only be described as a flurry of parental worry, foul weather gear, choice words, high winds and rain. Luke and I were tossed under the table where the lifejackets were stored, with my mom, older brother, and Chuck scrambling around the deck in an effort to lower the sails and find our location on the map.
The reason for concern was quite simple. In order to get into the marina, one has to navigate through a narrow channel, cut between two jetties. If you go too far to either side of the channel, you risk not only running aground, but having your boat torn to bits by crashing waves against the jagged rocks. Also, we could not see more than maybe five feet in any direction, which posed a logistical nightmare on a boat heavy enough that it required a substantial effort just to change course.
There I was, huddled by the life vests, absolutely positive my life was about to end. While I pondered what my last words would be, Chuck had managed to grab the radio and call one of the boats in the marina to ask for assistance in docking. Unbeknownst to us at the time, Corpus Christi was also in desperate need of news, so the reporters were checking the radio channels, hoping someone was stupid enough to be caught in the storm. They found us.
The story that ran on the front page the next day made us sound significantly braver and more experienced than we really were. Yes, we had been anchored out all night, but no, we did not drop anchor and try to weather out the storm, before ultimately deciding it would make a better story if we made a daring dash to safety. The fact of the matter is, we had no clue the apocalypse was coming- we didn’t even check the weather report.
I would like to say I conquered my fear of sailing on that trip, heroically overcoming the odds and defeating my demons with a nautical pitchfork, but I didn’t-- I was cowered beneath a table with a death grip on my flotation device. However, I did learn that there are some things you just can’t worry about. I spent the better part of my sailing career afraid the boat would capsize, or that I would fall off the deck and instantaneously forget all the swimming lessons I was forced into as a child.
You won’t be good at everything the first time. Sometimes, you might be put into a situation that is unfamiliar, or makes you uncomfortable. But you just have to dig down, hold on tight, and get through it. I didn’t enjoy sailing the first time, and to a certain extent I still don’t, but that day taught me a valuable lesson. I learned that, even in the worst of circumstances, I wouldn’t fall off the boat, and I wouldn’t drown. I learned not to worry.
Sometimes, it’s ok to be the one hiding under a table, with a death grip on your flotation device. And sometimes it’s ok to be scared. But as long you can look back on the experience with a smile on your face, then you did defeat your demons. Maybe not with a nautical pitchfork, but at least you can say you put up a fight.
Hopefully you like it. It is worth the read.
Senior Speech
“There’s no thrill in sailing when the skies are clear and blue, there’s no joy in doing things which any one can do. But there is some satisfaction that is mighty sweet to take, when you reach a destination that you never thought you’d make.” -anonymous
I was a daredevil when I was young. My parents hated taking me skiing, because I would simply point downhill and conduct physics experiments to decipher my terminal velocity. There was very little that fazed me, mainly because I was young, stupid, and had no reason to act otherwise.
Then, when I was nine years old, I fell victim to both a lack of coordination, and roller blades. I remember lying on ground, my left wrist in the shape of an S, and screaming at the top of my lungs. A hospital bed, morphine, a bit of anesthetic, a bone re-setting I don’t remember, and two days later I emerged with a fiberglass cast and a newfound sense of fear of everything the natural world has to offer. Enter Chuck.
Chuck is the anti-me. I am almost positive my mom married him simply to provide an ironic contrast to everything that I do. He is an absolute perfectionist, and, if he cannot make a problem work the way he wants, he applies copious amounts of physical strength to the situation until it is resolved- a practice affectionately referred to as “powering his way through.” I enjoy looking at the bigger picture. Will a clean room really make my life easier? What’s the point in doing my homework now when it is due next Thursday? There’s no need to change that light bulb; I can still see. Meanwhile, my runner’s build all but removes physical strength as a viable solution to any problem.
But Chuck doesn’t just view life from a different set of eyes (helped by the fact that said eyes are about half a foot lower than mine), Chuck also views it slower. Sailing, specifically, is much slower than my preferred, gasoline-involved methods of hydro transportation.
When he and my mom started dating, I was introduced to Chuck’s sailboat, a Soling. Soling is the Ferrari of sailboats- specifically designed to boost the ego of its captain and scare the scare the lifejackets off any passenger daring enough to squeeze into the cockpit for the ride. Also, it was red, which makes it exponentially faster. I was introduced to sailing by force, with no real option of standing on the shore.
I never quite understood the attraction to sailing. The faster you go, the more the boat keels, or leans, to one side. Once you lean too far, the boat capsizes and you become a clip on World’s Wildest Rescues. Someone explain to me which part of this is fun.
Needless to say, I was happy when the Soling was sold for the Una Mas, a 42-foot RV with sails. The Una Mas was a tank of a ship, treating hurricane-force winds like a summer breeze and dolphins like speed bumps. It also had a cabin, which meant I could eat and sleep and harass my brother while we cruised around Corpus Christi Bay.
After spending the night on the water, we pulled up anchor and prepared for the hour-long trek back to the marina. The normal course of action is to check the weather report. You know, in case there is something like strong winds or Hurricane Floyd threatening to extend your voyage. My older brother, Justin, was given the task, and then summarily ignored after no news was relayed. The assumption was that we were good to go. So we did.
I remember the moment vividly: I was at the helm, thinking I was cool and macho because my 5-foot-nothing frame was steering a boat the size of a trailer house, while my step dad was wandering around the cockpit pulling on ropes and looking for things to fix. We were about halfway across the bay, enjoying the sunshine and warm weather, when the temperature decided to plummet approximately 20 degrees in 15 seconds. In a matter of moments, the clear sky had gone black, the thermometer was having seizures, and my pants were wet. Someone didn’t check the weather report.
If the Una Mas was Apollo 13, and the jet stream was Kevin Bacon, then our oxygen tanks had just been stirred. As the events slowly began to register, my step dad did something I thought he would never do- he asked for help. “Sheri, Justin….can y’all come up here? ... I… I think we have a problem.” What happened next can only be described as a flurry of parental worry, foul weather gear, choice words, high winds and rain. Luke and I were tossed under the table where the lifejackets were stored, with my mom, older brother, and Chuck scrambling around the deck in an effort to lower the sails and find our location on the map.
The reason for concern was quite simple. In order to get into the marina, one has to navigate through a narrow channel, cut between two jetties. If you go too far to either side of the channel, you risk not only running aground, but having your boat torn to bits by crashing waves against the jagged rocks. Also, we could not see more than maybe five feet in any direction, which posed a logistical nightmare on a boat heavy enough that it required a substantial effort just to change course.
There I was, huddled by the life vests, absolutely positive my life was about to end. While I pondered what my last words would be, Chuck had managed to grab the radio and call one of the boats in the marina to ask for assistance in docking. Unbeknownst to us at the time, Corpus Christi was also in desperate need of news, so the reporters were checking the radio channels, hoping someone was stupid enough to be caught in the storm. They found us.
The story that ran on the front page the next day made us sound significantly braver and more experienced than we really were. Yes, we had been anchored out all night, but no, we did not drop anchor and try to weather out the storm, before ultimately deciding it would make a better story if we made a daring dash to safety. The fact of the matter is, we had no clue the apocalypse was coming- we didn’t even check the weather report.
I would like to say I conquered my fear of sailing on that trip, heroically overcoming the odds and defeating my demons with a nautical pitchfork, but I didn’t-- I was cowered beneath a table with a death grip on my flotation device. However, I did learn that there are some things you just can’t worry about. I spent the better part of my sailing career afraid the boat would capsize, or that I would fall off the deck and instantaneously forget all the swimming lessons I was forced into as a child.
You won’t be good at everything the first time. Sometimes, you might be put into a situation that is unfamiliar, or makes you uncomfortable. But you just have to dig down, hold on tight, and get through it. I didn’t enjoy sailing the first time, and to a certain extent I still don’t, but that day taught me a valuable lesson. I learned that, even in the worst of circumstances, I wouldn’t fall off the boat, and I wouldn’t drown. I learned not to worry.
Sometimes, it’s ok to be the one hiding under a table, with a death grip on your flotation device. And sometimes it’s ok to be scared. But as long you can look back on the experience with a smile on your face, then you did defeat your demons. Maybe not with a nautical pitchfork, but at least you can say you put up a fight.