Sylvia's Valedictorian Speech

when you are old and grey and full of sleep

Here was my speech:

Firstly, thank you, parents, teachers, administrators, and honored guests for joining us in celebrating this evening. Without all of you—and that means you, mom and dad—we could not be gathered here before you. And many thanks to our fine Pacifica band, for playing Pomp and Circumstance at least three dozen times.

Congratulations, class of 2007! Today, in just a few short minutes (depending on how long our speeches go), you will walk proudly up to this stage, receive your diplomas, and walk away as graduates of Pacifica High School, celebrating the fact that you have finished with your education forever.

Not so fast, class of 2007. Before you go off into the wide world and make your varied ways, I must stand here before you and shatter one of your most deeply held illusions. What I shall momentarily reveal is a secret so shocking, so earth-shattering that I’m sure it never crossed your minds even in your wildest imaginings.

You did not go to school to be given an education.

Now, before you cut my mike, allow me to explain.

You did not come to Pacifica High School to be given an education. You can scour the campus if you like, you will not find an education tucked into some yellowing book in the library. Nor will it be found in a freshly uncapped highlighter. An education doesn’t lurk in the back of some abandoned PE locker, or slink slimily out of the biology lab. It’s not even in the squiggles on the diploma you will receive today.

I say this not out of disrespect for Pacifica High School. PHS has given us all a number of priceless gifts—knowledge, experience, mentorship, and a haven for growth and experimentation. In short, schooling. But, as Mark Twain said, schooling should never interfere with our education. Schooling is something that happens to us. Education is something within us.

Long after we have forgotten the winner of the War of 1812, the difference between eukaryotes and prokaryotes, or what an introductory subordinating adverbial clause is, our education will remain. An education that Pacifica High School did not give us, but that this school helped us recognize in ourselves.

William Butler Years reminds us “Education is not the filling of a pail, but the lighting of a fire.”

We come here, fellow students, not as empty vessels, but as glowing embers. Each of us brought to this school our potential, our tiny wayward spark, and it was the job of our teachers to feed it with leaves and small twigs, to blow gently upon it, to sit in watchful vigilance over the emerging flames. Now, as we scatter, secure in the faith that each of us has had our passion, our curiosity, our thirst for knowledge ignited by our years here, we will recognize the pursuit of education as a virtue to be upheld for the rest of our lives. Thank you, Pacifica High School, for that.

The diploma that you will receive today does not say that you have learned all you need in life. It merely grants you the title of certified autodidact. And if you don’t know what that word means; I’m certainly not going to tell you—go look it up for yourselves.

There was a song I recall singing in kindergarten—I wonder if you remember? It went something like, “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine.” A few months ago, I was singing that with a group of children who had absolutely no qualms about singing their hearts out. They sang without guile, without fear that they would be out of tune or that they wouldn’t know the words, that someone will make fun of them. They had no hesitation to put it all out there, improvise, try, fail, succeed, experience, and be themselves.

You have come full circle, class of 2007. You have learned much, experienced much, accomplished much. Your education has begun. Now it seems the best advice I can give you is the very same advice sung during those first days of kindergarten so long ago. Let it shine, class of 2007. Let it shine, let it shine.


And the poem she referenced one of my very favorites......

Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.

William Butler Yeats. b. 1865

863. When You are Old

WHEN you are old and gray and full of sleep
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,	5
And loved your beauty with love false or true;
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled	10
And paced upon the mountains overhead,
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.