Before I start, there are some thank yous in order.  There are always thank yous in order.  I suppose that’s the beauty of the spirit of community and the ability of humans to articulate gratitude.
First, I’d like to thank all faculty, staff, and administrators for helping make Indian River a great place to call home.  Everyone, from teachers to assistant principals to bus drivers fashioned the Indian River experience into what it is.  I’d like to thank the whole Indian River community for its endless support.  I would also like to thank the friends of all the graduates on stage today.  I know that without my friends to see me through, high school would’ve been not only much harder but also no fun, which, no matter what anyone tells you, is an important facet of the high school adventure.  Finally, and, I feel, most importantly, I thank families: parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, cousins, everyone.  Without you, we would not be who we are today; we may not even be here at all.
Thank you, all of you.
Very quickly, there are a few people I’d like to thank personally: Mrs. Wichelns for putting up with me for four years and helping me through some of my roughest patches, Cristina and Kat, without whom my senior year would’ve been dull, all my parents, whose help and guidance is immeasurable, and Patrick, who kept me sane through the stress and drove me crazy when I had nothing to stress about.
I stayed up late last night writing this.  There are just so many things I want to say…that I never want to say…
I don’t want to be up here.  Fourteen years of my life have led up to this night, to this moment.
I’m not ready.
I don’t want to become an adult.
They say that life is just beginning, but this most certainly feels like the end…of something.  I’m afraid to take the plunge.

There are these birds that live on a seaside cliff their entire lives.  When they are young, they don’t know they live on a cliff.  All they know is the sky and the distant sound of surf.
One day the group is herded to the edge of the cliff, where they can see the world, the sea not that far off and the horizon going on forever and angry, jagged rocks below.
And then they are pushed off.
So then there’s a choice: glide to the water or get dashed below.

It’s not that it’s difficult.  It’s not that it’s a new thing.  People have done it before, and people will do it again.
It’s just…scary, hard to believe that instinct will kick in, that the wind will catch in outstretched wings and we’ll glide over the broken rocks into the smooth water, where the details come easier and things can be worked out just a bit more slowly.

It’s certainly an uncomfortable few moments.
Those around us see us flail in the air and wish they could help.  But they know deep in their hearts that they can’t.  This is something that must be felt out.

Our wings will catch.
And when they do, it will be resplendent, wonderful.  We will soar, and with a handshake and a slip of parchment we’ll begin the next chapter of our lives.  And it’ll be okay.

After all, as Daddy Dodo once said to Big Bird in a long cherished childhood movie: "You’ve got to leave before you can come home."  It’s such a true and lovely statement, really.  And, to be honest and I’m betting I’m not the only one, I can’t wait to come home.

So, I leave you, some of you forever, with the following borrowed wisdom:
"Life moves fast, it’s hard to make the good things last…The don’t go down, it’s just an illusion caused by the earth spinnin’ round."

Vale.