THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: FRIDAY, June 17, 1994 TAG: 9406180430
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY MICHELLE MIZAL, HIGH SCHOOL CORRESPONDENT
DATELINE: 940617 LENGTH: Long
My family and I were racing down Route 44 in our white van, trying desperately to make it to my high school graduation. I had to be at the Virginia Beach Pavilion at 2 p.m. It was 1:50. Dad was driving, Grandma was in the front seat reminding my father of the time and my brother was singing. Torture.
{REST} Meanwhile, I was freaking out about all the ``what ifs.'' What if my curls deflate? What if I forgot something important? What if I trip off the stage? What if I forgot to wear deodorant? What if I'm mega-late and all these ``what ifs'' don't happen? It was more than I could bear.
We arrived at the Pavilion at 1:59. I grabbed my gown, ran inside and was drowned in a sea of purple caps and gowns.
``OK, don't panic,'' I whispered to myself. I stood there in the tiny holding room, carrying my gown, gold stole, and honor pin, looking desperate - the only one in my class not fully dressed.
``Oliver! Will you help me put this stuff on?''
``Sure.''
``Late again Michelle?'' It was my friend Jennifer.
And while Oliver zipped up my gown and Jennifer put on my pin, reality set in.
I was graduating and my friends were dressing me for my doom. I mean, after 13 years of school and familiar faces, I had to face my future, and it was the unknown that scared me most.
``OK, you're finished,'' Jennifer said, and she sat back down in her seat.
``You can say that again,'' I mumbled as I went to sit in my designated row.
There I was, in the holding room between Miller and Monaghan, dying from anxiety when I noticed a girl two seats in front of me wearing leopard stockings and Rockports. It was comforting that someone was taking this day lightly. I sure wasn't. And the ceremony hadn't even started.
``In a few hours you are out of here,'' our principal, Bernard E. Morgan III, bellowed into a microphone. The sea of purple went wild with yelps and hollers. I felt seasick. I didn't want to be out of here in a few hours. I wanted to stay in high school. I wanted to stay 17.
The sea calmed down as superintendent Sidney L. Faucette took the mike.
``If there's anything that Bernard Morgan believes in, it's you. Not only do I congratulate you for your achievements but also the traditions that you have started. Congratulations and I am out of here.''
``Do you have butterflies?'' I asked Arlene, who was sitting in my row.
She nodded.
``Me too.''
``I just hope I don't fall,'' she said.
``What time is it?'' asked Jason, who was sitting beside me.
``Four till.'' I looked around the room and could see Mark Munson, our valedictorian, getting anxious, looking at his watch every second.
Meanwhile, a guy in the row behind me was bargaining with Chris.
``Chris, man, switch hats with me p-l-e-a-s-e; my hat's too small.''
They finally traded and Mr. Morgan said it was time.
``Go out there and really sock it to them. I know you can do it.''
More yelps and hollers as we filed into the auditorium. Teachers lined against the walls dressed in their black garbs of wisdom. I looked at my Spanish teacher, Wanda Janz, her eyes welling up with tears.
``Don't look at me'' she said.
``I love you,'' I said and kept walking. I didn't just love her. I loved high school. I loved the teachers, the students, the principals, the carpet, everything.
I could hear the music in the auditorium. That familiar ``Pomp and Circumstance'' that I heard at Brian's graduation the year before, and at Marcus' graduation the year before that. But this time it was playing for me as my family and friends sat poised to scream as I walked across the stage.
Then disaster hit.
``Hey, Michelle, give me a bobby pin quick.'' It was Jackie walking beside me and desperately trying to keep her hat on.
``I don't know if I can; my hat might fall off.''
``Yes, you can, give me one! Hurry up!''
I managed to get one free without my cap collapsing just before we entered the auditorium and were blinded by camera flashes of the parental paparazzi.
``They look so calm,'' said one man from the audience.
``Yeah, right!'' I thought. My heart was running a marathon inside of me. We walked to our seats and stood as the rest of the class of 1994 filed in with the same look of reflection as I had.
``It's inspiring, man,'' said the guy behind me. We all sat down.
``Today marks the beginning and the end of the lives of some very special young people,'' Mr. Morgan said. ``They are about to take their place in the world.''
``I don't want to.'' I thought, ``I'm not ready yet, not me, not yet.'' I sat there clinging to my high school year.
Andre LeClair, co-salutatorian, took the podium. ``We don't have to let go - we don't have to let go at all.'' He reminded us of our childhood memories. Jelly shoes, Jinxes and Mickey Mouse.
Next came Kim Mayo, co-salutatorian.
``With all your strength, become what you're becoming,'' she quoted from her favorite movie. Strength is what I needed right now. It takes a lot of strength to grow up.
After the valedictorian's speech, Maritess Pasaoa, class president, took the podium.
``Wait. . . we're not leaving here without a bang,'' she said, her voice trembling. Everyone began to cry. Even Jason, who was on the football and wrestling team, was getting teary-eyed beside me.
``Oh no!'' I thought, ``Please don't cry, please don't cry, I have too much eyeliner on to cry.''
The chorus began to sing.
It was time. Time to receive my diploma. Time to leave high school memories behind. Time to make new ones as a young adult. When they got to the M's, I made my way across the stage to hug Mr. Morgan. When he lifted me off the ground in a big bear hug, it gave me strength enough to say goodbye, to go on from here into the unknown.
by CNB