If
you ask most people what they hate most about their high school graduation,
you’d usually get some stereotypical response.
Like
how stuffy the room is. I mean its bad enough that you have to sit in one room
for like… four hours while you sweat half to death in your stupid rental gown.
But, is it really necessary to turn the heat up so high? I mean, I swear they
must have the temperature set at one-hundred and twenty fricken degrees. I
mean, is it so hard to turn it down a notch? Try eighty? Ok, maybe that is
asking a lot, but a good one-hundred wouldn’t be too bad.
And
another thing, can’t they bother to rent a hall with enough space to actually
fit all the folding chairs in the room. Then you wouldn’t have to sit so goddamn
close to the sweaty person next to you, where if you have my luck, would smell
as well.
Now,
if that didn’t bother someone that much, they probably didn’t like how fricken
long it took for them to call your name. I mean, there’s like eight hundred
names. I get that they can’t do anything about that but that doesn’t change the
fact that it totally sucks for the anxious students who just want to get the
hell out of there.
However
– a minority of the students probably would answer that they hated all the
sappy stuff. I mean, some people find looking at slideshows and hearing the
valedictorian give a speech about the “great” times you had in high school
completely and utterly useless. Because frankly, most of those people probably
don’t remember half of their high school career. I swear, even the total geek
freaks like sappy stuff, they may not have experienced the “great” times but
you can bet they were watching it hopefully from the sidelines. It’s the stoner
freaks that don’t give a shit about who homecoming queen was and how many games
the football team won.
There
might be a few people who even grumble about their parents. A couple of people
who complain their gowns were too tight or too loose or whatever. But me? I
would have to say that my least favorite part was when they called my name. No,
I don’t have stage fright. And no, I didn’t trip on my way up, or sneeze in the
principle’s face. What bothered me the most is what had been bothering me since
Kindergarten, when they first called attendance and read my name aloud to the
class. Only this time, it was to a room of over a thousand people.
My
name is Sadie Harris. Just Sadie; Miss Harris; Sadie Harris. Now, I know some
would say, what’s so wrong with that name? But just look at it. Sadie Harris.
It’s so… dull, unimaginative… so boring. I mean, anyone can be a Sadie. And are
you even aware on how many Harris’s there are in the world? 2,790,000 in the United States
alone, that’s how much. I googled it. That means, that out of all those
Harris’s, take a guess how many of them are named Sadie. My point proven.
Anyone can be a Sadie, and anyone can be a Harris, making me, Sadie Harris,
completely and originally unoriginal.
Now
– it wasn’t just that the name was boring. I mean, it’s so forgettable. Twenty
years from now, it’s not like anyone’s gonna remember me for anything
important. I mean, if I’m lucky, they’ll remember me as the girl that sat
behind them in math class freshman year. But, only if I’m lucky.
Even
if I had an exotic name like… Venus Chocolát, it’s not like people would remember
me as anything different. You see, I know in my heart that I am not a Sadie
Harris, but because that is my name, people EXPECT me to be a Sadie Harris. So
– I’ve been playing the part of Sadie Harris for as long as I can remember.
Shy, nice, a tad introverted, friends with one or two girls; not a total geek
but definitely not cheerleader material; and of course, pin straight light
brown hair almost always in a ponytail. So – even if I had been named Venus
Chocolát and acted the way I did, I might be the girl that sat in front of you
in math class freshman year, but it’s not much different.
Then
again, if my name was Venus Chocolát, no way in hell would I act the way I have
the past four years. If my name was Venus Chocolát and not Sadie Harris, instead
of being just like, “Hi, I’m Venus.” Like I would with Sadie, I’d be all, “Hi,
I’m Venus,” then after a moment be like, “Yea, Venus, as in the goddess of
beauty.” How exotic would that make me? Not only would I have a totally
original name, I’d also have ties to ancient Greece . I could have been born
there or something so I’d talk with a light accent but not the scary
I-Just-Immigrated-Here-From-Europe-And-I-Have-Trouble-Saying-Things-Like-How-Are-You?-And-What-Is-Your-Name?-And-Pronouncing-Things-Like-Super-Market-And-Pizza
accent, more of a
I’m-Totally-Sexy-And-Foreign-And-On-Weekends-I-Like-To-Tan-Topless-Because-That’s-How-They-Do-In-Europe
accent. I would dye my hair a really dark brown and start going tanning. I’d
wear designer jeans with camis from Target and totally make it work for me. I
would have dark brown contacts and chew softly on the erasers of my pencils as
I half-listened to the teacher drone on about US History. I would definitely be
interesting, and I would definitely be remembered.
But,
my name is not Venus Chocolát. My name is Sadie, Sadie Harris. Sadie as in…
Sadie. And every time I was reminded of this my heart would sink below sea
level, which made no sense because even though we lived near Lake
Michigan , it wasn't as if we were in the lowlands or anything. So
when I heard Principle Oldham called my name I stifled a groan and took my
diploma. Or my diploma holder. The actual diploma comes in the mail. It’s like
they don’t trust us not to lose them. Which I guess is smart considering how
full the lost and found gets after a week, but it’s one of those little things
that could lead to bigger things that could lead to corruption. That’s also
when I realized that I read far too many books. Only a person who has read
hundreds of books about people overthrowing corrupt governments would think about
conspiracy theories focused on diploma deliveries as they graduated high
school.
That’s
another thing – Sadie likes to read a lot. And not normal girl books, more like
epic books. Books on politics. Books based on real events but elaborated and
slightly fictional. Most girls my age left the library with Gossip Girl
or The Clique Books; I left with War and Peace, by Leo Tolstoy,
or Swann’s Way, by Marcel Proust.
As
I sat back in the plastic chair that creaked, ever so slightly, under any
amount of pressure added to it, I pondered what kind of books Venus Chocolát
would read. Probably foreign books with worn covers that were in
Czechoslovakian or something – because, of course, not only would Venus
Chocolát speak English and Greek – She’d speak Czechoslovakian as well. French
and Italian would also be pretty impressive. That’s it! If I were Venus
Chocolát I’d be bilingual… well… bilingual times two point five.
Damn
– there’s dorky Sadie popping up again.
I
glanced into the cramped crowd of overeager parents and bored younger siblings
slumping in their seats playing with legos or Barbies or whatever. Every single
family looked exactly the same. The crying mother, the proud father, the
obnoxious little brother or the little sister forced into a poufy dress she
didn't like, it was all the same.
The
strange thing about crowds is that no matter how packed a place can be, no
matter how full or crowded the football stands are, you know that it only takes
thirty seconds or so to find your parents. Don’t deny it, it’s a fact of life.
My
eyes rested on my own set of guardians. I preferred to consider them as such
because the Harris’s were, in my own mind, not my parents. A spirit like mine
ready to be exposed and experience the exotic flavors of life did not come from
John and Karen Harris. I am convinced that I must have been switched up in the
hospital when I was born despite the fact that I look almost identical to
Karen.
John
had his arms around Karen and she, of course, was in tears while my little
brother, Jacob, was kneeling down probably playing with one of his trucks: a
typical childlike past time that I never saw the joy in. When they noticed I
had glanced in their direction, Karen waved enthusiastically and John nudged
little Jacob to alert him of this momentous moment of me glancing their way.
I
smiled, as that was what was typically expected, and went back to my seat. As I
glanced around the auditorium I saw nearly identical situations taking place
and I began to wonder if anyone other than myself saw the pointlessness to it
all. Then, I realized, most of my fellow students would grow up to be exactly
like the families surrounding them. The commercial tears the sad smiles… that
was what was in their future. ‘And in
mine,’ I realized. Or at least that was where I was headed. Go to college,
meet a nice guy, get married, pop out a couple kids, and then I’m my parents.
In
a way I’m sure that is every teenager’s worst nightmare, and if it’s not their
parents they are worried about turning into. It is their aunt or their uncle or
even an older cousin… I had to stop it, I couldn't turn out like them. And if I
walked out of here with my diploma holder and spent the rest of the summer at a
summer job and off to college, that would be my destiny. I had to do something,
something exotic. Join the peace corps, run for office, backpack around Europe , who cared – I needed to break free. I needed to
start fresh. And – suddenly – I realized with this new found freedom I was
bestowing upon myself, I could be anyone I wanted.
No
longer would I be chained to the abominable persona of Sadie Harris.
Hmmmm. Not as bad as I thought it would be but definitely a little juvenile. More to come if I can't come up with any current ideas!!
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