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The word of Harpeth Hall

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Superserver- Helen Mistler

I was four years old, and an unassuming stranger’s small act of kindness made him a hero in my eyes.  

We had been biking for miles in the sultry South Carolina heat, and I didn’t think that my little feet could peddle a minute longer.   Finally, we arrived at a charming, outdoor restaurant situated at the edge of a marina.  

Clad in pink Keds and rhinestone sunglasses , my four-year old self followed the waitress as she escorted us to our table that overlooked the water.  We dined on a delicious lunch of hot dogs and crispy curly fries before paying our bill and making our way to the exit.  As we gathered our belongings and stood up to leave, an empty table in the center of the patio caught my eye.  As my parents were making their way out of the restaurant, I darted towards the empty table.  About the time that I began climbing my way up the plastic patio chair to reach the table, my parents turned to notice that I was no longer waddling behind them.  They panicked and began busily scanning the crowds for any signs of their pink, bedazzled toddler.  My mom felt a tug on her sleeve as my dad looked at her and pointed in my direction.  They didn’t realize that, after watching countless UT football games, I had memorized every word to my favorite song, “Rocky Top”, and was eager to share them with a crowd.  I scurried up the plastic patio chair and took my place atop the wobbly table and proceeded to belt out my rendition of “Rocky Top,” for the entire restaurant to hear.

 My parents stood below me in shock, having not realized that I even knew what “Rocky Top” was, or that I had memorized every lyric and was now screaming them for everyone to hear as they peacefully ate their lunches.  For those few minutes, perched in the center of the restaurant, I was living the rock star life that I had always dreamt about.  The crowd cheered, and I felt like I was on top of the world, until I caught a glimpse of a waiter headed in my direction with a menacing expression on his face.  My little heart sank, and I mentally prepared myself for this waiter to come over to me and demand that I get down from the table and stop singing.  When he finally reached my table and stood beneath me, I gulped audibly and looked back at him with widening eyes.  I noticed that his hands were tucked behind his back, and my four-year-old mind immediately panicked, thinking that in those hands were handcuffs that he would use to send me to restaurant jail for causing such a commotion. Instead, he looked up at me with a smile, handed me a microphone and told me to keep singing just a little bit louder so that guests in the back could hear me.  

My exhilarating moment of stardom was almost cut short, but instead this stranger’s small act of kindness made this an even more memorable day.  Service, in its simplest form, is fostering the joy of other people, and that is exactly what he did.  I have not always thought of service in this way.  For so long, I was of the mindset that service was only possible through structured, sophisticated projects and organizations with which one may volunteer. But it’s not.  Serving others is possible every day with everyone we encounter.

This waiter did not write me a check, he did not host a 5K on my behalf, and he did not collect jars of peanut butter to send to me.  He simply saw what brought me joy, and did what he could to promote my excitement, in a small, yet impactful way.  

Some of the most inspiring role models of serving others through spreading joy that I have had the pleasure of meeting are the women of Magdalene House and Thistle Farms.   Magdalene House is a residential program for women who have survived prostitution, trafficking, and addiction, and Thistle Farms in the social enterprise half of the program in which the women make and sell handmade products.  SLLC officers traveled to Thistle Farms this summer to work with and learn more about the women in their program. Thistle Farm’s moto, “Love Heals”, is plastered on the walls of the building and on the labels of each of their products.   I think this is such a beautiful mission that simply yet eloquently affirms what every service act should aim to achieve.  Thistle Farms relies on service work in the forms of fundraisers, and donations from the community in order to maintain their programs.  Realistically, Thistle Farms, like other non-profits, could not exist without these crucial fundraisers and drives.  We started our day at Thistle Farms by sitting in on the weekly meditation circle that anyone in the community is welcome to be a part of.   Every week during the meditation circle, women of in the program go around and share their stories of how they found a home at Magdalene House as well as anything else they are moved to share with the group. Over and over, the women repeated how grateful they were for the joy that the program has given them since their arrivals.  These stories were all encouraging testaments to the fact that while Thistle Farms could not exist without the incredible projects, fundraisers, and drives that help fund the program, their mission would only be successful through fostering joy in these women.

At the end of the day, money does not heal people, people heal people, and only when projects are rooted in compassion and selflessness, can they truly heal a problem or a need.  We all left Thistle Farms, feeling encouraged and uplifted after hearing the stories of the women and spending the morning surrounded by their welcoming spirits. The women at Thistle Farm’s have mastered the art of giving and loving on others, and they served us greater than we could ever have hoped to serve or support them.  

There are so many wonderful ways to serve, and no one way is better than another.  We need canned food drives and penny wars just like we need encouraging words and good listeners.  No matter how we choose to serve, we should always aim to serve WITH people, never for them or at them.  We shouldn’t serve solely to accumulate service hours or to add another bullet point to our resumes.  Serve meaningfully and intentionally, and find ways to be involved with what you’re passionate about.  

Meaningful service can be done in the halls of Harpeth Hall, in the hills of Africa, and everywhere in between.  Whether it’s painting walls at Hands on Nashville Day, making a team to participate in race for the cure, or even simply smiling at someone you’ve never seen before, all of these things are great strides towards making a difference and benefitting someone in need.  

 I would like to leave you with a quote by Douglas Adams, “ To give real service you must add something which cannot be bought or measured with money, and that is sincerity and integrity.”

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Lizzy LeBleu, senior

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American-British- Anne Davis Parks

Cheese toastie.  Fit.  Knackered. Cheeky. Skip.

If you are confused about the meaning of those words, or how they fit together in a list, don’t worry.  All of those words are British terms that have found their way into my vocabulary.  Their American equivalents are as follows: Cheese toastie means grilled cheese, fit means hot, knackered is exhausted , cheeky is sassy, and skip means dumpster.

My love for British vernacular and culture has made me realize how much it influences American culture, and I want to share some of those ways with you.  This summer, I went to Scotland with my church.  For those of you wondering, Britain and England are not the same thing.  England is a country, while Britain is the island that includes England, Scotland, and Wales, so Scots do refer to themselves as Brits.

My youth group got to work with children in northern Scotland.  When wondering what to talk about with a twelve-year-old girl, I picked up a bag of chips that was on the table in front of us.  “You call this a packet of crisps, right?” I asked.  She nodded, and I continued, “Well, in America, we call it a bag of chips.”  She died laughing, amazed at how uncultured we Americans were.  As we talked, we discovered more things that we had different words for. My vacuum cleaner was her Hoover. What was a sweater for me was a jumper for her.  What I called paper towels, she called kitchen roll.

As I talked with this Scottish girl, I began to wonder why we had such different vernacular.  So I looked into it.  The split in the English language began with Noah Webster’s dictionary.  Webster compiled the dictionary at the time of the American Revolution, and he wanted to make American vernacular distinct from British language.  This is where the spelling differences of words like colour and theatre began and a few new American words were coined.

After Webster’s dictionary, the split between British and American English grew.  Other early Americans, like novelists and artists, tried to come up with a distinct, American tone and style.  Today, we have reached a point where certain words and phrases, like the list I gave at the beginning of this speech, have completely different meanings or even no meaning at all.  George Bernard Shaw sums these differences up well by saying, “England and America are two countries separated by a common language.”

But slowly, British words are beginning to trickle back into American English.  Some believe this is due to pop culture trends like Harry Potter or Downton Abbey or even One Direction.  Others reason that it is because some Americans think that British words are trendy or even make the American user sound more important and intelligent.

Our vernacular is not the only thing influenced by the Brits.  America and Britain seem to be cultural cousins.   The British Invasion of the 1960s is one of the clearest examples. Bands like The Beatles and The Rolling Stones, movies like My Fair Lady and Mary Poppins, and supermodels like Twiggy and Jean Shrimpton changed the face of American entertainment and fashion.

Now, fifty years later, we seem to be having a second British Invasion.  Popular musicians like Ed Sheeran, Rita Ora, and Jessie J are British.  Chances are you’ve either seen or heard of TV programmes like Dr Who and Downton Abbey or movies like Love, Actually.  American popular culture is shaped in many ways by British popular culture.

 So, even if you did not wake up, put on your cosiest jumper and head downstairs for a cup of tea while listening to your favourite Ed Sheeran song this morning, you have been influenced by British culture in more ways than you know. Cheerio!

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Honey, I'm Home- Lindsey Speyer

That feeling of walking into a room and feeling dozens of eyes on you. Ah, that’s the feeling of being the new girl. I am so happy that I made it to Harpeth Hall, but it was not an easy or direct route to get here. Between 7th and 10th grade, I attended three different schools. No, I did not switch schools because I was bullied, and yes, I did have friends at all of these schools. I just really loved Harpeth Hall and was determined to be a girl in a green plaid skirt with one of those cool laptops that lets you write on the screen. Yes, I really thought that your 2010 Lenovos were brilliant, cutting edge technology.

I was one of the Oak Hill kids. After elementary school, I assumed I was going to Harpeth Hall. But because I apparently was not in the upper tier of my sixth grade class and didn’t get in, I decided to go to Ensworth. Thinking back on this, I’m pretty sure I picked Ensworth because they gave me an “E Cookie” and a little plastic football on my tour. However, Ensworth was just not the place for me. I don’t know if it was my lack of spirit for the oranges and blacks on field day or during PE, but something made me feel like I should keep looking for a school that made me happier. Yes, I applied to Harpeth Hall for eighth grade, and, yes, I got deferred again. So, next stop was Brentwood Academy. I really liked BA a lot more than the previous school, and I stayed there for two years. Wow, a whole two years! I had great friends there, some of whom I still see on a regular basis. I assumed I would graduate from BA until I realized I was still jealous of my friends that got to go to a school like Harpeth Hall. I was disappointed in myself for not being good enough to get in to Harpeth Hall, so I worked hard to excel in my schoolwork. I was determined to get accepted into this school because I believed it was the right fit for me. I guess Mrs. Hill was tired of seeing my application for the third time, so the administration finally let me in. So, sophomore year came around and I found myself at my third year of new student orientations, but this time for a school I was truly excited to attend. Being the new kid at Harpeth Hall was by far the easiest transition for me. Of course, attending Oak Hill helped a lot because I knew twenty or so girls off the bat. However, many of the people who helped me the most were girls in my class I had never met before. They helped me figure out how to use this weird new laptop, how to navigate through the buildings to find my classes, and how to read my schedule. I’m pretty sure that I have mentally blocked all of the embarrassing things I did as the new girl at my three schools I’ve attended, because while brainstorming for this speech, I can only think of two recent tragedies that occurred during my time as a student. 

The first happened when the Bear Cave, full of students, needed to test my speakers. To do so, they pulled up my YouTube history and clicked on the song “Cooking by the Book Remix by Lazy Town and Lil Jon” and I had to stand there awkwardly while this weird explicit remix played on full volume for the entire room to hear. More recently, upon deciding to sign the wall for Auburn in the senior house, I got overwhelmed with the large amount of people behind me cheering and watching. Apparently I’m not great under pressure, because I spelled Auburn wrong in Sharpie on the wall of the senior house. I’m sorry Mrs. Meltesen, because it’s a very easy word to spell, yet, I found a way to misspell it. I then proceeded to cover over it with the wrong shade of pink, and “A-U-R-B: Aurb” still shines through. Thinking back on these incidents, it’s nice to know I haven’t lost any friends over my embarrassing mistakes. It’s comforting to know that I can make a few mistakes next year at college without being totally isolated. 

These few years at Harpeth Hall have been so much fun and I have definitely not taken for granted. Though very difficult, the academic workload here was refreshing. I had never attended a school where the majority of the students wanted to learn and wanted to do well. I was used to my friends bragging about how low they scored on a quiz or how little they studied. Even if we do not appreciate it now, Harpeth Hall is teaching us discipline, which will help us excel in college. This, of course, made my sophomore year very stressful. I did not know how to study, and I’m surprised that I even passed Mrs. Higgins’s chemistry class. If I had not switched to this school, I probably would still think that reading over my notes once will score me an A on all of my college exams. For those of you scared about going to college and being the new kid: it’s really not that bad. I’ve done it three times, I’ve survived, and it’s made me realize more about myself. Joining a new community in college will be so refreshing and good for all of us. Yes, this is cliché, but be thankful for your school. It’s really easy to complain about the workload, a lunch bar you might not like, our Lenovos, the dress code, or the abundance of demerits, but spend one week at another school in this area and you will realize how lucky we are to be here.

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R. Mutt, 1917- Erin Suh

If I asked you all to think of a great work of art, I’m sure many of you would picture da Vinci’s Mona Lisa, van Gogh’s Starry Night, or maybe one of your personal favorite works. For me, however, the first thing that comes to mind is Fountain by Marcel Duchamp. From the name, you’d probably expect a grandiose depiction of some sort of water-spewing contraption. You definitely wouldn’t expect a urinal.  Fountain is just that. It is a legitimate, porcelain urinal bought by Duchamp from J.L. Mott Iron works on New York’s fifth avenue.

If you don’t believe me, you can go see it for yourself in the Museum of Modern Art. However, I can tell you from experience that the trip is probably not worth it because you could walk into any men’s bathroom and see something of the same effect. The only artistic liberty taken by Duchamp is on the left side of the urinal where he signed R. Mutt, 1917 in black. Let there be no confusion: I really hate this so-called ‘work of art”.

But, I would like to explain why this unconventional work has made such an impression on me and how it has changed my perspective on the importance of art.

My mom is probably laughing to herself in the back of the auditorium over the fact that I am talking about appreciating art when for years, she couldn’t even suggest going to a museum without me groaning. I’m not exactly a “stop and smell the roses” type of person, so spending hours staring at lifeless sculptures or paintings never really appealed to me.

But the summer before my Junior year, I took a four-week class called New York in Art and Film that altered the way I viewed art. My professor took us through a brief art history course where he challenged us to find significance in art by connecting it to its place in history and the artists’ intentions. Little by little, I saw myself opening up to these new ideas. I began to see how Thomas Cole’s landscape paintings were more than just depictions of nature. They embodied his romantic ideals that valued unspoiled wilderness and early American sentiments of freedom.

The abstract-expressionist works of Jackson Pollock and de Kooning were not merely mindless distributions of paint. Rather, they symbolized liberation and unbridled expression in the paranoia swept post war years of the 1950s.Those all seemed like perfectly reasonable concepts to me, but it was our discussion on Duchamp and the readymade movement that frustrated me the most.

In the years surrounding World War I, a new artistic movement called DaDa grew out of disillusionment with traditional aesthetic and repressive values. These artists sought to transcend those conditions through art with shock value. They wanted to create work that made people uncomfortable and drew out visceral reactions so people questioned whatever conventional notions they held.

Duchamp took this idea beyond painting through “readymades.” Instead of traditional mediums such as paint, Duchamp presented objects as art. Like the urinal,  they were often common and mass-produced. If his only objective was to make people mad through this statement, he was successful. But he did more than that.

Duchamp took the artistry away from the artist’s ability to create something, and instead put it in choosing the work and forcing it to be seen in a different way-- what he called quote “creating a new thought for the object.” He made people question what constitutes art, and how putting something in the context of a gallery alters the way that people perceive objects. It was these early pieces that laid the groundwork for conceptual art, a new way of thinking about art by meaning rather than visuals. His influence can be seen in artists from Andy Warhol to performance artist Marina Abramovic.  

Personally, Duchamp’s art is not my taste. That being said, I know that if I had not learned about his work, I would not be able to appreciate the art I do like. That would be a shame. To me, art is important because it is innate and universal. Sometimes there are no words for why we are drawn to certain works, and there is no special knowledge required to form an opinion about a piece. Every time we look at a work of art, we are seeing the world from someone else’s perspective.

The best art expresses something about the culture or time of the artist and challenges you to broaden your mind. If you have not already, I hope you are all able to grow your own appreciation of art. Walk through a gallery, spend a day in a museum, or even follow the Met or Art institute on Instagram. If you see something you like or even something that seems weird, look into it.  You never know how something can change your perspective.

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iDon't have an iphone- Anna Patterson

How long could you last without your phone?  For most of us, the luxury of playing Candy Crush and stalking someone on Facebook has become such an essential part of our life that we can hardly imagine going a day without it.  When did a small, 3 ½ inch piece of metal become so crucial to our lives? We have the privilege of having the entire world at our fingertips, and we take advantage of that constantly. As one of the last remaining human beings on earth who doesn’t have an iphone, I have had a rare glimpse into what life is like without this coveted appliance. Living on the outside of a cult whose rituals are to take “ selfies”, “snapchat”, and “vine”,  I have watched as phones have become a mandatory part of people’s everyday lives. Do not get me wrong, there are, of course, many benefits to owning a phone, but today I am going to talk to you about the destructive social, physical, and mental effects they have on us.

This issue recently became very evident to me while flying to Denver this summer. During a layover, a family caught my attention. A mom, dad, and two little girls all sat together, each on a different type of electronic. Instead of talking or playing card games, they were immersed in their appliances, lost in their own world for the entire layover and flight. They only spoke to ask for drink orders. After watching this family, I was curious to know how much of an impact that these devices were really having on our social and private lives. When I researched this topic, I came up with some startling data. For example, the excessive use of cell phones has replaced the need for interaction with real people. Listening to music and browsing the web have substituted our need for real, human company. Statistically speaking, almost 60% of smart phone users can’t last one hour without checking their phone! While out to dinner with friends, or just hanging out with a group of people, I have noticed how easy it is for someone to retreat into technology and completely block out the reality around them.

The physical effects that phones are having on our lives are just as damaging. In a study of Health Effects on Cell Phone Users, it stated that 52% of the subjects reported frequent headaches, irritability, eye strain, and tiredness due to usage of their phone. Also, phones can be attributed to a large number of injuries and deaths in car accidents. Each year, 28% of the crashes in the nation involve someone using a phone. This means that 1.6 million accidents every year are due to someone talking, texting, or being distracted.  Despite these startling statistics and warnings we constantly receive about the dangers of distracted driving, the inability to put our phones down seems to have outweighed our safety.

Smart phones have the potential to be socially debilitating as well as mentally. With the constant stream of entertainment and social media that we have access to, the ability to focus in depth has become harder for the new generation to grasp. Although phones help us acquire information fast, they are not as apt at teaching us to ponder and think analytically about the information we are receiving. Anxiety is another mental side effect of owning a smart phone.  The constant updates cause people to feel inadequate and anxious because they don’t have the newest model. Unknowingly, these devices that we are using are subtly changing how we think.

Unlike my mother, who believes that iphones are the anti-Christ, I understand that these devices have positive aspects to them as well. They are a great way to stay in touch with family  who live far away, and useful for browsing the web, finding directions, or even playing a game or two. Making plans with friends is a breeze with features like group chat, something far too advanced for my phone to handle. Doug Gross, a writer for CNN says it best with his statement, “Yes, our gadgets provide a world of possibilities. But if we’re not careful, they can sometimes pull us away from the real one”.  

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Pretty Hurts- Jayne Stuart Garber

June 5, 2008, “Dear Diary, I really really like Hudson Crook, but I don’t think he likes me back because my cheeks are so chubby and I wish my thighs were small like all the rest of my friends.” This is a diary entry I made in 5th grade after a grade-wide pool party. Jump now to my 8th grade year, November 13, 2010, “People tell me I am muscular or I am built differently, but when I hear that all I hear is that I am fat.” These are just two of the many entries I have made over the years regarding my physical appearance. Right now as I read these statements I shudder knowing that I have struggled with this issue of self-hate for many of my eighteen years.

           According to the National Eating Disorder Association, 42% of first through third grade girls believe they need to be on a diet, and 81% of ten year old girls are unhappy with their bodies and are afraid of gaining weight. Being a contributor to these percentages I stand here today to ask why this problem is continually talked about and there are multiple campaigns to stop this matter, yet the issue is still in full force. Why do we find our self-worth in our physical being? We can blame the media for stressing the importance of beauty, but in the end how much of this issue is personal judgment on ourselves?

           Standing here today I can honestly say I have found strength through this issue. My freshman year as I was nervous about beginning high school, causing my anxiety rose. Being a secret avid worrier, I became so worked up when trying to find a Freshman Homecoming dress that I looked in the mirror at myself in this ill-fitting dress and I began to sob. It was in that moment that I made the realization that these thoughts had come too far. I had exerted so much energy into my appearance that I had mentally exhausted myself. As I sat on the floor of the dressing room I realized that this seemingly always happy Jayne-Stuart was happy with everyone but herself. As I stood up I looked into the mirror and for the first time I just decided it was time to start loving the girl that I saw. Since that day I have made it a point each day to just find something about myself to be happy with beyond my physical appearance. I have become proud of whom I am, and I feel freedom from what society and I has categorized me as because I have grown to love myself. Just as the flight attendant says on your flight says you must put your mask on before you put on the mask for another in case of emergency, in order to love and care for others you must learn to love yourself. This includes not making hateful comments about your physical appearance, accepting compliments graciously, and feeling confident with whom you are. I will be honest I crumble sometimes and it is easy for me to fall back into old ways, but I have to remind myself that what I think I am or what I perceive myself to look like is not who I am in truth.

           As women, and especially as teenagers it is time to stop being so hard on ourselves. Each person in this room was created differently and perfectly, and instead of focusing on what we want to change about our physical selves, my hope is that we could focus on leading a healthy life. Balance is the key to success and success reaches far beyond self- perfection. Your character is of the upmost importance and what is on the inside is far more important than what see. I know that these words are just a drop in the bucket to the long journey we have to go, but I can only hope that leaving today you may feel inclined to get to know yourself better because you are whole lot better than you give yourself credit. It is time to focus on building each other up, and keeping each other accountable for their words. I cannot say it any better than Beyoncé when she says, “Pretty hurts, we shine the light on whatever’s worst we try to fix something but you can’t fix what you can’t see it’s the soul that needs the surgery.”

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Miss Manners- Sophie Pilkinton

One refreshingly crisp Labor Day my family and I, a snaggletooth seven year-old, attended a celebratory carnival consisting of bounce houses and cotton candy—a child’s fantasy. The festivities were taking place at a prestigious country club, and my parents insisted on making a flawless first impression. Therefore, my seven year-old self received at least ten reminders from my mother to remember my yes ma’ams, and to be calm.

Upon our arrival, I was immediately hypnotized by the sight of the bounce houses, and took off in a sprint, despite my parents’ scolding. To make matters worse, my sprint lasted approximately three seconds before I fell, sliding across the grass in my white, smocked dress. To this day, I can picture the look of horror on my mother’s face due to my misbehavior and the irreversible condition of my new dress.

This was the first time that I realized I could be disowned for a lack of manners. I should explain: my mother is the type who reads etiquette books for entertainment. Manners books were my bedtime stories. From a young age, my parents insisted on establishing an appreciation for etiquette in me and apparently that meant reading about soup spoons prior to dreaming of silverware placement.

Though times have changed, principles of good manners remain constant, and I continue to put my fork on the left. Today, I will explain why I believe manners are still a necessity, even with our modernized culture, and that at the heart, etiquette is about respect, consideration, and honesty.

The keys to good conduct were first published in 1922 by Emily Post in a book titled Etiquette: Manners for a New World . Though this praised guidebook once dwelled on the bedside of every American home, as it still does on mine, my guess is that this book is unknown to most, if not all of the students in this room today.

In the updated version of the book, Post recognizes that our culture takes a more casual approach to dressing, communicating, and entertaining. She writes, “Casualness, or informality, doesn’t necessarily equate to rudeness. It’s just as easy to be polite when wearing jeans to a party as when wearing white long gloves to a ball.” Though our culture is prone to leggings and t-shirts rather than ball gowns, we are still charged with the duty to be considerate.

Likewise, even though technological advancements might have made our lives easier in some ways, the stress that comes with 24/7 news, entertainment, and social media has created an entirely new set of challenges. I am not trying to tell you that people are necessarily behaving worse than they used to, but with the pressures of modern life it is much more difficult to remain courteous.  Etiquette no longer just concerns the art of addressing a letter or setting the table; etiquette includes when it is acceptable to unfriend someone on facebook or if you are entitled to both armrests when sitting in a middle seat on the airplane.  Etiquette extends into our virtual relationships, and even interactions with our once-in-a-lifetime acquaintances.

The culture evolves, and etiquette adapts, but the core intentions remain the same. They are still a combination, as Post puts, of “common sense, generosity of spirit, and a few “specific” rules to help us interact thoughtfully….They all rest on the same fundamental principles: respect, honesty, and consideration.”

The respect begins within each of us. Respect for our own worth as a human-being, then respect for others regardless of their background, ethnicity or race. Respect is not only demonstrated by what we restrain ourselves from doing, but by the tiny extra pieces of effort we give to arrive somewhere on time or give someone our full attention.

The consideration means thinking about how our actions will affect our surroundings or more importantly how we can elevate those, whether this is lending a helping hand, or in giving a simple compliment.

Finally, honesty comes with being genuine, sincere, and empathetic. It is all about finding the “positive truth” and limiting awkwardness or pain when possible.

So why should you put your fork on the left? Because I believe it shows you care, and in that sense etiquette is still meaningful today, not a lost art of the past. And etiquette is for everyone, not just the high society. Etiquette is not meant to be snobbish, pretentious, or punitive. Post even says, “Being considerate, respectful, and honest is more important than knowing which fork to use. Whether it’s a handshake, or a fist bump, it’s the underlying sincerity and good intentions of the action that matter most.”

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I'm singing, I'm singing- Ashley Williams

“Im singing im in a store and im singing im in a store and im singing

Hey theres no singing in the north pole

yes there is

no theres not

we sing all the time”

If you know me or my family, you know that this statement accurately describes us – me in particular. Whether I am at home, in class, eating lunch, on the court or the field, or even in class I tend to be humming, singing, or making some sort of musical-ish sound. When my friends are talking, I tend to break out in song with whatever word they just said. For example, whenever I hear “im ready” I immediately begins to sing…(IM READY!!! OOEEEEEEE). Or when I hear the word buffalo I revert to my childhood days of watching veggie tales and sing…everybody got a water buffalo, yours is fast but mine is slow…

I grew up around music. My mom was my choir director when I was 4 and my sister played piano and cello. Wanting to follow in her footsteps plus my dad’s constant persuasion pushed me to take piano when I was 6, guitar at age 9, and then French horn at 10. I sang in every choir imaginable from church to school to audition groups in Nashville. One of the things I really loved/love about music is the beautiful perfection of harmony. You know that feeling when you are listening to a song and there is one chord, one perfect bunch of notes that fit together seamlessly that cause you to get chills all over from the sheer magnificence of it? That power comes from passionate expression. Music allows the lost to be found, the empty to be filled, the weary to find hope. Listeners are united in a common understanding in the music they listen to and the experiences they have been through. This to me, is the most cherished and beautiful thing in the world – the unity caused by music.

Some of you may remember in middle school when our senior class, then 7th graders, brought out our guitars and sat in a circle to belt out Viva la Vida. It became a tradition during the school year to have jam sessions as we called them where we would just all come together and sing. Those of us who were stressed forgot our worries as we belted out Maroon 5, coldplay, the beatles, and more. When we heard one of our teachers was having a hard time, we all went out on the patio and videoed Lean on Me to send to her so that she would feel better. Though we would mess up the chords, forget the words, or not even know the song in general, we all sang our hearts out together. That’s the key word – together. No matter what kind of day we had before, who we were friends with , or what classes we had, we all united in music and I truly believe that will always connect us.

I want you to think about your favorite movie. Now, try and remember the soundtrack whether it have words or just dramatic effect. Take it out. One example is this: a classic – Titanic. The majority of you have seen this movie and probably cried when watching it. But would you have cried if Celine Dion hadn’t exploded your emotions with My Heart Will Go On? Leo and Kate would have had a much harder time trying to make you fall in love with them on the bow of that boat if there was no music to set the mood. Jack and Rose would just be standing on the rail with wind blowing through their hair, but oops no music! No perfectly timed key change as they kiss, no crescendos as they fly across the water, just silence. And there would be no music as the boat returns to pick up any survivors. The reprise of My Heart Will Go on would not bring tears to our eyes as we watch Rose call for the boat. I know that I for one would much rather have beautifully composed music to assist me in my emotional transformation as Jack and Rose fall in love than none.

Music has had such an impact on my life and so many of those around me. It brings understanding, passion, a sense of community, and so much more through simple melodies, beautiful harmonies, and perfectly played lyrics. Think about your favorite song of the moment. Listen to its rise and falls, hear its lyrics, remember the memories associated with it. Go share those memories, but more importantly, go make more of those memories. As Sarah Bareilles sang – “remember that life is not meant to be wasted, we can always be chasing the sun! so fill up your lungs and just run but always be chasing the sun” Go chase the sun, and don’t be afraid to sing while doing it.

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Who Are You?- Ellen Mazzone

Has anyone ever been in an interview or filled out an application and been confronted with the question “How would you are describe yourself?” or “What is most important to you?” Recently I’ve been confronted with these questions while completing my college applications.  And I’ve had to ask, “Who am I and who do I want to be?” College applications have been an eye opening experience and a gateway to growth in my emotional health. Today I want to talk to you about emotional health and its important role in our lives.

According to the American Psychological Association, emotionally healthy people will, “work toward goals, find the resources they need and attract others with their energy and optimism – key building blocks of success”. The APA continues to say that people will find happiness  when they are emotionally healthy, and that their success depends on their happiness, not the other way around.

In order to achieve emotional health and well-being one has to embark on a journey of self-discovery.  There is an old adage that says, “Before you can truly love someone else you first have to love yourself.” In order to love yourself, you have to understand yourself. What makes you tick? What makes you happy? What causes you stress? Sometimes we feel uncomfortable thinking about ourselves because it is portrayed as being selfish or narcissistic. But it’s neither of those acts, and in fact, it’s the opposite. When we think and challenge our beliefs and our interests, we are growing and forming new opinions. We become better people when we explore ourselves.

Three weeks ago my psychology class began a project titled “Who Are You?”. For two weeks I was forced to sit down with myself and think. The project had to parts: one) the outside and two) the inside. The outside part was supposed to reflect how we believe others view us or the image we project to the world. The inside was more personal, reflecting our true self and our inner thoughts, hopes, and desires. While college application questions asked me to describe myself, this project forced me to dig much deeper.  The psychology project asked me to categorize my thoughts, who I am, and explain why rather than to check boxes that I believed best described me. When thinking of something personal to me, I think about my adoption. When I was one year old I was adopted from Fuzhou, a city in the Fujian province of China. But for some reason, I could not talk about it, but not because I was embarrassed or sad about it. I realized it was because I have not slowed down enough to form an opinion about it. How do I feel? Am I sad? Do I want to try to find my biological family? While trying to figure out who I was on the inside for a psychology project, I found something deeper: the realization that I need to step back and think about who I am, what that means, and who I want to be. It’s so easy to get caught up in our social lives, our education, and our extra-curricular activities that we forget to help ourselves grow emotionally, which will ultimately lead to success in other aspects of our lives.

           In general, emotional health can be marked by big moments such

as graduating from high school or getting  your first job. But emotional

growth is something entirely different marked by smaller moments that

add up to a better understanding of identity and acceptance of self.

Someone can be incredibly book smart or street smart but feel so

disconnected with themselves at the same  time. I find self-discovery

and emotional growth through travel, but everyone has a different

path. For some it’s a sport, others it’s art, theater, or volunteering.  

Each person will find something that helps explain who they are and

that something is different for each person.

           The non-profit organization Belong To You states that “emotional

identity involves  identifying, building upon, and opening from your

strengths . . . which allows a greater capacity  to enjoy life, cope with

stress, and focus on important personal priorities.” A greater

understanding of oneself leads to greater happiness, security, and

balance. As the ancient Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu (laow – dzuh) said,

“He  who knows others is wise; he who knows himself is enlightened.”  

I challenge you to get to know  the most important person you

know: You.

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Broken Bones- Virginia Ingram

When I was in kindergarten I watched a girl in my grade fall off the monkey bars and break her arm. I was so intrigued by the incident that I soon became infatuated with broken bones. I wanted one so badly that I often dreamt about breaking my leg during my sleep. I told my parents that I wanted to break a bone so many times that it became a common dinner conversation. One afternoon, my dad brought me a removable brace for my wrist that he had bought from Walgreens. I had never been happier and I paraded all around school the next day wearing it and telling everyone different stories about what had happened. Although this fake injury fulfilled my desire for a broken bone a little, it did not quench the thirst entirely. I wanted the real deal, including the ambulance, the colorful cast, and the hospital bed. From my experiences during first through fourth grade, I realized the importance of the cliché saying “Be careful what you wish for.”

           The day before I started first grade my wish came true. I was headed down to the pond on our farm for a swim with my two cousins and my friend. We decided to take a truck down to the pond because it was a far walk and we did not want to waste any time. Christopher, the only boy in the group, obviously drove because he was eight and I was six and my cousins were seven. I sat in the truck bed, leaned up against the tailgate, and my two cousins hopped in the front seat to help Christopher drive. As he threw it into gear and slammed a lead foot down on the peddle, we lurched forward with such speed that the tailgate popped open and I flew out the back. When I landed, I immediately felt a mild pain in my left elbow and a lot of pressure as if my arm were being pumped full of water. I lay on my back and after a few moments I turned to look at my arm before getting up. That is when I saw it. By it, I mean my elbow bone that protruded from my skin and stared me right in the face. The jagged edge of the clearly broken bone caught a little bit of a summer breeze, causing me to feel literal chills inside my bone. I looked at my bone and it looked back at me and then I looked up at the sky blinking a few times before I turned my head over and looked at my bone again. It wasn’t long before the pain kicked in and I could feel the jagged edges tearing more of my skin as my dad raced me to the hospital. After surgery, I was gifted my very first cast; a hot pink, giant boulder on my arm that weighed me down and caused me to miss the first three weeks of first grade. I no longer appreciated having a broken bone but my wish was not finished with me yet.

           Between first and fourth grade, I broke fourteen bones. It wasn’t unusual for me to get one cast off and then another one put on a different part of my body in the same doctor’s appointment. I was cursed, it seemed, and it left me immobile and angry. I broke my wrists five times, my elbow twice, my hand twice, my collarbone twice, my tail bone twice and two of my fingers. Not to mention I got stepped on by a horse twice, gifting me with a pair of crutches, and I have had three concussions, leaving me in a neck brace each time. I knew most of the employees at the Vanderbilt Bone and Joint Clinic on a first name basis because of my regular visits. My parents even had to fill out a questionnaire to prove they were not abusing me at home because of my numerous injuries. At Vanderbilt, I was extremely fond of a particular employee, Dan Dan the Cast Man. I never knew if his real name was Dan but I just called him that because I liked to sing it as I raced down the hall to his office. Dan had put on every single one of my casts and each time I would come in he would immediately hand me the colors I could choose from for the next addition to my body.

It was a very broken time in my life, but having a cast at all times had its ups and down. I had to watch P.E. from the bleachers for four years and I never got to participate in any of the games leaving me frustrated and very bored. However, Sometimes after getting my cast off I would find a pencil that I had shoved down the inside of my arm in attempt to satisfy an itch, so Dan Dan the Cast Man and I always joked that getting my cast off was like a mini Christmas. After my broken bone curse ended, I realized a very important life lesson: Be careful what you wish for because sometimes when you don’t get what you want, it can be a good thing.  

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Being from The 'Boro - Nava Shaw

Over the past seven years that I have been attending Harpeth Hall, I have spent over 87 days in the car. That is about 2,100 hours and almost a quarter of a year. The math consists of this: it takes about 50 minutes for me to get to and from school from Murfreesboro, which is 100 minutes a day, multiplied by about 1,260 days I’ve gone to Harpeth Hall since 5th grade, and finally divided by 60 to get the number of hours. These numbers don’t count driving in on the weekends to see my friends. For me, this commute has become normal.

With these commutes every day to school come some negative consequences. There was the time it took me two hours to get home because of snow. In that time, I could have gotten to the Chattanooga Aquarium or Kentucky instead of home. There was also the time someone hit me from behind in highway traffic, and after assessing the scene I had to drive the rest of the way to school with a bumped fender and a small but legitimate anxiety attack. There are the countless times I have been late to school because of one accident on the roads. I know my friends Erin Suh, Jaclyn Choate, and Mrs. Klocko who also have a long commute, have similar problems and are currently thinking about their similar experiences. This speech is a tribute to the people out there who struggle with long commutes and hopefully is something that will educate the people who have no idea what it is like.

After that list of negative things many of you probably think my parents are crazy for sending me to school in Nashville, or that I am crazy for putting up with it after all these years. I am here to dispel those thoughts. First, my parents had a very legitimate reason for sending my sister and me to Nashville for school. At the time when I was in elementary school and my sister was going to start middle school, the public school in Murfreesboro where we were attending was not fulfilling our academic needs. An example of this is the ‘rhyming words’ poster that hung in my elementary school classroom which classified the words “pin”, “pen”, and “pan” as rhyming with each other. The teacher’s southern accent must’ve gotten her confused. My mom recognized these insufficient standards and the need for a change by me coming home from school one day and asking the question “when will real school start?” in about 2nd or 3rd grade. My mom interpreted this statement as my begging for serious schooling and real challenge. Needless to say, going to Harpeth Hall did more than fulfill my academic needs; I also truly began to appreciate living in a different place than everyone else. I like to think of myself as very similar to Hannah Montana.  I am similar to her in that I am able to live somewhat of a double life; I can come to school in Nashville and be with my school friends, while I also get to come home to a city where I know many fewer people. In Murfreesboro, it is rare for me to be driving and to spot someone I know passing by. I have my favorite Thai restaurant that’s about the size of a large closet, an extensive greenway near my house for bike riding, the creek in my backyard that holds my favorite childhood memories, and other places I can claim as sort of my own. Not to mention I can go to all of these places without seeing a single person I know. As a person who likes to spend a vast amount of time alone, I love this about Murfreesboro; the fact that I have places that are special to exclusively myself. I’m not a complete loner (I do have friends in Murfreesboro) but I truly have come to love the more distant, laid-back lifestyle that Murfreesboro provides.  Recently over the years I have become increasingly appreciative of the places I have been able to live and experience. Murfreesboro, being more suburban, southern, and religious compared to Nashville, has given me an interesting and diverse mix of experiences.

Being in these two places often makes me feel like I am juggling lives, but overall it has provided me with two different homes, two different experiences, and two different perspectives. Not only do I have these different perspectives, but I have learned to appreciate them. As we learned in Mrs. Moses’ American History class and Mr. Christy’s 6th grade reading class, approaching anything from two different perspectives ensures a balanced understanding. I feel privileged to live my life with two different perspectives, and I feel it is necessary for each one of us to learn the importance of this and use it in our everyday lives. Thank you.

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Days with the Dead- Gracie King

What do you want to be when you grow up? Over the years I have answered this inquiry, posed by dozens of teachers, scores of adult acquaintances, and practical legions of relatives with a variety of answers: Marine biologist, astronomer, crypto-zoologist, and as I went through my sarcastic tween years simply the word tall. All of these answers, excluding the last one of course, have had common theme of being related to the sciences, and my current answer lies in the same direction.  When I grow up I want to be a forensic pathologist.

Last Winterim I interned with a forensic pathologist at her workplace, which was a lab owned by independent contractor called Forensic Medical located outside of downtown Nashville. Forensic pathology is a specialty of pathology, and another name for a forensic pathologist would be a medical examiner. A medical examiner’s job is to figure out the cause of death. In our state they are required to have a medical degree. These people investigate cause of death in criminal cases and in cases where a person has died under unknown circumstances.

My first day at work I was incredibly nervous, not so much about the prospect of seeing dead bodies, but about what the doctors and lab technicians would think of me. Usually when they had interns, they were college students from Vanderbilt that came in white-coated groups. I had already met the doctor I would be interning with at my interview - hilariously enough scheduled on Halloween - so I knew she was nice, but what about her coworker? So, there I was in the bitter freezing cold of Winter, outside in downtown Nashville, about to enter a building, and ironically much more scared of the living than the dead.

My worries, of course, were completely unfounded. Every medical examiner, lab technician, and death scene investigator in the building went out of their way to be helpful and were absolutely thrilled that a high school student was interested in their profession (as it is not exactly the most well-known or popular). Even the detectives that would sometimes visit were always extremely polite.

When I finally did begin to observe autopsies, both internal and external, I can only categorize the experience as amazing, and amazingly smelly. My first day, I will admit I was a little lite-headed when I saw them open up the first body. In class when we do dissections it smells strongly of formalhyde. The recently deceased however have not been so preserved and so they smell like meat, burned bodies smells like cooked meat, and rotting bodies (which smell so strongly they have their own room) smell like rotten meat. Luckily for me, I was born with a particularly strong stomach and a particularly weak sense of smell, so I spent the rest of my internship happily learning about the many ways a human can perish.

I also got to learn a little about what it is like to be a medical examiner, and about what being surrounded by so many of the deceased is like. I cannot talk much about specifics because of the confidentiality issues, but I can share a couple of stories.

As you may have guessed, cadavers are autopsied without any clothes on. While made me feel a bit awkward a first, I soon mostly got over it. Unfortunately for me, after anybody with male reproductive equipment dies they get checked for prostate cancer by having some said equipment opened and examined. That never got less awkward to watch, ever. I actually complained to a friend at one point “I never want to see another naked man again; I have seen too many of them dissected”.

Another time one of the pathologists showed me how to examine the contents of the cadaver’s stomach. I was very, very disgusted by this suggestion. Yet he continued to point out the various food items in the stomach, such a potatoes and carrots. The pathologist told me how what was in the stomach could be useful for anything from establishing cause of death to an alibi. It was all very useful information, but I still kept my distance.

The last experience had to do with plumbing.  All of the scalpels, saws, and various other tools were washed off in the sinks that lined the room. Also washed down the drain in the room for the more decayed cadavers were the rotted bits, pieces, and fluids that came of the body. I asked what happened when their drain backed up, and the doctor that day told me it had only happened once. The one time it happened they called an experienced plumber, and he did his job without comment. Then upon leaving politely told them that he was never coming back if there sinks got clogged again.

As you can see, I learned a lot during my internship, here are some last tidbits for you all. First off, don’t do drugs, don’t smoke, and don’t drink to excess. I know you have heard that they are bad for your body, but take it from someone who has seen it first-hand. Nobody wants a blood filled mess of a brain, lungs that resemble dark shriveled balloons, or a liver that is more scar-tissue and fat than actual liver. I promise you it is not worth the risk. Secondly, livers are much bigger than they look in textbooks, and are now officially my favorite organ. And finally, leave room for your dreams to grow; nobody is ever really ready to decide the course of the rest of their life as a teenager.  I would never, as a five year old, have known what I want to do today. So if you have never had an answer when asked what you want to do when you grow up, don’t sweat it.

Finally, shout-out to Devin Graham who will be interning at Forensic Med this Winterim. Also, thanks to Dr. Careny and the entire Forensic Medical team, as well as my mother Dr. Welch, and the Winterim office for setting up my internship. I cannot tell you how grateful I am for the experience.

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Heroes- Isabel Kennon

On the first weekend of every month, the Air National Guard has drill weekend. All Guardsmen and women must report, and after a long weekend of flying, lectures and meetings, they relax with a low-key get-together on Sunday evenings. That’s when I would show up. As a seven-year-old, these Sunday evening parties were my prime time. Not because I was a small party animal, but because all of those Guardsmen and women were hungry, and I was selling Girl Scout cookies. I sold enough boxes to get the patch and the keychain. That was one of the perks of growing up in a military family.

           Today I would like to tell you about my experiences with having military parents, and enlighten you about the US Air Force and the Air National Guard.

           The military has been part of my family for generations. In a scrapbook at my grandparent’s house is a telegram from World War Two. The Air Force sent it to my great-grandmother to tell her that my great-grandfather was missing. That is followed by the diary entry she wrote a year later, after the Air Force showed up at her doorstep to confirm that he had been killed in action.

He flew off on a mission over the Mediterranean, and was never been seen again. Despite this loss, my grandfather decided to continue the legacy. After attending a military academy in high school, he joined the Marines to fly A-4s. He lived on an aircraft carrier for six months, touring the Pacific during the Cold War.

My paternal grandfather was an electrician and a naval gunner during World War Two, before he was sent home with rheumatic fever. They feared he would die, but, although the effects of this fever stayed with him all his life, he did live another seventy years.

My parents met each other while in Air Force pilot training, and both flew C-130s at the Air National Guard base here in Nashville.

Growing up around the military has given me some unique experiences. I’ve gotten to see Santa flown in from the North Pole for the annual Christmas party, and I first got to fly a plane at the very mature age of eight. [Granted, it was one of those planes with two yokes – but the adult pilot let go for at least a minute and I got to fly all by myself.] These experiences have taught me a lot about the military, specifically the Air Force.

When I was younger, my mom would often come to pick me up from school wearing her flight suit. This would prompt my classmates to ask if my mom was in the Army, and I would have to correct them by saying, “yes, except she’s not in the Army, she’s in the Air Force.”  Although the Air Force did originate from the Army Air Corps, today the Air Force is its own branch of the United States military.

The Air Force is also the newest branch of the military. No airplane had successfully taken flight until 1903, when Orville Wright flew for a grand total of 12 seconds, so it wasn’t until after World War Two, in 1947, that the Air Force as we know it today was officially established.

The Air National Guard is what my parents are officially in, which is a part of the Air Force. I know that when many of us think of militias, we think Revolutionary War – with George Washington, bitter cold, and no shoes. But militias are actually still around, and they form what is called the National Guard. Both the Army and the Air Force have one, and most people who are in the Guard have “civilian”, or normal, jobs that they work on top of their military duties. The Guard is part of the military reserves, so usually they don’t have to do much, but when called to action, they’re ready to go. This meant that my family didn’t really have to move around when I was growing up. Although my parents were both deployed when I was little, our whole family only had to move once. We moved to Louisiana for just three weeks, where I got temporarily demoted from kindergarten to preschool, and performed in a dance to “I’m a Barbie Girl.”

Because the military is such a big part of our country’s budget and international policy, it is important for us “civilians” to be knowledgeable about it. Especially concerning many of today’s current issues such as ISIS, Somalia, drones and terrorism, it’s necessary that people know about the military that fights for them.

The majority of my personal military knowledge concerns the Air Force, but the Coast Guard, Marines, Navy and Army are the other four branches, and I encourage you all to learn more about them. As George Orwell was once given credit for saying, “People sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf.” No matter what your view on war or violence is, you must remember that freedom is not free, and many people have given all they have for us and for the US.

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Average- Charlotte Mellow

MLK, Gandhi, Annie Oakley, and Abraham Lincoln. What do all these people have in common? If it isn’t already obvious, they are all extremely above average people.  Their accomplishments changed the world and they will be remembered as extraordinary people. However, we cannot all be the next William Shakespeare, Isaac Newton, or Oprah Winfrey. Most of us will lead what some might consider to be an average life. We probably will not be written about in history books, and movies will not be made documenting our lives and achievements. We are normal.

I first came to realize my averageness in sports... Or rather slightly below averageness… I made the basketball b team in 6th grade, and in my summer swim league, I always got the participation ribbon. However, at the time I thought those meant I was the best because they were the coolest colors. Not to mention I am 5’5 which is the average height for white American women.

Especially as high school students, it’s hard not to compare ourselves to our peers. We all know that person who doesn’t have to study, gets straight A’s, and still has a social life… for me that person was my brother. This, however, is not your typical student. Most people have to study to get an A. To give you an idea of the typical high school student, according to the ACT the national average ACT score for last year was a 21, and according to US news the average GPA is 3.1. But these are just numbers and test scores do not make up who we are.

The American Dream of success is often portrayed as becoming a doctor, lawyer, or film star. We see these successful people in the media and can’t help but think they have their lives together, and we often feel inadequate or below average. However, this perception of success is not accurate. Everyone has different passions and sets different goals for themselves. Being successful should be about finding a passion and pursuing it so you can become the best you can be, not becoming the next Bill Gates or Nelson Mandela.

To give you an idea of what the average American looks like, they are in the working class and have an average household income of $51,000 a year. They have graduated high school but only have some college experience.

However, no matter how average our lives may look on paper, we all have a passion or spark that keeps us engaged in life. After trying every sport, dance, and even briefly singing I began to think I would never find something I was good at and loved. However, on somewhat of a whim, I tried mock trial and loved it. Once I found something I loved to do, it was hard to think of my life as mundane and average.

Although it is easy to compare ourselves to others and feel below average, we are all extremely blessed. Just going to a school like Harpeth Hall and having opportunities to travel abroad and have internships in high school sets us apart from most high school students. For us, college is a sure thing, but only 32% of Tennesseans have a college degree, and as of last year only 33.5% of Americans ages 25 to 29 had at least a bachelor’s degree.  

I came to accept my averageness a long time ago. I may not be the best student or athlete but I found things I love to do and take comfort in my passions. Maybe instead of defining success by our salary or SAT score, we should focus on finding a passion and doing our best to pursue it. Our differences and uniqueness make each one of us above average, and out of the ordinary.

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Granola does a Mind Good- Lizzy LeBleu

What is granola? I don’t mean the breakfast cereal with rolled oats, honey, dried fruits, and/or nuts. I’m talking about a lifestyle.This term, coined “granola” by people everywhere might mean anything from simply owning an eno hammock to maybe spending three weeks alone and barefoot in the deep woods foraging for food.

Trusty Urban Dictionary defines “granola” as

an adjective used to describe people who are environmentally aware with an organic and natural emphasis on living.

I won’t hold Urban Dictionary up as being completely reliable,but it’s a good place to start.

My own definition started early. My mother, having lived in Canada, California, Florida, and Georgia all before going to college, has one of the most open minds of any person I know. She is an environmental engineer who focuses on green building and sustainable architecture... how much more granola can you get? My father spends his free time as a certified crossfit instructor and enjoys biking, running, and, of course, stocking the pantry with paleo food.

My sister and I spent our childhood watching PBS Kids (only on weekends), reusing the same water bottles, composting food waste from our kitchen, printing on both sides of the paper, and recycling anything possible. I had no thought of the possibility that this wasn’t the way everyone did things. Every day at lunch, the elementary school Lizzy LeBleu wanted nothing more but to eat an uncrustable peanut butter and jelly sandwich and jell-o like everyone else.Instead I was the weird kid with tofu from Wild Oats and an embarrassing note from my mom written on a recycled-content napkin.

But “granola” is more than food. As I child, I learned to love the outdoors. I remember my sister and I creating secret hideouts by the creek and climbing the magnolia trees in our backyard - instead of climbing the levels of some video game. We grew up listening to folk songs and attending all the Cheekwood camps. Our time spent outside was priceless.I used to grow plants in our garden in the backyard, and my appreciation of the environment stems from such experiences. In fact, while writing this speech, my arm accidentally brushed the casual potted green bean stalk occupying the right side of my desk. My mother put it there so that I could snack on string beans while writing. The granola never ends.

My appreciation for the outdoors deepened when I decided to attend Camp Juliette Low, an all-girls summer camp in Cloudland, GA. My grandmother attended the Camp and since I’ve been young it’s been a part of my life. We sleep in platform tents, we sail, canoe, chop wood, build fires, hike, and we go on backpacking trips. I’ve learned the ways of the woods and how to work with others in an environment not interrupted by technology. I can whip out my guitar there and we can all sing. It’s amazing how comfortable people get with each other, and themselves, after spending so much time outside. Going without technology for just a bit of time can let our focuses shift away from the social statistics and more towards knowing ourselves and better appreciating the people that physically surround us.

But because of all that, I have grown into the granola teenager that I am proud to be. Although I might have struggled with those elementary school lunches, now I understand that eating well is just about the best thing I can do for myself.These days I spend so much time at Whole Foods, if you’re looking for me, that’s probably where I am. After all, they say to take care of your body, it’s the only place you have to live.

“Granola” for me has come to mean connecting with others and finding the best in them. I have learned that as humans we need to treat each other with honor and respect-- because humans deserve nothing less than that.  

You are not a name on a screen or a picture in a box or a number on a sheet. You are much more, and the world would not work the way that it does without you.

I stand here today, not to convert everyone to the granola lifestyle, but simply to tell you how it has shaped my life. I am comfortable in my own  skin, and I am not ashamed of my beliefs or of my thoughts or of the people I surround myself with.

So hold your head high, because there’s only one you and nothing can ever take that away. Go on a hike, appreciate a friend, give someone a smile, and appreciate yourself. Go into these halls and out into the world, and be true, be genuine, and stay granola.

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Capturing the Human Spirit- Laurel Cunningham

Everybody runs to the mailbox for something. Dads for Sports Illustrated, Moms for NFocus Nashville, and girls our age for Teen Vogue. And in my many years of getting the mail, the only magazine I ever sought was National Geographic.

My heart skips a beat when I spot the bright yellow border of a National Geographic magazine in a stack of mail. It all started with Christmas present from my Grandmother when I was about 6 – a year-long subscription to NatGeo Kids. I loved NatGeo Kids and was fascinated by the insects and wildlife featured in the magazine, but one can only read so many articles about “super-slimy tree frogs!!” – So, to quell my objections of the recycled material, I was upgraded to the real-deal: National Geographic.  Hopefully through this speech I can offer you some insight into the history of National Geographic and how it has impacted my life.

The National Geographic Magazine is a product of the National Geographic Society, which was founded in 1888. The Society began on January 13, 1888 when 33 explorers and scientists met in Washington DC to organize the society. The first publication of the National Geographic Magazine was published in October 1888 as a dense, very specific scientific journal. The mission of the National Geographic Society today “is to inspire people to care about the planet.” The Society has expanded its mission from the one created in 1888 as today it encourages conservation of natural resources, promotes public awareness of natural places, the plants, wildlife, and people that inhabit them and the environmental concerns that threaten them.

Some of National Geographic’s core values are on adventure and exploration. You can often find me watching a documentary about our solar system or the universe at large. My personal favorite television series is National Geographic’s Cosmos: A Spacetime Odyssey narrated by Neil deGrasse Tyson. National Geographic’s articles titled “Is Anybody Out There? Life beyond Earth” and “The Truth About Black Holes” have also peaked my interest in the stars. I would like to thank my friend Kate Griffin for intercepting all my late night text messages where I usually relay a message gushing about my interest in the cosmic calendar or a picture of a supernova. She usually replies with a thoughtful, “oh yeah that’s cool Laurel…will you go to bed now?”

Anyone who knows me has also heard me gush about my love for people and cultures. No doubt this interest was sparked by National Geographic. One of my favorite National Geographic issues to date is the publication from January 2014 – the title reads “Defenders of the Amazon: Taking on the Modern World. And Winning” with the cover photo of a young child covered in decorative face paint. I have always been interested in the nature of human beings and how we function differently in our own societies but are cohesively one species. Some of my other favorite articles about humans are titled: “This Baby Will Live to be 120 Years Old” and “The Other Humans: Neanderthals Revealed”.

Lastly, National Geographic has inspired my love for nature and animals. It was always easy to dismiss environmental concerns because I did not know that much about them. But, National Geographic changed my position – I now encourage National Geographic’s mission of stewardship of the planet. Some of my favorite articles about this topic have been “Greenland: Ground Zero for Global Warming” and “Above Yosemite – Like Never Before”. As mentioned, National Geographic has also inspired my love for animals and yes, bugs too. I used to strictly be a “dog-person”, but National Geographic has changed my mind about exotic big cats, bluefin tuna, and even little spiders.

         National Geographic has managed to capture the human spirit by exploring our cultural differences, our scientific composition, and our continual pursuit to learn more about the world around us. It has inspired me to love to learn and not be ashamed to question. Everyone should try to find something – whether it be a magazine, a person, or a youtube series – that inspires them and causes them to think twice about where their true passions lie. Christopher McCandless once captured the true essence of National Geographic when he wrote, “The very basic core of a man’s living spirit is his passion for adventure.”