Managing Editor Abby Tow

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Well, here we are.

Or rather, here I am, because while a whole class of us, more than 700 grads, are about to pack our bags, I feel fairly disconnected from most of my class. It’s just one of the drawbacks of a big class, I suppose, but it’s putting a lot of things into perspective for me.

I’ve gone through high school as most of us have with a certain degree of anonymity. I’ll walk across the stage and a good number of people will have never heard of me, and I won’t know all of the people who graduate with me as the KHS class of 2019. However, it makes the people I do know feel even more special and close to my heart.

When I see my best friends walk across the stage, even the ones who I maybe just had a class or two with, I’ll get to remember and cherish our own little unique experience together that nobody else can. I’ll watch my band friends receive their diploma and be able to remember when we marched in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. I’ll see my poetry teammates walk and remember their amazing performances at the competitions we attended in the spring.

I’ll look behind me during the ceremony and see the band underclassmen playing “Pomp and Circumstance” over and over again, surely tired and wishing the day would end sooner. Hopefully they soak it all in; it seems like yesterday I was a sophomore playing in the graduation band thinking my own graduation was an infinity away.

In high school I grew into the poet I dreamed to be in middle school. I showed up sophomore year to a small poetry club meeting; I ended my junior year as a member of the Fort Worth Brave New Voices Team, and I’m exiting high school this year as the captain of that same team. Sometimes I don’t give myself enough credit for the growth I’ve accomplished, but right now, as everything is dwindling to a close, I feel warm when I consider the good things I’ve been fortunate enough to experience and achieve.

My senior year came with its challenges, but they seem insignificant now. I am terrified for the future. I am hardly sure of anything — where I want to end up, who I am, who I want to be — but I’ll figure it out. That’s one thing I am sure of.

Thanks to my parents, my friends, Mr. Vogel, Mr. Stephens, Mrs. Johansson, Ms. Lemke, Mrs. Lynch, Mrs. Pickrell, and Mr. Carney for educating me, inspiring me, guiding me, and putting up with me. Thanks to poetry for being poetry. Thanks to myself for being myself. Thanks to my two broken arms for healing. Thanks to the carhop at Sonic who brought me my Dr Pepper every other morning. Thanks to my car for enduring a few bumps and bruises and poles and curbs. Thanks to my sister, because at the end of the day, who else do I really have besides her. Thanks to my scrunchies and my best friend in Edmond for keeping me together. Thank you to Oklahoma for letting me come back home.

Well, here we are. And here we can’t stay forever.