On a day in mid-March, I received some words I had been waiting on for quite sometime. As I recall that day, it was cold. The up-and-down, spastic movement of the thermometer that is a Tennessee winter was still, very much in control. Early that morning, I had hit the snooze button twice, as is my custom, especially during the coldest parts of the year. I drug through the usual morning routine, grabbing my equally customary breakfast of a Dr. Pepper and a chocolate-chip granola bar. A quick glance at the Wall Street Journal or New York Times offered nothing memorable. Then the day started in earnest. It appeared that nothing in that day would be particularly memorable either. That is, until I got to history.
    I rushed into the room, undoubtedly fearing that my dilly-dallying on the computer with my government class had landed me a half second late for an important test. As I crossed the room to get something for the upcoming test, I heard Mrs. Scott, our history teacher, read something from an e-mail that caught my attention. It was a list of the graduating seniors, and somewhere in that list were the following words, “Alex Hubbard, Valedictorian.” I would have stopped in the middle of the room, but I feared an unsuspecting person behind me would do serious damage to a large portion of my body with a Braille writer. I had known for months, after I realized that it was mathematically impossible for anyone to catch me, that I was the Valedictorian. Still, to hear it, written for the record for everyone to see, was highly emotional for me, almost breathtaking. It marked for me the end result of some hard work and determination that a group of distinguished individuals with many letters in front of their names had once considered me incapable of, but that is for later. 
		Once the fact that I was officially Valedictorian was announced, I was charged to write the speech I am reading to you now. Having learned that I enjoyed writing only after I entered high school, I had never written a speech in my life. I knew I could write any number of pieces meant to be read, but writing a piece to be spoken was something entirely its own. What was worse was I had no idea of what to write about. World peace? Academic achievement? The future? The past? I had no idea. Then a thought occurred to me. We are witnessing a special event this morning, to commemorate the successful graduation of a group of special students. It is the realization of a long-awaited goal, a goal that, for many years, we have collectively looked forward to. This is more than a group event though: it is more than a collective action. This ceremony is undeniably about the individual. It is about a single teacher who saw the potential in a single student. It is about a certain family who chose to send their certain talented student to this school to receive a quality education. Most of all, this morning is made of each individual student who has worked, with increasing purpose, to get to this point. Each of us perceives this event with our own set of emotions. Then I understood why I am here giving you this speech. I cannot tell you something about which I know nothing. All I can tell you for sure, is what it means to me to be here speaking to you today, about to receive confirmation that my hard work as paid off.
	Just seven short years ago, I entered this school, an eleven-year-old sixth grader, scared and in a strange world. Having been in a mainstream school for my entire school career, I had never been around visually impaired people in large groups. I was unfamiliar with the customs of travel within the school building. To this day, I must resist the notion to talk with a nod of my head or twitch of my finger toward another of my totally-blind peers. I entered this school with a declining academic record. Bad grades had never been a specialty of mine, but I was quickly developing the habit. Transferring schools did not cure me of this disturbing trend. Bad grades in math in public school led me to only worse grades in English at TSB. The day that I was declared “learning disabled” in the subject of English was one of the most disappointing days of my young life. A series of events, too long to relate to you now, played themselves out over the next year. I was called into considering a lot about myself. I could have blamed any number of things. The transition to my new school had been difficult, both legally and emotionally. The teachers taught in a different style than the fast-paced, piece-meal exhibition to which I had grown accustomed. It didn’t feel right though. Somehow, I understood where the problem lay, and it was closer than I could imagine: it was in me. I knew it. I knew the key to any and everything I wanted was in me, and I set out to find it.
	A thought has been with me for some period of time. Humanity, though made of individuals, with his or her own characteristics, contains several traits that rest within all of us. Among these traits, is the ability to be resilient.  We may not find this to be in us at all times: for it is not always necessary. It is, however, necessary sometimes. Each person should seek what he or she can do best, what he or she enjoys the most. If you can do that, you will do whatever is necessary and reasonable to reach whatever it is. This is true in school, the college atmosphere, and the real world of jobs and careers. Finding your content spot of enjoyment invokes the human quality of resiliency. No matter the set backs, and there will be many, no matter the flaws in the plan, and nothing is perfect, you will be resilient. You will get up everyday and knock something down that stands in your way. If you want it that badly, your resiliency will serve you in ways you can’t imagine.
	As I consider all of this, as I end my high school education and begin my further learning, I see that resiliency is what led to this point. It led me from learning disabled to Valedictorian. Resiliency didn’t just lead me though; it led all of us at some point. Each of us, who are privileged to graduate today, relied on resiliency somewhere in the scheme of things. We will do it again and again, and so will all of you. If you are to succeed, and everybody should want to, you will find yourself in something, whether it’s a career or the desire to achieve an academic goal, and you will meet that with resiliency. Each of you can do this, and you may stand here and speak someday, or you may do any number of things, in any number of locations around the world, and you can be proud of your accomplishments. Do not be afraid to test yourself, your dreams, and most of all, your resiliency.