2009 Student Commencement Address

   Good afternoon, Sr. Mary Denise, Sisters of the Visitation, Dr. Nichols, faculty, staff, family and friends. We welcome you to the commencement ceremony for the class of 2009.

   I am immensely honored to have been chosen by my class to speak at our graduation. After the announcement of whom the speaker would be, the reality of this responsibility struck me. However, a level of anxiety only set in once a few of my classmates threatened to rescind their vote if I didn’t make them laugh during the speech. I was told, “Don’t make it sappy, Hannah.” With that in mind, I pondered what to speak about on this day, and my grandfather reminded me that at my brother’s St. Thomas Academy graduation in 2005, the student speaker told the audience that some of his classmates had bribed him twenty dollars to mention their names (one of whom was my brother Eric). Upon remembering this, I started to wonder if I would get any similar offers . . . However, my class made no such advances, so instead of making money off of a shout-out to just one person, I decided I would not name any of my classmates but reference as many individuals today as possible. Thus, my peers behind me and the audience before me should pay close attention -- you will likely recognize some of my stories.

   As I considered my six years as a Visitation student (only four of which were in high school), I reflected on the things that set Visitation apart from other schools, institutions, and communities.

   I thought to myself, “Self,” for those who do not experience Vis, as we the students do, how would I describe this place where everyone knows your name. What about Visitation makes it special? Is it the soft, country nature of our rolling suburban campus? The spirited squawk of a Visitation peacock? Reminders from our friendly dean to wear the uniform with respect, and roll down those skirts? Or is it the learning environment in a single-gender school that enables girls to be the leaders, the thinkers, and the class clowns?

   After some reflection, I began to observe that while all of these facets of Visitation contribute to the school’s overall individuality, what makes Visitation so unique is its sense of community.

   Community, as an ecological term, as defined by the Oxford American Dictionary, means “a group of interdependent organisms of different species growing or living together in a specified habitat.” Picking apart this definition a little, I thought I’d delve into the idea that we at Visitation are interdependent organisms of different species. As expected, Visitation, like any school, has a multiplicity of students with varying interests and talents. From the Class of 2009 alone, we have numerous “species:”
We have dancers by discipline and dancers who learned the Michael Jackson’s Thriller moves off of YouTube in order to entertain the crowd at Prom.

We have stage performers, in the form of dramatic actresses, singers, and then one very talented individual who can recite the ABC’s backwards while standing on her head and another who can blow up a balloon with her nose.

We have artists: in the form of painters and drawers, as well as visual artists like those who worked on the AIDA set, devoting their efforts to creating a stage that transported the audience back in time to ancient Egypt.

We have athletes: such as our D1 bound swimmer, going to the U of M next year; our very own Beckham, playing soccer for Creighton; and one athlete going off to Holy Cross to play that four letter word -- golf. We also have many athletes who practice the “not for school, but for life,” attitude while competing or play a sport simply for the team camaraderie.

We have scholars, we have leaders, we have those who exude our school’s founding principles of Salesian spirituality, and we have girls that have made me laugh until my face hurt --just because of a ridiculous speech pattern, a facial expression, or, in one specific case, a stellar pick up line.

   Needless-to-say, we, as women of the Class of 2009, all have something to offer our Visitation habitat. However, the students are not the only “species” at Vis. We also have the faculty, staff, and Sisters.

From the faculty, Visitation has one Elvis aficionado; a Vis-graduated science teacher who is not afraid to go big when dressing up for Halloween; a senior year English teacher who can speak, very convincingly, in Middle English; and beloved history teachers, such as Doc Walsh, whose stories and sayings will echo forever in the minds of his students.

From the staff, Visitation has a martial arts-trained master at the attendance office; a Chef who is known to have received a rousing round of applause after one particularly appetizing day of “Chef’s Choice;” a dual yearbook and newspaper advisor, who was going to faze herself out of involvement but couldn’t resist sticking around for this year; and, perhaps most visibly, a dean of students who understands the plight of the modern Visitation student and works to bridge the gap between students and staff.

Last but not least, from the Sisters, we have Sister Marie Therese, who, leading up to graduation, sweetly threatened to trip and take the diploma of any girl who didn’t have her head on straight. Through the sisters, we witness women both strong in faith and devoted to living in community with one another.

   From the Sister’s commitment to living in relationship with one another, I arrive at the next tenet of my definition of community: that we at Visitation are “growing or living together in a specified habitat.” As I considered that community is defined by common cultural experiences and a unique environment, I began to think about that which creates the Visitation habitat beyond its network of interdependent species.

   For instance, in the Amazonian rainforest the food chain largely defines life in the jungle habitat. At Vis, things are not so different in that something as inane as the food culture partially defines who we are. Let me explain, on any given day, Vis girls will both commiserate over how terribly hungry we are (by about. . . third hour) and will also hide any snack we get our hands on. I have always found it humorous that if one walked into the Commons at Vis or opened any of the unlocked lockers lining the halls one would find purses with cash, credit cards, cellphones, iPods, and countless other things, but if a girl’s locker is locked, everyone knows she is protecting her snacks. In that sense, as in any habitat, the strongest survive until lunch time.

   I mentioned that by fourth hour, girls have already begun to feel the pangs of hunger. During one fourth period, in Mr. Barbeau’s government class, a number of fellow students were agonizing over their grumbling stomachs. When someone cheekily asked Mr. Barbeau if he had any snacks to share with the class, he willingly passed around his bag of low calorie Lorna Doone’s ginger snap cookies. Everyone had a bite to eat and Mr. Barbeau scored some points for generosity.

   While the temperate grasslands of the American midwest differ widely from the tropical forests of the equator, so too do communities of people differ by habitat. We at Visitation know full well how different our customs and norms are compared to the all-boys’ school across the road. I remember how incredulous members of the Academy were after hearing that Vis instated a snack time nearly as long as our lunch period during the ‘04-’05 school year. Four years later, to continue to build on the food culture of our community, Visitation hired a Chef to run the kitchen. I have one very dependable barometer by which to measure the improved quality and number of options available in the Vis dining room. When the “food chain” or lunch offerings provide no desirable options, one of my friends resorts to what I jokingly call a “bird lunch,” consisting of a pile of sunflower seeds, peanut butter to be eaten with her knife, and, on occasion, celery. I think Visitation will be happy to hear that the number of bird lunches consumed have gone down significantly this year.

   One of the most defining characteristics of the Visitation community is that we are a female institution, run by women leaders. While an all-female habitat would not successfully exist in the wild, it happens to work pretty successfully here. For those who have not experienced Visitation as a student, I will tell you that the single-gender atmosphere brings out the uninhibited side of girls and many of us lose our filters for what we should do and say. It’s fairly liberating, to say the least, and I think we get to know each other pretty well.

   Although in the larger society women often continue to face marginalization, Visitation both encourages and depends on its body of all-female students to be actively involved in the school community. German philosopher Johann Goethe once wrote, "Boldness has genius and power and magic in it." In our Visitation habitat, different “species” of students boldly take initiative in varying ways. At an all-girls’ school, girls fill every position: we have female presidents (who didn’t need to break the glass ceiling), ladies as editors and captains, girls starting and running clubs, etc. And, unlike at other schools, Vis girls ask dates to every dance. When you combine our initiative with a little creativity, my classmates have come up with some outrageous and disruptive ways to ask their prospective dates. Two dance-asking stories that illuminate the Vis habitat stand out in my mind, starting with the way one of my classmates formally asked her date to prom this year. The day before prom, this young woman told her date to meet her in the St. Thomas parking lot, where she planned to ambush him, armed with a cooler full of water balloons. Now, apparently, her date was tipped off and escaped bombardment, so she and her armada settled with hitting all the other guys around with water balloons. Though this story is epic, nothing compares to how another classmate asked her date to prom last year. This Vis girl constructed a 90-foot banner, which she hung across the bridge over 494 near St. Thomas, asking her date to prom. Despite the rush of the morning commute, countless drivers looked up to read her sign, and traffic reportedly slowed so significantly that B96 radio warned drivers that 494 was backed up because this girl was asking her date to prom.

   Certainly students at other schools create havoc when boldly asking dates to dances, but I have never heard of anyone else stopping traffic and being reported on the radio. In fact, when you Google the girl’s date’s name a blog comes up on which angry commuters commiserate, wishing they could one day violently thank the prom-asker for her disruptive sign.

   From these “only at Vis” moments to the more somber moments, I believe the willingness of those at Visitation to support one another through the good times and the trying times most essentially defines the Visitation community. Throughout my years at Vis, I often have experienced that the people I least expect to do so not only notice when I’m feeling overwhelmed and upset but also care enough to offer me a hug, a Fischerville smoothie, or a handwritten note. In ecology, such selfless acts are termed altruism, or the “practice of disinterested and selfless concern for the well-being of others.” In animal habitats, altruistic behavior is uncommon and considered curious, but in the Visitation habitat concern for the well-being of fellow classmates, teachers, and staff is commonplace. I am not alone in receiving an unexpected gesture. For instance, one day when I came to school junior year, after a series of events that had left me feeling down and out, I found a letter taped to my locker. One of my classmates wrote in that note that she noticed I was not myself lately, and in case I ever needed someone to talk to, she left her cell phone number. I still have the card, and I continue to associate this act of kindness with the Visitation spirit.

   “Good Samaritan” gestures like this pervade the Vis habitat, and though it can sometimes be frustrating when everyone at school seems to know the in’s and out’s of your life, I have always had the sense that Vis serves as more than a place to make the grade and learn the facts.

   The people, or “species,” and the culture, or “habitat” that create the unique Visitation community make an indelible impact on those who know and are a part of Vis. As I like to say, my classmates and I will always be the Visitation Class of 2009, forever a part of this special community of women and of school. In the coming years, as we meet new people and face new experiences, I can only anticipate how critical it will be for our success to form new communities of support like that which Visitation has provided for the past four years.

   While we prepare to step forth from the comfort of our Vis habitat and the familiarity of our surroundings to meet new “species” (possibly including boys living on our dorm floors), I offer my classmates one challenge. As you go off on your own, bring a bit of our uniqueness, the Vis quirks, and the sense of community that we have gained from our years at Vis to all your future endeavors. The coming months present a number of changes for the Class of 2009. Assuming I receive a diploma in a couple of minutes, my time as a Vis student will expire. The journey before me is yet to be forged, and knowing this has only led me to greater appreciation for community. For many of us, this community is our family, for others it is our friends; but, whether or not we appreciate it now, the Visitation community will always be within our reach. It will be a place to come back to, and a place from which we will remember our roots.

   Today, as we come before you on this stage in the Visitation gymnasium, we prepare not only to receive our crescents but to embark on the unknown journeys that lie before us. Our futures await. It remains up to us to leave Visitation, imbued with the lessons and experiences of our time here, and seize what the world has to offer. On behalf of the 87 girls of the class of 2009 (pause . . .) thank you to the Visitation community for the past four, six, seven (or in a few cases) 13 years of teaching us the beauty of being who we are and being that well.