Salutatorian Speech: How to Welcome Your Class and Its Guests

Good evening, faculty and staff, families, grandparents, relatives watching the livestream, and my fellow graduates of the Class of 2027. Bienvenidos. Welcome to all of you, and thank you for coming.

My name is Diego, and I'm the salutatorian. That means I give the welcome. It also means I get to speak first, and I promise to keep it short, because the valedictorian is next, and she is much better than I am. More on that later.

I want to start by saying that this class has been through a lot together. Let's go back to freshman orientation. We all sat in the gym during a thunderstorm. Halfway through the welcome video, the power went out. Our vice principal finished her speech by flashlight. I remember thinking, wow, this school is really committed. Four years later, I understand. That was a preview of everything.

Because then came the construction. The new science wing took all four years. We moved trailers three times. I'm not sure any of us learned chemistry, but we all learned how to walk fast in the rain.

Junior year, Barry the Badger went missing. For a whole week, our mascot was just gone. Then he turned up in the trophy case wearing sunglasses. To this day, nobody knows how. I'd like to say we've moved on, but honestly, he looked great.

And let's not forget the square pizza. Every Friday, the same square pizza. People outside this school will never understand. We will defend it forever.

Our football team went zero and ten sophomore year. Zero and ten. And senior year, they made the playoffs. If that isn't proof that things can change, I don't know what is.

Now, I was asked to give a message tonight, and mine is simple. Being there for people matters more than being first.

I know that's a funny thing for a salutatorian to say. I literally have a title that means second place. But hear me out.

Sophomore year, I got the flu the week of finals. I was a mess. And one afternoon, four classmates I barely knew showed up at my house. They dropped off notes, a study guide, and a container of soup. I didn't even know they knew where I lived. I'm still a little unsure how they found out.

But that's when I realized something. This class takes care of each other. Nobody asked them to come. There was no extra credit. They just showed up.

And that's what I saw all around me. Many of our families work long shifts at the distribution center and the hospital. A lot of us took the late bus home and then babysat younger brothers and sisters. We did homework at kitchen tables, between dinner and bedtime. Nobody gave us a trophy for that. But that's showing up too.

So I want to say thank you. To the families in the stands, especially the parents who worked night shifts and still made it to every game and every concert. I know how tired you were. We saw you. We always looked up, and you were there.

Thank you to Mrs. Abernathy, our attendance secretary, who called every single one of us when we were late. Kindly, but firmly. Mrs. Abernathy, you may be the reason half of us are graduating tonight.

Thank you to our teachers and staff, who kept teaching through trailers, noise, and a very confusing lack of science rooms. And thank you to our custodial staff, who cleaned up after every spirit week. I have seen the glitter. I know what you did.

Class of 2027, we are headed in so many directions. Colleges, community colleges, apprenticeships, the Marines, and good jobs right here in town. Every one of those paths is something to be proud of.

My hope for you is simple. Wherever you go, keep showing up for the people around you. Bring the soup. Make the call. Be there. That's how this class has always done it.

Now, it's my honor to introduce someone who has worked incredibly hard and who has also, I should say, been a good friend to many of us. Please give a warm welcome to our valedictorian, Hannah Oyelaran.

Good evening, everyone. Welcome, families, teachers, staff, neighbors, and friends. Half the county is here tonight, and that tells you everything about this place. And welcome, my fellow graduates of the Class of 2027.

There are 41 of us. Most of us have been in the same class since kindergarten. That means we have known each other through missing front teeth, bad haircuts, and every growth spurt. We know each other very well.

We all remember the senior trip hay ride. The wagon got stuck in the mud, and we all climbed down and pushed it out. Nobody planned it. Nobody gave orders. We just got behind the wagon and pushed. Looking back, that was a small practice run for something bigger.

Junior year, a tornado damaged our gym and the ag building. For a whole semester, we held basketball practice in the church fellowship hall. Some of us lost barns and fences at home. And our families helped each other rebuild.

After the storm, my dad and I went out to check on our neighbors, the Kowalskis. When we got there, half our class was already clearing branches. Nobody had called anyone. They just came.

That is what I want us to remember. Home is not only a building or a town. Home is the people who show up when things fall apart. And wherever we go, we should be that kind of people for someone else.

I want to thank Mrs. Pruitt, our ag teacher and FFA adviser, for believing in us. And thank you to our families, who came to every game and every fundraiser supper. You showed us what showing up looks like, again and again.

Some of us are heading to the state university. A few are going to the community college. Some are staying to work family farms, and two are joining the Army. We will be in a lot of different places. But I hope we stay connected. I hope we answer the phone. I hope that when one of us is stuck in the mud, the rest of us come running, even from far away.

Class of 2027, thank you for showing up for me. Let's keep doing it for each other. Congratulations.