Glenda+M’s+Final+AmEx+2013+Speech



=On Being a Substandard Teenager=

=Text of Speech=

I would like to begin this speech with a few confessions from my childhood:

1. When I was six, my sister Amanda and I used to play “spies” and read Melissa’s diary while she was in the shower

2. At age ten, I actually had a Nick Jonas shrine in my closet, complete with a framed poster from J-14 magazine and battery powered candles we put in the bottom of the Jack-O-Lanterns

3. I used to think the tooth fairy was a kangaroo

4. When I was little and I had to pee at night, I would jump methodically across pieces of furniture so that I never had to touch the floor that way if something was under my bed, it wouldn’t grab my ankle

5. I used to walk solely on the colored tiles at the supermarket because I liked to pretend the rest was hot lava

And 6. In third grade I thought Brazil was in Russia

So, yes, I had some interesting quirks when I was younger. But, hey, who didn’t buy McDonalds just for the Happy Meal toy, right?

Those were the days of individuality and when there was no shame in being, well, an oddball. In elementary school it was okay to watch That’s So Raven every Saturday and to enjoy going through the car wash because it felt like an amusement park ride. But then the dark ages hit. And yes, I mean middle school. Starting in 6th grade, being you wasn’t cool anymore. Anybody who wanted to be somebody needed to be just like everyone else, but even if you did that much, you would never be one of the picture perfect popular kids.

Besides abolishing middle school, which I actually think is an extremely good idea but probably not as easy as it sounds, there doesn’t seem to be a way to reverse this switch in self-respect. The desire to fit the “popular kid” formula seems to come as part of the puberty package deal. And the truth is, it isn’t really the three years of middle school that are the problem, it’s the fact that a lot of us never let go of that yearn for perfection.

I know that’s how it was for me, and consequentially, in the beginning of high school, there was always something wrong. I could have had a perfect day, but because I said that one thing that didn’t come out quite right, I blew it. The world was ending; the apocalypse was coming. My slip of words had unleashed the kraken, and there was no Orlando Bloom to save me. Close only counts for the kids who sit next to their best friends in physio, not for me.

And so I spent freshmen and sophomore years in eternal sorrow because I honestly believed that no one besides a select three people liked me. I was sincerely convinced that everyone remembered all the mistakes I had ever made and that no one wanted to be friends with a girl like that. And so I tried to make myself into a movie character. I tried to be everything. As you can probably guess, the more I tried, the angrier and more depressed I became, because I am not, nor will I ever be perfect. I strove for an image that I believed I could attain if I tried hard enough, but no matter how many hours I ran on the treadmill, or how many acne medications I slathered on my pimple ridden face, I was not any more athletic, and my skin was no less speckled than before. It would drive my crazy when people would say “Glenda you are so perfect” and all they knew about me was that I get good grades. If only they knew that I would have given every good grade I have ever gotten to feel like I had somewhere that I belong.

I looked around at all of the girls who I thought had everything and I told myself “if I were just like them, maybe I would have a boyfriend or just an actual friend.”

And it may be cliché to say so, but it wasn’t until recently that I realized **no one is perfect**.

I am not perfect, we all know Mr. Villano isn’t perfect since he makes a point to tell us six times every day, and dare I say it not even Liam Egan is perfect. I realize now that everybody has something. Each and every one of us has a flaw. I have OCD, Noah thinks the path to manhood is eating meat, Mr. Geib does not understand how to take an attractive photo, and Melissa can’t even sit in a chair without falling over.

So this compulsion to be everything all the time needs to end because, I may be more accepting of my personal flaws now, but I still wouldn’t say that I am self-confident, and I am positive that there are a million other people out there who have yet to confront their shortcomings. Of course there is value in trying to better yourself, but society has become too obsessed with being the best. In a culture where a “B” stands for “Biggest failure ever,” it is becoming harder and harder to retain self-esteem and to value the talents we are born with. So we are losing, slowly but surely we are overwhelmed, overworked, and upset

Things for me have improved if you were curious. When I fail a test, I don’t feel stupid, I just curse the College Board the entire way home. I don’t feel unathletic when I see the water polo girls running up Victoria carrying water jugs; I just smile and carry on in my air-conditioned car. I accept that my hair clearly has a thing for Miley Cyrus because it cannot be tamed, that every joke I make will be followed by an awkward silence, and that I will spend every beach excursion for the rest of my life floundering on my surfboard like a dead seal since I can’t even catch a wave much less try and stand up. Because I am a substandard, defective, unpolished human being, but that’s just me.

And although this would be the prime opportunity to launch into the Hannah Montana song “Nobody’s Perfect,” I will not enforce that kind of torture upon you. I will instead leave you with this: I dream of an America where people are not ashamed to have weaknesses. Where people realize that their friends and family love them, not only for who they are, but who they aren’t as well. Even Superman has kryptonite, so let’s all cut ourselves some slack, okay?

Thank you.

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