Ladies and gentlemen, fellow classmates.

In this digital age, I ask you to consider the greatest technological creation of the human race:

Enclosed in a skin thin enough to be considered an eggshell, It is capable of producing 160 million horsepower—double that of all the hydroelectric power in North America.

It is so efficiently insulated, that if it were a car tire, it would take 32 million years to go flat.

It is composed of over 2 million functional parts, And laced with fifteen miles of wiring.

If placed on its side, it would touch the goal posts on either end of a football field. And all the amenities for a nine day trip into outer space are on board.

This is the Saturn V rocket, the machine that carried Neil Armstrong, Edwin “Buzz” Aldrin, and Michael Collins to the moon.

You all know the Apollo program.

The public saw the astronauts: the giant spinning centrifuges the complex training procedures and simulations the burly white suits and reflective faceplates But the astronauts saw engineers and construction workers who designed and built the Saturn V, doctors and scientists who tested equipment, instructors and trainers who honed the skills of the astronauts.

These thousands and thousands of behind-the-scenes people truly made the lunar landing possible.

As the astronauts were in the public eye, so too are we graduates (although granted on a smaller scale). The public will see us exploring this new world.

But we will always see those who pushed us to our current position those who pushed us to excel and discover life.

Those people are you who now sit in the bleachers and watch this ceremony: parents siblings, relatives teachers, deans, coaches, pastors, mentors, friends, school staff and administrators, board members, and guides of all kind.

You have directed us through tens of thousands of textbook pages, the arts of music and teamwork, and fundamental questions about our own existence.

You have monitored our medical charts, you have taught us to speak, to read and write, to walk, to drive, to understand relationships, and to hope.

You have supported us through thirteen years of school, and you have put us here today.

Five minutes after beginning their descent to the lunar surface, Armstrong barks into the microphone: “Program alarm—it’s a 1202.” A 1202 means the central computer is overloaded. Houston responds: “Roger, we are GO on that alarm.” giving permission for the Lunar Excursion Module (or LEM) to continue its descent. The alarm flashes again. And again. And again. And again. Still, the descent continues.

At 2000 feet, Armstrong glances out the window and realizes that autopilot has the LEM heading toward a boulder field—quite dangerous for the delicate capsule now falling at 30 ft/sec. He manually takes over control of the descent, and flies the LEM over the boulder field and the crater beyond. White-knuckled, with his pulse skyrocketing, Armstrong calculates in his head the trajectory of the LEM, and with 30 seconds of fuel left, he touches down in the Sea of Tranquility. “The Eagle has landed.”

Skill landed that spacecraft—skill, taught by instructors back on Earth. The training for those Apollo astronauts allowed them to break from standard protocol and accomplish their mission.

In the same manner, you, our guides, have taught us to innovate and to deal with the unexpected, whether the unexpected be a bad alternator, a faulty computer network, a certain girl- or boyfriend, college admission, relocation to a new community, or illness, and loss.

We have learned how to think and we have all of you to thank.

After the Apollo astronauts landed, they explored a dusty, gray, alien world,

But all the while, they relied on the continued support of the teams that had shot them to the moon.

We have reached our high school commencement, but that does not mark the end. Rather, it marks the beginning of exploration into a new world.

And we hope that you who have guided us thus far will continue to support us and share in the joy of discovery.

Thank you.