My Speech to the Kindergarten Graduates

by Ted Reeves

When I was asked to speak at the kindergarten graduation, I assumed it was because of my wisdom, charisma, and ability to recite the alphabet with confidence. I stood before a sea of tiny caps and gowns, cleared my throat, and said, “Congratulations, you’ve completed the easiest part of your academic journey—snack time and finger painting.” One child burst into tears, another threw a juice box, and I realized perhaps I’d come on too strong. I tried to recover by telling them that life was like a box of crayons: sometimes you’re the bright red everyone loves, sometimes you’re the broken gray nobody uses. Their teacher gave me a look that said, “Please stop,” but I was on a roll and finished with, “Remember, nap time might end in school, but in adulthood, we just call it burnout.” I was not invited back the next year.

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Ted Reeves is a retired elementary school janitor, part-time balloon animal artist, and full-time philosopher of snack time. When he's not offering questionable life advice to kindergarteners, he enjoys collecting novelty mugs and losing at Scrabble to his cat, Chairman Meow.