2023年关于大学开学典礼精彩演讲稿3篇

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关于大学开学典礼精彩演讲稿尊敬的各位领导，各位老师，亲爱的同学们：大家好!我是的家长，感谢学校领导给我这个机会，能荣幸参加学校的开学典礼，和大家下面是小编为大家整理的关于大学开学典礼精彩演讲稿3篇,供大家参考。

关于大学开学典礼精彩演讲稿篇1

　　尊敬的各位领导，各位老师，亲爱的同学们：

　　大家好!

　　我是的家长，感谢学校领导给我这个机会，能荣幸参加学校的开学典礼，和大家一起迎接新学期的开始。

　　几年来，我亲身感受到学校老师对每位孩子倾注了大量的爱心和心血，作为家长，我们不仅应理解支持老师的工作，更应积极配合老师，共同教育孩子。在此，请允许我代表全体家长向辛苦工作在第一线的老师们表示深深的谢意和崇高的敬意：老师，你们辛苦了，谢谢你们!

　　作为学生家长，我很赞同耀华育才学校“先求做人，再育英才”的教育理念。做人是一个人的立身之本，欲使孩子成才，先教孩子做人，所以我也希望学校坚持这一理念不动摇。

　　学校的德育工作最让我们家长满意，尤其是感恩教育工作做得非常好，我前年来校听过王海童老师“让生命充满爱”的主题演讲，让人非常感动和震撼;学校每年的春游、秋季远足活动对孩子们的健康成长起到非常积极的影响。我相信，一个常怀感恩之心，内心坚强的孩子，长大后一定会是一个让人敬仰的人。所以，希望学校能够经常开展这种爱的教育和磨炼教育，也希望学校在课堂教学方面能多培养孩子动手动脑的能力，多开拓孩子的思维，不搞满堂灌，不让孩子做死板的接收机器，多重视孩子的全面发展。

　　孩子的茁壮成长不是家庭或学校单方面就能教育好的，应该是家校结合，共同携手教育的结果。从上学期开始，耀华学校开办了家长学校，订阅了《父母课堂》，这真是雪中送炭，为我们家庭教育提供了一个难得的学习机会和交流平台。以前，我们家长在孩子的教育方面有的不够重视，有的重视了却找不到好的方法，这个平台的搭建恰好弥补了家庭教育的这一真空地带!从《父母课堂》杂志上，从老师的讲座中，我都收获很大，自己以前比较盲目的家庭教育观念逐步得到改变，教育思路变得清晰。闵老师为此建立了家长学校qq群，方便了老师和家长的交流沟通，我们平时在家庭教育中遇到任何困难，老师们都会随时解答，这一点真的很让我们感动!学校对家庭教育工作的重视，也让我们每一位家长多了一份责任。

　　在学校为孩子教育做了那么多工作的同时，我们做家长的应该怎么做呢?以下是我个人的一些粗浅认识：

　　首先，言传身教很重要。父母是孩子最好的老师，孩子成长初期认知水平较低而模仿水平较高，你给他讲道理他可能不太懂，而我们家长的一言一行，则会像一面镜子在孩子身上产生潜移默化的作用，从孩子的身上我们或多或少可以看到父母的影子。古语说得好：“其身正，不令而行;其身不正，虽令不从。”所以，我们作家长的要以身作则，时刻作好模范表率作用，用自身行为来教育孩子，这一点很重要!

　　第二，为孩子创造良好的家庭学习氛围，有相对安静独立的学习场所。孩子学习时，大人最好不要看电视，打麻将等，即使不能静心陪孩子学习，也尽量不要弄出大的声响，以免影响孩子的注意力。在此特别提醒家长朋友：有孩子的家庭，最好不要长期在家里有成人的娱乐行为，这些行为在潜移默化中会对孩子产生非常不良的后果。

　　第三，与孩子作朋友，多鼓励，少批评，拒绝家长作风。人与人之间需要交流，父母与孩子之间也不例外。我们要俯下身与孩子说话，与孩子成为朋友，从与孩子的沟通交流中及时捕捉孩子成长中的困惑和思维的偏差信息，以便我们帮助孩子更健康的成长。每个孩子都希望自己是最棒的，然而不可能每次都能做到最好，孩子考差的时候，帮他分析原因，找差距，在以后的考试作业中不犯类似错误，只要他能一次比一次进步，我们的目的就达到了。

　　第四，积极配合老师和学校，这一点也非常重要。老师是孩子的知识传授者，道路指引人，作为家长一定要积极配合老师，配合学校做好工作。老师也不是圣人，和我们家长一样无法做到完美无缺，而且老师都希望每一个学生都能成功。试想，在家里只有一个孩子，我们经常都感到很累，很难教育，一个班有几十个孩子，其责任之大，难度之大可想而知。我们家长只有与学校积极配合，与老师及时沟通，才能与学校形成帮助孩子成长的最大合力，才能让孩子得到最大程度的发展。

　　孩子的每一点进步都离不开老师的辛苦栽培，我们家长所做的也是积极配合老师和学校做好工作。衷心地感谢每一位老师的辛勤付出，也祝愿每一个孩子都能成龙成凤。

　　最后，我再次代表家长向各位老师道一声“你们辛苦了”!祝你们工作顺利，身体健康，合家欢乐!祝所有孩子更加懂事，学习进步，早日成才!

　　谢谢大家!

关于大学开学典礼精彩演讲稿篇2

　　尊敬的各位领导、老师，亲爱的同学们：

　　大家下午好！

　　很荣幸作为教师代表在开学典礼上发言。又是一年春草绿，在这乍暖还寒之际，带着希望和欣喜我们回到了亲爱的学校。新年新景新气象，我们也应当有新的思想，新的目标，新的成就。

　　作为实验学校的一员，我们感到无尚的荣光。因为年轻辉煌的实验学校洋溢着青春的活力，有着勤学、求实、创新的良好校风，我们每一个实验人都为此感到由衷的高兴和无比的自豪。

　　老师们、同学们，过去的一年，在学校领导、全校教职员工和同学们的共同努力下，我们学校取得了可喜的成绩，赢得了学生、家长和社会的广泛认可。

　　成绩只能代表过去，而未来还要靠我们奋斗拼搏。在新的学年里，我代表全体教师表示：一定不辜负学校领导的殷切希望，不辜负家长的高度信任，努力学习、开拓进取、积极实践、勤奋工作，向课堂要质量，向辅导要效益；关注每一个环节，关心每一个学生；团结协作、共同奋斗，在新的学年，新的起点，新的层次，以新的姿态，新的干劲，展示新的风采。

　　我也真诚的希望全体同学，一定要树立远大的理想，学会做人、学会求知，学会生存、学会协作、学会健体、自尊自爱、自律自强，养成良好的学习习惯，良好的行为习惯，良好的生活习惯，努力走向成功！

　　最后，我祝各位领导、老师们在新的学年里工作顺利，身体安康，家庭幸福！祝同学们学习进步，全面发展，早日成才！祝我们的实验学校更加兴旺发达，灿烂辉煌！

　　谢谢大家！

关于大学开学典礼精彩演讲稿篇3

　　“Who Will Tell Your Story?”

　　May 24, 20xx

　　Greetings, Class of 20xx.

　　And so it is here—the week of your Commencement. The days of miracle and wonder when your theses are written, classes have ended, and you still have free HBO. And so it may seem strange to be gathered here today, as we pause for this ancient and curious custom called the Baccalaureate—but here we are, me in a pulpit and you in pews, dressed for a sermon in which I am to impart the sober wisdom of age to the semi-sober impatience of youth. Now, it is a daunting task. Especially since over the course of four years I have succeeded in disconcerting people on all sides of the many issues that you will soon be discussing with parents and grandparents over dinner—so in addition to a speech, for handy reference I’ve created a Placemat for Commencement, filled with useful phrases. Such as, “It’s ‘final club,’ without an ‘s.’”

　　Now, I am truly privileged today, for you are an extraordinary group. Your 80 countries of origin do not begin to describe you.

　　You may remember the day when we escaped the rain at your Freshman Convocation, and you heard from me and a phalanx of elders in dark robes: Connect, we said, make Harvard part of your narrative. Take risks, we told you. Don’t always listen to us.

　　And for four years you have distinguished yourselves with dazzling variety: In what may be Harvard’s most divergent dozen, you produced six Rhodes Scholars, including one who broke the world record for standing on a “Swiss” exercise ball, plus six athletes invited to the National Football League to play ball, players whose interests range from the ministry to curing infectious diseases.

　　You were good at long distances: You probed the atmosphere of an exoplanet; researched antibiotic use on a pig farm in Denmark; and you created a pilot program that cut shuttle times from the Quad by half.

　　You experienced old traditions: The mumps. A class color, orange. And the time-honored Lampoon theft of the Crimson president’s chair—this time transporting it across state lines to Manhattan’s Trump Tower, for a staged photo op with a then dark-horse presidential candidate.

　　You found your way: on campus, through a maze of renovations and swing housing; onstage, doing stand-up comedy on NBC, dancing in Bogota, and mounting Black Magic at the Loeb; through the halls of business and finance, running an intercollegiate investment fund; and exposing a privacy issue with Facebook’s Messenger app.

　　You won, with style and grace: as you captured the first national trophy for Harvard Mock Trial—by being funnier than Yale; and then you shellacked the Bulldogs in The Game for—yes—the 9th straight year; you produced the first Ivy “three-peats” in football and women’s track; and brought home the first Ivy crown in women’s rugby—how “Fierce and Beautiful” was that!

　　And, of course, all this was powered by HUDS, since 20xx, powered with ceaseless servings of swai.

　　And you were just plain good: You wrote prize-winning theses on sea level change, a water crisis in Detroit; you engineered a better barbecue smoker—and tested it in a blizzard; you joined the fight to end malaria; and earned the award for best hockey player in the NCAA for strength of character as well as skill; you became well connected—to Alzheimer’s patients, to kids in Kenya, to homeless youth; and, as the inaugural class of Ed School Teacher Fellows, 20 of you are preparing to help high-need students rise.

　　And I understand you even rested with ambition, as you tried to “Netflix and chill.”

　　You made it all look easy—all while facing blows to the spirit that have tempered and tested you. You arrived just after a breach of academic trust that, by your senior year, produced the first honor code in Harvard’s history, events that raised hard questions for all of us: What is success? What is integrity? To whom, or what, are we accountable?

　　When a hurricane prompted the first Harvard closing in 34 years, you rallied with generosity and goodwill—and did so again when we closed for snowstorm Nemo—the fifth largest in Boston history. And that was just a warm up, so to speak, for the Winter of Our Misery—the worst in Boston history—when you sledded the slopes of Widener in a kayak.

　　And when the bombs went off at the Boston Marathon, in just your second semester, we considered still larger questions: Who are we? What matters most? What do we owe to one another? You told me that you became Bostonians that day, bonded to a city beyond Harvard Square, and to each other during the manhunt and lockdown, when the University closed for an unprecedented third time in 6 months.

　　Who can forget the images—of the mayhem, of the people who ran, not for safety, buttoward the danger, into the chaos? The Army veteran, who smelled cordite, and expecting more bombs, saved a college student’s life; the man in the cowboy hat, who ripped away fencing in order to reach the most injured. And who can forget the moment when Red Sox first baseman David Ortiz stood in the center of Fenway Park and said in eleven words of fellowship and defiance that the FCC chose not to censor, though I will today—“this is our [bleeping] city and nobody[’s] gonna dictate our freedom.”

　　A few months ago as I was lucky enough to be sitting in a Broadway theater, absorbing the final number of the musical Hamilton, I thought of you, and that fierce spirit of inclusion and self-determination. I watched as Eliza, center stage, sang, “I put myself back in the narrative,” and asked the question in the title of her song, “Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story?,” the spirited summation of a production that, like you, has broken records. Like you, has created a new drama inside a very old one.

　　Harvard, one might say, is a bastion of opportunity and unimaginable good fortune—for all of us, who find a place, with varying degrees of comfort, at the center of its long and successful narrative. And yet the burden is on us—to locate the discomfort, to act on the restless spirit of that legacy. As I thought about speaking to you here today, it occurred to me how much the question in that final song has framed your time here, and how much it will continue to affect your lives, as college graduates, as Harvard alumni, as citizens and as leaders. Who will tell your story?

　　You. You will tell your story. That is the point that I want to leave you with today. Telling your own story, a fresh story, full of possibility and a new order of things, is the task of every generation, and the task before you. And that task is exactly what your liberal arts education has prepared you to do, in three vital ways:

　　First, telling your own story means discovering who you are, and not what others think you should be. It means being mindful of others, but deciding for yourself. It’s easy to tell a tale that others define, the one they expect to hear. A moment ago I sketched your Harvard history. But what did I leave out? One of Harvard’s legendary figures and Reverend Walton’s predecessor, the Reverend Peter Gomes, used to put it this way: “Don’t let anyone finish your sentences for you.” He loved being a paradox, an unpredictable surprise, but always true to himself: a Republican in Cambridge; a gay Baptist preacher; black president of the Pilgrim Society—Afro-Saxon, as he sometimes put it. Playful. Unapologetic. Unbounded by others’ expectations. “My anomalies,” he once said, “make it possible to advance the conversation.”

　　Advance the conversation. This is my next point. Telling our own stories is not just about us. It is a conversation with others, exploring larger purposes and other worlds and different ways of thinking. Your education is not a bubble. Think of it as an escape hatch, from what Nigerian novelist and former Radcliffe Fellow Chimamanda Adichie calls “The Danger of a Single Story.” She has observed, “[h]ow impressionable and vulnerable we are in the face of a story.” Not because it may be untrue, but because, in her words, “[stories] are incomplete. They make one story become the only story,” even though “[m]any stories matter.” For four years you have learned the rewards of other stories, and the risk of critical misunderstandings when they go unheard—whether those stories emerge from the Office for LGBTQ Life, or the Black Lives Matter movement, or the international conversation on sexual assault—and perhaps most powerfully, from one another. This is precious knowledge. Only by knowing that other stories are possible can we imagine a different future. What will medicine look like in the 21st century? Energy? Migration? How will cities be designed? The question, as one of you wrote in the Crimson, is not “What am [I] going to be,” but “What problem do [I] solve?”

　　Which brings me to my final point: keep revising. Every story is only a draft. We re-tell even our oldest sagas—whether of Hamilton and the American Revolution or of Harvard itself. The best education prepares you because it is unsettling, an obstacle course that forces us to question and push and reinvent ourselves, and the world, in a new way. Steven Spielberg, who will speak to us on Thursday, has explained the foundation of his powerful storytelling. He says: “Fear is my fuel. I get to the brink of not knowing what to do and that’s when I get my best ideas.”

　　What is a university but a place where everyone should feel equally sure to be unsure? Our best discoveries can start out as mistakes. As Herbie Hancock told us, his mentor jazz legend Miles Davis, said there is no playing a “wrong” note, only a surprising one, whose meaning depends on whatever you play next.

　　In the evolving universe of profiles and hashtags and selfies, it seems no accident that you are the class of Snapchat—a platform that took hold when you were freshmen and developed with you, from showing “snaps” to telling and sharing “stories”—stories that vanish every day, to be replaced by new stories, free of “likes” or “followers.” An app that, in the words of a founder, “isn’t about capturing … what[’s] pretty or perfect … but … creates a space to … communicat[e] with the full range of human emotion.”

　　And so for four years you have been learning to re-tell things: finding your voices, putting yourself in a narrative, whether that was demanding action against climate change, discovering that you love statistics, or creating the powerful message of “I, Too, Am Harvard.” You have seen things re-told. Even Harvard’s story. Last month one of my heroes, Congressman John Lewis, came to Harvard Yard to unveil a plaque on Wadsworth House, documenting the presence of four enslaved individuals who lived in the households of two Harvard presidents. John Lewis said, “We try to forget but the voices of generations have been calling us to remember.” Titus, Venus, Bilhah and Juba—their lives change our story. After three centuries, they have a voice. They, too, are Harvard.

　　Telling a new story isn’t easy. It can take courage, and resolve. It often means leaving the safe path for the unknown, compelled, as John Lewis put it, to “disturb the order of things.” And during your years here you have learned to make, as he urged, “good trouble, necessary trouble.”

　　For years I have been telling students: Find what you love. Do what matters to you. It might be physics or neuroscience, or filmmaking or finance. But don’t settle for Plot B, the safe story, the expected story, until you have tried Plot A, even if it might require a miracle. I call this the Parking Space Theory of Life. Don’t park 10 blocks away from your destination because you are afraid you won’t find a closer space. Don’t miss your spot—Don’t throw away your shot. Go to where you think you want to be. You can always circle back to where you have to be. This can require patience and determination. Steven Spielberg was, in fact, late to class his first day as a student at California State University, because, as he put it, “I had to park so far away.” He went on to sneak onto movie sets, no matter how many times he got thrown off.

　　“You shouldn"t dream your film,” he has said, “you should make it!”

　　Perhaps this is the new Jurassic Parking Space Theory of Life—don’t just tell your story, live it. Your future is not a . It’s an attitude, a way of being that can create a new narrative no one may have thought possible, let alone probable:

　　Jeremy Lin—Harvard graduate, Asian-American—changed the narrative of professional basketball, still sizzling with “Linsanity” when you arrived as freshmen.

　　Think about Stephen Hawking, who spoke to us last month through a speech synthesizer. He changed the narrative of the universe, a story about what ultimately will become of all our stories—one he has been revising since he was your age, when he was given three years to live.

　　And you are already changing the story:

　　Think of the astrophysics and mythology concentrator who started a mentorship program for women of color to change the narrative of who enters STEM fields, and she wrote a science fiction novel to tell a new research-based story about the galaxy.

　　Or think of the Second Lieutenant—one of 12 new Harvard officers—who will serve her country in the U.S. Marines, battling not only the enemy, but persistent gender divides. “How will that change,” she says, “unless we start now?”

　　And think about the pre-med student who found himself literally running away from campus, fleeing in misery, until he suddenly stopped in his tracks and turned back, because he remembered he needed to be at a theater rehearsal where he had stage managing responsibilities. Some 20 productions later, he has a theater directing fellowship for next year, and even his parents, as he puts it, now believe “that I am an artist.”

　　Value the ballast of custom, the foundations of knowledge, the weight of expectation. They, too, are important. But don’t be afraid to defy them.

　　And don’t worry, as you feel the tug of these final days together. I am here to tell you that your Harvard story is never done. In 1978, two freshmen watched a screening of the movieLove Story in the Science Center. Three decades later, they met for the first time. And their wedding story appeared last month in The New York Times.

　　So, congratulations, Class of 20xx. Don’t forget from whence you came. Change the narrative. Rewrite the story. There is no one I would rather trust with that task.

　　Go well, 20xx.

　　哈佛校长福斯特演讲中文

　　人们也许会说哈佛是天堂，充满了各种难以想象的机遇和好运——确实，我们每个人都有幸在她漫长而成功的历史中占有一席之地。但这也对我们提出了要求：我们有责任走出自己的舒适区，寻找属于我们的挑战，践行哈佛奋斗不息的精神。

　　在我准备今天演讲的时候， 我想到了音乐剧《汉密尔顿》中最后那首歌里的问题：

　　“谁来讲述你的故事?”

　　我想这个问题奠定了你们过去四年大学生活的调，也将对你们未来作为哈佛毕业生和校友的生活产生深远的影响，无论是作为公民或是领袖——

　　谁，来讲述你的故事?

　　是你，你要来讲述你的故事!

　　这就是今天我要对你们说的话：讲你自己的故事，一个充满了无限可能性和新秩序的崭新故事，这是每一代人的任务，也是现在摆在你面前的任务。你在哈佛所接受的文理博雅教育，将会用以下三种重要方式，帮助你去完成这项任务。

　　“听别人的建议，做你自己的决定”

　　讲述你的故事意味着发现你自己是谁——而不是成为别人认为你的谁。你要参考别人的意见，但要做出自己的决定。讲述一个别人定义好的或别人希望听到的故事，那太容易了。

　　哈佛的传奇人物之一、可敬的彼得·戈麦斯教授曾说：“不要让任何人替你把话说完。”

　　戈麦斯教授自己经常“自相矛盾”，令人难以捉摸，但永远忠于他自己：他是一位剑桥市的共和党人(注：在哈佛所在的剑桥市，共和党是少数派);他是一位浸礼会的牧师，但同时是个同性恋(注：天主大多不支持同性恋);他是朝圣者协会的会长，同时又是一位黑人(注：朝圣者协会白人居多)。

　　他对自己的信仰坚定不移，他不为外人的期望牵挂束缚。他说：“我的不同寻常，让开启新的"对话变为可能。”

　　“开启与他人的对话，倾听他人的故事”

　　开启新的对话，这是我的下一个重点。讲述我们自己的故事并不意味着只关注我们自己。讲故事是与他人对话，借此探寻更远大的目标、探索其他的世界、探究不同的思维方式——你所受的教育不是一个真空的大泡沫。

　　如果我们只讲述单一的故事，那将是危险的，就像诺大的场地只有一个逃生口，令所有人变得异常脆弱。单一的故事不一定是假的，但它是不完整的。所有的故事都很重要，不能把单一角度的故事变成唯一的故事。

　　过去四年，你们感受到了倾听他人故事的益处，也体验到了忽略他人故事所带来的危险。只有意识到，世界上充满了各种各样的故事，我们才能想象一个不一样的未来。21世纪的医疗是什么样?能源是什么样?移民是什么样?城市将如何设计?面对这些问题，你要问的不是“我会成为什么样的人”，而是

　　“我能解决什么问题”?

　　“在不安和不确定中，不断修正你的故事”

　　这也引出了最后一个重点：不断修正。每个故事其实都只是一个草稿，我们连最古老的传说都会不断拿来重提——不管是汉密尔顿将军的故事、美国独立战争的史诗、亦或是哈佛自己的历史。

　　好的教育之所以好，是因为它让你坐立不安，它强迫你不断重新认识我们自己和我们周遭的世界，并不断去改变。

　　斯蒂芬·斯皮尔伯格将在毕业典礼上为我们演讲，他就曾经这样解释他创作的石：“恐惧是我的动力。当我濒临走投无路的时候，那也是我遇见最好的想法的时候。”

　　大学，不正是这样一个让每一个人都接受挑战、让每一个人都产生不确定性的地方吗?

　　就这样，大学四年间，你都一直在学习重新讲述你的故事：寻找你自己的声音，将自己放入一个故事中——无论是对气候变化采取反抗行动，发现你对统计学的热衷，还是发起了一项有意义的运动，你亲眼目睹故事不断被重新讲述。

　　“不要妥协，直奔你的目标”

　　这些年，我一直在告诉大家：

　　追随你所爱!

　　去从事你真正关心的事业吧，无论是物理还是神经科学，无论是金融还是电影制片。如果你想好了目的地，就直接往那里去吧。这就是我的“停车位理论”：不要因为觉得肯定没有停车位了，就把车停在距离目的地10个街区远的地方。直接去你想去的地方，如果车位已满，你总可以再绕回来。

　　所以在这里，我想祝贺你们，20xx届的哈佛毕业生们。别忘了你们来自何处，不断改变你的故事，不断重写你的故事。我相信这项任务除了你们自己，谁也无法替你们完成!

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