Head Shots

Reflecting friendship and farewell with Peter Sturrup, Head of School

Each year, on the final day of classes, following the Senior School Closing Meeting, I take the graduating students on a silent walk around campus. Variously known as the Head’s Walk, or the Garratt Cane Walk, it is a final time to collectively, but quietly, absorb the sights and sounds of the school in the midst of a beautiful spring day. We cover the grounds and pass all the buildings while listening to sounds of children playing, birds singing and voices calling.

It is a time to quietly and deeply reflect on the place where we have spent some of the most important part of our lives. The walk comes to its conclusion as we round the west side of Firth House and approach Rogers House from the driveway. As the students ascend the stairs to re-enter the school, each graduate quietly pauses for a moment and rests their hand on the base of the Pillar to their right: Friendship. It is a poignant moment: to realize how much we are shaped by the people in our lives, our peers, our acquaintances, our teachers, our students, our colleagues . . . our friends. It is a reminder of how much we will miss all of those with whom we have shared a common purpose, each day, together, when we say goodbye.

It is a reminder that it is hard to say goodbye.

I tell anyone that I encounter that teaching is the greatest profession in the world. It is a profession filled with a sense of challenge and wonder and fulfillment and happiness. Every day you arrive at work with the best of plans and every day you are greeted by the opportunity to touch young minds, to challenge perspectives, to soothe painful emotions and to plant a seed that will flourish and grow, long after the day passes away. It truly is, as Steven Covey has said, “to live, to laugh, to love and to leave a legacy.” But I would also tell people I encounter that teaching is also one of the saddest professions in the world. Because, in the words of the John Mayer song, “all we ever do is say goodbye.”

When we teachers have done our job, and when we have done it well, our students do not want us anymore. Imagine being an artist, spending years creating a masterpiece, and then having someone wheel it out the door, just as you finish it. Which is why the end of each year is such a bittersweet time, for I believe our students are our masterpieces.

At Pickering, we spend upwards of 14 years molding and sculpting and nourishing and caring to get our students to graduation. And then we have to say goodbye; it is uplifting and heartbreaking all at the same time, repeated year after year. What kind of a crazy profession is that? A profession that can be so uplifting and so heartbreaking all at the same time.

Yet goodbye does not have to be a sense of an ending; rather it can also be a new beginning. A goodbye fills you with hope: hope that we shall meet again, when we can proudly share some grander accomplishment; hope that one door closing truly is another, better door opening; hope that those with whom we have spent our best years are ready, and if it truly is goodbye, that each will travel with wisdom in their minds, skill in their hands, fondness in their hearts, and spirit in their soul. That makes goodbye so much easier. That makes friendships forged so much more important.

Still. It is hard to say goodbye.

When I bring Commencement to a close each year, I share a final message to the graduates, inspired by the wonderful, philosophical novel, Life of Pi. It contains a beautiful, touching farewell that, to me, speaks to our students today. I can think of no better words to conclude here:

My friends, when I look at you I see a series of opportunities that have been presented, that you have seized; I see countries that you have come from, and lands that you have explored, but places you have yet to see; I see words that you have spoken, or passages you have written, but messages you have left unsaid; I see pictures you have painted or images you have captured, but visions you have left unexpressed. For all that you have done, I see opportunities not yet fulfilled. And that gives me hope – hope that springs from seeing such talent and skill and desire and knowledge; hope from seeing so much done, hope from knowing that there are still so many stories left to tell.

Know that these words speak from my heart and the heart of each of the teachers who have led you on your journey and with whom you have survived. We have survived! Can you believe it? And while you may thank us, we too owe you more gratitude than we can express, we couldn’t have done it without you – as much as we may have taught you, you have taught us - about patience and innocence and courage and faith. . . and friendship.

And now, you go where you must – from the confinement of the school to the freedom of the world beyond. We hope you will remember us, as teachers and friends, and just know we will never forget you.

Farewell my friends, farewell.

Peter Sturrup, Head of School

Stan Behal photo