8 minute read
We’re Just Getting Started | The Valedictory
Valedictory Address by Benjamin Crawford, Class of 2021
Advertisement
The actor and comedian Steve Martin once said, “The more physically uncomfortable the audience, the better they respond to the material.” Sun. Turf. Rapidly increasing temperatures. Flimsy folding chairs. As a matter of fact, I’d like to ask each of you to please turn to the person next to you—and poke them in the eyes. Thank you very much.
I would like to begin with a quotation with which the cultured members of the audience will be familiar:
It’s all good, it’s alright. See you later doesn’t mean goodbye. It ain’t over, it’s just time to fly. And we’re just getting started. — Troy Bolton, High School Musical 3.
These are wise words from a wise man.
And although Troy Bolton is correct—each of our journeys is just getting started, and this ceremony is far from a goodbye—it is helpful, at times like these, to pause and to reflect. And that is what the seniors did at a class meeting two weeks ago, when we were asked to create a list of moments that brought the class together. Without explaining their context, let me read to you just a few of the bullet points that we wrote down:
• Quebec stink bomb • Miguel attempted murder • Alex hits old lady with football • Jake eats an onion • (And, my personal favorite) Dave vs. Wall
We came up with 102 of these memories, and we only had 10 minutes to brainstorm.
Beyond our unique bonding experiences, the Class of 2021 has several claims to fame:
• We survived senior year during the COVID pandemic; • We are the last students to remember the look on Mr.
Brennan’s face when Livingston Taylor failed to play a single song during his Hall; • We are the grade responsible for the rule banning phone use by seventh and eighth graders; • We are two-time tug of war champions; • And we are the proud founders of the Underground
RL Poker Club.
It’s safe to say that our class has gotten the full Roxbury Latin experience. So there’s a fraction of our class’s legacy. But in the spirit of Troy Bolton’s observation that we’re just getting started, I have to ask: What will our legacy be in five years? Ten? Fifty? When we go to our first RL Pub Night, what tales will we have to tell? What will each of us have accomplished, learned, experienced? Our time at Roxbury Latin is only the introduction to the story of our class and the story of our lives.
Well, in order to ensure that our class’s legacy is one we can all be proud of, I’ve actually gone ahead and made a list, here, of things that someone in our grade ought to do. So, I’m just gonna read them off, and if someone wants to volunteer, or I can assign them, either way works.
I’m thinking we need at least one astronaut. Who here is willing to be our class’s astronaut? Ok, Jake’s the astronaut.
World-famous musician? We’re gonna need a world-famous musician. Aydan? Okay, maybe we’ll come back to that one.
Navy Seal. Every legendary RL class needs a Navy Seal. DSF is that a hand? Is that a hand? Ok, DSF’s the Navy Seal.
Unfortunately, we don’t have time to assign everybody his role today, but I know that if we all follow the three main lessons that Roxbury Latin taught us, our legacy will be fine. What are those lessons?
1. Honesty is expected in all dealings. 2. Diligent use of one’s talents is expected. 3. From those to whom much has been given, much will be expected. (A lot was expected of us, huh?) But are these really the most important lessons that we learned during our years at Roxbury Latin? Sure, they’re important, and they’re ingrained in us, but there’s one other lesson that I learned—that we learned—that may be even more important in the years ahead. Let me tell three brief anecdotes that illustrate this lesson.
First, sophomore year. It was a few hours before the opening performance of the Junior Play, The Night Thoreau Spent in Jail. It had been a long tech week: I was exhausted and stressed, and a couple of mistakes that were made in the preview Hall only added to my anxiety about the show. By the end of the day, my cheeks were flush, I could barely keep my eyes open, and I had developed a painful stomach ache. Here’s what happened next:
• An older student drove to CVS to get me Tums for my stomach ache. • One classmate ushered me to the theater, where there was a cot, a prop in the play, for me to sleep on.
• Another classmate gave me his noisecanceling headphones and shooed away chatty students. • Mr. Buckley found me asleep on the stage, turned off the lights, and gave me his winter jacket to use as a blanket.
I have never felt more supported by a community of friends than I did that night.
Second, freshman year. Jake and I were in his basement playing a video game when the screen suddenly froze, and when it unfroze, my character had died. In the heat of the moment, I loudly uttered a four-letter word that I had never said before, and haven’t said since, and that would not be appropriate to repeat at this sacred ceremony. Suddenly, we heard the admonishing voice of Jake’s mom, Mrs. Carroll.
“Jake!”
Jake and I looked at each other, and not a half second later, he responded: “Sorry, mom.”
That’s true friendship.
My third story takes place this morning, at seven o’clock, when I realized that the new shoes I purchased on Thursday for this occasion were in the trunk of a car two hours away. Panicked, I could only think of one option: text my friends. So, if you’re wondering why James Harrington is wearing flip-flops right now, it’s because he’s the perfect embodiment of the lesson that these three stories teach.
And that lesson is this: Be the Mr. Buckley, be the Jake, be the James. You taught me to be there for my friends and family, and not just when they ask for it, but always. At RL, we learned that a friend is not just somebody that you spend time with, but also someone whose needs you’re willing to put before your own. Together, we discovered that there’s nothing more important to have than good friends, and there’s nothing more important to be than a good friend.
Before I close, I’d like to offer some thank-you’s. Thank you, first, to the teachers. From Mr. Pojman, whose warm nature, wise advice, and sometimes clever puns brightened every Chemistry class; to Mr. Guden, who always found a way to get me a shift in Junior Hockey games even though I was a liability to the team, and—at times—to my own personal safety; to the dozens of other teachers who have spent countless hours on the fields, in the classrooms, and at home, carefully grading papers with usually illegible handwriting (but I forgive you for that because this is a thank you paragraph). Truly, you are what makes Roxbury Latin special. On behalf of my classmates: Thank you.
We also owe a thank you to our parents—for coming to our games and performances; for giving us advice; for late-night, Latin vocabulary quizzing; and most of all, for loving us, and believing in us, even when we didn’t deserve it. To our parents: Thank you.
To our siblings—even, and this is purely hypothetical, to the 17-year-old sisters who missed our graduation for a dance recital—even to them, we say thank you.
And to all of the grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, and pets who have supported us throughout our entire lives: Thank you.
In closing, I’d like to address my classmates. Today is an exciting, but bittersweet day. We’ve come a long way, and now we’re realizing that we may not all be together again for a long time. But the bonds we’ve formed don’t know what a day, or a month, or a year is. The bonds we’ve formed are as timeless as ice cream on Friday or falling asleep in Halls. I assure you we’re not leaving Roxbury Latin behind. We’re taking it with us, wherever we go, for the rest of our lives.
So, let’s find comfort in the wisdom of our comrade, Troy Bolton, who spoke these words to his classmates as he graduated from East High:
It’s all good, it’s alright. See you later doesn’t mean goodbye. It ain’t over, it’s just time to fly. And we’re just getting started.
Thank you. //
