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THE REMARKER | FRIDAY, APRIL 19, 2013
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This column is written by Ken, uh, I mean Daniel Hersh
DANIEL
Hersh
T
he first time I can remember hearing it was on the first day of first grade, in Ms. Oltrogge’s art class. I was sitting at a black desk next to Paul Gudmundsson, sort of near the back corner of the room, getting ready to sketch a picture with some colored pencils. Calling roll, Ms. Oltrogge went through all of our names one by one.
Daniel Hersh — Ken Hersh’s son.” The first time I walked into the Hoffman Center, I saw my parents’ names on the wall. Their names follow me wherever I go. That same English class freshman year was in the second floor of Centennial Hall. I often leaned back in my chair, which always annoyed Mr. Smith. “That’s your building,” he would jokingly tell me, pointing out the window towards Hoffman, “This is my chair. Don’t lean back.” That building serves as a constant reminder that I’m riding on the coattails of my parents. That for everything I’m trying to do, they’ve been there and done that. No matter what I’ve done or what I will do at St. Mark’s, they will always be my identifier. I am their son. My dad was the captain of a
varsity sport and the editor of The ReMarker — same as me. Nothing I have done, to this point in my life, has been unique. Every single thing I have done, academically or athletically, was accomplished by my father when he was a student here. I love my parents. This is not a knock on them at all. They’ve provided me with everything I could ever ask for. They’ve cared for and supported me in everything I did. My parents made lives for themselves and I am selfishly reaping the rewards. I could not ask for a better mom and dad. But, everything I’ve done so far has been in their footsteps. Everything has been marked by the same two phrases, starting with the one I heard back in Ms. Oltrogge’s class: “Oh, you’re Kenny’s son.” “Hey, Kenny, uh, I mean, Dan-
iel.”
I love my school. But as I leave St. Mark’s, I will enter, for the first time in my life, a place where neither of my parents have been before — Northwestern University. And that’s exciting. Where no teacher will ever cock his head to one side and say, “Your name sounds familiar. Of course, you’re Kenny’s son.” Where no building will have my last name plastered across a plaque in the main entrance. Where I can be Daniel Hersh, and actually make that name mean something. My parents did that with their names and now it’s my turn to do the same. I love Julie and Ken Hersh. But maybe one day, I’ll stop being known as their son. And they’ll finally be known as my parents.
“Gudmundsson?” “Here.” “Hersh?” “Here.” She stopped for a second, studying my name on her class roster. “Oh, you’re Ken Hersh’s son, aren’t you?” “Yes ma’am,” I said meekly. A few kids asked me when he graduated, others asked what sports he played and some paid no attention at all. What I didn’t realize at the time was that Ms. Oltrogge’s question would follow me for the
next 12 years. Before I even met some of my teachers, I would already be marked as “Kenny’s kid.” The first time I met Mr. Jordan: “Oh, hey, you’re Kenny’s kid?” The first day of Mr. Smith’s English class freshman year: “Hey Kenny, — I mean Daniel — how’re you doing?” Just a few weeks ago, I was speaking to a group of eighth graders in Mr. Foxworth’s humanities class. As he was introducing me, the all too familiar stumble appeared again: “This is Ken Hersh — I mean
PAUL
I’m happy to have taught St. Mark’s a few things...
Gudmundsson
N
early every time a ReMarker senior tries to write a “farewell column” to St Mark’s, it sounds the same. He opens with a specific point about the school and its community that he is trying to convey. He then offers an encapsulating anecdote of how that lesson applies to him. Finally, he tries to wrap up his entire life at St. Mark’s without sounding cliché. It never works. Because summing up the St. Mark’s experience in one 500 word column is impossible. The lessons that are learned here are not quantifiable, and the transformations that occur are indescribable. Even more, everyone who is going to understand how much St. Mark’s means already does. And those who don’t know can’t be taught by a column. So I won’t try to do that. Instead, I’ll focus on the things I taught St. Mark’s. I’m not claiming the past 12 years have been a fully symbiotic relationship or even that I’ve reciprocated a tenth of what I’ve received, but I’ve done my fair share of giving back. My biology and chemistry classes may have taught me the differences between saturated and unsaturated fats, but I in
r
turn showed the cafeteria what those lipids can do to a developing boy. To all who hate the healthy cafeteria: I’m sorry. The fryer is probably gone because someone saw a picture of fifth-grade-me. I know the mini tacos became best friends with your taste buds, but they were mortal enemies of my thighs. Working for The ReMarker showed me how to anticipate and work around deadlines, but I provided my classmates with a great example of the dangers of procrastination — especially when it concerns a speech. Surprisingly, it turns out that forgetting to write a speech and then mumbling for about a minute before 30 seconds of dead silence is actually not the best way to win votes in a class election. The college admissions process showed me that waiting is torture and that the SAT is
terrible, and I actually have nothing to add to that. It’s a pretty dark period of life. I grappled with the objectivity of right and wrong throughout my studies of ethics with the English Department, but I proved that there is definitely an objective wrong when I tried to break up with a girl by texting her friend. And the ensuing firestorm that I endured was the objectively right consequence for that action. Playing for the football team taught me about brotherhood and camaraderie, but I hope that my actions after my injury showed my teammates that a team is more about a shared goal than the sport itself. Just because I was a peg-legged cyborg with a knee brace doesn’t mean I didn’t want to win as much as anyone else. But these reciprocal lessons don’t only The fryer is probably gone because someone saw a picture of fifth-grade-me. I know the mini tacos became best friends with your taste buds, but they were mortal enemies of my thighs.
come from me. Each member of my class and community has also given back in their own ways. Senior Mark Senter taught us all the importance of pronouncing words correctly. If you don’t, you may be called said mispronunciation for the rest of your life. Sophomore Shourya Kumar let us know to double check your car before emailing literally everyone that you lost your calculator. Mr. Baird told us things about the Acceptable Use Policy that we’ve never heard before. Student Council President Conner Lynch has showed us that handling a sarcastic applause with grace might only prolong the cheers (read: jeers). Hollywood proved that it actually is what you say, not just the way you say it. But my classmates as a whole gave me the most important lesson of all — that every student at this school has his own strength and abilities. Their own lessons for the people around them. They might not reciprocate the impact that St. Mark’s has on us, but they still give back. I hope this column becomes one of my lessons and reminds everyone of that.
REMARKER STUDENT NEWSPAPER
editor-in-chief managing editor, operations managing editor, content deputy managing editor issues editor editorial director special projects editor business manager visuals director head photographer
Daniel Hersh Paul Gudmundsson Will Moor George Law Stephen Rambin Henry Woram Rachit Mohan John Caldwell Andrew Goodman Michael Doorey
news editors Ryan O’Meara Noah Yonack arts editors Dylan Clark Aidan Dewar sports editors Charlie Golden Sam Khoshbin opinions specialist Dylan Kirksey deputy editorial director Vishal Gokani news coordinator
Alan Rosenthal reviews specialist Cole Gerthoffer copy editor Alexander Munoz graphics directors Nic Lazzara Robbey Orth staff artists Zuyva Sevilla Purujit Chatterjee staff photographers Halbert Bai, Otto Clark-Martinek, Michael Doorey,
Richard Eiseman, Andrew Gatherer, Andrew Graffy, Riley Graham, Justin Harvey, Parker Matthews, Corbin Walp staff writers Aarohan Burma, Jacob Chernick, Matthew Conley, Tabish Dayani, Teddy Edwards, Will Forbes, Cyrus Ganji, Andrew Hatfield, Richard Jiang, Alex Kim, Shourya Kumar, Nabeel Muscatwalla, Vik Pattabi, Ford Robinson,
William Sydney beat reporters Bradford Beck, Kent Broom, Jack Byers, William Caldwell, Cameron Clark, Will Clark, Will Diamond, Kevin He, Noah Koecher, Akshay Malhotra, David Marsh, Roby Mize, Philip Montgomery, Zach Naidu, Matthew Placide, Avery Powell, Anvit Reddy, Philip Smart, Abhi Thummala, P.J. Voorheis adviser Ray Westbrook
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