Senior Speeches by the Class of 2025

Senior Speeches

2025

NOAH AUGUST AZAMAR ’25

I have been dreading this speech ever since I learned about it in Middle School. It was far enough away that I didn’t have to worry about it at the time, but I knew it was coming. I continued hoping that the speech requirement would be removed, and then nothing would stop me from graduating. However, once I reached high school, I could tell this was unrealistic, and every morning I was reminded of this impending requirement.

During the day, I avoid being the center of attention as much as possible, and I think I am mostly successful. I hate speaking in front of groups, which may seem like an insignificant task to some, but I have always been nervous in these situations.

I listened to the speeches given by seniors who seemed to have everything figured out, when I barely knew what I was going to do with my life. How was I going to first of all, make some part of my life interesting, and second, be able to derive some sort of lesson from my experiences. The first part isn’t really a requirement though, it would just make the speech more enjoyable. To talk about a lesson I have learned, I figured I would talk about one of the biggest problems I had.

Procrastination.

I like to complete smaller or less important tasks as soon as I have time, such as trying to start my homework when I get home from school. However, this often means I push back large or more important tasks to when I have more time. This behavior is worsened if I am stressed about this large task, such as a speech to the entire high school. If a task stresses me out, I push it back so I don’t have to think about it at the moment. I might watch YouTube, text, or just work on something else during this time. But when I push it back it means I have less time to work on it, meaning I get more stressed, leading to more procrastination to avoid stress. This process means I usually end up ignoring the task until the deadline or when I can no longer do anything else without thinking about it.

This process is not intentional, but it is hard for me to escape.

However, it is very simply prevented. All it requires is a bit of willpower to force myself to at least start working on it, and it will make the task seem more manageable. I will distance myself from my phone, and turn off notifications. If I can convince myself to at least work for a few minutes on something, chances are I will work on it for longer. As I work, I will start to feel less stressed, and this feeling of relief makes me keep working. One thing I have found that helps me focus is to listen to music quietly so it does not distract me from working but keeps me from thinking about other things while blocking out sound.

And if I am able to successfully work on making this speech, a task which will probably stress me out more than I ever have been, then you should also be able to start working on whatever you are procrastinating.

AVERY HARRISON BIERY ’25

Every high schooler has days when you head into school knowing it’s going to be a rough day. You might be facing multiple tests, a key sports game, or a tricky social situation. When I face a day like that, I have a special place I go that eases my nerves. And today, I want to tell you about it. Before school starts, I help out the Tower Tots where our Preschoolers begin their day.

I walk into my old kindergarten room, a place filled with colorful toys, sandboxes, play kitchens even a turtle. Immediately, a few children run up to hug me. Shouts of, “Hi Avery!” greet me, and invariably a child starts telling me some nonsensical thing that is very important to them. I initiate games, and join them in starting their day with joy. I enjoy reaching out to children who struggle with school in general. Ever since I was a child, I’ve had a sixth sense for knowing when someone is upset, and as an Upper Schooler, I’ve been able to use that to help identify and comfort children who may need extra support.

Within minutes, my brain is no longer occupied with the demands that await me; I am merely focused on finding Cade’s lost sock. I’m helping others, but I’m also helping myself by keeping myself in the moment. In the “Kangaroo Classroom,” I’m connected to my younger, carefree self. My best work often comes after I’m in a state of mind that might be described as “free flow,” a state where I am not aware of time and simply let thoughts pour out. For a short period, I am engaging in the world almost like a child.

Before I leave the Tower Tots, I know I’ve lifted a few of them up, literally and figuratively. I know I’ve helped the teachers by giving them a few more minutes to focus on their responsibilities. It’s uplifting to know you’ve helped others, so starting a rough day by giving back helps me feel stronger and ready to step into challenges that await me. By the time I leave the Kangaroo Classroom, I remember what challenges await me in Upper School and think, “I can do this.” Before leaving, I tell a few special Tower Tots that they can do it, too. Who would have thought that a few Preschoolers helped an Upper Schooler face her calculus exams or timed mile run for lacrosse?

I realize that when I’m in college, there will be days when I’m facing a challenge and might be stressed. On those days, I can use the strategies I learned in high school of helping and giving back to help me shift gears and refocus. I have learned a lot of academic material at Tower Hill, but in the process, I have also learned how to manage emotions. College may be challenging, but I feel confident that I have the tools to deal with whatever may come. Cade’s sock may still be missing, but the world will still spin.

LAUREN BOLARINWA ’25

I am the youngest of three kids. I have an older brother, and an older sister. The first kid serves as the experiment, the second the do over, and by the third, you should get it right. We all went to the same preschool and the same elementary, so naturally I expected to go to the same schools for the rest of our lives. But then I went to a different middle school and my siblings went to different high schools. It got so confusing that sometimes my dad would drop me off at their schools instead of mine some days. But it also meant that for high school, I had the freedom to choose where I wanted to go, or so I thought. I applied to seven schools, but had my mind set on going back to my feeder school. Still, I toured every school, and when I toured Tower Hill, I was told that part of the graduation requirement was to give a speech to the entire high school, and I thought to myself, “there’s no way I’m going here now,” and here I am giving a speech to the entire high school, so clearly, I was wrong. I’ve been trying to write this speech for years, which is ironic considering the fact that I never wanted to do it in the first place. I thought about writing a little each school year, or writing about events in the moment they happened. I realized that I could do both by doing what I do best, being honest. In all honesty, I never wanted to come to Tower Hill, I never wanted to write a senior speech, or fulfill a three-season sport requirement. So, I complained each time, and discovered that I am very good at complaining. But there have been two people I’ve met during my time at Tower Hill that I know I might never see again that have made me rethink what I make of it all. I was walking to morning meeting sophomore year and I was stopped by two 4th graders, a girl taller than me at around 5’7” and a boy well under five foot who said, “go for her over there,” and so the girl came up to me and asked “excuse me, do you ever think you’ll grow any taller?” I answered, “no, I don’t think so,” and thought it was weird but reasoned that she was asking an Upper Schooler to figure out when she’d stop growing. She was not. But because I stopped in the hallway that day, we had four more conversations following that one. I was once walking by her classroom again heading out the door when she asked me how I felt about Shrek. And I asked, “the ogre?” to which she responded, “yes, isn’t he hot?” and we proceeded to have a conversation that ended with her saying that beauty is on the inside and appearances don’t matter, which I guess was the point of the movie. But regardless of whether or not I agree with her, I know that initially stopping to talk to her on my way to morning meeting, even if she wasn’t trying to be nice, made every conversation afterward worthwhile. She reminded me of myself at her age minus the height, and it was nice to talk to a mini me. The other person I met was Katharina. Katharina was the ASSIST foreign exchange student last year, but we didn’t really become friends until March. She taught me how to play ping pong without everyone needing to duck when I hit the ball, and she’d somehow still show up to track practice voluntarily and suffer with everyone else even though she chose golf with no running whatsoever. On her last day here in America, she told me that she wished she had met me earlier, but she was grateful she did and that’s when I realized that my experience at Tower Hill wasn’t all bad. I met people who were willing to make the most with what they had and bring me along with them. So, would I come to Tower Hill again if I could? No, probably not. Once has been more than enough for me. My advice to you today is not to try new things, because I would never recommend something I wouldn’t do, but rather to make the most of wherever you find yourself, and make the most memories with the people you find yourself with. Odds are in five to 10 years I won’t remember what made me laugh yesterday and got me through the day so while I still remember, I’ll say: thank you.

CHASE BRANDON BORDLEY ’25

Something most of you probably don’t know about me is that I grew up in a very unique setting. After my parents divorced, my mom, brother, and I moved in with my grandpop and my aunt. The transition to the new house and new people was not difficult; my brother and I did not take long to settle in and it quickly began to feel normal since we were young. Although it was a far-from-traditional household, my six-year-old mind thought it to be completely normal and not out of the ordinary. Every morning before school, my brother and I would wake up at 6:00 a.m. and watch SpongeBob or another cartoon while my aunt or my mom made eggs, then at 7:00 a.m. we would start getting dressed for school. Someone was always home, my aunt always made dinner and everyone would eat together. My experiences seemed scarcely different from those I had while I lived with my mom and dad, the only difference being the new family members.

As time went on and I went to school, it was in second and third grade when I began to see my school friends’ households, with a mom and a dad and maybe siblings, and I began to recognize the uniqueness of my own home. I wondered if I was different from everyone else because I did not live in a conventional nuclear family. I started to become fixated on how I differed from other students in my class. I tried to figure out what “normal” was by noticing small things. For example, one day in second grade, I tried to take note of shoes that boys in my class wore, convinced that maybe the kids from “regular” households wore the same kind of sneakers. I was sure that if I noticed anything and cracked the code, I would find the answer to whether or not I was different because I lived in a unique household.

Over several years of recognizing other classmates’ different manners, hobbies, and households, I realized that there was no code to crack. This was an extremely important step in my youth as it marked the beginning of my understanding that there is no one-size-fits-all definition of what a family should look like, and no one should be ashamed of the household they live in or the family they live with. As I entered adolescence, I got used to being different, it became something I was not very concerned about, and I even began to appreciate the ways I was raised compared to other students.

Looking back on living with my grandpop, aunt, mom, and brother, I now know why I noticed that I was different from other students. Living with people of vastly different ages and family roles, I was able to learn things from each of them subconsciously. I looked up to my grandpop and I learned from him how to be a man. His stoic but caring, authoritative but kind demeanor made a lasting impression on me. His manner taught me that, to be a man, you should not only be resilient and strong, but also reliable and compassionate. From my aunt, who would often teach me to cook and clean and take care of myself, I learned how to manage myself and my property. She was the strict one in the house. She taught me self-discipline and that my actions have consequences. From my aunt I learned how to recognize people that truly care for me and people who do not. My mom balanced everything, and her resilience became something I admired more as I aged. Even while living with two new family members, my mom kept her personality as a mother, and took care of me when I was sick, drove me to school, showed me constant affection, and loved me, no matter what. Her ability to

juggle her own responsibilities and emotions while ensuring that my brother and I felt comfortable impressed me to say the least, and I will always be grateful for having a mom that showed such resilience.

As I reflect on the six years living in that house, I realize how much it has contributed to my personality. I believe that after living in this situation, I will be able to handle change without feeling lost, and I will be able to stay strong throughout any adversity that I face in the future because of all the traits I picked up from living with different people. To anyone who has a unique living situation, appreciate the adaptability and resilience that you will surely obtain from it. In the long run, it will make you stronger than you may realize while living through it. I know many of you may not relate to this, and to you who don’t, I advise you to embrace the unique aspects of your life. Every family, conventional or not, can teach you how to be the best version of yourself if you let it. Thank you.

LILLIAN

DENBIGH BOULOS ’25

We all know the Christmas song that goes, four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves. Every time I hear it, I think of my house. Instead of calling birds, we have four cats: Doja, Dolly, Hunter, and Candy-Cane Rihanna. Our three hens aren’t French, and we started off with a dozen, but we do indeed have three hens. And our turtle doves are a dog named Blaise and a tortoise named Eddie. Nonetheless, that song always reminds me of my house, filled with animals.

But the animal who really defined my childhood was our giant schnauzer Stella (rest in peace). Stella may be gone, but she will never be forgotten. The first thing people notice when they walk into our kitchen is the cabinet that houses the trash can. They stare at the white cabinet, secured with a steel padlock and indented with tooth marks. I soon have to explain that we once had a dog who made very poor choices.

We got Stella in 2013 when my siblings and I spent months begging for another fluffy addition to the family. This was met with resistance from my parents, as they thought it was only reasonable to have four cats and a dog. However, when the favorite child had both a broken arm and needed to get his appendix out in the same week, my mother finally caved and agreed to get a puppy upon his return from the hospital.

My father had always wanted a giant schnauzer and told my naïve mother that he had researched the breed and that it would be nothing less than the perfect addition to our family. Our dog at the time, Gibbs, came from a shelter, and our cats had all come to similar conditions or, on one occasion, even found in a car’s engine. We weren’t people who bought animals. But my father ultimately prevailed when he told her that the dog would be easy to train and loyal, making the perfect dog to watch over us and our house.

In January 2013, we all piled into the car and drove to Pittsburgh to get our puppy. She was adorable: little and black with big floppy ears and a stub of a tail. But when we got her home, we all quickly discovered that this puppy never seemed to sleep. Even worse, we also found that she would destroy many things left in her path. Purses, puffer coats, pillows, you name it, she probably tried to eat it. In fact, she had once leaped over a baby gate that was elevated on a step into our kitchen and ate an entire chicken, bones and all. And she managed to accomplish all of that in the five minutes the chicken had been left unattended. On top of this, Stella almost instantly got herself kicked out of her doggy daycare and fired by her trainer after dragging a small dog across the floor by its ear.

Even though Stella's presence brought us many trials and tribulations, messes to clean up, and furniture to replace, the memories that last are those where her energetic personality brought so much joy to my family. Whether it was inviting herself onto the couch as if she were a lap dog during movie nights, sitting with us at the dinner table during every meal, or leading our family walks, she never failed to bring joy and laughter to my family.

As I reflect on these hectic yet joyful memories with Stella, I realize the importance of sharing them with my high school friends and classmates. Each story encapsulates the beautiful messiness of life, the laughter that comes from chaos, and the unwavering love that animals bring into my life. In this whirlwind of growing up, filled with exams, friendships, and the stresses of growing up, we must remember to embrace the inevitable chaos in our lives and learn to laugh through it.

JACOB HENRY BRADLEY ’25

Think about how much time you have spent on your computer and phone in the last week. For the majority of us, more than eight hours on average is spent on computer-based activities that are unrelated to school. These eight hours are not what is spent in a week, but a single day.

We all have heard about the negative effects of our screen dependence, yet I feel that we rarely have the support for when we inevitably realize we are wasting a significant portion of our physical lives using our technology. It makes sense why there is such little support for those of us who want to change how we use our time.

Companies make billions on our free time, and we gain nothing from it. In a computer based social environment, we feel as if we have communal obligations to other people in our phones and social media. In addition, it is just easier to avoid the world around us, surround ourselves with new shiny things, and lock ourselves in a shallow 2D world.

For me, I lost what feels like a significant part of my life spending so much time on computers. I lost a portion of my love and curiosity for the universe, and during that time I filled that loss with other people’s content and experiences.

The world simply felt less vivid when I was stuck scrolling through reels on Instagram and other social media apps. Motivation to do difficult or lengthy work decreased, and my sense of self suffered. The lack of sleep from phone distractions compounded these issues.

When I first began to realize my habits were actively stealing my life from me, I knew I wanted to change, but I had nothing to keep myself accountable to or to gain inspiration from. Ironically, I turned to the internet, and I had to use trial and error to figure out the best ways to keep myself from my computer.

We all have to work hard to keep ourselves in reality now, and I hope to give you all some strategies that worked for me for when you want to take back more time for yourself.

First of all, in order to make progress, you need to realize that there is an issue to address. You have to make sure to keep yourself accountable, but still understand that progress does not entirely come in a straight line, and you will cave at least once or twice. Forgiveness is important, and the shame for your procrastination habits will not help you improve.

Using a screen time app really helps. I would recommend an app like ScreenZen because you can use a timer to make it difficult to change your screen time settings. I recommend this app specifically because other screen time apps are really easy to dismantle.

Just restricting your screen time is not enough, since there will be a large amount of relatively boring time suddenly available.

In order to replace a bad habit, you need to fill that spot in your life with another activity that is important to you. Think about what you used to or still really enjoy doing. For me that was taking up sculpting, reading more, and getting into tea culture. No matter what hobby you choose, keep consistent with it. Also, just like me, you will find that you have a crazy amount of time to use for improving yourself.

Replacing my screen time really helped me with enjoying my life a lot more. I feel like I have a lot more motivation and I have been able to do what actually matters to me.

If you take anything from this speech, please remember that your time is limited, and when you look back on your life, you almost certainly want to remember the important things that you did. I hope you remember your achievements, relationships, cherished moments, and the rest of the crazy and wonderful experiences that inevitably make us who we are.

Thank you!

SAWYER LAKEN BROCKSTEDT ’25

For most people, summer camp is really enjoyable and something they look forward to.

It sounds so fun a few weeks out on your own with a bunch of your friends, no parents telling you what to do, and the only thing on your schedule is fun activities like banana boating and zip lining. What sounds better than that? This is exactly what my naive self was thinking when I was 9 years old and heading to camp. However, this is not exactly how my experience turned out. I am going to read you some letters between my parents and I during my stay at camp.

“Hi Sawyer, we just dropped you off and already miss you a ton! Have fun and enjoy your friends. You are going to have such a great time! Love, Mom.”

“Hi Mommy, I hate it here. I want you to pick me up. I want to go home so badly. Pick me up now. Now please.”

“Hi Sawyer. I spoke with Terry today from camp and your dad and I really want you to stay. Enjoy the time with your friends and all of the fun activities. I made you brownies and will send them in a care package tomorrow. See you soon. Love, Mom.”

“Mommy, please come and pick me up now!! I cry every day. The counselors are trapping me here and won’t let me go home. I hate it here!”

“Hi Sawyer! We know you are going to have such a fun time! These are going to be some of the best memories of your life. Did you like the brownies? Love, Mom.”

“Hi Mommy, there are gnats and dirt all over my bed, and clothes. I don’t like it. I miss you. Don’t want to do it next year.”

“Hi Sawyer, I spoke with Terry again today. I know you want to come home, but your dad and I want you to stay at camp. I am proud of you for sticking with it! I will be there first thing at the end to pick you up. I can’t wait to hear about all of the fun stuff you are doing!”

“Hi Mommy, I really miss you. The showers are really cold and stop every five seconds. The water tastes horrible too. Need to go home and not coming back next year.”

“Hi Sawyer, you only have a little bit left, you can stick it out! We are so proud of you. Love, Mom.”

“Hi Mommy, I really want to go golfing and I really miss you. Can you bring my golf clubs here? I miss Dad, too.”

“Hi Sawyer, it’s Dad. I am so proud of you for sticking it out for the entire time. I don’t think they allow golf clubs at camp, but I took off the entire day on Friday, so we can play golf when you get home. Can’t wait to see you.”

“Hi Mommy, have you been getting these letters? Because I really want to go home. The gnats in the bed are so bad. Don’t like it at all. Please pick me up.”

After that first year of camp, I was scarred and refused to go back. However, somehow, I was convinced to go back the next year I am still unsure how this happened, I must have been brainwashed. As you can probably guess, I went back the next year and once again cried the entire time. I still feel bad for the poor counselors who had to deal with me.

After hearing these letters, you are probably thinking that this camp was at least a month or two long and very far away from home, maybe even in a different country. Unfortunately, I have to confess that it was less than a week long, specifically five nights and six days, and it was in Lewes, Delaware, a short 20 minute drive from my childhood home. It is safe to say that camp was definitely not for me.

However, I think about my days at camp often. The experience has helped me in so many aspects of my life. Two years ago, my family and I decided to leave our home in Rehoboth, Delaware and move here during the school year so my sister and I could attend Tower Hill. It was a big change since I was leaving all of my friends, my old school, which I attended for most of my life, and my home. I had to leave my comfortable life in Rehoboth and face the challenges of starting a new high school for my sophomore year. My first year here was a big transition, I was trying to acclimate to the rigorous academic environment of Tower Hill all while missing my home and all of my friends so much. However, I learned to embrace the change. I became much more appreciative of the weekends and the summers I get to spend in Rehoboth and grateful for the times I got to see my beach friends. I felt very privileged to be able to attend such an amazing school with great opportunities. In some ways, I think that going to camp helped me be less nervous about transferring schools since I had already been outside of my comfort zone before, even though it did not go so well that week at camp. In 10 short months, many of us will be starting our freshman year at college. For some, college may be across the country or it may be across town. Either way, it will be a massive transition and mark a new chapter in all of our lives. Whether we like it or not, college will force us out of our comfort zone. Although I hated every second of camp and still despise it to this day, it did help prepare me for life in a way I did not understand back then.

There are three lessons I want to leave with you. One, always bring black or navy sheets to camp so you can’t see the gnats while you are sleeping. Two, if you are at camp, make sure you also write letters to your dad, because dads need love too. And three, try to get out of your comfort zone a few times, it will benefit you in the future. Thank you.

JOSEPHINE “JOSIE” WHITE BULLER ’25

My sister told me that everyone is sick of hearing me talk about politics. So, in typical older sibling fashion, I will be talking about politics.

My sister often displays a common reaction whenever politics comes up, she usually rolls her eyes, gives an exasperated sigh, or is just generally irritated. Either way she and many others have a lot of disdain for politics, Clara’s might be more justified though, as I really do never shut up about it.

Talking politics always seems to make people fidgety, as if it’s taboo, bad, or just a generally corrupt practice. We aren’t supposed to talk about politics, it’s impolite, it creates unwanted conflict. Certainly never bring it up at the dinner table, during small talk, or, God forbid, Thanksgiving. These norms we’ve created for ourselves have ensured that conversations that are critical and should be commonplace in our community are often avoided.

I encountered this avoidance frequently over the summer. When I canvassed, I was often met with a door shut in my face. When I phone banked, people often hung up. On the rare occasion I was able to talk with someone they often weren’t interested in hearing anything they didn’t agree with.

Here at Tower Hill this sentiment even penetrates our community. People will ask, “Oh how did the dialogues go? I bet it was a mess.” Or say things like, “I just don’t want to be involved or care that much. All politics are bad anyways.”

Yes, maybe I caught some people on a bad day but hundreds of these interactions demonstrate a trend: people think politics are inherently dirty and combative.

I love being American, and I am proud to be American. I love the people of this nation, I love our culture, I love our land, and I even love the ceaseless strife that comes with being a part of the American Experiment.

Loving America is hard. Loving America means celebrating our victories and mourning our failures. It means getting knocked down again and again by systems we never subscribed to and still standing tall. Love is hard, it requires work and dedication, and loving America means that despite everything, we hold out a resilient hope and desire for progress. And quite frankly that pursuit of progress is our civic duty.

That progress can only come through politics.

Politics aren’t inherently dirty. We are so lucky to be a part of this democracy, to have a voice, to have an active role in our government. Politics are an opportunity for us to challenge others and to be challenged ourselves. It’s an opportunity for us to reflect on our own beliefs and the beliefs of others. It’s an opportunity for us to be united in the common desire for progress. It’s an opportunity for all of us to continue the conversation of American democracy.

Politics have always been a part of my life and I am grateful to both my parents for it. My dad is a Republican and my mom is a Democrat and their conversations and arguments have guided me through a particularly cringey activist phase, some very heated arguments, and eventually to a deep value of our nation’s diverse political landscape.

I am proud to be involved in politics, I am proud to be a Moderate Democrat, I am proud to be American, and I am proud of the differing views that surround me and that I grew up with. I hope you too can find pride in your ideologies and pride in those of your neighbors.

It is pride and resilience that will guide us as we take our first steps as fully fledged citizens of these United States. It is pride and resilience that will see us lead our democracy through these trying times.

So as both new voters and old, take to the polls, and make your voice heard as we continue this American Experiment.

ANJALIE GRACE CHAKRAVERTTI ’25

One day in physics class, we were learning about the center of mass. Mr. Hoch demonstrated this concept by balancing a piece of cardboard at a certain point and marking it as the center of mass. Then, he flipped it over and boom, the piece was cleverly in the shape of Massachusetts with a dot marking its center.

If you didn’t know by now, I spent roughly half of my life living in Massachusetts. There, I formed friendships that have stood the test of time. Together, my friends and I grew from pushing each other on the swings in elementary school to navigating the confusing world of middle school.

In 7th grade, when one of my friends set a piece of Texas toast aflame in her microwave, I was there within minutes, grabbing a fire extinguisher and cleaning the mess up as she laughed and cried into my sweatshirt. Our other friend came shortly after, and with the smell of smoke still lingering, we devoured the macaroons he brought. For a change of routine during online school, we would wake up at five o’clock in the morning and go for walks, or lie in fields while contemplating our futures. Even when we couldn’t see each other face to face, my friends would call for hours, playing games like charades, when one of us was feeling lonely.

While some might be put off by the cold winters or mean New Englander attitudes, I have nothing but fond memories of the place.

So, when news came that my family would be moving to Delaware, I was shattered. I broke the news to my friends in a text saying “Guys, I’m moving to Delaware. Why do I have to go to high school? What am I going to do without you guys? I love you all so SO much.”

All of our plans for prom and running away to California to live together and adopt two cats were suddenly in jeopardy. I couldn’t imagine facing new experiences for the first time without the people who were with me through every other major change in my life.

Quite frankly, I was afraid. I was afraid that I would never develop a connection like I had with them that no friendship would ever feel the same, and I would be left alone and friendless at my new school. However, I came to realize that this was a partial truth. No one could ever take their place, sure, but this didn’t mean that I wouldn’t make strong connections with the new people I met.

Now, I have come to appreciate my friends whose laughs can be heard from across the room, friends who push me to be the best version of myself. There is no one else I would rather run grueling sprints during field hockey with, or stay up late playing card games during the Rome trip.

So, to my seniors who will be in new environments with new people next year, or the people in this room who are feeling that way right now, know that change is inevitable it’s just a matter of how we embrace that change. But also know that you don’t have to let go of the past either, since it’s those past experiences that

made you who you are. Remember that you carry those past connections with you, and despite the distance, they’re always a text away.

I feel more prepared for the upcoming change in my life, and although I am just as afraid as I was four years ago, I find comfort in this fear. It means that I found something at this school that I am afraid of being without, which I never thought possible before.

As my Texas toast friend once told me when I moved: “Everything happens for a reason and this might actually be a great chance for you to start all over again. All I can say is I hope it turns out alright for you.”

GABRIELLE “GABBY” GILLINDER DALTRY ’25

This speech is about my younger sibling. Not Gavin, whom many of you know, but instead, the often-forgotten Daltry. Gavin is a freshman here at Tower Hill, making him only three years younger than me. Because of our small age gap, we did everything together growing up. We always had very similar interests and abilities, making him my automatic friend. But, our relationship didn’t come without its problems. To keep it short, my family loves to joke that I was meant to be an only child. I didn’t like sharing the spotlight and for the first 12 years of my life, I really only liked Gavin when he would play with me.

So, when I was seven years old and my parents told us they were having a baby, I was not exactly thrilled. But, I quickly began hoping for a little sister. It always annoyed me that Gavin would prefer to play “battle” games rather than play house or play with my dolls. So, I decided that having a younger sister would actually be a lot of fun. My mindset changed from me not wanting a younger sibling to needing a younger sister.

A month or two later, my parents decided to do a small gender reveal with me and Gavin. We were each given a cupcake, and the color on the inside of the cupcakes would reveal the gender of our new sibling. Gavin and I both bit into the cupcakes immediately after they were given to us. Gavin saw the inside of the cupcake and started smiling and laughing. I, on the other hand, caught a glimpse of the blue filling and started sobbing. And yes, in case you were wondering, we do still have the video of this moment and yes, it does haunt me.

My youngest brother, Rowan, was born that summer, making him seven years and eight school grades younger than me. I have never been very motherly, so I didn’t really enjoy playing with or caring for baby Rowan. In my eyes, Rowan was always just kind of there.

At the beginning of my junior year, I transferred to Tower Hill from a school in Pennsylvania. This change was extremely difficult. I had to navigate a brand-new school while not knowing anyone and taking challenging classes. This, combined with my club swimming schedule, limited my time spent with my family. I would wake up in the morning, go to school, swim, and then get home with just enough time to quickly eat dinner and then spend the rest of the night in my bedroom doing homework. I was extremely overwhelmed for months, and never really thought about how my new schedule affected other members of my family, especially Rowan. Last February, I was talking to Rowan and my parents about how my day was. Somehow, we stumbled upon the subject of my birthday. Rowan, completely confident in his answer, claimed that my birthday was in October. My birthday is in March. This prompted each of us to ask Rowan seemingly simple questions about me. For example, we asked him what my middle name was. We thought this would be an easy question, considering I share the same middle name as my dad and grandfather, and we talk about this pretty often. He had no idea. He seriously did not even have a guess. I initially just laughed about this, but that night lingered with me. I began to wonder how I could’ve lived with Rowan for all nine years of his life and he barely could recall basic information about me. The more I thought about it, I realized that I never really spent much time with him. Anytime we were together, we were with the rest of our family. Our lives are so separate that we never spent time alone.

Understanding that I would be leaving for college in a little over a year, I made it my goal to start spending more time with Rowan. In the time since, we have spent countless hours together. We’ve had lunch and dinner dates, have taken trips to museums, raced go-karts, saw a pumpkin carving competition, watched his favorite movies, listened to my favorite music, and spent days crafting. All just the two of us. The time we’ve spent together in the past year has become some of the most meaningful of my life. With each adventure, I learn more about him than I ever expected: his favorite songs to sing in the car, the pure joy he gets when he beats me at anything, the attention to detail he puts into art, and his ability to name more bird and fish species than I ever knew existed. As college approaches, I appreciate our adventures even more. I know that soon, our spontaneous outings and lunch conversations will be replaced by phone calls and visits during school breaks.

While we are much closer now, he is still a 10-year-old boy. Meaning, he is annoying and I would often choose to do many other things over hanging out with him. Back in December, I was getting ready to hear back from my first major college decision. That night, my family had a reservation at one of our favorite restaurants in West Chester called Teca, which is an Italian restaurant. Depending on the outcome of my decision, this was going to be either a celebration or an “aww too bad you didn’t get in, eat some pasta and bread” night. Rowan couldn’t have cared less about this. That night, he was focused on making a gingerbread house. While we were opening my decision, Rowan was bothered that we were interrupting his activity. Just after that when we told him to get ready to leave, he threw a fit because he didn’t want to leave his gingerbread house. After some convincing, we finally left for the restaurant. Once we arrived, he then refused to talk for a good 45 minutes because he thought we were going to a Mexican restaurant. It was an unforgivable offense that we were making him eat steak instead of a taco. This was, debatably, the most important news I had ever received in my life, and he did not care. This led to me threatening to not write this speech about him anymore because he bothered me. Yet, here we are.

If you take away one thing from this story, I hope it is that you are more important to the people around you than you may think. Even if you feel like you’re just going through the motions of your day school, sports, clubs, homework there’s someone watching, someone who looks up to you, even if they don’t always show it. For years, I assumed that Rowan and I were just too far apart in age to be close, and that he was just my “other brother” existing in the background of my life. But I was wrong.

Our relationships with our siblings, family, and friends aren’t just things that happen naturally. They require effort, attention, and time. It’s easy to assume that the people in our lives will always be there, that we’ll always have more time to make memories or get closer. But time moves fast, and before you know it, you may be getting ready to start a new chapter in your life.

I don’t know what the next few years will look like, but I do know this: in 2033 when Rowan is on this stage giving his senior speech, he may still mix up my birthday or forget my middle name, but he’ll never forget the time we’ve spent together. And neither will I.

JON DONG ’25

Growing up, my parents have always taught me that family is everything. As a kid, I moved around a lot, from Ohio to Kentucky to Pennsylvania, so naturally I relied a lot on the one constant in my life, someone who I knew would always be there: my older sister Ann. Ever since I can remember, Ann has been my best friend the person I can tell anything to without fear of being judged, the person that understands how I feel before I even feel it, the one who can make me laugh without even saying a word.

As a kid, Ann and I spent a lot of time in our family restaurant, especially in this one little room in the restaurant, where we watched TV and ate and played games. This one time, we got really bored, so we made up a game. It was called: who could create the highest fountain of spit out rice? Ok so this actually sounds really disgusting, but we each took turns looking up and spitting out our rice, creating a majestic white fountain of rice, seeing who could reach highest. This lasted until our mom came in, shocked that the floor was covered with a glossy sheet of half-eaten white rice and proceeded to yell at us for playing with our food.

When Ann and I were little, we both had the same career goal in mind. We didn’t want to be doctors, or lawyers, or engineers. No, we dreamed of something even more impactful, even more fulfilling. YouTubers. We both created our YouTube channels and spent days filming, editing, and publishing our very diverse videos: from vlogs to cooking recipes to skits. We were each other’s biggest supporters. You would click into a video and see 20 comments and then it would just be Ann and her backup accounts spamming stuff in the comment section. Sadly, our YouTube career ended early when my mom caught us talking to a 40-year-old man in our comment section. We were just trying to engage with our fans but our mom said it wasn’t safe and forced us to make our accounts private.

As we grew older, Ann and I started to drift apart. We were both so busy with school and had our own friends now. This past year, my sister went off to college, and for the first time, she wasn’t a constant in my life. I remember the week before she left I was terrified. All of our conversations and laughs that I took for granted played back in my head. The few weeks before she left, we spent every moment together, watching shows until sunrise, cooking steak at 3 a.m., and going on spontaneous trips to wherever we felt like. Ann taught me what it means to be family, to stick it out through good times and bad. I remember how she would always be down to make funny YouTube videos, but I also remember how when I was 10 and wanted to run away from my parents after a huge fight, she was with me, asking when we would leave together. No matter where we are in life, we will always be family.

After four years of high school, I have learned something that my parents didn’t teach me growing up. Family is not just blood. My family are also the friends I see every day in THE Hub after school, or the ones who will drop everything to go out and eat with me, or those I can spend hours laying in the sun with without needing to say a word. My family is the person I update after every episode of Game of Thrones, or the ones I spend hours talking to at 2 a.m. when we’re both tired and actually have nothing to talk about. My family are the

teachers I could spend hours talking to, about their life or Spanish or just joking around, or the ones that just yesterday went around to every person I know to get them to text me about turning in my senior speech.

Family is something that you can choose, something that is yours alone to choose, and I think that is something truly special.

To the seniors and to everyone else, as this school year draws to a close, I implore you to hold on tight to your family, both blood and chosen. So much is happening right now that it’s easy to let life pass you by. But don’t make the same mistake I did. Don’t wait until someone is leaving, until someone exits your life, to realize how important they are to you. The only thing that is promised is the present, so don’t wait to tell your family that you love them. To Ann, who taught me what family means, who I know will always be a constant in my life no matter how far away, I love you. And to seniors, before you leave for college and create new families, take time and truly appreciate the family you have created for yourself right here right now. Be present. Show up for each other. Because at the end of the day, I realize that my parents were right: family is everything.

KAYDEN MAYA DONNELLY ’25

In December of 2020, the COVID Christmas, I received spinal fusion surgery. This is an eight-hour long procedure that screws two metal rods into the spine to straighten the curve it naturally takes. I had been diagnosed with scoliosis and kyphosis two and half years before this. In these years I tried other treatment methods, but none of them worked. I had two back braces and attended three hours of physical therapy a week to try to correct the curvature of my spine.

Originally, I was prescribed to wear the back brace for 18-24 hours a day, a completely unrealistic goal for an 11-year-old girl to achieve. This torture device, that they described to me as a treatment, was insufferable and I was averaging about 10 hours of wear a week. You all may think that is nothing compared to the 18-hour minimum a day I had, and you would be right. But putting the brace on for 10 minutes alone was unbearable.

After two and half years of ignoring my condition, I was told I would have to get surgery. At first, I was terrified. I didn’t want to sit out of sports and other activities for the next six months and really didn’t want to eat hospital food for a week. But nevertheless, three days before Christmas, I headed to the hospital to have my spine rearranged. The day of surgery the degree of my top curve was 36 degrees and my lower curve 57 degrees. To picture it, my spine was in the shape of an S.

With 22 screws and two metal rods fresh in my body, I struggled to open my eyes and was immediately met with an indescribable pain torturing my back. I wanted to separate myself from my spine and leave it behind. The pain was inescapable, persistent, and unforgiving. It made time creep by slowly. The hours felt like days and the days felt like weeks. I was engulfed in an endless cycle of pain. I could not sit up by myself, roll onto my side, or even dream of standing up, but my physical therapists forced me to do these things.

The first step I took during my recovery unsettled me. With doctors, nurses, and physical therapists around me, I was expected to walk down the long hospital hallway. Standing alone caused extreme discomfort and pain. So, making it to the door, much less the 40 feet through the hallway seemed extremely unrealistic. As I took my second step, the pain did not stop, and even though I wanted to, nobody would let me quit. The steps that followed did not get easier but slowly and surely, I made my way down the hallway and back. It took me five minutes to walk the length of a school bus and I quickly realized my recovery was going to take longer than I imagined.

The best piece of advice that I received while I was in the hospital recovering, was that movement helps the pain. At the time I was in too much agony to notice the irony. Walking was the most painful thing I had to do during my initial recovery, but after walking up and down the hallway the pain would be more tolerable. Walking represented a goal that forced me to direct my focus away from the intense pain.

At the time I was too naive to appreciate this life lesson. Throughout my recovery, the thing that was the most painful was the most beneficial. Now I recognize that the hard times don’t make you weaker, but instead make

you stronger and that navigating adversity is an inevitability in life. Though I struggled a lot during this time, I would do it all over again. I would go through all the pain again, I would suffer through all the sleepless nights again, and I would shed all the tears again. While spinal fusion definitely took a toll on my 13-year-old body, it changed my mind and attitude more than it changed my spine. I learned more during this pivotal experience than I have in all my 17 years of life combined and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

So seniors, as we are all about to move to different places in the world and have a variety of different experiences all of you should remember that sometimes the most painful experiences can lead you to a great outcome. Thank you.

EMAAN EHTASHAM ’25

Good afternoon Mrs. Ashbrook, This feels kind of awkward to ask, but is there any way we can meet up sometime tomorrow to talk? I just feel like I need to rant about my life lately. Thanks, Emaan

This was an email I sent to my advisor during freshman year. The next day, we planned a time to meet, I pulled up with a bulleted list of everything that had happened to me since the beginning of the year, and the rest is history.

I don’t remember much of the list now, but I know for a fact that one of the points was about trying to figure out how to balance spending time with my newfound friends as well as doing well in school. Starting somewhere new, after being in the height of COVID, I was still relearning the fact that school wasn’t just about being a student, but about being a part of my community, finding my place in the classroom and outside of it. Before I got a hang of navigating this, I found I was ultimately coasting by not putting enough effort into either.

Through my conversation with my advisor and multiple more we had when I didn’t take her advice the first time around she helped me figure out how to be a better student and person. Our meeting frequency varied with every new hurdle I felt I had to overcome, and with ever changing friends who moved away and closer geographically and emotionally.

Through all the ups and downs that I endured throughout my high school years, these meetings in themselves taught me something else: to rely on the people who remained constants in my life.

While there have been the friends who come in waves, or that I go days without talking to, there have also always been the few that are still the first I think about telling when something exciting happens. One that’s automatically my plus one or another who I just assume I’m hanging out with on the days nothing else is going on. The one with which we go so far as to plan our senior speeches as close together as possible.

I may not say it very often, but I’m grateful for all the friends in my life. Those I’ve grown distant from, or am getting closer with now, and everyone in between. They’ve all been a key part of the support system I’ve been able to rely on for the past three and a half years, and more than that, they’ve all shaped me into the person I am today.

For example, my lucky number is the house number of where I got ready for freshman year homecoming, my Roblox username is inspired by those I had post-sophomore year Tower Term game nights with, and my favorite card game is still the one that was played almost every day after lunch in junior year.

Deeper than that the people I’ve surrounded myself with have shown me how to take a step back and not act so impulsively that I hurt those around me. They’ve taught me confidence. To not be afraid to raise my hand in

class or to text someone something scary. To be myself and to not be hesitant to let people see it. They’ve inspired me to find beauty in the small things. To take advantage of every opportunity that comes my way and to always go out and strive for more. And so much more that I could spend this entire speech talking about.

May 13, 2024

Hi Mrs. Ashbrook

You already know TTYL, Emaan

So, when I get a bad grade, or am feeling so down that I have no motivation to go to school one day, I think back to the meetings I’ve had with my advisor where she reminded me to hold onto the love and gratitude I have for my friends. It reminds me to think about the first people I’ll see when I pull into the gravel lot in the morning, the last before I leave for home, and who I seek out in the mere seconds I have before heading off to my next class, and I’m suddenly excited to get my day started.

All this to say, it’s the connections we make with the people who guide us and remain by our side that carry the most weight in our lives. If there’s one thing you take from this speech, I hope it’s to tell your friends you love them. And if there’s a second thing, it’d be to talk to your advisor.

AVA JANINE EMRICH ’25

Finding and being part of a strong community has always been one of my top priorities. Growing up, I have been involved in a lot of communities. It wasn’t until my switch to Tower Hill in sophomore year that I realized how different everyone was. Still living in Smyrna, I drive up every day to attend Tower Hill; and I took this opportunity to broaden my views as well as meet new people people who were very different from my previous school. The next biggest community in my life is sports. As I played most sports growing up, the one that stuck with me is tennis. This is the biggest community of all because it spreads nationally, allowing me to interact with a diverse set of people.

When I reflected on the different major pieces in my life, things clicked on why community means so much to me. There are so many people I associate with and value from each place, and each community is strong because it reflects who we are. This realization sparked my interest and passion for volunteering. The summer after my sophomore year I had decided to volunteer at Winterthur Museum and Gardens. This experience not only brought me new friends and connections, but also enhanced my communication and leadership skills. Traveling to a church every Thursday with the museum to help teach underprivileged kids made me realize that not everyone had the same opportunities to enjoy the places around them. After an amazing summer working with the best kids and friends, I had decided that I wanted to continue volunteering.

This past summer I volunteered at the Delaware Museum of Nature and Science and helped to run educational summer camps. My volunteer work from the past had prepared me thoroughly for bigger roles, which allowed me to continue to make greater differences. This way, by the end of the summer camp I had assisted with overpopulated camps, filled in for counselors that couldn’t make it, and helped complete tasks around the museum to improve with the daily flow. My coworkers and bosses were always very thankful for my help, and said that I had made a big difference in running the camps. This experience didn’t only help them, but it also allowed me to feel content with everything I had accomplished over the summer.

Overall, I was introduced to a unique environment with new people that I could support and get to know over a fun summer. The different communities that I have been a part of over the years have shaped me into the person I am today. Each has taught me new and valuable skills that I can utilize going forward, and have strengthened my abilities over the course of time. I hope today I can influence you all to try to volunteer locally and help your community as much as possible. Even though you may not get paid, making an effort for the people and places that are important to you will benefit both them and yourself.

PETER

“PETE” TILTON

EPPLEY ’25

Change has always been a stress point for me. I wear the same sneakers every day until they wear through and I’m forced to buy the same pair again. I dreaded the very notion of summer camp. Unfamiliarity is my biggest fear, but as I approach the end of high school, I also approach the most monumental change in my life yet: college. The only world I ever knew would be miles away. It’s the idea of leaving the small comforts behind the things that make life feel secure and familiar. No more home-cooked meals. No more sitting in my pajamas with my dad, cursing the Eagles on Sunday. A shift in my life? Of this magnitude? I felt overwhelmed. So, I did what I always do when I’m overwhelmed: I plopped in front of the TV, scrolled down the DVR and found my recording of The Waterboy.

The Waterboy is an overlooked, inspiring masterpiece of cinema that could put a smile to the face of the weepiest widow or give a chuckle to the sternest authoritarian. It follows 30-year-old professional Waterboy Bobby Boucher as he discovers a hidden talent for the linebacker position, and his overprotective Momma’s efforts to protect him from the outside world. I spent my first several viewings of The Waterboy in pursuit of a laugh. But this time, something was different. Why could I feel myself… relating to Adam Sandler as a highvoiced bayou rube? I put on my detective’s hat and tried to deduce where our lives intersected.

Differences between myself and The Waterboy were abundant. The backwater lifestyle of the Bouchers simply could not be further from my reality. Our parents are nothing alike. I have attended school every weekday for the past 14 years, guided by my parents’ unwavering emphasis on education’s necessity. Bobby Boucher’s mother believes school is the devil. My dad showed up to every band concert, every soccer game, and regularly attended my parent-teacher conferences. Bobby Boucher’s father, Roberto, ran off with a voodoo priestess named Phyllis and disappeared from his life.

My developmental years were spent under the bleachers in brisk October, climbing on the frosty metal rungs while my sister played in field hockey games about which I couldn’t care less. I was getting dragged to watch my brother wrestle other sweaty teenagers on an even sweatier mat, where my only solace was picking the solitary M&Ms from a bag of trail mix. I was the baby of the family. My sister dressed me up in American Girl doll dresses, and I got used as a practice dummy for wrestling moves by my decade-older brother. Bobby Boucher had no siblings, and his entire life was defined by his relationship with his Momma. I began to run out of comparisons, but then, an epiphany. I wasn’t like Bobby Boucher at all but I actually wanted to be more like him.

When you watch The Waterboy, it’s readily apparent that Bobby Boucher is a weird guy. He lives with a donkey named Steve, and he and his Momma feast on roast crocodile and broiled anaconda. This made it all the more intriguing to me to see Bobby Boucher fully integrate into the college community. I realized I wanted to find in my college experience what Bobby Boucher found in his. College gives him a chance to succeed, a place where his mind is fostered and grows past all expectations. He gains a second home, a honed intellect, and a

newfound sense of self, and if he can do it, I don’t see why I can’t. Thanks to The Waterboy, there is enticing opportunity where my anxiety for the new had once lain. I take comfort in knowing there are positive possibilities for me within the unpredictable world I am entering. So, as I take this next step, I’ll channel my inner Bobby Boucher. I may not live with a donkey named Steve, but in our similarities, I find the resolve to ready myself to step into the unknown and face whatever comes my way. And if I ever start to doubt myself, I’ll just remind myself to stay hydrated and keep pushing forward.

CATHERINE ANN FARNAN ’25

I have a very precarious warm-up routine for any race. Some may call it superstitious, but for me, it is a way to help mentally prepare for my race. The week leading up to the race I have my set workouts, and then a shakeout run and striders the day prior. If you know me or run track you most likely have heard of my specific race day preparations. My distinct warm-up routine which consists of, a set order of stretches, rolling out, triple knotting my shoes, a team hug, and of course my trusty Biofreeze that you can smell from miles away, allows me to help control some stress and get me into my race mindset.

Stepping up to the line I feel a moment of serenity wash over me. After all the stress of the moments in anticipation for these next four laps, I have to force myself to take a calming breath. As the official tells us to step up to the line and raises his hand, I feel my heart pound waiting for the moment to go.

As I hear the gun sound I sprint off as hard as I can, while also having to make sure I don’t burn myself out. Next, I have to analyze the competition in the race, asking myself questions like, what’s the optimal pace? And, who should I stick with?

As we run towards the second and third laps, I try to focus on maintaining my pace. These next two laps are always the hardest, mentally and physically. Your breathing will begin to quicken and your legs will begin to ache, but you know you still have so much to do and will need to save some for that final kick at the end. As we come around for the last lap I hear the race official ring the bell.

Now it’s time for the kick. This lap feels physically the most tiring as your arms, legs, and lungs will begin to ache. All of your training comes to this final moment and you have to leave it all on the track. The closer you get to the finish the faster you have to go and the more it hurts. As you cross the finish line you feel a sense of accomplishment wash over you, everything you have worked so hard for has been showcased in those few moments.

A track race does not begin when the official tells us to take our mark, or even when the gun goes off. The preparation is a process that begins minutes, days, weeks, months, and even years before the race. It takes countless grueling workouts, and endless long runs, just to be summed up in a five-minute run. Now while this sounds quite tortuous, and believe me it can be, it is important to always keep a positive mindset. There are good and bad races, but it is necessary to acknowledge that you gave it your all and take every part of it as a learning experience to work towards getting better. Everyone’s training process looks different and each person will have different hardships, but success does not come easy, it takes loads of work, both mentally and physically; but in the end, it is all worth it for that final feeling of crossing the finish line.

GAVIN DAVIS FELIX ’25

As I lie in bed, searching in the darkness for my stuffed animals, Thumper and Doggy, I suddenly feel like I am being watched.

As a child, I insisted that my parents make my room jungle-themed. Wallpapers of trees filled with monkeys and sloths, with long winding rivers, and fields of tigers and jaguars. The Amazon did not compare. However, I made one fatal mistake, directly across from my bed, hanging from the wall, a poster of a frog. This was not any frog. It was a ginormous, wide red eyed demon that was underlit by my nightlight. Every night, as I descended into sleep, the only thing that crowded my thoughts was the frog that could easily come right out of the paper, into the 3-D world to haunt me. And well, it did in my dreams.

The dream started out as normal, my older brother and I playing games until it inevitably turned to us fighting and my mother came to break everything up. But instead of her doing the punishment, my five-year-old self took the initiative and sent my brother to timeout in his room.

As I closed the door, my brother’s angry frown turned into something horrific. I saw his eyes turn the same beet red of the frog. Suddenly, he grew in size, his fair skin became oily, bumpy, a spotted green and black. Five fingers became four, and he hunched over. My brother had become the thing I feared most. The evil frog. In fear I bursted down the hallway calling for my parents to save me. Both of them stepped out separating me and my brother. Just like a fly, his massive tongue bursted out of his mouth capturing both them in one fell swoop and eating them. It was just me and him left.

For months on end while enduring this torturous dream, I would wake up just before he ate me. I remember asking my mom what I could do to stop having the dream. She told me to imagine marshmallows and rainbows before falling asleep so I would have an enjoyable dream instead of watching my whole family be eaten. This did not work.

It was not until one night that I somehow evaded my brother and escaped my house to face the frog out in my backyard. At this point I was pretty tired of dealing with the frog so how could I defeat it most candidly? The answer in my young mind was apparently to find a sword in my hand and cut the frog’s head off, freeing my parents and my brother from the curse. But not only did it free them in my dream, it was the last time that I saw the frog. Don’t get me wrong I was still terrified of the frog in the real world but I did not see it again when I slept.

Looking back on it now, I realize that it was only when I stood up to the frog that I was able to overcome my fear. Instead of procrastinating, just cutting the frog’s head off was the most effective method. I encourage everyone to take this approach. When you know that you have a big test coming up or a paper due in a week, instead of letting it burden you like it used to do to me; just cut the frog’s head off. The longer you let it grow

and fester in your mind, the more terrifying it becomes. But when you take action, even if it is as simple as starting with one small step, you can conquer it before it consumes you. Maybe even literally. Thank you.

DANIEL “DANNY” SOLER FINK ’25

It was a warm, sunny day in April 2024 at the Kings Dominion Amusement Park when us Tower Hill musicians went inside for our performances. After the ensembles played in front of judges (where I definitely didn’t make any mistakes and didn’t leave my phone on my stand so I had to go back on stage to get it after), we were free to go out to the parks for a long day of fun.

We then split off into our groups for the day and decided on some chill rides first a boat that slowly rocked back and forth and was meant for children. Obviously the only right thing to do was to act scared and scream as loud as possible. During this frightening near death experience, the young children on the ride looked at us like we were crazy and reassured us that it really wasn’t that bad. For the rest of the day, we had fun making funny faces for the cameras on the most intense roller coasters and going to the water park, “Soak City.”

It may seem like this day was fun, but we were soon about to endure my most infamous experience to this day.

Once it had gotten late, we had to eat dinner before a long bus ride back home and we needed to be quick. Only two of us wanted to go to this burrito place, so it was more likely that we would order quickly and be on time back on the bus in 30 minutes. We determined that if we went just the two of us, we could make it if we tried.

While in line, I noticed that the food was extremely overpriced, so we both calculated what was cheap enough for each of us to order. To be safe, I decided to add the last $20 in cash that I had left to my Kings Dominion card. I frantically rushed out of line and sprinted through the crowd, jumping over little kids and side-stepping large mobs in my quest to find the ATM. Once the money was added, I hurried back with $40 on my card.

Back in line with sweat dripping and feet tapping, we anxiously wait. We are now under 20 minutes until we have to be back at the bus. The bright lights and blaring music pierce my soul as they intensify our race against the clock. At this point, my palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy, thinking about our Mexican food (not mom’s spaghetti) and getting back in time.

Once we get to the front of the line, the man behind the counter greets us and says…

“Your total with tax is…”

He pauses. The man looks up at me as we lock eyes and I begin to panic do I have enough money? Did I miscalculate the prices? The endless line of questioning and stress began to eat my mind alive.

“$40.89”

I forgot about taxes the government's way of robbing two 17-year-olds from eating their already overpriced food. I nervously hand the worker some coins which are everything I have left. He doesn’t seem to know what

to do with it, so he calls over his manager who tells us that they only accept the cards as payment. Both workers then loudly ask anyone in line if they can help us pay. We were already stressed, but now we have just been embarrassingly exposed for being broke in front of the entire restaurant. One man behind us has a membership but refuses to help. There is no way out of this, and we have less than 10 minutes to get back to the bus or face the wrath of the menacing music teachers.

Suddenly our savior appears: A middle-aged woman maneuvers her way to the front of the line. She offers to add the last 89 cents to her bill, while asking if we want drinks (there’s no way we could take that offer). After eating quickly, we sprint all the way out of the park and into the parking lot. We make it just in time as everyone begins to get on the bus.

My entire friend group and I sat at the very back of the bus for the long ride into the night where we reflected and shared stories of our days. I then shared my story of “the random act of kindness” the realization of being short 89 cents, the large man behind the counter rejecting our payment, the man behind us refusing to help us, and the old woman who did. My friend who was with me at the restaurant ad-libbed some interjections as I told the story, such as using funny voices to represent each person among other things.

Despite the stressful experience and the physical taxation on our legs, we all laughed through the story. This showed me that no matter how stressed or scared you are in the moment, take things into perspective and realize that not everything is the end of the world. Don’t take things so seriously in the moment (like I did). Although we were stressed in the moment, we ultimately looked back on it with laughter. So, no matter if things go well or poorly, you will look back fondly on these memories. But no matter what, remember to bring enough money for dinner.

Thank you

IZZY SOLER FINK ’25

Around the world, emotional support animals provide valuable assistance for many people. They help aid those with disabilities, emotional stress, or those who simply need comfort. However, this is the story of how I became an emotional support human.

As a child, I begged my parents regularly for a pet. However, despite my constant pleas, my parents had always been hesitant owning a pet was a big responsibility, after all, and a big expense. As well, we had relatives that could be allergic. And so, our first pets were two non-allergenic goldfish, won at the yearly Flower Market. An orange and a silver one that we named Shiny and Bubbles. Creative names were not in a middle schooler’s wheelhouse, though my dad fondly dubbed them “Flushy” and “Floaty ” Despite being cheap fair fish that often died in a week, these fish lasted throughout middle school and grew enormously large, until they eventually lived up to their own names.

In the years after, my brother and I pleaded with my parents for a more cuddly animal that had more fur and didn’t just swim in circles all day. After scrolling through websites for hypoallergenic pets, alongside some giant dogs that my dad favored and my mom absolutely could not allow in the house, we decided on a cat, because they were easier to keep care of and could handle themselves living alone in the house. We decided on a cat breed similar to Siamese, a Balinese cat. Just like my twin brother and I, we chose to get two cats. We called up a breeder and waited eagerly for our little kittens.

After gathering various supplies such as litter boxes, toys, and food, we sped all the way down to the south to collect our kittens. After we chatted for a bit, the breeder let us into the room where the floor was practically squirming with playful kittens. Words could not encapsulate the cuteness in the room. On the trip back we held a carrier full of two meowing kittens in our laps.

We named them after jazz musicians: Louie, for Louie Armstrong, and Ella, for Ella Fitzgerald. Our family soon learned that they both had drastically different personalities: Louie was curious, affectionate, and ready for action, while Ella was the more timid and jumpy type, but loving all the same. However, we soon learned during a call after Ella’s neuter procedure that Ella was actually Ellie, a boy cat. Now we had two male cats who grew up rather quickly. My mom became Ellie’s emotional support human, while Louie became mine. Every night after dinner Louie would race up to my room for pets.

However, just weeks prior to this speech, things went for the worse. Ellie wasn’t eating or using the litter box properly, lost a lot of weight, and would lie down to breathe heavily for several minutes. Things got worse when he started becoming wobbly and that is when we took him to the emergency room. He was incredibly low on blood cells and blood sugar. The doctors predicted he was going septic, which meant his organs were practically failing. After an anxiety-inducing night of calls, the doctors determined that there was a mass inside his intestines and that he would need surgery. My family and I spent the night in anxiety as we awaited his results. We weren’t sure if he’d make it through the surgery.

Thankfully, Ellie made it through and the doctors found a giant mass of a surgical sponge in his intestines left there from his neutering surgery two years prior. For those two years, an infection was slowly building up in his intestines. I felt immense guilt that we had not caught this earlier Ellie had always been skinny, but this explained a lot of his abnormal habits. After many anxiety-ridden days where Ellie spent time healing in the ICU, he thankfully finally healed enough to come home. I had never thought or considered that either of my cat’s life were short, fragile, or temporary. Foolishly I had believed that my cats would live forever, in the ignorant way that young kids do. However, now I am so thankful that through it all, no matter how grueling and scary it was, Ellie endured I hope he will at least live another few happy years, even if his lifespan might have been shortened. He has a voracious appetite now, and I’ve never been so happy to see a cat eat three cans of food in one sitting.

This medical scare somehow reminded me that I have to be thankful for what and who I have around me. I can’t take anything for granted whether it’s the education I have here at Tower Hill, my loving accepting family, my friends, or the lives of others, I have to cherish every one of them every day. As I move out of high school and leave for college, I will have to leave my family and cats behind at home. Somehow, I think my cats will take it harder than I will, as I have never been away from them for so long. Part of me wants to pack them in my suitcase and take them with me as I am my cat’s emotional support human as they are mine. I wish I could pack up every aspect of my life, along with my bedroom, my friends, and my family, and store them all safely in my dorm, but unfortunately, I cannot. So I will be grateful when they’re here. Because you never know when they won’t be.

THOMAS COLE FLICKINGER ’25

If anyone knows me or my family, you know we are typically not on time to where we are going. Despite my dad usually being thrown under the bus for causing us to be late, I think it’s more of a whole family thing. Going in order of latest to most on time, my dad is definitely the worst, with Ann Lane not being far behind, and then there’s me and then my mom, who is still late sometimes despite her claims of always being on time. As a child, this always bothered me as I was constantly being stranded in places for what felt like hours, waiting for my parents to pick me up. Because of this, I always told myself I would never be late for anything when I grew up. This did not happen. You see when I was younger, I was not very patient; I always thought about what was happening next. I was never actually focused on what I was doing in the moment and normally concentrated on the future.

As I got older and naturally started to live a busier life, I no longer had as much downtime as I had when I was a kid. I no longer had large amounts of time in my days to fill as my life became more consumed by school, sports, and various social activities. My new schedule became harder and harder to manage, and I often started to find myself losing track of time and running behind. In my early years of high school, I began to not mind when my parents were late to pick me up as it would give me a chance to talk to whoever else had late parents or give me a few moments with myself in between all of the chaos. I also began to understand why the people around me always ran late. I understood this because this started happening to me. When I started driving, I gained even more freedom over my schedule, and despite being able to go wherever I wanted whenever I wanted, I found myself being later than ever.

There is only so much time on any given day, and I had to learn how to prioritize my time better and find what is important to me. I started to have to choose what stuff I was going to spend time on and make sacrifices. While almost all the adults in the room will disagree with what I’m about to say, I think it is good to know that being late is not always a bad thing, just as it’s not always a good thing either. While yes, being punctual is very important to certain people, and you should never intentionally waste someone’s time, always remember what is important to you. You only have so much time, and it’s important that you spend your time with the people, on the experiences, and in the places that are the most significant to you, even if that means you are a few minutes late. Thank you.

DAVITT ROLLINS FOX ’25

Regret: a feeling of sadness, repentance, or disappointment over something that has happened or been done, especially a loss or missed opportunity. We’ve all felt regret before. Pushing off studying until the night before, passing up an investment opportunity, or missing time with family and friends. Regret is the tar of life. It keeps you down and stuck, living in the past and feeling bad about something you can never change, preventing you from moving forward in life. Personally, I’ve regretted a lot of things: not getting involved enough in the communities of my schools, words I’ve said to people and the words I have not, sports performances, and so on.

I vividly remember the Thanksgiving of 2018. Life was good for my 12-year-old self, the Red Sox won the World Series, the Patriots dynasty was still going strong, my cousins were back from college, and the whole family was together. The holiday wasn’t special because of all of this however, it was because of my Nana. During dinner she started off with the typical, “You’ve gotten so tall.” “How’s school going?” And, “how’s it been in Delaware?” But we soon ended up in a deep conversation that would go on for 30 minutes after dinner was over. We talked about life, faith, friends, family, sports, and so much more. This was the first time I ever remember having such a meaningful and genuine conversation with someone. When she spoke to me, it felt like I wasn’t being treated like a kid, but as a peer, as a friend. She shared with me her plentiful wisdom about life, told me stories of her youth, and listened to everything I had to say, and I loved it.

After going back to Delaware, I didn’t keep in contact with my Nana as much as I should have. I didn’t send enough calls or texts and when I did it would always be brief. When she passed away four months later, it hit me that I missed so much wisdom, fun stories, and memories that I could’ve had if I just reached out or visited more often, and it tore me apart.

But what you need to realize is that for anything in life, hindsight is 20/20. There is always something you could’ve or should’ve done that would have made the situation better. Sure, these things could be different, but they’re not, and we need to realize and acknowledge this truth. The mind will be a prisoner to itself if you get too caught up in these feelings of disappointment. What should be done is take those mistakes and regrets and figure out what went wrong. Remember them, not to bring you down, but so you won’t let that mistake happen again in the future. For me I realized that you only get so much time with the people you love, and to treat every moment with those people like it will be your last, because it will make those memories so much more special.

Kanye West said a while ago, “I found out that nothing in life is promised except death. If you had the opportunity to play this game of life, you need to appreciate every moment. A lot of people don’t appreciate their moment until it’s passed.” I think that’s something we should all remember. Always ask yourself if you will ever have the opportunity to do what you’re doing right now again. Take that chance, go up to that person you’re scared to talk to, join that team, go outside and spend time with your friends. Live a little more in the moment.

Your life in this moment will never be the exact same way as it was yesterday or will be tomorrow. Everything can and will change, it’s our job to just keep up and appreciate what we have, what we had, and what we can have by learning from our mistakes. So, try it, and maybe it will help you out.

SYDNEY EVELYN GANC ’25

Although I am an only child, I was fortunate to grow up with an additional family member in my house other than my parents. While many people I know only see their grandparents on holidays or special occasions, my grandma has always been an active part of my life. Whether it was all the times she would drive me to and from school every day, taking me to all my appointments, going shopping and more, my grandma has always made sure I am taken care of. Because of all the time we spent together when I was growing up, I have found that, out of all my family members, she is the one who I share the most traits in common with, and her support and love have shaped who I am today.

Among the many qualities I share with her, the most significant is my deep sense of optimism. My grandma has always been someone who focuses on the good in life and people, no matter the circumstances. Her perspective has influenced me in countless ways, teaching me lessons that continue to shape my everyday life. My grandma has taught me that perfection is impossible, and it is more meaningful to focus on becoming a balanced and whole person instead. No matter how much stress or difficulty you are facing, there is always something to look forward to, challenges are temporary, and the future always holds new opportunities and experiences. These challenges are not permanent, and they often serve as stepping stones to something better. By focusing on the future with anticipation, my grandma has taught me to shift my perspective from feeling trapped by any stress to just seeing it as momentary. Through her, I understand how a pessimistic mindset sees only the difficulty in every opportunity, while an optimistic mindset sees the opportunity in every difficulty. This has allowed me to be able to see the bright side of every situation and see the best in other people.

My grandma has always encouraged me to be the best, most authentic version of myself. The most important thing a person can have is integrity how they carry themselves, treat others, and accept and value themselves. Because of her, I strive to live by these principles and treat others the way she’s treated me. It’s not about my individual achievements or successes I’ve had; what’s more important is the character I’ve built and the respect I’ve shown to both myself and those around me.

Although I will be moving away next year for college and my grandma won’t be the same 10-minute drive away, the lessons she has taught me will be a part of all the choices I make throughout each day, and in that way, she will always be guiding me despite the distance between us.

I am incredibly grateful for my grandma and the lessons she has taught me. She has shown me how to appreciate the small moments in life, and through that reflection, I’ve come to realize how thankful I am for her. My advice to others is to recognize and appreciate the people who support and care for you. Take time to notice the kindness in those around you, and express your gratitude for them. Thank you!

SAMMY

GHAZLI ’25

For as long as I can remember, I’ve always known how to swim. Since I first learned how to swim in PreK, I’ve spent so many hours in the water. Spending my summer vacations on the beaches of El Jadida, Morocco, my mom’s home city, meant that every summer was spent by the ocean. I still remember diving into the cold Atlantic waters while laughing with my cousins as we tried to knock each other off our pool floats.

I remember standing at the tide as I watched the horizon stretch out before me. This infinite line where the sky meets the sea seemed to go on forever. No matter how far I swam, that distant line never got any closer. I never thought about what it meant on a deeper level at the time; I was just soaking in every moment the feel of the brisk water on my skin and the sound of the waves hitting the sand.

Those early days on the beach were just pure childhood fun. I never thought about my future or where I was headed. In fact, the only future I thought about then was whether I was having couscous or calamari for lunch that day. I simply just enjoyed what was around me. I was content with the present and immersed in the innocent joy of swimming and playing with my cousins.

When I got older and finally entered high school, I began to see things in a completely different perspective. The same horizon that was always out of reach for me in Morocco, started to reflect my thoughts about the future. My mind began to wander and think about incoming grades, colleges, and life beyond these familiar shores. It once again felt like I was chasing something that I could clearly perceive in the distance, but no matter how hard I pushed myself, it remained just a little bit further away.

High school has been filled with moments like this for me. There have been times when everything felt overwhelming and the future seemed like an endless stretch of unpredictable possibility. I felt like I was swimming against strong currents as I pushed myself through challenges that I never expected. Yet, in those moments, I found a strange comfort in knowing that I was still moving forward, even if I couldn’t see exactly where I was going.

These instances made me recount the summers by the ocean in Morocco, not because I was trying to reach that elusive horizon, but because I loved the journey that was paired with it. The beach taught me to enjoy the present and to let the lessons and memories from these moments wash over me like the tide. I learned that sometimes you have to simply be in the water, feeling every wave and every current, rather than obsessing over how far you have to go.

Now, as I stand here a few months before walking with my peers at the Hayward House for graduation and my final day as a Tower Hill student, I finally see that horizon as a symbol of promise instead of the unachievable. This line reminds me that life is not about rushing to reach the finish line. It is about every step, every challenge, and every quiet moment along the way. The horizon will always be there, a constant presence that keeps me moving forward, even if I will never quite grasp it.

I realize that the ocean and its endless horizon have taught me something essential. They proved to me that true progress isn’t measured by how quickly or efficiently you reach your goal, but by how much you grow along the way. Every day in the water, every challenge I faced, and every laugh shared with my cousins contributed to the person I am today.

Whether you’re just beginning your high school journey or about to say your final goodbye to it, remember this: the horizon will always be ahead of you. It isn’t a finish line to be conquered. It’s a reminder that life is about the journey and the company with you: the experience of swimming through calm waters and rough waves alike with your peers. Embrace every moment because in the end it’s not the distance you’ve traveled, but the depth of the journey that shapes who you become.

GABRIELLA “ELLIE” CLAIRE YEN GINSBURG ’25

To anyone out there who needs to hear this, I see you, and I hear you. And I want to tell you: take that risk, take that challenge, and don’t be afraid to take chances. This is what I wish I were told many years ago. But it is easier said than done. As someone who has struggled with anxiety for a very long time, you begin to wonder and question yourself. Why can’t I be normal like everyone else? I always used to think that maybe next year would be my year. There was always a next time in my head. But it always ended up the same, I was still the same person I always was and nothing changed. Because nothing changes when you stay inside your comfort zone. The comfort zone is a nice place to be but nothing happens inside of it. In order to do something, you really want you have to be willing to make that change even if that means stepping outside of your comfort zone. I would hear this all the time and it really agitated me. Because well, it’s not as easy as that. You begin to overanalyze things, you overthink and those things are what keep you awake at night, and it’s a vicious cycle that will eat you alive. Even though it’s not easy to step out of your comfort zone, there is some truth to that saying.

It took me a long time up until my junior year in fact to really answer that question for myself. I did so by actually taking risks and looking fear right in the face. The only way to get through something is not around it, but straight through it. I always avoided things that made me uncomfortable, but I achieved the most success when I actually decided to do the things that scared me. I’ve begun to love doing things that scare me or challenge me. For example, doing the musical, even though I hated being on stage, I wouldn’t let that get in the way of me wanting to sing and dance. I have always wanted to see myself up on stage singing and dancing, which is what I loved the most, but in order to do that I needed to take one more step and actually audition. I know some things may seem scary, and I wouldn’t be telling the truth if I didn’t say that not everything goes as planned. Messing up is the scariest part, but it is okay to mess up because it only helps you grow and learn how to do better. Even though making mistakes was very scary to me, I won’t let that fear stop me from trying and trying again.

Of course, I still get major anxiety, but I’ve learned that anxiety is not necessarily a bad thing. It helps me prepare, and most importantly it’s what makes me human. I know for a fact everyone in this room has felt a hint of anxiety in their life. It is honestly rare to find someone who thoroughly enjoys public speaking when they first try it. But with practice everything will start to flow more naturally and soon you can find yourself on the stage just like me right now. Of course, my anxiety never went away. It’s still with me and always will be with me. It was hard to accept that, but you begin to learn to be comfortable with it. Acknowledge it, know it’s there, but don’t let it stop you from achieving success. So, take that risk, take that opportunity, nail that audition, own that presentation, but most importantly, stay true to yourself and know that at the end of the day, the only thing stopping you, is yourself. You never know how something will go unless you try. Thank you.

NIDHI SEESANDRA GOWDA ’25

For most of my life, I’ve struggled with friendships. Making friends was easy enough. Keeping them was the problem. Something always seemed to cause us to lose touch, whether it was moving away, switching classes, or just growing up. However, there are two people who I’ve managed to stay friends with for as long as I can remember. Krisha is two years younger than me, and Shrika is seven years younger than me. We already knew each other pretty well because our moms are close friends from college, but we didn’t become close until quarantine because they were our neighbors and the only people our parents would let us hang out with. Almost every evening during that summer we’d walk to their house, go around the neighborhood and stay in their backyard until it started to get dark. In the following months, we learned almost everything about each other. We talked about our hobbies, favorite things, dreams, and more. And our walks continued so far into the year the sun began setting before we returned home. Even after spending hours on end together, we’ve never gotten bored of each other.

Now, with two of us in high school, our schedules are much busier, but we still make time for each other. We go on vacations together, we go to the beach together, and we even have sleepovers that can last from 7 p.m. to 4 p.m. Now that the reality of going to college next year has started to settle in, I’m realizing how much I’ll miss them. I’ll miss getting my mind off of all the stress of high school. I’ll miss playing cards and binging movies all night. And I’ll especially miss just being a five-minute walk away. And although they’re both much younger than me, I’ve learned a lot from them.

To Krisha, I’ll miss watching bad movies with you and playing games. It’s always easy to be myself around you. You’ve taught me not to take everything too seriously. You always manage to help me relax and put things into perspective. Especially the fact that high school isn’t about grades or achievements, but about finding who you are and finding the people you want to remain in your life for years after. For that, I thank you and I hope the rest of high school goes amazing for you. And I’ll always be just a call away.

To Shrika, I’ll miss all of your crazy and long-winded stories about school. Even if I suspect that you’re lying half the time, they always manage to entertain me. And I hope you call me every once in a while and tell me everything. You’ve taught me to be more imaginative and curious about the world. Being friends with someone who’s in a completely different stage of life has been eye opening and has taught me to enjoy being a kid more often.

Before I knew it, Krisha and Shrika became not only my closest friends but sisters to both me and my actual sister, not that anyone can replace her. They are the first friends I’ve considered family, and their nearly constant presence in my life makes it so much better. When I leave for college, I’ll miss being just a five-minute walk away, but when I do come home, you’ll have even more stories to tell and even more lessons to teach me.

BRENDAN JAMES VANCE GRANIERI ’25

For most of my teen years, I was not much of a reader. My Kindergarten self would be appalled by this; learning to read was one of my favorite things growing up, the accumulation of knowledge was fascinating to my young mind. In only a couple years I quickly graduated from singing my ABCs to reveling in stories of adventure, mystery, history. Fiction or nonfiction, whatever the subject, I would read it. However, for whatever reason, that passion for reading stalled out on me in Middle School. Reading became a chore, and I lost the sense of enjoyment I had once felt from it.

If assigned reading had become my poison, summer reading was entirely the bane of my existence. Reading became a pain rather than a pleasure, with monotonous book reports to do every summer. Being forced to read literature I had little interest in, year after year, wore down on my love for the pastime. I expected this feeling to be with me for the rest of my school life, my interest in reading forever lost, my attention span for books shot from years of disdain. However, it was an assigned reading that began to turn things around.

The summer before my junior year here, in preparation for Haunted Minds, I was assigned to read and annotate Dracula by Bram Stoker. I was ready for it to be another drag on my limited summer relaxation time, but, when reading the book in chunks, I found that I was actually being drawn into the story. Something about the contrast between the dreary atmosphere of Castle Dracula and the sunny summertime weather captivated me. I read indoors, outdoors, at home, on the beach, in the car, anywhere. I find that not only do I have a positive memory of the book and its story, but that I now also have a fond memory of the time I spent reading. I look back at reading on the beach under the summer sun, learning of Renfield eating flies in his dark asylum cell, while at the same time listening to the crash of the waves on the sandy shore. Dracula is my favorite book, not only because of its captivating story of a fight against ancient evil, but because it was the first book that led me to find my enjoyment of reading again.

After Dracula, for the first time in what seemed like forever, I found myself actually seeking out a next book to read, landing on Wuthering Heights. I felt I would stick to the gothic horror genre as, after all, it was what had rekindled my interest in reading. I had developed a love for the atmosphere found in such novels, and Wuthering Heights did not disappoint. The depressing and doomed relationship of Catherine and Heathcliff was both captivating and foreign to me just as Dracula was.

Does this mean, from now on, every single book I pick up, I can enjoy reading? No, definitely, definitely not, this is not the story on how I became the biggest reader in the whole world after one single book. Though, it is the story of how one book opened my mind to reading again. What I have found, about reading, is that if I go into the book with the mentality of “I don’t want to read”, then somehow, without fail, the book tends to not be enjoyable. Additionally, if I put off my reading work and plan to do it all, read and annotate an entire book, in one sitting, then somehow it tends to feel like the most boring and drawn-out story ever. I’m glad I gave Dracula a chance to wow me, and I’m glad it returned the favor by restoring my interest in books.

HANNAH MARIE GRAVELINE ’25

For years, my sisters and I begged our parents to get a dog, as if having three kids wasn’t enough of a challenge for them. When I was six, they relented. We visited an animal rescue to meet a three-year-old black and tan dog named Stevie Wonder. The rescue manager told us that he would be the perfect dog if he wasn’t blind. It was then we heard his life story. He had been in the rescue system since birth, shuffled from state to state, solely because he was blind. The families that had fostered him, raved about what a great dog he was. He was smart, trainable, cute, and lovable. Families interested in adopting a dog, only saw his disability. We only saw his cheerful spirit and puppy charm. He convinced my family and me that he was the perfect dog for us.

It was clear from the first day that Stevie was fearless and unafraid to try new things. He doesn’t know he has a disability, so he just leads the life he wants without any reservations. My first memory of Stevie is seeing him run full speed into a koi pond at the rescue. He made a huge splash, and got some laughs until he quickly realized that he had no idea how to swim and immediately had to be saved. After being rescued, Stevie had no problem continuing to run around and seemed to have no fear of falling back in the koi pond. When we took him home later that day, he was just as courageous in our backyard. After we gave him a bath in his new dog pool (because as you can tell he loves the water), he started to explore the backyard. He started out fairly cautious. While gaining in confidence, maybe too much confidence, he ran full speed and head first into our garage. While he was definitely shaken up, a little embarrassed, and possibly concussed, he immediately bounced back up and started to run around as if nothing had happened. He’s definitely mastered how to rebound from mistakes in his life and smart enough to remember where the garage is because he never ran into it again. It was clear to me that he had an unwavering spirit for adventure and was never going to let mistakes or obstacles stop him from doing what he wanted. He has taught me to be unafraid of failure, and that to achieve my goals I must learn from my mistakes and not dwell on them.

His confidence extends to all areas of his life, including run-ins with larger dogs. While most small dogs are intimidated by larger, stronger, and faster dogs, Stevie doesn’t seem to feel this way. He lives his life believing that he can compete with any dog, of any size. It is definitely entertaining to watch Stevie stand his ground against dogs that he would have no chance against. His confidence has taught me that you must believe in yourself, go after what you want in life, and not let fear or intimidation stop you. His experiences have also taught me it’s smart to invest in swimming lessons… and probably self-defense classes, too.

Stevie is now 15 years old. He is much less of an instigator around other dogs and has developed a more reserved and relaxed role in life. My sisters and I like to say that he could give a masterclass in how to become a couch potato. My dad, who is always quick to defend his favorite child, claims that Stevie isn’t resting, he’s preparing. The task for which he spends endless hours preparing is unknown. However, Stevie has shown me that sometimes it’s ok to just relax, take time to recharge and let yourself focus on what you love, even if that is sleeping all day.

While there are going to be a lot of changes in my life within the next year, I am excited for the new opportunities, and I hope to be just as courageous as Stevie when trying new things and adjusting to a different lifestyle. I think it’s important that we all remember to be resilient, pursue our passions and continue to strive for our goals, even if that means falling into a koi pond or running into a garage along the way.

SARAH ANNE GRAVELINE ’25

My family is the most important thing to me. They have always been there for me and loved me through everything. But this realization did not come without a cost. When I was younger, I threatened to run away from home many times. One of these times I went further than the rest.

I don’t remember why, but after Preschool one day I decided to leave my home. I packed up some clothes, a coat, and my babydoll Gia. On the way out of my house, I passed my twin sister who began crying and tugging at my clothes to try to get me back. Then, I passed my mom who was washing the dishes completely unbothered as if this happened every week. On the way out, I told my mom that I’d go find a family that actually loved me and planned on those being my last words to her.

I set off and started walking down my driveway with my Tinkerbell suitcase and all my money. I was finally on my own, able to do whatever I wanted and eat all the treats I wanted without the possibility of a time out. But as I walked down the driveway, my smile began to fade and my steps kept getting slower. My twin sister Hannah came running after and said that “mom says you only have 47 dollars and once you buy a happy meal you won’t have enough money for a hotel room tonight.” Once I got to the mailbox, her statement began to stick with me and I didn’t know where to go. I tried to think of who loved me more than my family, but no one came to my mind. Then I turned around to my twin who was continually begging and pleading with me to come back. Hannah happily escorted me back into our house and I went to my mom.

She immediately hugged me and told me that she loved me. To rub it in my face of my failed attempt to leave home my mom said, “Sarah next time you leave home, you need a better plan.” She asked Hannah to help me unpack my suitcase and for both of us to come down for our favorite snack. When my dad came back home from work and my older sister Rachel came home from school, they both gave me hugs and told me that they loved me after hearing about my escapades from the day.

Now, I couldn’t feel more differently than my five-year-old self. When I leave for college, I will reluctantly leave my home and people that love me the most. Thirteen years later and my epiphany of no one loving me more than my family remains true. My advice to everyone would be to not take advantage of your family’s unconditional love and your time with them. I also encourage you to find that person in your life that will drag you back from your terrible decisions and stay by your side through it all, even if they were forced to since birth.

HAYDEN LOXE GREGORY ’25

I’ve always loved challenges. They keep life exciting, they push me to grow, and they help me uncover strengths I didn’t know I had. But this summer, I decided to take on a different kind of challenge one that wasn’t tied to academics, sports, or my future success. This challenge was purely recreational: I set out to become a fisherman.

At first, I loved the thrill of reeling in my first few fish. But I found that fishing wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be. There were the usual annoyances: sunburns that left me peeling for days, swarms of mosquitoes, ticks, and the occasional hook in my finger. But the real challenge wasn’t the physical discomfort; it was my incompetence.

Sure, I could cast and reel in, but that’s about where my skills ended. I couldn’t tie a knot, untangle a bird’s nest, or safely unhook a fish. When I wasn’t catching anything, I didn’t enjoy fishing at all it just felt like a long, sweaty waiting game, where the grand reward for my hours of commitment was a singular croaker. But with each trip, things started to change. I learned how to tie knots, the subtle patterns of a fish’s feeding habits, and how to untangle a bird’s nest. With each day, my confidence grew, and I caught more fish. But before long, I realized that fishing wasn’t just about the moment a fish strikes. It was about everything else. Whether I was standing on the grassy banks of a crystal-clear river, miles from the nearest road, or sitting in a spider-infested, leaky boat surrounded by algae didn’t matter. I began to love the process, the patience, and the quiet.

In those moments, I found clarity. The world around me would dissolve into a symphony of chirping birds, rustling leaves, and rippling water. For a while, there was no homework, no deadlines, no notifications lighting up my phone, no pressure. Just me, the water, and a single simple goal.

Fishing is more than a hobby for me it is an escape. It gives me a chance to step away from the hustle of everyday life and rediscover simplicity. A chance to catch up with friends, make memories, and clear my mind. As I look back on this summer, I realize that the lessons I learned on the water aren’t just about fishing. They’re about finding joy in discomfort, growth in failure, and peace in moments of stillness. Life can be overwhelming at times, but maybe we all just need to take a step back, cast a line, and enjoy the quiet.

Thank you.

BODEN STINE HARVEY HANNA ’25

I’ve always had a need to be active. Ever since I was a young kid, sports have been that thing and I’m so grateful to have been introduced to such wonderful creations. The first sport I played was baseball, which I fell in love with instantly. The feeling I get when I play baseball is unmatched. One of the many things that drew me into sports was the team factor. Being on a team to me means having strong connections while still holding each other accountable. When an elite team is assembled, it really is beautiful. For example, I used to play for Piedmont, a little league baseball club in Hockessin. My dad was the head coach of the year I played for the Pirates. I played shortstop and outfield as well as a few other positions, many of which I do not remember. Overall, our team had the components to go all the way to the chip. Everyone was very good at their position and our team knew that. We had an extremely talented catcher that helped us win many games. I pitched the last two innings of the chip game and that was the game when I knew I wanted to be a pitcher. We ended up winning the championship that year, but it was experiencing everyone’s contribution to make a play, or score a run and work as a team that made it most amazing. At some point in my life, I discovered that sports were not only an activity for me, but an essential. I find that it allows for more critical thoughts and creates healthier relationships with ones who I care about. The physical outlet allows me to forget everything else in my life and focus on the team’s common goal, winning. Some may call it a meditation. When I’m on the pitch in soccer or out in the field in baseball, nothing else matters, which then opens my focusing abilities for work outside of sports. That either quick or long period of activity is always my favorite part of the day because to me it means playing for something bigger than myself, the team. It grants me a certain type of joy when I have my teammates back. I’m not sure when I first realized the effect sports had on me, but if God gives us gifts and talents, I do believe this is mine. Sports not only changed my mind for the better, but have also helped me mature and taught me a tremendous amount in order to grow.

Leadership, selflessness and always having your brothers back are the most important components of sports to me. Leadership in sports translates into other areas in life like leading a business. In a business, you need people with different skills, but a common goal. Selflessness is essential because allowing your teammates to shine will ultimately let your team be its very best. And having your brothers back has taught me how to respect people. These qualities translate to all aspects of my life and I am grateful for the experience that sports have and will give me in the future. For 93% of us, this will be our final opportunity to participate in organized team sports. So let’s make the most of it.

ANNABEL JOY HEHIR ’25

Nature was my first classroom.

Before I ever sat at a desk or held a pencil, I became fascinated with the world around me. When I was just four years old, I went to preschool at the Audubon Nature center in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, where I lived at the time. Ninety percent of each day was spent outdoors, whether it was a warm, sunny day or frigid with three feet of snow. I remember waddling into school, bundled up from head to toe, my little legs barely able to move.

In the late winter, when the snow started to melt, we’d tap maple trees for sap and make our own maple syrup. We’d hike down to the big pond in the spring, our bellies on the dock as we reached our hands into the water, searching for frogs or insects. I remember learning my animal tracks, and the excitement of discovering that no, it wasn’t a puppy but a fox that had trekked through my backyard the night before.

I was never afraid of any animal, for better or worse. If a snake approached me, I probably would have tried to give it a hug. I’d collect insects and create little homes for them in my backyard, and I’d yell at anyone who tried to kill a spider, explaining how their lives are just as important as ours and how they are way more scared of us than we are of them. I didn’t know it then, but the forest had begun to shape how I view the world, the people around me, and myself.

As I grew, so did my love for nature. I graduated from exploring forests to scaling cliffs, rafting rivers, and hiking mountains. What once started as curiosity turned to passion. Hiking became my way of staying connected to that little girl who once spent her mornings collecting worms after a thunderstorm so they didn’t get squashed. The outdoors became my safe space, a place where I always felt grounded, clear headed, and free. But it also became a tool for me to challenge myself, push my body and mind to their limit.

Over the past several summers, I’ve hiked in New England, Yellowstone, the Sierra Nevadas, Yosemite, Norway, and Iceland. With a group of other kids my age, and two counselors, we would hike for two weeks carrying all of our belongings on our backs, no phone, and sparse access to bathrooms or showers. Yes, you heard that right. No phone for two whole weeks. One summer, while my parents and brothers chose to spend their summer vacation enjoying the coast of Spain and France, I elected to backpack across Norway. I vividly remember scaling a steep portion of the Laugavegur trail with thirty pounds of gear on my back. Despite the freezing rain sending chills through my bones and the aching in my legs, I had never felt more happy. It was invigorating, exciting, and freeing.

While most people probably would not choose to spend weeks hiking and sleeping in tents, or pick up a spider with their bare hands, everyone can find ways to enjoy and appreciate our beautiful world. Whether that’s taking a walk through your neighborhood, listening closely to the birds singing in the morning, or watching waves crash on the beach, nature has a way of bringing out the best in us. So I encourage everyone to take the time to reconnect, not just with the outdoors, but with the pieces of ourselves that get lost in the noise of daily

life. Because when we step outside, we often step back into who we are: curious, compassionate, and deeply connected. In a world that moves fast, nature invites us to slow down, pay attention, and remember what really matters.

BRIDGET CAROLE HEINLE ’25

I love the holidays! Now I know what you may be thinking, “Yeah, the holidays are great. You get off school for a bit and you get to just relax with no stressors.” But if you know me at all you know that I take the holidays very seriously! Of course I have my favorites and yes they do correlate with some of our longer school breaks, like Thanksgiving and Christmas. But I love all of the holidays that I celebrate, whether it’s the Fourth of July, Valentine’s Day, Easter and so much more.

I still remember in Lower School when everyone in the class would bring in a treat for each person and put it in their Valentine’s Day themed bag. Or the endless years of Easter egg hunts in my cousin’s backyard in Scranton. I hold onto the memories of the Fourth of July fireworks at Wilmington Country Club with my friends. And no matter what time of the year it is there is always a holiday to look forward to.

When I was younger, I wasn’t thinking that I liked the holidays for any reason in particular I was just thinking that they were a lot of fun and I got some cool gifts. But as I got older, I started caring more about the gifts that I was giving people and less about the gifts I was receiving. I started to cherish the moments that I get to spend with my family whether it was around our Christmas tree (which needs to be a real tree not a fake one) or finding the Elf on the Shelf that I still like to move around the house. I hold onto the times my grandma and I would make poppy seed bread for Thanksgiving, and I look forward to continuing that tradition with my mom. And when getting through the long fall season, I will escape by thinking about the lights that will soon be lit in Greenville on my drive home from school, and my endless days planning and baking the various cookies for the winter season with my dad. Even after the Christmas season is over New Years is right around the corner ready to be celebrated.

I look forward to decorating my house in whatever theme is for each season, and sometimes arguing with my mom over when it is appropriate to decorate for Christmas versus Thanksgiving. But really who isn’t already in the winter mood by Thanksgiving? I wait patiently for Black Friday and Cyber Monday so I can buy all of my Christmas gifts on sale, and I meticulously plan each of my family’s gifts in the leading months. Now as I get older and my brother is off in college, I am anxious for him to come home and visit us for the holidays.

So I want to leave you with a few of the lessons I’ve learned through my love of the holidays. First, some of you may not like the winter season as a whole, because it is cold and feels like it goes on forever, but I hope that you will re-think of it as a time to reflect on some of the holidays you may have just celebrated and be able to look forward to those memories the next year. Second, I encourage you to spend as much time with your family as possible during the holiday seasons. For us as seniors, next year we will only really be able to see our families on the holidays and I think that it is so important to show them how much you appreciate and care about them while we are still at home. I think that family is the most important thing that we have; they are the people who are always going to be there for you and the holidays are a perfect time to show them how much they mean to you. And finally, I want you to go out and look for that thing that is important to you. For me, it is the holidays

because of all of the memories and moments I get to spend with my family and friends during those times. But for you, it could be something completely different and just as important and interesting. Whatever it is, find your version of the holidays and hold the memories you have of it close because you never know when you might need to escape to a glimpse of pure joy.

BENJAMIN ALEXANDER HEISTER ’25

There have been a lot of historically bad professional teams throughout sports history. You have your 0-16 Cleveland Browns, the 7-59 Charlotte Bobcats but I don’t think there will ever quite be a team like the 2021–2022 Tower Hill Men’s JV basketball team. Finishing with a whopping record of 2-17, with both wins coming against the mighty… Wilmington Christian Warriors, our team wasn’t just bad we were downright awful.

Our first game of the season set the tone. We played Malvern Prep and gave up 40 points in the first quarter alone. We ended up losing 77–22, and that’s after they put in their worst players for three-quarters of the game. But even that disaster doesn’t come close to the low point of the season: Seaford, away. Those who know the game I’m talking about know the game I’m talking about.

Now, it’s already intimidating to walk into a gym two hours away, with bleachers full of rowdy fans screaming profanities and trash talk before you even sit down. But coming in with a record of 1-3, our spirits weren’t exactly high to begin with. We left the court that night with a 48–8 loss hands down, our worst beatdown of the season. Everything that could have gone wrong, went wrong. I watched one teammate get his ankles absolutely broken, another get booed off the court after airballing three free throws in a row, and about a million open layups clank off the rim. Honestly, I still have PTSD from that game.

And it wasn’t just the games practices were rough. Tensions were high, kids were breaking out into full-on fights, and it felt like everyone was miserable. The only thought running through my head was, “Oh my gosh, when will this be over? I just want to go home.”

It’s not an exaggeration to say we were one of the worst teams in Tower Hill history.

Now, despite how it might sound, the point of my speech isn’t to stand here and trash on this high school basketball team though, believe me, I could rant for hours. Because no matter how much it sucked, no matter how much I wanted the season to end, looking back now, I only remember the good things.

And honestly? There’s nothing I wouldn’t give to go and relive it all.

Because even though we lost almost every game, what we gained was so much more valuable: the memories that will last a lifetime. The jokes on bus rides. The stupid arguments during practice, and the moments when we couldn’t stop laughing, even while getting crushed on the scoreboard because let’s face it, watching your friend airball a three over the backboard in the middle of an actual game is always hilarious, no matter what the score is.

It’s funny looking back now; at the time, all I wanted was for the season to be over. But now, all I want is to go back and experience it all over again.

The truth is, no matter how bad something might seem in the moment, it gets better. And sometimes, the moments that feel the hardest end up being the ones you miss the most.

Our record might have been 2–17. We might have only beat one other school all season. But the memories we made were undefeated, and I will forever enjoy reminiscing over every second of this season. Sometimes, the toughest seasons teach us the most valuable lessons: how to laugh through failure, how to appreciate every moment, and how to find joy even when things don’t go your way. That’s what truly matters and that’s what will last a lifetime. Thank you.

MARGARET “GRETA” MARIE HENRY ’25

I love to run. Ever since I joined cross country in 7th grade, I have welcomed the feeling of being free, being outside and the need to focus on each and every breath. As a 12-year-old, I enjoyed running but I never truly learned how to run. It wasn’t until my junior year of high school that I found my passion for the sport. Every year on the first day of field hockey preseason, in order to prove we had stayed in shape during the summer, we had to attempt to complete a sub 16 minute two mile run. All three years of field hockey, my greatest accomplishment of the season was being able to run the two miles in under 16 minutes, particularly because I was not very good at playing the sport. Determined to improve at field hockey, I stuck with the sport until my junior year, when I received a concussion when I ran into another player’s stick, causing me to lose my memory of the event. To this day, I am not really sure how I received the injury. Piecing together stories from my teammates, I eventually learned that I came off the field completely delusional laughing and crying simultaneously, causing them to laugh with me out of confusion. Unable to play contact sports for months on end, I defaulted to running everyday as my new form of exercise. My long runs through the Brandywine Creek State Park became so enjoyable that as the spring sports season approached, and my concussion protocol was lifted, I decided to switch from soccer to track. During this spring season, I fell in love with the sport. Running became the highlight of my day and I looked forward to my daily runs. My love of track and the running community convinced me to join cross country in the fall. Although I miss my friends and coaches from the field hockey team, I made the right decision. Cross country has brought me so many memorable experiences this fall, from freezing for days on a team camping trip in the Poconos to drudging with my friends on long runs in the 90 degree heat. I am so thankful for the coaches and friends that I have made through this sport. I loved playing field hockey, but I struggled to see that it wasn’t a sport for me. It took an obstacle in life, my concussion, to force me to pivot to a new sport that I now feel I can achieve greater success. Sometimes your greatest obstacle can become your greatest gift. If it was not for my concussion in field hockey, I may never have tried track or cross country. An injury that seemed devastating to me at the time, turned out to be a gift. The concussion forced me to move out of my comfort zone and pushed me to try something new. That something new became my new passion. You never know what life has in store for you. In the very famous words of Ferris Bueller, “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.” Thank you.

HANNAH GRACE HUNT ’25

Silence.

The quiet hum of the A/C. The sound of felt tips on paper. The clicks of fingertips on a keyboard.

The sounds we forget are there, the sounds we ignore because we’re scared of what’ll happen if we face them. With the stress of midterms, it’s easy to forget the quiet, the simple things that make us happy. I do sometimes.

I get so caught up in doing well, calculating and recalculating what I need to get on a midterm to keep my grade. And even when I try to take a break, I spend it stressing about my work and then that leads to me stressing about how I was stressed during my break. Maybe I’m not good enough. Maybe I can’t be good at everything. What will others think of me? What will my parents think? If I can’t get the right grade, am I even worthy of anything at all?

It’s hard to ignore that little voice in your head. It’s harder to ignore the noises of the world. For me, at least, I think it’s because I was scared of my own mediocrity. I felt that to be worthy of doing something, I needed to be one of the best in that area. I was scared of painting because I am not Picasso. I think in general we don’t dance in public because we’re scared we might look weird. We don’t seek help because we’re afraid people will know we’re not good at something. We don’t pour our hearts out because we’re scared our voices might shake. We’re scared of ruining the illusion that we are great at everything.

But, we forget that there’s beauty in simply existing. The quiet hum of the A/C. The sound of felt tips on paper. The clicks of fingertips on a keyboard. The songs of birds in the morning. The whistle of our breath. Breathing in. Breathing out. Nature does not worry about being the best, it simply exists. Our existence is enough proof of our worth.

So, let’s make a promise. Let us be kinder to ourselves when we don’t do as good on a test as we wanted. Let us dance when we want to dance, seek help when we need it, sing badly to our favorite songs, tell our family and friends that we love them, and watch the silent beauty of the clouds on a rainy day. I don’t have to be afraid to be human. I should be patient with myself and find joy in making friends but also in solitude. My obstacles are nothing compared to my connections with myself, my family, and my friends. Because with every breath I confirm that I am alive, I am here, and I am far from finished.

RITVIK CHANDRASEKHAR IYENGAR ’25

I have a twin brother. Most of you know him as happy, kind, tall other positive adjectives. But that could not be further from the truth.

It all started back when we were two years old. Back then, to keep us contained when they were busy, our parents used to trap us in a cage made out of pillows, couches, and other pieces of furniture. Being the genius that I was, I figured out how to escape. I simply pushed one of the pillows away, crawled through, and then, to hide my escape, put it back. Of course, this meant abandoning my brother in the cell, but it was fine because I could taste the sweet air of freedom, which was definitely worth it. My brother, upon realizing that I had left, began wailing loudly, alerting our parents, who quickly picked me up and put me back in the pen. This went on for quite a while until my parents, stuck on how I kept escaping, put a camera in the room, and eventually blocked my exit.

But that was only the beginning. There have been many examples of my brother messing up my life.

Back in fourth grade, we were taking soccer penalties on each other, and I hit his finger with the ball. He started crying, so our mom told us we had to go home. And then we had to stop at MedExpress because he had something called a “digital fracture.” And then, even though it was his finger that was broken, I got yelled at for kicking the ball too hard.

Or that other time when we were playing a game in Middle School, I made up, called indoor-tackle basketball. During one of our more intense games, I slammed his head on the piano, and then my parents yelled at me and banned the game because apparently “it wasn’t safe” and also because they had to take him to get stitches at the emergency room at one in the morning.

Or lastly, when, just a couple of months ago, he beat me in a game of Rocket League, so I stole the mattress off his bed and hid it in a closet on the other side of the house. My brother proceeded to complain to our mother that he couldn’t sleep because he had no bed, so I had to put it back, make the bed, and even give him back the Nintendo Switch I stole.

Looking back on all of this, I sometimes wonder: Why is my brother so annoying? What did I do to end up with him? Why did he have to cry after breaking his finger? And why couldn’t he just accept that I was better than him at Rocket League and make his own bed like an adult?

But the truth is, even though he may annoy me, he is what makes my life so much fun. Without him, there would be no indoor tackle basketball, no penalty shootouts, and no stolen mattresses.

I have been at Tower Hill for just under nine years now, and throughout my senior year I have slowly realized that my time here is coming to an end. My last sports game is a couple of days away, my last music concert was last week, and my last time getting to school on time was most likely today.

Likewise, I have lived with my brother for just over 18 years. And a lot of my time with him is coming to an end. Even though some of it can be annoying, like every day when he walks into my room, says “who are you talking to,” and then after I respond with “no one,” leaves without closing the door, most of my time with my brother, I wouldn’t trade for anything. All the car rides to school, all the times I begged him to help me with my physics homework, and all the time we spent laughing at our respective senior speeches have made me realize that I will miss him.

So, seniors and really everyone else my advice is this:

Spend more time with your quote unquote brother. Someone who can make you laugh and cry like no one else. It doesn’t have to be a sibling, but just find that one person. Because someday, you’ll leave the little pen you have been forced into by your parents and miss the guy crying inside.

Thank you.

ROSHAN CHANDRASEKHAR IYENGAR ’25

It was a still morning in Doswell, Virginia, on April 27th, 2024, exactly one year and one day ago. The sky was as clear as glass, and the sun was unrelenting in its pursuit to fry everything it could see. Stepping out of the bus to kick off the 2024 Music trip at the King’s Dominion amusement park, several of my wonderful peers and I had no idea we were about to embark on a life-changing adventure; a search for a lost city whose legend and mystery rivals that of Atlantis itself. This is the story of the journey to Soak City.

In the afternoon, after our musical performances, we encountered our call to action. The heat was almost unbearable at this point, and it felt like it was going to just get worse. Finding shade or going indoors were NOT options because that’s boring, and even though we were encouraged by our teachers on more than one occasion to bring sunscreen or some sort of sun protection, none of us had any. So, we decided our only option was to get wet. Very wet. Soaked, even. My friend pulled out his map and declared that we should head towards some waterpark that was on the opposite side of the park. And thus began our long, arduous walk to the promised land. With every random carnival game that we lost, and every children’s ride that we rode along the way, our arms grew heavier, our knees weaker, and our perspiration more intense.

As we got closer, we began to see the city’s magnificence. The waterslides, pools, and lazy rivers were calling our names, beckoning us, drawing us towards them as though they were sirens. But when we arrived the gate was closed and locked. The city was noticeably empty. With nothing to guide, the river water flowed solemnly, and not a single ripple could be found among the untouched pools. A sign in small lettering on the fence told us the gates wouldn’t open until May. Soak City was closed. This realization was devastating, to put it mildly. There was nothing I ever wanted more, and now, I couldn’t have it. Without Soak City, dying of heat exhaustion was certainly on the table. I even considered climbing over the gate just so I could reach what I thought was my destiny.

Just then, however, I heard one of my friends whispers under his breath, “No. We create our own destiny.” This line, probably straight out of a Disney movie, actually gave us the motivation to keep going, and find another way to get wet. We pulled our maps back up, searching for any attraction that involved water. A log flume ride was fortunately just a few hundred feet away, and we swiftly made our way to it. Upon riding it once, we were blessed with the most refreshing douse of water that there ever was. So, we rode it again. And then again, and then several more times. After riding it for more times than I can remember, it was time to head back to the bus. Marveling at the log flume ride for the very last time, my friend turned to me with tears in his eyes and proclaimed, “We found our own Soak City.”

In life, we experience similar stories. You will, at least at some point, tirelessly work through pain and anguish to reach a promised and deserved reward, only to come up short due to something out of your control. But you mustn’t give up there and let bad luck decide your fate. WE create our OWN destinies. So, stay at the helm of your life’s ship, steer your way through the waves of random chance and unpredictability, and I promise you, eventually, you’ll find your own Soak City. It might not look as amazing or have as many rides as the original,

but the happiness it brings you through its perfectly refreshing water will be so immense you wouldn’t trade it for the world. And in the end, as you recount your experience on the bus ride home, you’ll realize that you’re grateful Soak City was closed that day, because the little, almost unnoticeable log flume ride hidden in the park’s back corner meant more to you than Soak City itself ever could. Thank you.

PASHA JADALI ’25

Mauve. Nancy. Agitated. Deborah. Irritation. Irrigation. Violet. Cut out the words, arrange by category, and glue to a page. Finding the categories in these matching exercises was not always as simple as it seemed. There were red herrings, like irrigation, which looks and sounds similar to irritation (which was how I was feeling) but has nothing to do with it. Busy work like this made me tense as I struggled with the impulse to run away to my room, but I got to work as best as I could. I cut them out sloppily and glued them down spitefully. When I was done, the paper was warped and misshapen. My dad held it up and said, “I know you can do better,” and I responded, “This assignment is stupid!”

The conversation soon escalated to a cacophony of screams me insisting the assignment was pointless, my dad saying sloppiness was disrespectful to the teacher not one of us really listening to what the other had to say. That night I passed out from exhaustion. The next night, after painfully silent drives to and from school, I tossed and turned anxiously. I felt trapped in an endless loop. Maybe my dad did too.

Hoping to have something else to talk to my dad about, I asked if I could build a desk for myself. He had learned my stubbornness through time and saw the same here, so knowing he had to make sure it was done right, he drove me to Lowes. During the car ride we talked about the hot-swapping mechanism and casters. There was frustration when our vocabulary proved inadequate to describe our inventions, in an effort to clarify our ideas we sketched our ideas visually. Drawing our plans is a technique we have learned to keep things civil and explain ourselves better; putting it in a universal language (English is his second language and we were both new to woodworking). We would later recognize this as a way to subvert arguments.

New to woodworking, we had to learn through our projects together. Before redoing the garage, we watched videos about drywall. This filled me with nearly as much “irritation” and “agitation” as “mauve” and “Nancy.” All I wanted was to start cutting and drilling. I thought those videos were boring; like Bob Ross explaining stud spacing and spackling in his classic meditative voice.

As an independent-minded thirteen-year-old, I thought, “Just let me do it.” My dad, trying to ensure the project went well, gave his advice: “Measure twice, cut once” and “Put 45 degree pieces under the top.” Resisting my impulsive nature and listening to what my dad said helped me understand he had my best interests in mind and helped me build the strong bond I have with him today. I was initially reluctant towards his advice because I remembered our early fights. They had built a wall between us but I realized he had changed and I was ready to do the same.

Miter. Nail. Aftermath. Depth. Improve. Improvise. These words make up my and my dad’s matching game. Words of construction not only physically but also of our relationship. The same frustration I had with the matching game is apparent in these words but towards the end, the fruits of our frustration showed as improvement. We still sometimes have moments when our voices raise and we need to think on our feet about how to de-escalate. But these moments are now fueled by the excitement of our projects together. While we didn’t quite line up before, we now have the tools to speak, to match, to draw things out, and to understand one another.

SAAHIL KATTEPOGU ’25

When confronted with the grand beauty of the entire world, copied infinitesimally in the grasp of endless time, and teeming with enough uniqueness to fill billions of lifetimes, social anxiety can feel like enough of a reason to shut it all out. But, like a beast from a fairy tale, it can be slain by an unlikely hero. Nihilism!

This is a conclusion that I came to during one of my many philosophical deep dives. I love philosophy. Thinking deeply about purpose, reason, ideals all of it is endlessly fascinating to me. Back in freshman year, I said some nihilistic things to a certain group of people while on a trip, and in response, they expressed profound curiosity (which might have just been dread that I mistook) in knowing what my senior speech would be about. So, in honor of them, my speech is going to be about nihilism.

In case anyone doesn’t know, nihilism is the belief that all human values are baseless, potentially because we build our viewpoints upon things which are not absolute, universal truths. There are many types of nihilism, most of which are viewed as negative because they eventually lead to problematic justifications for crime. And if anyone in the audience is worried, trust me, my speech is not going to justify crimes of any kind. Instead, I want to talk about how I reexamine and redefine nihilism in order to help me deal with my fears.

As I’m sure you all know, people are often inhibited by their fears. Fears of trying new things, fears of talking to crowds, fears of being embarrassed, fears of failure. As I’m sure you all also know, I am one of these people. Social anxiety plagued much of my middle school years, and kept me in a small bubble of people that included my family, a small handful of friends and myself. I admit that I was quite content inside my bubble it was pretty comfy as far as bubbles are concerned but in hindsight, I realize that it wasn’t doing me any good. Day in and day out, nothing really changed. My life was quite sedentary, and not too challenging. All because I was convinced that nobody wanted anything to do with me. Peers, teachers, everyone. But then I did something entirely out of character for me and went on a school trip with a bunch of strangers. I planned to stoically ignore them, but when I was exposed to their friendliness, I realized that my preconceived notions about how other people would treat me were entirely wrong. I’d founded so strong a belief on absolutely nothing at all, and it had kept me from having so much fun.

At this point, I fell into an existential crisis about my opinions, and came to the conclusion that I had made a mountain out of a molehill. I then told my group about this idea. I explained to them that, in the grand scheme of the universe, one shouldn’t keep themselves isolated based solely on the belief that people won’t like them. It won’t keep you safe from threats. If anything, it can unfairly keep you from experiencing some of the most amazing things and people you’ll ever encounter in life. I’d effectively practiced nihilism for good; I’d identified a baseless belief and done away with it… I then proceeded to tell the group that being scared of what-ifs in an indifferent universe whose scale infinitely dwarfs the tiny worries of mankind was downright silly. How they humored me, no one knows.

That would be my message to all of you, seniors especially. As we transition to a new phase in our lives brimming with new experiences, I implore you to not let yourselves be shackled with doubts and fears. If you see someone cool in a class, don’t be afraid to talk to them. If you want to try a new sport, don’t hesitate to sign up. If you wonder about whether or not people will judge your presentation, just know that it won’t matter when our sun expands and engulfs the entire planet in, like, five billion years. And if you’re curious about how many times I said nihilism in this speech, don’t be afraid to ask. It was eight.

ROWAN MATTHEW KEIM ’25

Failure. I asked some people here what their definition of failure is, and every single answer I got was really sad. As an example, “To me, failure is when I do not meet my expectations for my self image, and because of that, my image of self is degraded… failure is an erosion of my self-esteem, and to lower my selfesteem is a form of failure, creating a feedback loop…” I think this definition resonates with a lot of people here, and I used to see failure the same way. But then I took up climbing, and I realized something: in climbing, failure isn’t just expected… it’s necessary… aaaand slightly less depressing.

I primarily do what is known as bouldering, which involves short and very technical problems. You don’t use a rope for these because you stay so close to the ground, and fall on crash pads instead of being caught by a rope. When I am working on difficult bouldering problems, I fail quite often. I would say that out of a 120-minute session, 10 minutes are spent warming up, 50 minutes are spent failing, 50 minutes are spent resting and thinking about how you failed, and less than 10 minutes are spent succeeding. For a long time, I would see these failures as embarrassing and I would try my best to be able to send these problems very quickly, or not do them at all. This mindset severely limited my ability as a climber, so I decided to look around at what other people were doing. They were attempting, failing, laughing, failing and succeeding. They didn’t care about being embarrassed because they know that with each failure you move closer to the end goal… See, it’s not about how many attempts it takes you to send (or complete) a problem… you might not ever send it. That’s how it works… but the real success is the skills you build while failing.

Take for example a dynamic problem I was trying out. A dynamic climb is whenever you use momentum to move from hold to hold. And it required me to jump roughly two and a half meters (or 8 feet for you freedom unit users) from a squatting position, to grab a hold with one hand. From there I would try to minimize the swing, and then finish the problem. But it’s all at a 45 degree overhang. The jump was by far the hardest part, and I spent multiple sessions working on my technique, figuring out what the best angle was to grab the hold at, and perfecting the jump distance to minimize swing. I failed countless times, and one time I fell so hard that I actually knocked myself out on the landing. (I don’t think I suffered any head injuries but if I did… well it sure would explain a few things.) Now I’d like to tell you that in the end I was triumphant, that this is just another one of those “keep persisting and you can do anything” stories but nope. They took the set down, and I was left mildly inconvenienced and slightly annoyed that I would never be able to send it. But failing isn’t just about not completing a task, as I mentioned before. When trying some of the new problems, I found that my ability to move dynamically (exactly what the old problem had me practicing) was significantly better. I had always been a static climber, someone who doesn’t use momentum very much while climbing, and therefore tried to avoid dynamic problems if at all possible. But because of my work on improving my technique, I found myself succeeding much more often. I’m not perfect by any means, but we don't have to be.

Life is about failure, and I think that’s what our biggest mistake is as students. I know for at least me this school has unintentionally taught me that I should be the best at sports, the best at academics, and hardly ever fail. Because of this I never really learned to embrace failure, and I know it sounds cliché and like “oh just embrace

it and you’ll learn so much,” but failing actually is kind of amazing. So, I just have one request for y’all before you forget about this speech forever. As stupid as it sounds, try for one day to not think about failure as failing, but as getting closer to success. You don’t know how many failures it will take, but just keep trying, and in the end maybe you’ll succeed… or maybe someone will reset your problem so you don’t knock yourself out again.

HADLEY ANNA KOCH ’25

Sitting in my room at night, or staring off into space during long car rides, I often find myself reflecting on the things that have shaped my experiences, memories, and places that have always felt like home.

For me, one of those places is the beach. Whether it’s the sound of the waves crashing against the shore or the way the sun paints the sky at sunset, the beach has always had a way of grounding me.

Growing up, our family vacations to the beach with all my cousins, aunts and uncles, and grandparents were some of the most special moments of my life. My family vacations to the beach created some lasting memories that I will never forget.

Like the times my cousins and I would kick the parents out of the living room so we could all squeeze in to watch a movie at night, and as payback we would be woken up to the sound of the blender making smoothies at six a m , putting on a whole production to the song “Radioactive” at the Whitebrier karaoke bar in Avalon, needless to say the crowd loved listening to a bunch of little kids singing at their highest pitch. Or when we all sat on the deck and watched firefighters put out a fire at the house across the street then giving us our own limited edition plastic fire hats after. Our elementary school selves thought this was the coolest thing to ever watch. So, the entire rest of the trip we all talked about how we are going to grow up and all be firefighters together, in practice we ran across the house pretending to be putting fires out.

However, that quickly came to an end when the renters below us called our parents saying we were making too much noise.

I especially will never forget when all my cousins and I thought it was a great idea for our 12-year-old selves to sneak out and walk all over town. To this day I can remember how cool we felt, like we were spies for managing to sneak out of our grandparents’ house.

It wasn’t just the house, or the ocean that made these trips so memorable. It was the people I got to share those moments with, whether it was my cousins and I racing into the house to pick our bedrooms, the millions of iMovies we filmed, or even sitting on the roof at night and just laughing until our stomachs hurt (although we weren’t laughing when the neighbors across the street told our parents).

Whether my cousins and I would all line up and sprint into the ocean to see who lasts the longest without falling, or running from the beach back to our house to cannonball into the pool, there was always something magical about those moments.

The beach has this way of making everything feel a little lighter, a little easier. Though our big family vacations to the beach now occur on a rare occasion, just getting together at my or my grandparents’ house brings the

same level of laughter and enjoyment, especially the laughter and smiles I saw from them when I read this speech to them on Thanksgiving.

The beach reminds me that life doesn’t always have to be about moving fast or checking things off a list, it’s about slowing down, enjoying the moment, and making memories with the people you love. As I look ahead to the future, I know that the beach will always be a part of me. It’s more than just a place it’s a feeling of home. I’m grateful for every summer, every vacation, every laugh shared in that little beach house with the people who mean the most to me. It’s those moments that have shaped who I am today, and they will continue to guide me as I step into this next chapter in just a few short months.

As we head off in different directions, I hope you all find your own versions of the beach, places and people that remind you of the importance of taking a breath, slowing down, and cherishing the simple things in life.

MATTHEW “MATT” QUINN LAIRD ’25

It was Christmas morning, 2019. My house was full of music and laughter, and the excitement of the holiday hung in the air. A few gifts were still under the tree, and it was my turn to pick one. After a moment of indecision, I asked, “Which one should I open?” My mom and dad exchanged a knowing glance before handing me a rectangular box. As I tore off the wrapping paper, I saw two words that would change my life: Stephen King.

A couple of months earlier, I had been wandering through Costco’s book section while waiting for pizza from the food court. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, just skimming through the shelves, when a familiar name caught my eye. At the time, all I really knew about Stephen King was that he wrote IT, which had been adapted into my favorite movie. I picked up his latest book, The Institute, and asked my mom if I could get it. She refused, saying his books had too much adult content. And that was that, until fate stepped in on Christmas morning.

When I finally got my hands on The Institute, I couldn’t put it down. I stayed up past three a m. every night, completely hooked. The daytime felt like an obstacle keeping me from my book. All I wanted was to dive back into that eerie, thrilling world. That feeling of being fully consumed by a book is something I hadn’t experienced often, but when I did, it was like nothing else.

What started as a simple escape, grew into a passion. Reading became a way for me to find peace during busy or overwhelming times. That year alone, I read fourteen Stephen King books, each taking me to a new world. But reading wasn’t just about losing myself in stories. It became a way for me to connect with people. During long hikes with my parents, I’d talk nonstop, comparing our surroundings to places I had read about or asking my parents about books they loved. Even family members who weren’t big readers, like my grandma and sister, got pulled into my obsession.

In eighth grade, I took things a step further and started lending books to classmates with a seven-day deadline. It became a challenge to see who could finish these massive books in the shortest amount of time. I think the record was three days, although the winner’s comprehension was questionable.

When I think about my love for books, I always come back to something Stephen King said in his memoir On Writing. Books are “a uniquely portable magic.” A good book doesn’t just take you to another world, it makes you feel like you’re a part of it.

That Christmas gift didn’t just spark my love for reading, it helped me find an outlet. A place to let my guard down. Whether it’s books, art, music, or something else entirely, find your own outlet. Let it take you to some faraway place. Let it help you become the best version of yourself. Because sometimes the smallest moments, a gift, a book, a spark of inspiration, can have the biggest impact on the rest of your life.

HAOQI “CATHY” LI ’25

Try to not leave anyone behind. Oftentimes in cross country I am the one that my friends come back to make sure I’m not falling behind and that we can finish running together. In life, too, my friends make sure that I am not falling behind.

It always shocks me how friendships form. It is like one day you meet someone who is a stranger and you have no reason to care for them. But then, you connect, and you begin to think “Hmmm I like this person and I am going to actively choose to keep them in my life.” It’s strange how quietly that decision gets made, but how deeply it ends up mattering. You simply, genuinely, and mutually like each other as people. And that is so cool.

When I pay attention in my life, I can relive the moments walking into Mango Mango for dessert but the trip turned into a two-hour chat, sitting side by side in physics for a whole year when I am not even enrolled in the class, or forcing my friends to say “I’ll miss you” when goodbye comes. Friendship is waiting for someone when they’re tying their shoes, the ones that listen to you amidst a chaotic conversation, ones you wander around D.C. or just go through every NYT games every day with, or the one friend that you cannot stop dying laughing until your ribs hurt whenever you make a speech.

Friendship lives in shared glances, the way someone remembers your favorite song, in the way silence is never awkward when you’re spending time together. Sometimes it’s chaos. Sometimes it’s comforting. But it’s always real. It stretches and bends and evolves, but it doesn’t break when it matters most. It’s a kind of home you carry with you, even when you’re far apart.

I used to wonder what having a “best friend” really meant. I’ve never had that one constant person, the way movies or books describe. But over time, I realized friendship isn’t always about having just one person who fits every part of your life. Friends show up in different ways one can cheer you on for your accomplishments while the other gives you constructive criticism and pushes you to see a larger world. And all those different kinds of friendships matter just as much.

Friendships, too, can fade, it’s almost like holding onto something that’s slowly slipping through your fingers and that’s simply because people grow apart from each other. It’s just the natural stretch of time and growth. People change. Priorities shift. The version of you that matched so easily with them might no longer fit as seamlessly.

But when wrestling with time, life and friendship move on, but memories stay. When things like this happen, it’s just important that the good times you’ve had and the memories you’ve created with them will always be part of you. Even the ways you spoke the phrases, jokes, and little quirks you picked up from them will linger with you, woven into who you are.

Now, with college around the corner, new friends and new stories will come. But I just hope all of my friends find the same joy I did in growing older with people who feel at home. And I’m so grateful I’ve met people who made it possible to write a letter like this, allowing me to circle back every now and then for my friends, and for myself.

DANIEL

LIU ’25

“In your day-to-day life, what brings you the most joy?” I asked my friend, hoping for an insightful response. He leaned back, contemplated for a moment, and casually said, “Probably playing sports.” A straightforward answer. Naturally, I had to press him further. “And your long-term goals?” He confidently replied, “I want to improve my physical health.” As I scribbled down his response, I had no idea that this simple conversation would mark the start of a transformative journey for both of us one that involved a lot more than just sports and a surprising amount of… vegetables.

Flashback to my sophomore year: quarantine had left me with a few extra pounds, and my emotional state was as deflated as my enthusiasm for Zoom classes. Inspired by my friend's sports-driven goals and my desire to ditch my quarantine habits, I launched my grand experiment under the Social Innovators Program. Little did I know, this project would end up changing everything not just for me, but for a whole group of like-minded individuals.

In the beginning, I approached this like a mad scientist: collecting participants’ caloric intake, exercise routines, and dietary habits as if I were solving some grand mystery. But, unsurprisingly, it turns out most people (myself included) don’t enjoy logging every single calorie. Participation dwindled, and I quickly realized I had to pivot. I scrapped the detailed calorie counting and replaced it with general survey questions, while reducing the check-ins to just three times a week. Compliance improved and suddenly, we were back on track. As I dug deeper into the project, I became fascinated with how exercise impacts our brains how neurotransmitters like dopamine, endorphins, and the wonderfully-named endocannabinoids made exercise feel like a natural mood booster. I went from dreading runs to actually enjoying them, finding my place on the track team as I entered high school.

But the real surprise came when I noticed how much this project impacted others. One participant told me that the group helped him control his portion sizes. Another confided that he felt better not just physically, but mentally as well. A vast majority of our group reported improvements in their overall health.

And of course, there were bumps along the way. Midway through, a friend admitted he was struggling to keep up with the strict diet we had set. The solution? Cheat meals. Who knew that pizza could be used as a motivational tool? The following week, my friend returned with a smile, telling me that the cheat meals had restored his balance and his sanity.

Through research, I learned that support groups can significantly improve mental health a concept I had unknowingly tapped into. This project wasn’t just about weight loss or fitness; it was about resilience, emotional support, and lifting each other up when life gets tough. When my grandfather passed away suddenly, this group became my pillar of support, offering me the support I needed to navigate my grief. It was then that I realized this journey was about so much more than just physical health.

Even though our formal gatherings have long since ended, our group continues to support each other on the daily, often discussing new discoveries and sharing motivation. What began as a small project has grown into a community of support. Witnessing the positive changes in the lives of those around me has been deeply fulfilling. Through this experience, I’ve discovered that what brings me the most joy is helping others achieve their own happiness. If I could go back and tell my sophomore self how far this project would go, he wouldn’t believe it (and would probably still be avoiding his next run). Now, I’m eager to take these lessons even further. After all, real joy lies in helping others thrive and maybe sneaking in a cheat meal or two.

HENG “BRANDON” LIU ’25

I remember the first day my family and I arrived in America. Mom and Dad exhaled the breath they’d been holding in since our flight left Taiwan. Watching them, my sister and I must’ve released the butterflies that accompanied us in our tummies over the Pacific. I remember each breath we took of the crisp January air as we pulled our lives behind us in eight heavy suitcases. The sun hung like an ornament in the sky. The salted road crunched beneath us with each step. Snow brought a stillness to every shop and car. I remember our very first snowman two coins for its eyes, plastic spoons for its arms, a bottle cap for its mouth, a metal bowl for its cap, three gummies for buttons, and a scarf to tie it off. At age eight, that was the first time I had ever seen snow, let alone built a snowman.

Snow has an inexplicable way of illuminating life. After every snowfall, boughs and branches are emboldened beneath pure white, while fallen leaves are tucked in soft blankets above concrete sidewalks. Yet, the vibrant white of the snow exposes life from a different angle, too. Dad’s hair, once black, now blooms with silverywhite strands. Wrinkles that’ve carved themselves like tiny abysses beside Mom’s eyes become ever-visible. Every wintertime I am surprised by these features of my parents, of age, and of life that I can’t help but try to grasp onto the memory of our first month in this country, only to realize that there’s no more snowman with a metal cap and plastic arms at the doorsteps of that first hotel we called home, no more trudging through slushy snow to Walmart for a reason I’ve now forgotten, no more seeing a rosy red blossom on my sister’s baby face. The snow has melted, the snowmen have disappeared, we’ve moved homes, and we’ve grown. What remains and endures, I’ve found year after year, are puddles that are easy to skip over, but hold stories that reflect the steadfast resilience of my parents way before our flight departed. They hold the reflection of myself, the result of every moment Mom and Dad decided to bear through life as university students, immigrants, humans, and parents.

Just a few days over nine years have passed since we first landed in America, and it’s only been recently that I’ve begun to really notice these puddles in my life. I remember hiking up hills after hills, trusting Dad’s promise of a good view, complaining about my sore feet until we saw the colors of the Grand Prismatic Spring glistening from above. I remember fishing tiny shells from egg whites when Mom first taught me how to crack, scramble, and cook an egg now I crack, scramble, and cook eggs almost every day.

I collect thousands of these memories, scattered across borders and years, in an attempt to remind myself to remember every detail about Mom and Dad, about where I started, and about how I got to where I am now. I’ve learned from these puddles that beginnings are times when we must reach across what we’ve endured and celebrated at the risk of straining our arms so we can arrive at something meaningful, beautiful, or useful to carry forward in our journey. And simply remembering these moments can illuminate how far we’ve traveled, but more importantly, remind us that we have something to carry with us into the world and into tomorrow. That is resilience. That is hope. Thank you.

YUEBO “LEO” LIU ’25

You know how every superhero has an origin story? Like Batman lost his parents, Spider-Man got bit by a radioactive spider… Well, mine started with a couple of suitcases, two plane tickets, and a mom who didn’t speak a word of English. We moved to America when I was little, just me and her. No English, no family here, no clue how to navigate this new world. Most people would panic. My mom? She just got to work. Any chance to make things better for me, she took it. I didn’t realize it at the time, but everything she did, every struggle she faced, was so I could stand here today. Her journey reminds me of a Chinese story once told to me, called 孟母三迁 “Mencius’ Mother Moved Three Times.” Mencius was a famous philosopher in ancient China, but his success started with his mom. She kept moving, once from near a market, once from a cemetery, until they finally settled near a school. Why? Because she wanted her son to grow up in the best environment to learn and become someone great. She literally shaped his future by shaping his surroundings. My mom didn’t just move neighborhoods, she moved across the planet. To be exact, 6,514 miles. Same reason. Same love. She was giving me a chance to grow, to dream bigger, to become more than either of us ever imagined when we got off that plane. She didn’t always get the words right in English, sometimes she’d mix things up, and we’d both end up laughing, but she always got the message right: “I’ve got you.” She’s the reason I learned what it means to push through, to hustle, and to love without limits. She’s also the reason I learned how to be resourceful, and how to survive off instant ramen for a surprisingly long time. So today, as we all celebrate what’s next, I just want to take a moment to say: Mom, I love you. Thank you for doing everything even the impossible to get me here. I may not be a philosopher like Mencius, but I’ll carry your lessons wherever I go. And to anyone out there wondering if superheroes are real I promise you, they are. Mine just happens to make amazing dumplings and still yells at me to wear a jacket. 谢谢妈妈.

ZADEN KAEL LOCKWOOD ’25

Seven months ago, I wouldn’t have told you that the first two minutes and 45 seconds of Travis Scott’s song “STARGAZING” were my favorite part of the track. Back then, I thought the lyrics were drowned out by too much autotune, the vocal samples were repetitive, and the beat was relatively uninteresting. Despite my initial impressions, I kept the song on repeat because of its last minute and 45 seconds. In that section, the drums from the first beat are cut, leaving behind an oscillating vocal synth and ethereal pad that fades out into a full second of silence. Suddenly, the silence is broken by a new, faster, bassboosted trap beat. The stark contrast between the two sections catches my attention every time. I found myself listening to the first half of the song just to reach the exhilarating beat switch.

Looking back, I realize that this is how I approached much of my high school experience.

Senior year is often described as the pinnacle of one’s high school journey. For most of my first three years, I focused on completing homework and projects, often staying up late into the night to meet deadlines. But occasionally, when the chaos of daily life settled, I’d find myself gazing at the stars both literally and figuratively imagining the joys and milestones of senior year. I envisioned myself immersed in celebration and relaxation: getting into college, experiencing senior sign-out, enjoying my last Flower Market, competing at Robotics and Science Olympiad state finals, continuing my D&D campaign, going on spring break, and senior prom. These moments felt like the promised reward for the hard work and stress of high school.

Each time I heard “STARGAZING,” I repeated the same cycle of anticipation. But eventually, I stopped listening to it. The song faded from my memory until I stumbled across it in a playlist months later. This time, I heard it differently. While the beat switch still captivated me, I found myself paying more attention to the first section. Even though I still find the beat somewhat mundane, I’ve developed a new appreciation for its slower tempo and atmospheric sound. It’s reflective, giving me space to slow down my thoughts. Listening to it again brought back vivid memories from my junior year. Around that time, I faced some of my fiercest battles with procrastination, collaborated on elaborate group projects, and tackled AP exams. Back then, senior year and the summer beyond felt like the solution to all my struggles.

Now, as college decisions roll in and the culmination of high school grows nearer, I find myself wishing this time wouldn’t slip away as quickly as the last minute and 45 seconds of “STARGAZING.” Ironically, much of my time listening to this song was spent avoiding homework, sitting on my backyard trampoline. Here I would stare up at the stars, and wait for the beat switch. Those quiet moments of reflection have stayed with me. “STARGAZING” has become a metaphor for why I value those moments now. The act of stargazing itself is a perfect representation of both looking forward to a vibrant future and nostalgically reflecting on the past. The stars, distant and unreachable, symbolize infinite possibilities and the beauty of fleeting memories. Even the smallest speck of light holds a complex and monumental presence, just as each high school memory does.

This is especially relevant for seniors as we prepare to leave for college. Our high school friendships and memories will likely fade into the background of our busy lives. That’s why, when the sun sets, it’s important to take the time to stargaze to pause, reflect, and cherish those memories. Each star in the night sky represents something vast and significant, even if it seems far away. By gazing at the stars, we celebrate our past while finding motivation for the future.

Stargazing offers a unique reward: the blend of nostalgia and anticipation. It reminds us that even when life feels drowned out, repetitive, or relatively uninteresting there’s always the promise of something brilliant ahead. And above all, the eternal sea of stars will always remain, grounding us in the beauty of what was and inspiring us with the possibilities of what’s to come.

TERRY LUO ’25

A couple of weeks ago, when I decided to volunteer myself to help out with Intro to Upper School night for our current 8th graders, I wasn’t expecting much. I thought, “Ok, I’ll hang out with my friends, talk about my experiences when I need to, and just have a good time.”

What I did not predict was that night causing such a deep and poignant personal reflection in the two weeks leading up to today.

To provide some context, I was assigned to help facilitate Ms. Wrambel’s mock class, where she gave a quick lesson from her Adaptations class to the 8th graders. The crux of her lesson was a five-minute clip from the cartoon series Bluey, which follows the exploits of a family of puppies in their daily life. The title of this specific episode was called “The Baby Race,” where a lot of parents gathered together to see which one of their children could walk first. Bluey’s parents put a lot of pressure on her to win the race, but after her eventual loss, they realized to tone it down and let Bluey lead life on her own terms.

In my own life, I’ve often felt like Bluey. From a young age, I placed enormous pressure on myself to excel in everything that I did. For me, these areas were soccer, piano, and chess. I remember countless hours at the keyboard, stressing over every keystroke and correct note, even more hours over the chessboard, solving puzzles and reviewing endless games, with weekly soccer practices and games to boot.

When I was still a young child, filled to the brim with energy and the simple excitement of doing things, this was just a good life. However, as I grew older, the mundane parts of these activities became less and less appealing to me. I began dreading every piano lesson, worried that I had not practiced enough due to a lack of motivation, and while soccer and chess were still fun to me, a lot of the hard work necessary to improve seemed daunting to me.

However, when COVID-19 hit, life presented me with a choice. I could either half-heartedly jog on with all three activities, or concentrate all my energy into improving one. Choosing to forge my own path, I opted for the latter. I decided to move away from piano completely, competed solely for Tower Hill in soccer, and put all my remaining time into chess.

Now, while I could write maybe 10 more speeches about my chess journey, I’ll give a quick story about a memorable tournament I played this summer. The tournament was nine rounds, and I got off to a quick start with three wins. After slowing down and drawing two games, I had the white pieces against a much lower rated and younger kid (he couldn’t have been over 12 years old). Going into the game, I thought I would just use my experience to slowly outplay him, but nothing could’ve prepared me for what happened next. I was systematically crushed by his excellent play, and I could do nothing but resign in shock, utterly unable to figure out why I had lost.

After such a disappointing defeat, it would be expected for me to simply give up on the tournament. I was sitting on four points out of six games, knocked off the podium, and had to start over. But in these last three games, I dug deep, took often equal-ish or even worse positions and ground them down into victories, and won all of them. This allowed me to finish on a respectable 7/9 and earn the title of co-champion.

I’ve had many victories and even more embarrassing losses, but I would like to sum it up by saying that I have no regrets the pain of every loss, every bad moment, is lessened by the fact that I know I tried my best.

So, my advice to you all is this: when the world pushes you one way, stop and think to yourself: “Is this really what I want to be doing?” If not, then create your own path. Do what you love, and when the world throws defeat after defeat at you, keep building yourself back up if you give it your all, all roads will eventually lead to success.

CHARLOTTE ELIZABETH MANFIELD ’25

I am a figure skater. It takes up most of my spare time, two to four hours of practice every day including time on the weekend, but leave out Saturday as it’s my only day of freedom when not in season. Skating has been there ever since I can remember, and I’ve stuck with it since age four.

Initially, my parents wanted to send me to a PreK through ninth grade school that just happened to have a rink. And another twist is that it was mandatory for us to learn how to skate during school as part of our P.E in the winter, which would prepare us to play hockey in middle school as our winter sport. My parents naturally wanted me to learn how to skate before my other classmates and put me into Learn to Skate classes with a beat-up pair of hockey skates and a helmet that was too big for my head. I am told that I loved the ice as soon as I stepped on, but that as I progressed in Learn to Skate, I would shout to my parents pointing at the figure skaters on the ice saying “I want to do that! I want to do that!” Eventually they caved in, and although my school was a hockey school, they bought me a pair of figure skates.

This fed my growing curiosity for skating and I was head over heels in love with the sport. As I grew, I worked hard and took every lesson I could, gaining an amazing team of coaches, and taking every opportunity to learn something new. Whether it was a new spin, jump, turn, or random piece of choreography, I wanted to know and master absolutely everything about skating. But my childhood excitement transformed into a love-hate relationship with the sport. I initially learned freestyle skating, which is what you would normally think of when you think of Olympic skating. It’s a sport complete with jumps, spins, and choreo. But the emphasis became on the jumps and not personal joy of the sport, and I felt so lost in the expectations that I wanted to quit. I didn’t feel like passion was important anymore, in fact, the more difficult things I learned the more my programs felt solely technique based and that nobody cared about expression, I wasn’t having fun at all.

Instead of quitting though, my coaches steered me into solo ice dance, a discipline full of artistry, lines, creativity, and performance. Ice dance consists of hard elements with intricate choreography, each arm and leg movement perfectly sculpted to a tee, and every little movement you make is crucial to the story of the program. And that “story” part is my favorite. Within three minutes and ten seconds, you need to tell a story without using words, just your body and the ice, and get that story out to the judges as well as the audience. After testing out these ice dance waters, I finally felt that I was doing exactly what I was meant to; and the spark I had for skating came back better than ever. Now when I attend competitions, I compete in pattern dances, which are ballroom dances just choreographed to the ice; and combined programs programs that tell a story and have genres, such as 80s music or hip hop. Instead of lighter makeup and having a perfect high bun, we now have heavier makeup to reflect our program’s vibe and hairstyles that match the pieces. Solo ice dance is what I’ve been doing for the past four years, allowing me to win both national and now international medals, and continuing to fuel my love for the sport.

Without my support team of coaches, family, and friends, I wouldn’t be skating at all and wouldn’t have progressed to where I am today. So, in times where you feel stuck, where life altering decisions need to be made, or when you’re going through a rough patch, don’t be afraid to lean on your support group. Embrace change, make thought-out decisions, and always find a way to rekindle your passions if they’re faltering.

KEVIN JIEWEN MIAO ’25

20 switches done, four hours in, 48 more switches to go. Four years ago, my dad bought me a new monitor for my desk. But then, I had a problem: how could I work without a keyboard? After all, the painful, motivation-sapping English essay wasn’t going to write itself. I knew I couldn’t use my computer’s keyboard because the computer screen would start blocking the monitor, making it extremely uncomfortable to use, so I stole a thin Logitech-brand keyboard from my dad just to finish the essay. Unfortunately, this thin, “high tech” keyboard felt too unpleasant to type on. Its circular keys were mushy like gelatin, and the shape caused me to mistype half my essay. After an excruciating essay written with this keyboard, my fingers felt like rusty hinges. Therefore, I quickly surveyed the internet for better keyboards. I remembered seeing my favorite content creators whose geometrical gaming keyboards light up the desk with their changing lights.

Fortunately for me, and unfortunately for my wallet, I began researching mechanical keyboards, the boxy ones that you usually associate with offices. Soon, one video led to the other. The gaming keyboards of black plastic shifted to those of hefty, matte aluminum. Their sizes ranged from just large enough for alphanumerics to including every symbol known to mankind. Regardless of their different sizes, they all sounded so heavenly, like fingernails clacking on glass or marble balls clinking against each other.

After a lot of begging, my parents finally relented to buying a custom mechanical keyboard for me: a hefty allaluminum keyboard with 68 keys. At first, despite watching a thousand videos, I had no idea what I was doing. Copper contact pins bent inwards, rendering the switch useless; dielectric grease soaked into the dark, glass desk; echoes ringed inside the cold, aluminum body, sucking all musicality away from the keyboard. Eventually, after days of constant adjustments, the keyboard finally sounded adequate, but not yet perfect.

Last winter break, I planned to install a new switch onto my keyboard, changing the typing experience to a deeper, lighter feeling. By now, I’ve been in this hobby for years, making me confident enough to promise myself that it’ll only take two afternoons to finish unlike the past. Now, two days before school, at one in the morning, I have a tray full of boxy, ivory switches sitting orderly near the cluttered mess of orange, rectangular stems, and tiny, pingy springs. 22 switches done, four hours and 30 minutes in, 46 more switches to go. My fears started settling in, worrying if I could finish this on time.

I dip my brush into a jam-jar-sized container, full of industrial grade lubricant, before lowering my brush into the inside of the switch. I carefully lined it up against the flat walls of the interior, evenly spreading the grease. I doused my second brush into the grease before angrily attacked the spring with the brush, frustrated at the countless failed attempts at quelling its insubordination. Then, I slowly lowered the spring inside the middle of the switch and carefully placed the orange stem on top.

I held my breath in anticipation. Could this be the perfect formula? Have I finally proved my skills as a keyboard enthusiast? With a little force, everything snapped into place. I begged under my breath, praying for success and held it close to my ear. I was unfortunately met by the sound of metal pans clattering together,

making my ears bleed a little. I cursed the gods for my poor luck, as I began dismantling the switch. 22 switches done, five hours in, 46 more switches to go.

After so many years, I thought I had improved and become more knowledgeable at this. I knew of many different DIY modifications and how each material changes the sound. How was I still as bad as before? I asked myself, “Why do I torture myself by wasting 14 hours of my life on a stupid keyboard when I can easily buy one online for twenty dollars, saving me both time and money?” However, everything changed once I finished installing the switches. As soon as the keycaps were back on, revealing the letters, I was met by the most glorious sound known to man, like distant trumpets past the gates of heaven. At that moment, I knew everything was worth it.

Pure perfection is unattainable. Our inability to completely perfect our crafts leaves room for further exploration, challenging ourselves to continuous discovery. So, I dare you to find your metaphorical keyboard. Find a hobby, a passion, or a goal you enjoy so much that you’d spend 14 hours making mistake after mistake, and then learn from them.

SOLOMON ANATH MILLER ’25

If you know anything about me, it’s that I do gymnastics. To be honest I really don’t remember not being in gymnastics. You could almost say I grew up in the gym due to me having to constantly attend my older sister’s practices. I would like to say my real motivation was from watching those cool parkour videos you would always find on YouTube. Although I have tried other sports such as soccer and at one point lacrosse, gymnastics has always stuck. As some may not know men’s gymnastics consist of six events: floor, pommel horse, rings, vault, P-bars and high bar. My personal favorites are pommel horse and rings but I have always HATED high bar. High bar is a horizontal steel pole set nine feet in the air. For those of you who don’t know, high bar consists of a series of high-flying swings, releases and catches. About four years ago I remember every Wednesday practice was a nightmare. Each Wednesday, I would take as long as possible to get my grips on and go to the bathroom just so I would spend less time on the event and miss more turns. Only on this specific day I had to do a blind turn. This meant I had to flip my hands and change direction on the bar all while going around it, and the thought of that terrified me. You would think I had a life-threatening event on high bar, but no. As I took an eternity to put on my grips to try and waste as much time as I could, the only thought going through my mind was “This just might be how I die” even though I have done this skill millions of times, and I was being spotted. As my coach got angry realizing I was purposefully avoiding taking my turn he told me to “get on the bar!” I then slowly climbed the ladder up to the high bar.

Once I got on the bar I would sit up there and adjust my grips over and over again unbuckling and re-buckling them trying to process what I was about to do. Although this whole process was the funniest thing in the world to my teammates since I could hear their little giggles off to the side, for me I was thinking that this would be my last time on this planet. I looked down into the deep blue foam pit and I then went on to ask “wait, so I’m doing three giants then a blind turn” like it was my first time doing this skill. Before I casted to handstand I would always ask my coach “are you ready” as if he was not paying attention. With the obvious answer being yes, I finally kicked to the handstand and started going around the bar which is also known as a giant in gymnastics. I could only imagine what was gonna happen next, which was thinking I would slip off the bar leading to me going flying into the foam pit.

Once I casted to handstand I would start going around the bar once, twice, then three times, and before I knew it, I had made the skill and jumped off the bar back onto the blue mats below. My friends laughed as I went and sat back down. While a high bar turn should take about thirty seconds my friends decided to count how long I took this time. It was about five minutes. As I sat off to the side processing what I had just done with my heart racing. I vividly remember my friends laughing and saying “Bro you were up there for five minutes ” Each of my teammates within, what felt like seconds, had already finished their turns just for me to repeat the same process all over again.

Going into my final competition season of high school gymnastics I have had to gain a lot of new skills that are way more risky than a simple blind turn. Which also means that I have to be willing to push myself a lot further and do harder skills way out of my comfort zone. Now as scary as something might seem, sometimes I have to

just be willing to take a risk if I want to get better. Being older now I have been able to block out the fearful thoughts whenever I’m going for a new skill and just focus on what I’m doing since serious injuries can occur if you’re not focused. Gymnastics has taught me not to let fear hold me back and sometimes you just have to take a risk. Just like a high bar consists of a series of high-flying swings, releases and catches, pushing myself on the high bar taught me that I have to release my fear if I really want to achieve athletic success.

TESSA LINDSEY MULLINS ’25

Everyone has a role model. Whether it is a famous singer, professional athlete, or even one of their own siblings, everyone has someone they look up to. Since I can remember my dad has always been my role model and someone I wanted to be just like. Growing up, my dad gave me a picture-perfect example of what it meant to be selfless. He was a police officer for the Wilmington Police Department for over thirty years and dedicated more than half of his life to keeping complete strangers out of harm’s way. Despite his long work days, my dad always made the effort and came to all of my sisters’ events; every band concert, swim meet and basketball game we had, my dad was always in the stands supporting my sisters and me.

As a police officer, my dad had mastered the ability to stay calm in an attempt to de-escalate any situation. My dad used this skill regularly when having to deal with his three daughters. Whether it was hitting a deer on the way home from practice, or my sister tearing her meniscus in the backyard while playing basketball, my dad always seemed to have a solution to any problem that came his way. My fondest memories of him go back to when I was in Middle School. I vividly remember him teaching me how to do a left hand layup in our backyard and him introducing me to my new weekly chore of polishing his work boots to perfection. Something that sticks out about my relationship with my dad is how supportive he always was of my basketball career. No matter how many hours he worked that day, or how many reports he had just completed, he always made time to rebound, play one-on-one, or hear about how my practice went that night. My dad’s strong yet quiet presence at my games always reassured me that I had someone supporting me and by my side no matter what.

During the end of my 8th grade year, right before my older sister graduated high school, my dad passed away. To this day, I have been lucky enough to hear hundreds of stories from members of the police department reaffirming how honorable my dad was as a man, father and police officer. I am constantly reminded by other officers how many people my dad had impacted in a positive way. His coworkers, who we call family, tell my sisters and I how he would light up anytime he spoke about his wife and how proud he always was of his three children. When I look back on our memories together, I reminisce about how lucky I am to have had a role model as noble as him, even though our time together was cut a lot shorter than expected.

After graduating from Tower Hill in the spring, I will go to a whole new place and be surrounded by new people for college. Knowing my dad is watching my every move, gives me comfort even in the intimidating situations that may seem scary. My message to everyone is to never take anything for granted and enjoy who you have by your side. You never know what tomorrow could bring and because life moves so quickly, we often under appreciate what is in front of us, until it is no longer there. Make the time for people you care about now and put out the effort to spend time with those who mean a lot to you. To the Class of 2025, in seven quick months, we will be leaving behind a place that most of us have called home for years. Don’t hold back telling the people you care about how you feel. Instead of waiting till June, tell them today. Thank you.

KATHERINE “KATIE” ROSE

MURPHY ’25

There’s nothing quite like the feeling of a paintbrush in my hand and a blank canvas in front of me waiting to be filled. The world around me seems to fade away, and for a little while, it’s just me, the colors, and whatever emotions I can’t quite put into words.

Painting has always been such a big part of my life. Some of my earliest memories involve spending days with my grandmother as a kid. One of our go to “Katie and Nana Rose” hangout spots was the pottery painting studio. We would walk into the shop, greeted by the smell of paint and clay, and would spend too long picking out the perfect ceramic piece to paint. I remember the excitement of choosing colors, dipping my brush into the paint, and watching the ceramic piece come to life. My grandmother would always encourage me, telling me that no matter what I created, it was still something special because I had put hard work into it.

As I got older, my love for painting never faded. I repeatedly attended an art summer camp at the Delaware Art Museum, where my work was displayed at the end for the parents to walk by and admire. I also took part in countless “Painting with a Twist” classes, where an instructor guided us step-by-step to create a painting. My family encouraged my creativity in so many ways. My mom’s passion for photography and her ability to capture beauty through just a lens inspired me. My grandmother helped me then explore that side of myself at a young age. Art, in all its forms, felt like home to me.

But it wasn’t until COVID and quarantine that I realized just how much painting meant to me. I had always loved it before, but during a time when I felt so disconnected from everyone, when conversations were only allowed over the phone, I found a different purpose in painting. Before, I had focused on creating “pretty scenes” landscapes, flowers, sunsets. But suddenly, painting became more than just an enjoyable hobby; it became an emotional outlet and an escape to feel a sense of normalcy again. When I couldn’t put my feelings into words, I could put them into color. I painted frustration, loneliness, joy, and uncertainty. My canvas became a reflection of my mind, and in doing so, I found comfort. It was like speaking a language only I could fully understand.

When we returned to school, I made it my goal to take as many art courses as I could. Even when assignments were given, painting has never felt like work to me or just another task I had to complete. It is something I do because I love it, because it is part of who I am. Whenever I feel stressed, when I am so happy I could burst, or when I’m really down, I always come back to it. There’s something about that brush in my hand, the colors blending on the canvas, that helps me express what I can’t always put into words.

I think that is why painting means so much to me because it allows me to tap into my creative side and release emotions without needing perfect sentences. It’s messy, freeing, and exactly what I need when life feels so overwhelming or even when it feels beautiful. Painting is where I go to just be myself, with nothing but the truth.

As I and my fellow seniors prepare to take our next steps into the unknown, my advice is to find something that centers you. College is a huge transition, living in a place unfamiliar to us and navigating a world by ourselves. Having something that feels like home though can be the thing that keeps you grounded. For me, painting is that thing. No matter where I am, I know I can always return to the canvas and feel at home. So, find your thing that reminds you of who you are because in a world full of change, having that one constant can make all the difference. Thank you.

BEATRIX “BEA” ANN NACE ’25

When I was 10, I was diagnosed with OCD, also known as Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. And I know what you’re thinking. This girl needs her pencils lined up perfectly, and every marker line must be erased off of the white board. Either that, or you’re thinking I’m a germaphobe. Though I wish that was the case, it’s not. OCD causes you to have random irrational fears that are followed by various compulsions. For instance, if I don’t run up and down the stairs 20 times, my house will burn down. My fears would change about every week or so, and included a wide variety of absolute insanity. Though I had countless compulsions, the primary one was repeatedly “tapping” everything I encountered.

This all started one day while I was in my kitchen with my sister and best friend. My friend noticed I was repeatedly tapping the cabinet in front of me and pacing the floors like a crazy person. She became concerned, and told my sister who was the only one home at the time. Though my sister and friend were worried, I laughed it off because I didn’t want to make it a big deal. Little did I know, this moment was the beginning of a very rough three years. My sister, being the bright 13-year-old she was, instantly told my parents about my strange behavior. After some research, they came to the conclusion that it was most likely OCD. I started attending therapy at a local doctor’s office, thinking it would be a relatively quick fix. Shocker! This was not the case. After about two weeks, my therapist concluded I didn’t just have general OCD, but that it was extreme and I would need more serious therapy. I was obviously super thrilled to hear this news. Soon after this realization, I began to leave school early on every Tuesday for therapy in Philadelphia. The plus side was getting out of some math classes, but it meant I’d soon make the discovery that, “this is the worst case of OCD I have ever seen,” to quote my therapist.

During therapy, I created a list of every compulsion I did throughout the day, and my task when I went home was to cut out one or two each week. For example, I needed to quit only writing with my left hand no, I’m not left-handed and darkening periods at the end of a sentence so much that my pencil would tear though the paper. Unfortunately, I’d usually come back the next week with more to add to the list instead of something to take off. Meanwhile, I was attending Middle School which, you guessed it… is not easy when you’re oddly tapping everything around school in front of a bunch of preteens. A big problem with OCD is that no matter how many stares or “What are you doing?” questions you get, you’ll do the compulsions whenever and wherever. Even my Olympic gymnastics career was cut short, because you can’t be tapping the bars while impatient girls are in line behind you.

Though OCD tortured me during the day, it was even worse at night. Something about my 10-year-old self and the fear of dying was enhanced after 8 p m. When it was time to go upstairs, I’d begin my nightly routine that was according to my fear at the time, and what “felt right.” I won’t get too into the depths of these routines since that would get you out of here by lunchtime and you’ll all think I’m crazy, but just know, it was intense. After numerous hours of this, I’d finally fall asleep… just to wake up and do it all again! Now that I think about it, I’m not really sure how I had time for all of this, but somehow, I made it work. Impressive right? After tons of therapy, I learned how to control my OCD, and my routine now is very limited. Don’t ask my brother about

it though, since he’s convinced all of the times he told me to “just stop tapping” is the reason I got over it. I make jokes about it now, but at the time, only my close friends knew I was struggling, and I hid my OCD from everyone else. The last thing I needed was more people catching on to the fact that something was wrong.

There are two morals of the story here. The first one is that OCD is a lot more than an excessive need to be orderly and clean. It’s more like a parasite that controls every aspect of your life no matter how hard you try to ignore it. The second moral is, your support system is one of the most valuable things in life. For me, I wouldn’t be where I am today if it weren’t for my family and a few close friends and teachers who helped me get through it. Having OCD felt like the end of the world, but with patience and support, it all turned out just fine. Even though my story seems like such a long time ago, it taught me countless lessons and will always be a part of me in one way or another. And no, if you look at me after this, even for an extended period of time, you won’t see me tapping anything… or pacing the floors… or avoiding the cracks on the ground.

NICOLE MAXINE NEAL ’25

June 30th, 2023. “Ok, since I last wrote to you, I have had two urgent care visits, one crying meltdown, and I’ve thought about going home more times than I can even count.”

Huddled in the corner of my tent, wrapped tightly in my sleeping bag, a dim flashlight flickered as I scribbled my endless worries into my journal. My tentmates had long gone to bed, leaving me alone in the quiet of a place completely unfamiliar to me.

I had begged my parents to let me go to a summer camp across the country in Washington State. Even though my mom was terrified at the thought, my parents agreed to let me go. The camp focused on hiking, rock climbing, and kayaking, and we camped outside every night. The itinerary featured two long backpacking trips and, on the last day, a summit of Mt. St. Helens.

Even though I was just as nervous as my mom, I was even more excited.

The first week of camp, however, felt like a trial by fire.

The morning after our first big backpack across the Olympic Peninsula, just a few days into the three-week trip, I woke up covered in red, itchy hives from my neck to my legs. My counselors drove me to urgent care, where the doctor said there was no way to figure out the cause. He prescribed me medication, and we left. That night, fatigue from the hike mixed with the uncertainty in my mind, and I started to doubt if I could handle the next few weeks. As the days passed, my hives only got worse. When my dad called and offered me a chance to leave the trip early, it was tempting. More than tempting. Because quitting when something got tough was a pattern for me.

In my first two years of high school, anytime I wasn’t immediately good at something, I walked away. I didn’t have the confidence to embrace failure, to see it as a step forward instead of a dead end. And I knew this about myself, I just wasn’t sure how to change it.

July 2nd, 2023. “About the whole going home thing… I'm still not sure. But today I cried on a cliff, and it was an amazing day.”

That morning, on the bus ride to Smith Rock State Park, we sang karaoke to Adele and Bruno Mars the whole way there.

By the time we arrived I was feeling better, until eventually I found myself stuck on an especially challenging climb. My shaky hands were turning white from the grip as I stared down at the steep drop below. What felt like hours passed as I clung to the same spot on the cliff, each attempt to progress ended with frustration.

“I can’t do it, you can let me down,” I called out, embarrassment filling every word. However, my belayer urged me to try again, insisting a breakthrough awaited just beyond this point.

I asked the instructor for help, and he pointed out a small, hidden ledge I had missed on my own. With encouragement from those around me, I pushed myself past the point where I wanted to quit, and I made it to the top.

From the summit, I let my heartbeat settle as I looked out across Smith Rock, tan cliffs and distant mountains for miles. For the first time, I felt a kind of accomplishment I had never known before.

July 10th, 2023. “Ever since rock climbing, I’ve had the best day every day. I’m so happy that I’m here.”

After giving my medication time to work, my hives began to clear up. The physical and mental challenges that at first seemed unbearable became easier. The camp that had felt too overwhelming became a place of adventure and fun. The strangers alongside me became close friends.

If I had gone home early, I never would have formed such great friendships, and I wouldn’t have learned that failure isn’t the end of the story, it’s actually the beginning. I realize now that those moments that make you want to walk away and quit are often the ones right before the breakthrough.

As Taylor Swift once said, “Hard things will happen to us. We will recover. We will learn from it. We will grow more resilient because of it.”

Thank you.

EMILY ANN O’HARA ’25

I can vividly remember the very first conversation that I ever had with another Tower Hill student. I was new to the school, attending the first of many orientation events hosted for incoming freshmen. I remember being terrified that morning; I had gone to the same school my entire life, had the same friends and the same routine since Kindergarten, and now I would have to start completely fresh. I don’t remember much about the event itself, or even the exact details of that conversation, but I do remember being asked one question: “Do you know Olivia O’Hara?”. At that point in my life, this question infuriated me. Being constantly tied to my twin sister had become the absolute bane of my 14-year-old existence.

If you know anything about my sister and I, you probably know that we have completely opposite personalities. If you knew me in middle school, you would know that this disparity was even more extreme. My sister was fearless, confident, and outspoken, while I was quiet and serious. Because we did everything together; went to the same school, played the same sports, and had the same friends; she became my safety net. Anytime we went somewhere new, I had someone to talk to, because we went together. If she made a friend, they would become my friend too. Our relationship created an interesting paradox in my simple middle school life: I hated being constantly associated with my sister, but I relied on her in more ways than one. I would never have told her this at the time, but I always looked up to her.

For this reason, choosing to attend different high schools seemed simple at first, but turned out to be one of the hardest things I have ever done. When asked about her at my very first Tower Hill event, I realized that my biggest fear about attending a new school wasn’t the new friends or the new routines. It was not having my twin sister with me.

However, this isn’t to say that our relationship was perfect in any way. Listing even 10% of the fights that we have had would take way more time than I am given for this speech. For simplicity’s sake, I’ll explain a few of my favorites. Number one has to be the time when she pushed me off of a kayak, leading me to be stung a few seconds later by one of the most massive jellyfish I have ever seen. I now have a lifelong fear of jellyfish. Or, when we used to share a room and she somehow got slime stuck in my hair while I was sleeping, and then decided that the best way to fix it was to cut it out of my hair. And she isn’t the only instigator. I once ruined a friend’s bowling birthday party by dropping a 15 pound ball on her foot. We fought all the time, and we still do. Now, our fights are mostly about me stealing her makeup and clothes or her tearing apart my room to look for something and then leaving everything on the floor and absolutely refusing to clean it up. Or, more relevantly, when I yelled at her after asking if she could come to this speech, considering that it was about her, and she said “hm, maybe if I have a first period free ” And I know that after hearing this sappy speech that I wrote about her, she will probably never let me live it down.

But despite all of our fights, she remains one of the most important people in my life. In many ways, going to different schools has only made our relationship stronger. We have different schedules and different lives, but we come home at night with so much more to talk about. Even though most of the time I have to force her to

hang out with me, I will never take for granted having a twin sister who I can drag along with me anywhere. Spending less time with her as our schedules become even busier has allowed me to realize how much of an impact she has made on my life, and how much it will change next year when our schools are hundreds of miles apart instead of just two. So as I attempt to take advantage of every moment of my final year at home, I encourage everyone else, especially seniors, to do the same. Because when we go off to college, the biggest change in our lives won’t be new classes or a new city, it will be leaving behind the people we love.

ALEXANDER ZACHARY OKENCZYC ’25

Ever since I was a little kid, I have always loved cars. No, there wasn’t a specific movie or aha moment. Instead, I decided one day, this would be a cool hobby to obsess about. I remember times where my Lower School class would go to the school library, and while others had their noses in novels like Harry Potter or the occasional non-fiction book. I often ended up looking at books explaining different types of cars and the engines inside them. I can’t say that’s normal and it’s definitely at least a little bit weird. But by Middle School I could look underneath a car hood and confidently point out everything and its purpose. Formula 1 and GT racing definitely didn’t help cure this obsession either. Nor did spending my free time scrolling Facebook marketplace, offering stupidly low offers on cars I obviously couldn’t afford anyways. So when my mom and dad were going back and forth about whether or not buying a car to work on made any financial sense whatsoever, hint it didn’t, let alone if a Humvee would fit in the garage, I think you can imagine which side of the debate I was on. But a couple weeks after that, we ended up in what I can explain as the most backwoods place you could imagine. It was exactly where you’d expect to casually find a 40-year-old car for sale along with a bunch of other military surplus. And I was taught the art of low balling, I mean negotiating for a car. And by the end of the week there was a 1981 Humvee that looked like every Prius’s nightmare in our driveway. There was plenty of work to do. I was both nervous and excited. In our free time, often late-night weekends, the two of us would work, dismantling parts or sanding down the chassis so we could ready it for paint. Yet still, plenty went wrong. When we installed new lights, they worked for about 30 seconds before two loud popping noises and a slightly darker driveway told us the filament burnt out. After a couple hours, new headlights, and Polish words I definitely didn’t have in my vocabulary until then, we finally got it working. I often felt overwhelmed by how much needed to be done and often had no idea where to start. But my dad taught me a valuable lesson: simply just list what needs to be accomplished and focus on one task at a time rather than trying to tackle everything at once. This approach actually helps get things done rather than stressing about everything all at once. Something I try to do to this day, whether it’s managing school projects and homework, pursuing hobbies like mountain biking, or even building a business. By breaking things down into small steps and setting realistic goals, I maintain momentum instead of feeling overwhelmed. If there’s anything to take from what I can best define as me ranting. Don’t be afraid to take risks and grow as a person, even when you’re uncertain about the process or what lies ahead. Simply pushing forward often reveals the light at the end of the tunnel. Look first, then leap. Thank you.

MAGDALENA “MAGDA” ANN PAOLI ’25

I cannot do a cartwheel. From a young age, this outcasted me from recess time. As all of my friends showed off their gymnastics skills, I sadly swung on the monkey bars. The shame of not being able to do a cartwheel carried over into my dance class as well. Cartwheels were part of one of the dance routines, so I had to embarrassingly tell the teacher I could not do one. I then was placed in the back for that dance. Of course, I wanted to be able to do one, so my mom signed me up for gymnastics. All of my friends did gymnastics so I already started to feel more included by doing it too. However, my gymnastics career was short lived as I accidentally kicked the instructor in the face while on the bars. After months of training, I still could not do a cartwheel. I felt left out and it seemed as though everyone could do one except for me. Although I tried, I did not succeed. During the summer, I made the commitment to learn how to do a cartwheel. I made it my goal not to give up and enlisted the help of my friend to help me improve my technique. After daily practices at summer camp, I am happy to say that one day, on the playground, I finally did a cartwheel. I was so proud of myself and could not wait for school to start again so that I could show everyone my new and improved cartwheel. On the first day of school, I marched out to recess and told everyone to watch. I took a deep breath and did the most perfect cartwheel. I looked around excitedly waiting for everyone to be impressed, but was instead met with unphased faces. My friends said that it was good, but never even realized that I had not been able to do one the year before. I was confused, since that was the reason I felt so left out during recess. I realized that I was the one who had excluded myself. I thought that not being able to do a cartwheel made me stand out in a bad way, when in reality, none of my friends even noticed. Sometimes, we let little things get in the way of having fun, thinking that it defines and limits us, even in simple moments such as gymnastics and recess. These little problems seem so much bigger than they actually are, and other people really do not even notice what we are so worried and insecure about. After my cartwheel on the first day, everyone had already moved on to doing flips on the monkey bars, which I actually could do. So if you have a small problem like not being able to do a cartwheel, keep working at it and in the end, do not let it stop you from having fun.

SEAN HENRY-KWADWO PEDRAZA ’25

So try to imagine you are very little. Probably a toddler, and you are sleeping, and you somehow sleepwalk to your back door, open the door, then proceed to be in the cold embrace of air, mind you are still somehow sleepwalking. Finally, your dad finds you and manages to wake you up from your mobile slumber. And as a result of this you start not only wailing, but unknowingly pee yourself, due to the shock of being woken up by your dad. You may be asking, “Sean, how does this in any way relate to a senior speech?” Well, my answer is how much I just love my family. I believe that I was ultimately sleepwalking because I was somehow looking for my mom, my dad, or even my brother.

To me family is something that is very important to me. But not just a traditional family of relatives. Family to are also the people who I have made deep connections with, that extend outside of my immediate family. To me the thing you get from this extended family is just as valuable as any lessons one would get from your immediate family.

I am able to learn so much from my family: big or small. Whether that be in a small advisory on Wednesday mornings where I am able to decompress with my advisor and classmates, or learning helpful tips for easily navigating school, and life after school. I have also learned much from my theater family, from after school rehearsals where I am scared, but still take risks while I receive the support of others as I make my way through them. One of the best parts of being a part of an immediate and extended family is the experiences we have shared with one another that allow for us to grow together.

But I can’t forget to mention the family I did not choose to have, but I am so glad to have. For one, they were the ones that raised me, and mostly made me the person that I am today. From my dad, I learned to find the things that I love and enjoy, and then pursue them, to not let others disempower my passion.

From my brother, Angel, an alum who I have had a relatively similar experience at Tower Hill. Because of this experience, he was able to teach me techniques that he wished he knew earlier on. Because of him, I learned to have self-advocacy, such as being proactive in challenging situations, by finding solutions that help resolve or solve an issue.

From my mother, I would like to say I learned the most from you. Teaching me things about having the strength to keep on going through hardships, having the courage to express myself, and also loving who I am. My parents, my brother, and even my friends who have become my family, have shown me that love isn’t just a feeling; it’s an action. Something you show through your words and deeds, no matter the situation. As we are so close to graduation, I can’t help but think of my family (the one I was born into, and the one I have made) and how they both have shaped who I am today. I may have been sleepwalking towards my family as a toddler, I believe now that I will always want to walk towards them in a sense. It is a journey and no matter how old I get, as I venture into the world, the lessons, the love, and the support will always be with me, even if these people are not by my side.

Also, happy birthday, Mom!!!

KYLEIGH GRACE PETERS ’25

When trying to decide what I wanted to talk about in this speech, I struggled to narrow it down to just one thing. So instead of talking about something, I want to talk about someone, someone who has shaped me in more ways than I can count. My dad has never failed to be my biggest supporter.

I could tell endless funny stories about him, like the time we were arguing, and my friends were over, so obviously, I had to make a dramatic exit and as I ran away, he chased after me, only to tumble down the stairs and break his finger. Or the time I wanted to learn how to skateboard, and he got a little too confident, launching himself over the bushes in our backyard and rolling all the way down the hill.

But I’m not here to talk about the funny moments. I want to talk about the moments that showed me the true meaning of unconditional love.

Deep down, I think my dad would have loved to have a son, but he is, without a doubt, the best girl dad I could have ever asked for. Whether it was driving me to dance competitions for 13 years, trying to play mediator between my me and my mom when we argued, sitting through eight-hour competition days with a smile on his face, or waking up extra early every year on my birthday to fill the kitchen with streamers and balloons he always went out of his way to make me feel special.

When I found out my thirteenth birthday, which felt like the most important birthday at the time would be spent in a random hotel in New Jersey because of a dance competition, I was devastated. Birthdays had always been the same: waking up in my own bed, coming downstairs to see the kitchen decorated, and ending the day with my favorite home-cooked meal. The thought of entering my teenage years without that tradition felt like bad luck.

But my dad had other plans.

After a long day of competing, I returned to my hotel room to find the door decorated with a banner, a sash, balloons, and my favorite dessert baked just for me. It wasn’t about where I was it was about who I was with and the effort he made to make it feel special. Looking back now, as we approach the end of high school, I realize that tradition is about to change again. Next year, I’ll be in a dorm, away from home, celebrating without my parents, my sister, or my hometown friends. But I also realize that it was never really about the decorations. It was about the gesture and the love and thought behind it. And when that day comes next year, I’ll have those memories to hold onto.

My dad has been my anchor throughout my entire life. Growing up, my parents always said I was an independent and strong-willed kid who never accepted help from anyone which I now understand was their polite way of saying I was stubborn and difficult. But even when I tried to push him away, my dad was always

there. Always reliable, always lending a shoulder to lean on, and always going the extra mile. As life has gotten busier, I’ve used that shoulder less, sometimes forgetting to acknowledge just how much he does for me.

So when life gets loud, and it becomes difficult to drown out the noise, remember this nothing matters more than the people you love. Take a moment to remind them. Lean on them when you need to. And every once in a while, go the extra mile for them.

And Dad if you take anything from this speech, I hope it’s that: You make my smile a little bigger, my laugh a little louder, and my life a whole lot brighter.

Today is a special day. Today is your day so happy birthday, Dad. This is a big one for you but don’t worry, I won’t say how big.

SHANE ROBERT PIERCE ’25

Being the youngest kid in my family isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. While there were perks like extra attention and favoritism, growing up with older siblings meant a constant battle between loving them and rivalry. No one embodied this more than my brother Richie, who I spent most of my time with. Whether we were running around outside or playing on the Wii, our games always ended in an argument, usually because I would lose and Richie would taunt me for losing. What started as a playful competition would quickly escalate into frustration, followed by tears, my mom stepping in, and everyone feeling upset. Except Richie, of course. But it wasn’t all conflict. My brother, Richie, was also my main source of anything fun or interesting, and would bring me with him almost everywhere, even if he was ordered to by my mom. We would spend hours longboarding down roads that looked terrifying from the top and making up trampoline games that, without fail, ended in someone getting hurt.

My relationship with my oldest sister, Madison, was very different from the one I had with my brother. Being seven years older than me, she naturally took on a lot of responsibility for me, whether I liked it or not. She was always looking out for me, stepping in to help, and sometimes acting more like a second mom than a sister. Whenever Richie and I got into fights, Madison was always there to help my mom break us up or take her place if she wasn’t around. She’s always been incredibly protective of me, making sure I was okay no matter what. Even when I was just messing around with Richie, she would keep an eye on me to make sure nothing got out of hand. Her protective instinct never went away and I can still feel it when she comes to watch me wrestle. Thankfully, she didn’t go too far when she left for college, because nothing was the same when she was gone. However, when she did come back, she instantly stepped back into her second mom role, and it felt like she had barely been away.

My sister Abby was the closest in age to me, only three years older. However, three years wasn’t enough to prevent endless petty arguments or full-blown screaming matches. These fights almost always ended in tears or, if things got really bad, teeth and claw marks on my arm. For most of my childhood, I didn’t stand a chance against my siblings in a fight, and Abby made sure I knew it. Still, when we weren’t at each other’s throats, there was plenty of room for fun. Playing with Abby usually meant being assigned a role in whatever elaborate game of house she had planned or tearing apart the couch to make a landing pad for our mini trampoline.

When our two oldest siblings took off to college, it was just me and Abby navigating our daily life together. Mornings were filled with rushed shouts up the stairs about the other being late, fighting for shotgun when our mom took us to school, and Abby reminding me that being older meant she automatically had dibs on shotgun.

Even though we always argued and annoyed each other, those moments became some of my favorite memories. Looking back, I’ve realized that those fights weren’t about who got the front seat or who won the game. Growing up with siblings teaches you that petty disagreements don’t mean the end of a relationship or friendship, they only build character and strengthen our bonds. Now that we’re all older, I miss being with

them more than I even thought I would. At the time, it felt like my siblings would always be there, but things change and people grow. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s to appreciate the people around you while you still have them. Because one day, the house will grow quieter, the fights will be fewer, and you’ll realize how much those seemingly insignificant moments really meant.

HAASINI POTLURI ’25

I am a dreamer in the night.

One of the earliest dreams that I can remember started with my dad eating a cupcake while standing in front of a mirror, as one does obviously. And then suddenly, out of nowhere, a giant, villainous octopus emerged out of the mirror and encircled him with its long, slimy tentacles, bringing him closer and closer to its mouth. I don’t know what happened to my dad, though, because I can’t remember anything after this.

This dream like many others faded into the night. So many of my other dreams have become distant remnants, consumed by the darkness of the previous night. No matter how hard I try to remember, I can’t help but forget every detail.

Fortunately, for me, I’m also a dreamer in the daytime. As I dream, I envision my future: from prom, to graduation, to where I’ll be going to college all in less than a year’s time. I dream about my future career or mansion by the beach. But, for me, these dreams don’t always resonate. They seem more like far off fantasies.

So, what do we hold onto if nighttime dreams are often forgotten, and daytime fantasies feel so distant from reality? I say we’re left with memories.

If I want a story that scared me at the time but now brings a smile to my face, I don’t need an octopus to eat my dad. I can, instead, think back to freshman year when we were coming back from the Model UN trip and got stuck on the train because we couldn’t figure out how to open the train doors at Wilmington station.

If I want to have a good laugh, I can remember how my sister ran the wrong way at the end of a cross country race, and I had to scream her name and chase her to get her back on the actual course.

If I want to reminisce, I can look at how memories have changed. I can look at how I went from the 9th grader who came to Tower Hill, not knowing a single person, to a senior who now can’t stop talking to and laughing with her friends. I can look back at the memories I have made with my friends, with the people I met just four short years ago, but now cannot imagine my lifetime without. To my friend who told me a few days ago that she’ll always be happy for me, know that I’ll be happy for you too, always. Thank you for being a constant source of kindness and positivity in my life. To my friend who didn’t allow me to compromise and take the turkey off of the turkey sandwich and eat just the bread and cheese on a school field trip, thank you for instead getting us a fancy black bean burger and for always encouraging me to stand my ground, no matter what. To my friend who texted me, “I looked out at nature and I was like wow there is so much out there so much life to live,” thank you for always encouraging me to do things I’ve never done, have fun, and laugh.

My friends, though, are still relatively new additions to my life. I can also look back on all the things that have never changed: the unwavering support of my parents and family, people who have always been there for me, regardless of the circumstance. Thank you for more than I can ever put into words.

I don’t know about you, but I’d say these memories with friends and family, with laughs and smiles, are better than any dream I can imagine.

Keep dreaming through the night and day, envision a future for yourself and look ahead to what brings you joy, but don’t forget to look back on and enjoy all the life you have lived with the people you love. Remember that each day will soon become a memory. Do your best to make it a good one.

In the end, I am a dreamer. We are all dreamers, but let’s not forget we can make our reality just as beautiful as a dream.

AIDEN CHARLES PRATT ’25

Growing up, sports were always a massive part of my life. Whether I was playing or watching, they were always there. I can’t even remember a time when sports weren’t a part of my routine. I’ve played pretty much every sport you can think of, football, baseball, basketball, wrestling, lacrosse, hockey, soccer, and even ran track for a little while. And honestly, I enjoyed playing pretty much all of them.

Some of my first memories playing sports come from my backyard, where every day after school I would spend hours with my older brother and my next door neighbor playing anything and everything we could. It didn’t matter if it was football, basketball, wiffleball, or just trying to create our own game. We were almost always outside, and those were some of the best moments I’ve ever had, just playing because it was fun to me. I also remember going to Eagles, Flyers, Phillies, and Sixers games with my family, watching college football every Saturday in the fall after getting home from my own football games, and of course going to practice almost every day after getting home from school, for pretty much all year long.

Sports were constant. And I loved them, but it wasn’t always easy. When I was younger, I was always the smallest and lightest kid on every team I was on. I struggled to keep up with kids who were already taller, faster, and stronger, especially when I hit middle school. I’d watch these kids who were already six feet tall, and I couldn’t help but feel like I’d never measure up. These moments of jealousy taught me patience, although I’m still not really the biggest or strongest. I’m way bigger than I was back then and I’m way better off with the special skill sets I had to learn in order to be successful when I was younger.

When I moved schools to Tower Hill in 8th grade, I felt like I was starting over completely. It was super hard for me to make friends as I was a relatively shy kid and was super nervous going to an entirely new school with kids I’ve never met prior to showing up the first day. I didn’t know how I was going to make new friends or if I was even going to fit in. But when I played sports it helped me so much, I’ve met pretty much all my best friends playing sports.

What I love about sports is that they give you what you put into them. You don’t get rewarded for just showing up. You get what you put into practice, the hours of work you put in behind the scenes. And when you finally achieve something, whether it’s scoring a touchdown or striking someone out in a big moment, it feels amazing because you know how hard you worked for it. Sports aren’t easy. If they were, everyone would be playing them, and those special moments wouldn’t feel nearly as rewarding, and they wouldn’t matter as much.

Learning this, it made me appreciate the hard work I put into anything whether it’s a big project you don’t feel like doing or a test that you don’t feel like studying. It feels way more rewarding when you work hard at it in order to get a good grade rather than just rushing through it just to get it over with. And learning this made doing anything that’s difficult so much easier knowing that it's going to feel way more rewarding after doing it to your fullest potential.

But when I think about everything I’ve learned from sports, I've realized it’s not just about the physical skills. It’s about the life lessons they’ve taught me. Sports have shaped my character in ways that go far beyond just winning or losing. They’ve taught me how to be patient, how to work hard when things aren’t easy, and how to be part of something bigger than myself. I also learned that sometimes things don’t go as planned, and that’s perfectly okay, but that’s never an excuse to give up. You have to keep working and things will work out eventually.

Looking back, I’ll always remember the moments that made me feel like I was on top of the world, whether it was a big win or just a hard fought game. But what I’ll remember even more are the people I met along the way. I’ve made lifelong friends, shared experiences I’ll never forget, and the fact that I learned more about myself than I could have ever imagined. So, to my family, coaches, teammates, and friends, I want to thank you. You’ve all been a part of my journey, and I’m so grateful for that. You’ve helped shape who I am today, and I’ll carry the lessons I’ve learned from sports with me no matter where life takes me next.

AUSTIN REYNOLD QUIG ’25

Back in 2016, together with my brother and friends, we set out to play the newly popular game, Pokémon GO. Smartphones in hand, we ventured out, ready to hunt down as many Pokémon as we could, but we had no idea what we were getting ourselves into that day.

While frolicking through the neighborhood, we reached the local playground, our eyes set on the PokéStop. We were eager to collect items and catch whatever Pokémon we could find. Scanning the area for potential catches, we were suddenly approached by a man. Like we had attracted our very own NPC. He noticed we were playing Pokémon GO and asked, “Did you guys catch anything?” There was something about his eyes, like they were really wide or a little glassy. We, sadly, shook our heads, replying that we haven’t had any luck. We then asked the unofficial gym leader if he played the game. He reacted like an amoeba with no response to stimuli. He just stood there, eyes locked, as if he was focused on something entirely beyond our comprehension. At that point, we realized this wasn’t your friendly neighborhood Pokémon trainer.

We instinctively began to walk away, but that’s when the man snapped back into reality like he was evolving into his final form. Without a second thought, he jumped on his bike and took off after us. We ran for it, heading straight back to our house. It’s like that saying that you don’t have to be the fastest swimmer to escape the shark, you just have to be faster than the person next to you. As the slowest in the group, I fully understood what it meant to be that “person next to you.” As I fell behind, you could hear the man behind us chanting nonsense, like he was giving a TED Talk to his shoes. Panic surged in as I sprinted to catch up. By the time I rejoined the others, we were already home, only to find that my brother had inadvertently locked us out, ripping the doorknob off in his frantic rush to escape. In the end, we had successfully escaped, but the experience left me with a new perspective on how quickly things can go from fun to frightening. It was a reminder that life’s unexpected challenges often arrive when we least expect them, and sometimes the best course of action is simply to trust your instincts. It taught me the importance of staying aware and being ready for the unpredictable moments that make life so unforgettable.

PRIYA MUDUNURI RAJU ’25

The morning after my house burned down almost ten years ago, I remember having Dunkin Donuts for breakfast. I was very happy that morning: I had gotten free donuts, my friends came over to my neighbor’s house where I was staying, and we played knockout all morning. Fire trucks were in front of my house, and being only right, I couldn’t see over them. Therefore, I assumed that only one room or maybe the roof was affected by the fire, surely not the entire house. After a bit, I remember a car pulling up, and a woman stepping out. She was the mom of a girl two years older than me at school. She opened her trunk to reveal a giant sack of clothes, and a smaller sack full of pens and pencils. I was ecstatic. I had just received an entire new wardrobe, which consisted of mostly Justice clothing, and a ton of new writing utensils. To add on to this, my friend’s mom FaceTimed mine, and was at the store asking me what beanie babies I wanted. I was in heaven, happily disregarding the fact that the reason this was happening was because the Polly the Penguin I previously owned was now burned to ash. I couldn’t understand why my parents and my brothers were upset, as we had just gotten free Dunkin Donuts and were playing basketball with our friends. In fact, the only negative thing I can remember about that morning was how I was very upset that the pajamas I was wearing were my “I survived the sooper dooper looper” hot pink t-shirt, and my two sizes too small pajama pants.

I’ve always naturally been an optimist. However, there was a period of time I tried not to be. In middle school, I started being more aware of the world around me. Suddenly I was seeing everything in a different light. The pessimism that naturally comes with middle school and the pandemic led to me thinking that the way I viewed the world was full of flaws. I decided to be more cautious, live with a little more skepticism, and after a while I ended up equating optimism with naivety. This mindset carried throughout freshman year. I took every action as negatively as it could possibly be, assuming the worst intentions of the people around me, and I was scared of what the future could mean. Those three years of pessimism didn’t do any good. My friendships were weak, I wasn’t doing well in school, and I judged anything and everything I could see. I felt as bad as everything seemed.

However, as time moved forward, the world didn’t fall apart, and I slowly realized that all that dread and fear of the outside world seeped into me, making me overthink, and inhibiting me from the positive outlook I used to have. After that, I gradually gained back what I had previously thrown away. I started to build deeper friendships, enjoy my time with my family and my dog, and take uncomfortable situations a little less seriously. I looked for the good in people, and wanted to understand the things around me rather than fear them. Being a pessimist in fear of being gullible, or of being disappointed never served me or anyone around me. I have learned that optimism doesn’t equate to naivety. To me, optimism is seeing the good in what’s around you, hoping for the best, and being ready for anything else. I love being happy and I love good things, so I would rather take a chance and be disappointed than stay in the corner moping. I finally fostered the same optimism that third grade me had. With a few tweaks, including caring a little less about Justice clothes and incorporating some more rationality, I can firmly say I feel so much better. I encourage all of you to embrace the things around you, and to look at the world not only for what it is, but also what it could be. Finally, I want

to leave you with a piece of advice from my dog’s namesake, the legendary Yogi Berra: “When there’s a fork in the road, take it.”

Thank you.

CHARLOTTE BLAIR RASMUSSEN ’25

I have never lived by the phrase, “don’t cry over spilt milk ” In fact, I have probably cried over any minor inconvenience that you could imagine. My tendency to cry started from a young age, when I was two and my family and I moved to Germany for two years. While we were living in Germany we traveled all over Europe, and like any American family traveling around Europe, my parents took pictures of my brother and me at every possible opportunity. Being the difficult and dramatic child I was (or maybe still am), I cried and frowned in most pictures, while my brother stood there smiling. We visited France two weeks after moving to Germany, and visited The Centre Pompidou, a museum in Paris. I fell asleep in my stroller and when I woke up, as per usual, I was uncontrollably crying. The security guards approached my parents and in French sternly asked them to exit. The same exact thing happened in the Miro Museum in Barcelona about six months later. You would think my parents would have learned their lesson, but they continued our European adventures. When we returned to the United States, my crying did not end.

When I was five years old, I started club swimming, and I had my first swim meet at the Kennett Y. For some reason there were only three six and under boys at the swim meet. Which meant they needed one more person for the boy’s relay. I should’ve been honored that I was the coach’s first choice to put in the boys’ relay because it meant I was the fastest six and under girl, but for some reason I found this to be the most embarrassing thing ever. I cried and cried until my dad came down to the pool deck to comfort me and encouraged me to swim in the relay, which I did. Throughout elementary and middle school, I would cry anytime a teacher or adult raised their voice at me, and I still haven’t completely grown out of it.

In Geometry class a few years ago, I was mortified after asking my teacher a question about a circumcised circle instead of a circumscribed circle, and cried of embarrassment after class, which was definitely not necessary and more humorous than anything. Last year I cried during my SAT when my computer broke in the middle of the math section. I don’t even think I could count the number of times I have cried after a swim meet. At this point you can see crying is kind of my thing.

Although being an easy crier is not my best attribute, and I have often been labeled as over dramatic or overly sensitive, my crying is not always a negative thing. Just like I can easily cry when I’m upset or embarrassed, I can just as easily cry from laughter. Anyone who has spent a good amount of time with me has most likely seen me crying from laughter. I have a tendency to not be able to finish a funny story because I will start tearing up from laughing so hard. I cannot give concrete stories because you would all probably not find them funny, whether it’s at my lunch table, in my morning meeting seat during a funny assembly, or at home with my family. I cry from laughing at jokes that aren’t even that funny similar to how I cry about things that aren’t very serious.

Growing up I was always insecure about how easily I could cry and hoped that I would grow out of it. I would say that I’ve gotten better at controlling my tears, but I definitely still cry from time to time, and it’s something I will most likely never grow out of. Coming to terms with this I’ve realized that in order to live your best life

you have to accept and embrace the unique things about yourself, and sometimes your biggest flaw like crying at every inconvenience can also be one of your best features like making situations funnier by crying from laughing too hard. I’ve realized that none of the things I’ve cried over are that serious so my advice to you (and to my future self) is to embrace your insecurities and in my case to cry all I want over my spilled milk.

ALEXANDRA “ALEX” RICE ’25

For those of you who have been at Tower Hill long enough, you will hopefully remember our little green gratitude journals. At the start of my third grade year, Mrs. Speers named Gratitude to be the word of the year. Looking back, I remember feeling confused as I never really understood what gratitude meant. However, every day we would sit at our desks with our journals and write something we were grateful for. A month ago, I went looking for my gratitude journal and just wow. There was not a single profound sentence in this book. To give you a look inside, here's just one thing I wrote:

“I am so grateful that my sister is younger than me. Mommy and Daddy like me so much more”

Yeah I’m a really nice sister.

Anyways, now fast forward to a few weeks ago, when our Tower Hill communications team asked me to be a part of the video they were filming for their upcoming Hiller Fund campaign. For my short clip, I was asked to say “I am a Hiller” and then share something that Tower Hill has gifted me.

I ended up speaking about the global opportunities here and how these opportunities have supported my passions and led me to my biggest dream of studying abroad in Spain. If I don’t make it obvious enough through my day-to-day life, I want everyone to know how beyond grateful I am for everything this school has given me. This is exactly why I am so involved in so many different things here. Uplifting our school as a whole seems like the only way I can truly say thank you because I have no idea where I would start if I had to thank people individually.

However, from time to time, I catch myself complaining. I complain about getting assigned hours on end of homework each night, but then realize how much more prepared I will be in college. I complain when there is a line at lunch, but know I should be lucky that I even have food for lunch. I complain when a media day photo is posted of me on Instagram, but how lucky are we that we have a social media to connect our community. And I complain when I have to put my phone in phone jail, yet this offline time creates more memories with friends. In reality, all of these annoyances actually contribute to what makes our school so special.

Too often I hear Tower Hill students complaining and saying that they can’t wait to “get out of here.” Why?

The Tower Hill I go to has given me the highest level of education, life skills, my best friends, the smartest, kindest, and coolest teachers and coaches, the freedom to try new things, the chance to see the world, THE White Table, and a home. What more could I ask for? Being able to step back, get past all the minor annoyances, and recognize all the gifts Tower Hill has given me, IS itself, the greatest gift. Because it is this gratitude that makes me love waking up each morning to come to school.

A second tendency I have noticed over time is that we have become influenced by some of the critiques outsiders say about us and have even started believing them ourselves. I asked a bunch of you guys what it

means to be a Tower Hill student and some of the immediate first-response answers I received were “rich,” “privileged,” “snobby,” and “egotistic”. Do we really view ourselves like that? Are we okay with these labels and do they really reflect who we are? It sometimes feels like we are self-loathing because we go to Tower Hill, as if we should hide our success because we somehow don’t feel worthy of it. And I do not understand why. In this room, all I see are talented, extremely smart, service driven, and kind-hearted people that deserve to be celebrated. My wish at this very moment is for this mindset to be erased and for students to walk into this building each day knowing that they belong and that their achievements hold value despite the negative stereotypes made against us.

Having been here for 13 years, it has been really hard for me to decide exactly what advice I should give to all of you since I have learned and grown so much. However, it is now so clear to me what I want everyone to hear. I don’t just want, but I NEED each of you to find what you are grateful for. I encourage you all to create a modern day gratitude journal and reflect daily on this thing you are grateful for. For me, that is our school. I can easily recognize how lucky we are to be here and I hope that one day, all of you will too.

And lastly, be proud of being a Hiller. Not everyone gets to say that they got to be a part of a community like this where everyone relies hand and foot on each other. Not everyone gets to say that they have a place they can always fall back on for support, love, and care. But we do. And that makes us, Hillers, the luckiest people in the entire world. Thank you all for making me grateful and proud to be your classmate.

If you haven’t found what about Tower Hill you love the most yet, or you haven’t yet found what you’re proud of, I want you to keep looking for it.

Not everyone gets to say that they got to be a part of a community like this where everyone relies hand and foot on each other. Not everyone gets to say that they have a place they can always fall back on for support, love, and care. But I have found that here at Tower Hill. To me, that we are Hillers makes us the luckiest people in the entire world. I’m so grateful to be here with you.

If you get stuck in negativity, the way out of it is to return to gratitude.

Be grateful for going here. It’s made me more involved in wanting to give back to the school and contribute to this community.

If you figure out what you are grateful for, and you are proud of it, you unlock ways of being more involved in your community.

My gratitude for Tower Hill has helped me to see and break these thought patterns in myself. I can see that annoyances are also my favorite parts of THS. I can see that THS has given me opportunities I will never have again. I can be proud of where I go to school and what I have accomplished. Gratitude has also helped me figure out how to give back to the community I love.

If you get stuck in negativity, the way out of it is to return to gratitude.

GIANCARLO SAN MIGUEL FRENCH ’25

Anybody who knows me knows that I love movies. It’s gotten to be a bit of a healthy problem, to the point that if anyone texts or calls me and asks me what I’m up to, nine times out of 10 I am watching a movie. Whether I’m at home rewatching a film I’ve seen a dozen times or out at the theater watching something completely new, you’ll usually always find me watching a movie. Still to this day, regardless of what kind of day I’m having, every time I walk out of a movie theater, I feel better than I did walking in. They are my remedy for whenever life can suck, and boy, can it suck…

When you’re going through your life, it’s easy to feel like you’re going through the motions. Like you’ve hit a wall, like you’re stuck, and, not to be too grim at 8:30 in the morning, like it doesn’t really mean anything. And this feeling only grows more intense as you get older, especially nearing college. You start to get crushed with all of these questions about your place in the world and what it is you’re meant to do; the expectations of those around you as well as yours of yourself. But when I was a kid… My mom is just as big of a film buff as I am, so all we did when I was little was go to the movies, and when I looked up at that enormous screen, I suddenly realized what life was supposed to feel like. It was like there was something, somewhere, out there waiting for me. That’s what being alive was supposed to mean. So naturally, I wanted to live that life as much as possible.

Movies became an escape for me. An escape from schoolwork; an escape from my life; an escape from reality and responsibility. I began to see movies as my way of disappearing for two or more hours into a brand new, magical world, to get away from our chaotic, real one because when you’re in the movies, nothing else matters. Phones are off; mouths are shut; distractions aren’t, or rather, they shouldn’t, be relevant. They were my vice to tune out the noise of my life for a while. However, as I grew older, and my tastes changed, so did I. I started watching different kinds of movies beyond the massive blockbusters that release every summer. I discovered smaller films, stories less about mythical gods battling it out, but ones more about the human experience, and thus, my relationship with cinema evolved.

It became one not just made up of the superhero and Pixar movies of my youth, but one made up of a little bit of everything. And that was when I began to see: every single movie, from the most high octane Mission: Impossible, to the silliest Adam Sandler comedy, to the grittiest Dark Knight adventure, to the most outlandish Star Wars, is in some way, shape, or form, a commentary or reflection of us. I came to an epiphany that movies are an escape, yes, but not away from our world, they’re an escape into what our world can be; they show us the best that it can become.

With every film I watch I see that a simple conversation between two people can hold just as much, if not more weight than a big, bombastic action sequence. That all of these quiet, mundane, and seemingly insignificant things in life that we all take for granted, are just as important as the giant, show-stopping, death defying stunts that we go to the theater to see. If anything, the epic sequences that trailers show us to get us to come watch, would have no meaning if not for the quiet moments beforehand. As I’ve learned this lesson, I’ve started to look at life as if it were a movie. Each and every scene, no matter how insignificant it may seem in the moment,

is all happening for a reason; it’s all part of a larger story. And sure, we would love to fast forward through some of those moments, the slow, mundane bits; the painful, traumatic ones, and skip right to the exciting third act climax and the happy ending, but if you could, would it mean anything? Would it be anywhere near as rewarding or satisfying without the buildup?

Yes, live for the action and adventure, but cherish the quiet and the mundane. Life it goes by fast like an action-film, but it’s the human moments that give it meaning, that make it worth living.

Thank you.

LORENZO RAYMOND SANTOS ’25

Goodbye, Adios, Sayonara, Paalam, Zái Jian. Since the start of this year one thought has been circling through my mind. What am I going to do at the end of this year? Oh sorry that’s really unspecific. What I meant was how can I possibly say goodbye to my life as I’ve known it for the past 17 years. Now to be fair, it’s not the formation of the words “goodbye” that is difficult… I mean I literally just said goodbye in a bunch of different ways, so clearly I can pronounce it. But as I overthought the question as I typically do and am now, it became a lot more complicated than just getting the word out.

Looking into this crowd, there are a variety of different people. In the first few rows I see the classmates that have been with me for the past four years here at Tower Hill. Among them I see my friends that have supported me in the hard times and celebrated with me in each of our triumphs. At the top of the theatre I can see my family, who have literally known me my whole life. But at the same time, I see some underclassman who I’ve only just met and many more that I may have never even spoken to. But no matter how long I’ve known you all, there’s no doubt that you’ve all made an impact on me.

So the question that leaves me with is who do I even say goodbye to? I can’t possibly go up to each of you and say goodbye and thank you for helping shape me as a person, so what do I do? To be honest, I still don’t have an answer to that question.

But perhaps the more pressing question is how should we say goodbye? Well, if you think about it, we say goodbye ALL THE TIME. Whether it’s leaving home in the morning or leaving school in the afternoon or late into the night, there comes a moment every day when we say goodbye to our friends or family. So really, saying goodbye isn’t the problem.

But if it’s not the action of saying goodbye that’s hard, then what is it? For me, it’s the particular meaning saying goodbye has at the end of this year. When we say goodbye at the end of the year, it is not a “see you tomorrow” or a “see you later,” it feels like a TRUE goodbye.

It feels like we are saying goodbye to all the days we’ve spent together. All the days we walked into school and greeted each other. It feels like we are saying goodbye to the late nights at school working on robotics, rehearsing for the musical, or just yapping with friends. In thinking about this, I feel a sense of loss, realizing that after this year, our relationships with the people we’ve grown so accustomed to will seemingly end forever. No longer will I be able to drive to my friend’s house to hang out or go to Janssen’s after school. No longer will I be able to sit with my friends under the stars long past curfew to reminisce about the past or be excited for the future. No longer will I be able to bump into all of you in the audience and just have a good conversation.

To me, that is why it is so difficult to figure out how to say goodbye. This year, there is an emotional weight to it that was never present in the past. For me personally, these last few months will bring an end to the 12 year legacy my brothers and I have had at this school, each of us experiencing completely different eras of Tower

Hill that have helped us grow in ways we never could have imagined. To all of us seniors, I know we all find the same surreal feeling when we think about the end of our time here.

So how will I do it? How will I say goodbye? Well… I won’t. No, I am not going to try to get held back to stay here longer, but I will also not be saying goodbye. When I was younger, my parents introduced an idea to me. Instead of saying goodbye, say see you later. Though this year really feels like an end, try to remember it’s not. Try to remember that things don’t end, they just change. Think of this year not as the end, but a new beginning. Your friendships won’t end but they will definitely change. We’ll go out next year on a new journey, but we’ll never forget where we come from. So don’t worry about how to say goodbye, but rather put some effort into these last few months to build your story and relationships. Make sure that when you look back at this time, you don’t regret any missed opportunity or experience, but you will instead be proud of who you were. Thank you, and goodbye… well… see you later.

YASH SENGUPTA ’25

My family is the most important thing in my life, as they have helped me get through every up and down that I’ve experienced. I would like to use this speech to talk about a specific and lasting memory with each of my family members that I will never forget and am very thankful for.

For my brother, I will never forget always playing sports whenever we have any free time. As of late, you only want to play ping pong, but sometimes I’ll convince you to also play soccer. Playing sports together for the past couple of years has brought us closer each day, even if you get upset and complain to our parents that I beat you in ping pong, to which my mom would say, “why can’t you let him win?” I’m sure that we will continue to play sports together, even after I go to college and we both get older. That’s one thing that I’ll always remember when I think about you.

For my sister, I will never forget our car rides to school together and to the other places I drive you, even if it’s a one hour drive. Taking turns playing our favorite music, like anything by SZA, and talking about whatever was going on at school at the time, or anything else that we could put our minds to. From the time when I first started driving you to school till now, or anywhere in general, I feel that we’ve grown closer because we’ve spent a lot of time together, and I’m very grateful for that. When I’m walking on campus at college this August, I’ll always miss our little debriefs before we separate, or when we’re on the way to somewhere else. That’s one thing I’ll always remember when I think about you.

For my dad, I will never forget our movie nights when I was younger. We would get dinner at a restaurant close to the theater, like Red Robin, Applebee’s, or Chili’s, and that would be our thing. My mom, sister, and brother would stay home because they didn’t really like watching movies, but we did. Some I remember are Guardians of The Galaxy, Race, and The Avengers. I would always save enough room for popcorn, even if I had a big dinner. This is something that has slowed as I’ve gotten busy with high school and you’ve gotten busy too, but we haven’t stopped this tradition. I hope that this shared activity between me and you doesn’t stop, even after I leave for college. It was a big part of my childhood, and still is, so I don’t want it to just stop. That’s one thing I’ll always remember when I think about you.

And finally, for my mom, I will never forget the unconditional support that I’ve gotten from you. Growing up, you’ve always stood by my side, no matter whether I was in the wrong or not. No matter how much my sister and dad argue with me about something, you will always argue for me against them. You and I get along very well, as we have a lot of things in common, like how much we like to shop, or how we both like to never be bored. Even though we have our arguments, about whatever it may be, our relationship grows stronger with each one. I can’t think about one specific memory, because there’s so many that I’m grateful for and will always cherish. With today being your birthday, I hope to make another special and everlasting memory, with you and our family, who I will always love, no matter where I happen to be in the world. Thank you.

ALEXANDRA JANE SIMON ’25

When I think back to my earliest memories, I was always in motion. I never understood how my older brother could stare at the television screen for hours on end, simply absorbing the images and sounds projected in his direction. I found my own ways of passing the time, but never idly; instead, I discovered my love for making things, for and learning by doing.

One of my favorite activities was making rainbow loom bracelets. In the beginning, I simply followed step-by-step instructions in craft books, being careful not to deviate for fear of ruining their picture-perfect patterns. But over time, I felt limited by the popular patterns and ditched the instructions, a risk that led to even greater creations: each new product was unique no band sequence was the same.

Granted, ditching the instruction books also meant throwing out half-finished bracelets gone wrong, but it was through my immersion in the craft that taught me that creating something meaningful and unique requires mistakes along the way.

When it came time to learn in school, it was difficult to get excited about subjects that seemed distant or simply “projections on a screen.” In seventh grade, since taking a language was required, I chose French frankly, because my mom and brother had taken it, and I was convinced they would help me study. For four years, French class was monotonous. It felt like watching television: a passive experience of memorizing definitions from the textbook and minimally contributing in class out of fear of mispronouncing or mistranslating a word.

I felt bound to my textbook like the bracelet instruction booklets from my youth. I needed to find a way to get my hands dirty, to interact with French beyond simply repeating the words ingrained with pencil lead on notebook paper while staring at the posters on the walls.

In eleventh grade, my aunt and uncle hosted Basile, an exchange student from France. He was witty and considerate, and knew firsthand the challenges associated with learning a new language; he struggled with English as I struggled with French. We would spend hours sitting around the round wooden table in my kitchen, conversing in a mix of English and French about the unique things Basile liked about France and disliked about America and vice versa. I quickly realized that communicating in a different language could never happen by staring at flash cards or clicking through Duolingo activities; it requires creativity and improvising, finding a way to express complex ideas through working with what you do know.

When back in class, I raised my hand more, took greater risks while speaking, and became more open to the wonders of French culture.

In the spring of my junior year, I finally had the opportunity to travel to France. I saw amazing old architecture and stained glass windows at the Arc de Triomphe and Sainte-Chapelle; I fell in love with flavorful foods, like

escargot and a variety of pastries. Most importantly, I heard people speaking French everywhere. I was finally able to immerse myself in a culture that Basile had taught me so much about, and I finally understood how he felt in America. And after the countless hours sitting around the wooden table in my kitchen, I felt confident enough to speak French.

Though taking French allowed me to build a lifelong friendship and experience France firsthand, my journey with the French language has provided me with an important perspective on my own work ethic. I learned that verbatim definitions and hours studying for tests is sometimes not enough, and true comprehension takes full immersion, risks, and complete commitment sometimes by ditching the instructions and having the help of a friend.

I encourage you to find something new that piques your interest whether that is something so menial as looping together pink rainbow loom bands or something as difficult as learning a new language.

And I inspire you to get your hands dirty and immerse yourself in what you’re doing; to take risks to achieve your goals; and to learn a lesson from what you are experiencing, even if what you are doing is required.

DIOGO HEDIN DEAZEVEDO BAYLEY SOARES ’25

As many of you know, I am a fan of the Green Bay Packers. I was born into a family of Packers fans as my mom lived in Wisconsin most of her life and my brother and I became Packers fans because of this. I was three when they beat the Steelers in the Super Bowl, but I don’t remember it at all, meaning I have been through basically 14 years of Divisional and NFC Championship defeats. It could obviously be worse as they have made the playoffs almost every year since then, but the frustration of losing every year to the same teams is horrible. Whether it was the Seahawks, or the 49ers, or the 49ers again, it was constant pain every year. We’d go into the playoffs, thinking we were going all the way, only to be left heartbroken after a last-minute field goal or touchdown.

Some of these heartbreaks that I remember are the Seahawks coming back and winning in overtime in the NFC Championship, losing to the 49ers five times in 11 years in the playoffs, and getting blown out by the Falcons in the NFC Championship. Every single time I go to watch one of these games, I dream of the Packers finally winning the Super Bowl like they should have the past 10 years, and, every single time, I am disappointed. It’s hard to reflect on the positives, especially when the loss is to the same team we always lose to, or due to some fluke like a missed field goal or blind refs. But it hurts more when there are no excuses and the Packers just play terribly in the one game where it matters most. But once I have recovered from my frustration and anger, I get more frustrated and angry when I think about it again. Once I calm down enough to be able to think about it without losing it, I think about how good it is to be a Packers fan.

There is always a chance for another year and another ring. Watching the Packers comes with great expectations, and it is humbling to watch other teams play or talk to other fans because they get to experience organizations that don’t have these expectations every year. Teams like the Eagles before 2017, the Bears, the Steelers, and the worst of them all, the Cowboys. Teams go through every season expecting absolutely nothing or some barely expect to win it all, and they are always disappointed to end the season with no progress from the last year. Thinking about this makes me grateful to be a Packers fan and it leads to remembering some of the best moments. Like when I was younger, Aaron Rodgers’ last-minute winners and his blessed Hail Marys, Matt Flynn’s season as QB after Rodgers was injured, and Eddie Lacy.

It’s hard to look back and rewatch the games, as it still sucks seeing what could have been, but it’s also nice to rewatch games like the Packers ruining the Cowboys season once again while being the seven seed and with the worst defense in the NFL.

My advice? Instead of looking back on things that could have been or mistakes that were made, look back on the memorable moments and ones that keep you going and your hope alive. Even when all is lost, things could still be worse, you could support a team who has never even seen a Super Bowl. Thank you.

RYAN MARTELL SPAGNOLO ’25

I hate the rain. But last summer I made an exception. To set the scene, it was a beautiful day, not too hot or cold, the doors and roof were off of my car and there was a perfect breeze. My friend and I had decided to take a trip down to Target, noting the greyish clouds in the distance. Surely they wouldn’t be a problem. As we approach our destination it begins to downpour, not a cute drizzle, a soaking. We parked and put the roof back on, but the windows and doors were at home safe in my basement unlike the interior of my car. Foolishly we continued with our trip through the isles taking our sweet time. After getting back in the car we had decided to put our keys, wallet and phones in the center console to prevent them from getting wet. Of course, with our luck of that day I had absent mindedly locked it when it was open, then closed it on itself. I told my friend that it would be okay because I had a spare key at home. Upon arriving at my house, I put the cover on my car and started searching for the key. After looking for maybe 30 minutes we called my dad who was at a soccer tournament with my sister. He told us that the spare keys were definitely in the side door of his car parked in long term parking at the Philadelphia airport. So, in a not so orderly fashion my friend and I took her car with her mom’s phone to the airport in search of this spare key. After not finding any keys in my father’s car we gave up and decided to just call the locksmith to hopefully pop the lock. As we rounded the corner out of the parking garage we saw the dreaded parking tolls. Now, if you remember, we locked our wallets and phones in my car back in Wilmington so we had zero access to money. Finally, our luck started to turn around. We scrounged up the needed money from nickels and dimes in her cup holder and were let free. Once home I called the locksmith and they popped the center console open in about five minutes, I let out a sigh of relief to have my belongings back. My friend had returned home before the locksmith could open the center console so I drove to her house to return her phone and wallet. Running outside she fills the space with sorries and abundant forgiveness, I remind her that all is well and to make sure to have a good laugh about it. Everyone faces different adversities in life, some choose to cry or go silent, but I always choose to laugh. As I move on to the next stages of my life, I remind myself that we truly only live once and it’s important to see the good of a situation, even if it’s a bad joke. I encourage everyone to laugh, laugh as much as you can because you never know when something funny will happen again. Now, whenever I leave the Philadelphia airport you can count on me laughing to myself.

LYDIA ELIZABETH SPENCER ’25

Almost every year, my family and I travel to Louisiana for Thanksgiving, Christmas, or sometimes both. This trip is what I look forward to most each year. Starting at the airport, the smell, the people, and the objects remind me of home and the exciting time I will have with my family.

I have been on a plane a million times in my life and through good and bad times, it is easily the best place to start a vacation. After the plane ride, my sister and I rush to baggage claim to get our bags and meet my grandparents there. This might be the best part of the trip. I see my short and perfectly round grandma with her curled hair and plat-formed flip flops, and my grandpa with his LSU football cap, collared shirt, jeans, and New Balance sneakers. My heart lights up and my eyes sparkle when we see them and the trip gets instantly better. With its deep southern charm, Louisiana is my birthplace and every trip back feels like a return to a part of myself that only I truly understand when I'm there.

On the drive from the Jackson, Mississippi airport to their house, we have heartwarming conversations, catch up with our lives, and plan how the week will go together. These car rides are where we form our close bonds and I will always remember them. After spending about a day or two with my mom’s parents in a nice twostory house on a lake, we travel to a smaller more rural town about 20 minutes west to my dad’s mom’s house. This house epitomizes a southern grandma’s house: horses, cows, donkeys, and all. Memories of running through my grandma’s backyard dodging fire ants, feeding horses, and spending long afternoons cooking everything with Crisco, made every visit feel like stepping back into a simpler, more genuine world. Remembering her popcorn ceilings and concrete floor made the memories feel more vivid throughout the years. I got a taste of two different lives when I was growing up, riding horses in a small town and waiting up to 45 minutes on I-95 in traffic just to get to school.

Back home in Delaware, life is different. It’s faster, busier, and at times, more challenging. But the lessons I’ve learned from my time in Louisiana have shaped me into who I am today. I am driven, organized, and passionate qualities achieved not just by my experiences in school and sports, but by the love and resilience I’ve witnessed in my family. Volleyball, for example, has been a constant in my life since fourth grade, becoming more than just a sport. It’s a testament to the support my parents have always given me, from driving hours to tournaments to cheering loudly from the sidelines, even when they barely understood the game. My grandmother, too, was my biggest fan, her voice echoing in my ears as she cheered me on, not just in volleyball, but in life.

Whenever my dad’s mom visited us, she would go along with whatever we did without complaints even if she was exhausted from biking and walking around for miles when we went to the beach. She would come along to our super-long volleyball tournaments and it was safe to say she was the loudest person out there. She was my sister and my biggest fan. She was never sure of what to say but she made her presence clear and I aspire to be half the grandma she was someday.

When I was younger, Louisiana held my favorite memories. But as I’ve grown older, those visits have changed. The significance hasn’t disappeared, but it’s become layered with the realities of life and the bittersweet passage of time. My grandma, once the vibrant heart of our family gatherings, began to fade when she was diagnosed with a brain tumor in 2022. Seeing her struggle with cancer, watching her personality shift and her strength disappear, was one of the hardest things I’ve ever experienced. Yet, in these moments, I also learned the true meaning of family standing by each other, offering strength and love when needed most, just as she had done for us throughout our lives.

I knew that the following visits to Louisiana would be different. Instead of being distant and miserable for her remaining time, my family and I would do as much as we could with her to make her last couple of memories the most cherished. It was hard seeing someone you love and admire so much drift away, but this is life, which sometimes can be difficult to accept. But like her support for us all these years, we showed the same, being by her side through this awful experience, and my dad’s side as well. This was especially hard for him since he already lost his dad when he was young. Seeing my dad in this state made me see a side that he did not show that often. He tried to stay strong for us but seeing his mother die makes anyone more vulnerable. When it was time for the funeral; our dedication was well worth seeing that my grandma died in peace and felt loved. After this experience and getting older, I realized that moving away from Louisiana was a choice my parents made to give my sister and me opportunities we might not have had otherwise. And while our lives in Delaware have been filled with new experiences and growth, those trips back to the South have grounded me, reminding me of where I come from and what truly matters.

Change is constant, but it’s how we adapt to those changes that define us. Our ears no longer hurt as the plane descends, the new routines that we create when someone we love is no longer with us these are the markers of growth, of understanding that life will always present us with challenges, but it’s our ability to embrace them that makes life beautiful. Louisiana will always be a part of me, just as much as Delaware is now my home. And in that, I find balance a love for the past, a readiness for the future, and the strength to face whatever comes next.

REAGAN CHELSEA SQUIRE ’25

I’ve never much liked the term best friend. What makes a true best friend and where can you find one? When I was a little girl, six years old to be exact, I used to think that a best friend was merely someone who agreed to go on the swings with me every day at recess or someone who would share there gummy bears with me during snack time. As a result of this definition, I often referred to everyone as my best friend but it wasn’t until I got older that I realized that this title was not reciprocated. I then shifted my focus on creating long lasting memories with people who make me happy instead of fulfilling just a simple title.

As I’ve grown, my definition of a best friend has grown as well. A best friend is someone who supports you unconditionally, but is still able to tell you when you are wrong. A best friend is someone who knows how to make you laugh even in your hardest moments. And a best friend is someone you can go to whenever you need a shoulder to cry on. Best friends are not randomly created, they usually have been there all along. However, it takes a shared experience to unmask a true best friend.

One can view best friendship as the cultivation of a fire. To make a fire, you need an initial spark and then, to keep said fire alive, you need to add pieces of firewood and tinder. This is exactly how best friendships work: you need an initial interaction, then shared memories and experiences to keep the bond alive exactly how you would a fire. Except there is a caveat, most friendships should in fact last longer than your average fire. If they don’t, you may want to figure out what the problem may be.

When I developed this all-encompassing definition of what a best friend is, I realized that I’ve had a best friend all along. In fact, since December 19th, 2008.

Someone that can make me laugh when I’m crying, but also someone I can unapologetically spam with random TikTok videos. The only difference is that my best friend also tends to steal my clothes without asking, tattle to my parents about me, and refuses to walk our dog even when it’s HER turn.

Having my sister in the Upper School has been nothing short of a blessing in disguise, barring the daily comments that we are actually identical twins. I fondly recount the school memories I have made with my sister from the seemingly endless car rides on I-95 to winning a volleyball state championship. My sister has taught me so many lessons on how to be resilient, the value of forgiveness, and just how important an inside joke can truly be all of which have made me a better person, teammate, and most importantly a better sister.

So instead of looking for a best friend, find someone who brings out the best in you or maybe sometimes the worst if it’s over chores. Find someone that you can light your fire with and maybe just maybe if it’s the right person, it won’t ever burn out.

EMMA LACY SUPERNAVAGE ’25

If you know me, you know that without my calendar, to-do list, and clean room, life simply could not go on. At any given moment I am looking months into the future and trying to plan, schedule, and organize whatever I can. For example, a couple weeks ago, when I didn’t even know what college I was going to, I managed to make an extensive google sheets college packing list. When I told my parents, they thought it was funny; but when I told my brother, he thought I was going crazy. For context, my little brother Gabe, with his raging case of ADHD, has almost a polar opposite personality from me. Over the years this contradiction has led to quite a few conflicts.

Firstly, my brother and I have very different ideas of what it means to be on time. When I had to take my brother to school this week I told him that we were leaving at 7:25. I thought it went without saying that this meant you’re in the car at 7:20 on the dot. Yet, from my driver’s seat I watched Gabe come down the stairs at 7:23 to look for his shoes, make breakfast, and then come out at about 7:30.

Secondly, if you didn’t know any better, you’d think Gabe doesn’t have his own bedroom. I am only aware of Gabe’s constant desire to be in my room because of the painfully obvious trace he leaves. One Saturday evening I remember coming home to my room reeking of syrup. When I took a closer look at my desk, there was a half eaten waffle and a puddle of syrup on a plate. Another time I came home from a soccer tournament to my PS4 controller on my couch with my PS4 running. It’s the principle here that he has his own perfectly fine Xbox in his room but decided to play on my PS4. This week I’ve come home to his shoes next to my bed, a golf ball in my bed, and a bottle of ketchup on my dresser.

Lastly, and most importantly, Gabe and I drive our parents crazy over the arguments we have over clothing. We have a very strict system in place: Gabe gets the black Nike socks, I get all the white ones. When it comes to sweatpants, they must have an E or a G written on the tag or else they are fair game. Still, my brother fails to understand the severity of the system we have set in place and violates the sovereignty of my closet all the time. My favorite part is when I confront him about it, he always replies with, “It was in my pile of laundry, talk to Mom about it.” The key takeaway here is that he knows very well he’s wearing my clothes but likes to act harmless. Manipulation at its finest.

Believe it or not, when he isn’t wearing my clothes, Gabe and I do genuinely enjoy each other’s company. As graduation has grown closer and closer, I can’t help but think about how weird it will be to come home to a room that lacks my little brother’s traces. In thinking about this however, I have realized that no matter how far I go, I will never truly lose the trace he has left on me. Our weird sense of humor, inability to take anything seriously together, and our endless competition over the littlest things will remain a part of me well past graduation.

So seniors, even though leaving behind our friends and family this summer seems daunting, try to remember that you’re bringing them with you in a way. If you take anything from this speech, let it be a reminder to slow down, appreciate the little things about the people you love, and most importantly, ask before wearing your siblings’ clothes.

ALYSSA ROSE SWIFT ’25

I was seven and my mother forced me to make what felt like an end of the world decision. She asked, “Gymnastics or dance?” I remember vividly we were in her bright blue car in front of my small dance school. I recall thinking “I have no clue, but I don’t want to go into dance class right now,” so gymnastics is what I chose. My mom and sister were my biggest supporters, every competition my sister would be there. The reason for that may only be because my mom didn’t know how to do my hair, because spending the weekend with 12-year-old Alyssa in a hotel away from home is not for the weak and will scar you, sorry Lexy and Jess. But Lexy was still at every meet regardless of the amount of panic attacks that occurred in only 48 hours.

In my freshman year of high school, making the decision of whether to continue gymnastics was difficult. I believed I was going against what I was meant to do my whole life when quitting. I was homeschooled throughout elementary and middle school for gymnastics, up until the middle of my freshman year. It was my life, it was what my days consisted of, from practice from one to six every day in the winter and nine to four in the summer with occasional Saturday practices. The scary thought of what would fill my day if I stopped gymnastics, tormented me constantly. I was afraid to make this decision and questioned if doing gymnastics was what I was supposed to be doing, practicing daily and competing every weekend. I questioned where I wanted to be and what I wanted my future to look like. I had no clue what I wanted but the memories I made and continue to make at gymnastics (since I went back and now compete again) will stay with me forever. Gymnastics has allowed me to have lifelong friends and family and taught me lessons I never would have learned if I hadn’t chosen gymnastics.

I’m not up here to only talk about my time quitting and returning to gymnastics because in reality that would take days to explain the statistics, for example the amount of bars I perched on, the number of beams I split, or the amount of times I said “I think my shin splints are coming back, can we do something else besides floor?” I believe if ever in your life you have to make a decision that may feel like the end of the world, for me it was whether to stop gymnastics and/or return to the sport I once loved, but for others it may be about their college choice or what tie should but usually won’t match their weirdly patterned shirts (Mr. Viscusi), or to decide what will float your boat and how one can even sink a submarine (Mr. Bloom). But do what feels right and live with no regrets, find a support system like your mom and especially like your sister to be there for you no matter what you decide (even if she plays a theme song for you anytime you walk into her office). Being a senior may be scary or may be exciting, but for everyone there will be a time you may have to make a decision you might be fearful of. Decisions are the hardest things to make, especially when it’s a choice between where you should be and where you want to be but I encourage you all to make decisions based on hope and possibility, and not based on fear.

BRYCE ELENA TWYMAN ’25

When I was a young child, my hair looked like my mother’s a head of full, fine, and soft brown ringlets. As I grew older, my ringlets became kinks and coils, impossible for my mother to fully untangle. She had to blow-dry it weekly for school, leaving it damaged and dry. Growing up in a predominantly white town, I did not realize I was different from other kids until my Kindergarten class learned how to braid hair except they did not know how to braid my hair.

Everything changed when my family moved closer to my dad’s relatives. Every one of his female relatives were within a ten-mile radius. Yet it took a couple of months for my mother and I to reach our breaking point her annual business trip. Usually, when my mother knew she’d be away, she’d call a stylist to braid my hair, normally with beads, to last until she got back. However, without a new stylist, my father was left in charge. Although my dad has sisters, his experience did not seem to help when faced with braiding his daughter’s hair. I remember standing in the bathroom, brush and hair beads in hand, ready for him to pull it off. He took one look and decided to call his mother.

The next thing I knew, I was driven to my grandmother’s house five minutes away and dropped off, with the simple instruction to “learn.” With the help from my grandmother, aunts, and cousins, I learned what it truly meant to take care of my hair. Black hair. How to wash it without tangling, what products to keep it moisturized, and how to create simple hairstyles that do not require braids. The slick back ponytail, bun, and two strand twist became my new go-to styles. Without the help from the women on my father’s side of the family, I would not have learned valuable lessons I would take with me for the rest of my life. While these seem like just hairstyling lessons to the rest of the world, the most important thing I learned that day from my grandmother did not come from her instructions. Rather, it was the knowledge that I needed to learn to rely upon myself.

Before moving closer to my family, I was ashamed of the natural state of my hair. I relied on my mother to manage it because I considered my hair a representation of myself, a truth that reflected my lack of selfconfidence. Though thick and kinky, my curls were fragile and required their own set of parameters for proper care. By moving to an environment where this care was normalized, my confidence grew. Unlike living in my old small town where I had to rely on others to do my hair for me, I feel empowered to do it on my own or seek help whenever I choose. Whether it be from hairstylists or family, my hair mirrors how I approach life through love, self-care, and my connection with those around me. I no longer wake up early to sit in my parents’ bathroom before school. Instead, I drag them to beauty supply stores to buy the proper products for my hair. No longer do I frustratingly rip out fried chunks of my hair when trying to detangle, instead I moisturize and brush continuous strokes while in the shower. But most importantly, I no longer feel the need to compare my hair to anyone else’s. So, while I still have hard days when I cannot make my hair look exactly how it looks on Pinterest, I always know that I can tame the chaos, one curl at a time.

MATTHEW COLBY TWYMAN ’25

My typical Saturday usually consists of a long run. A long run for me is usually at least 10 miles or more than 61 minutes of running at a steady pace. I’ll drag myself out of bed or gaslight my teammates and I to give up a portion of our Saturday to run aimlessly around neighborhoods, state parks, or in the city of Wilmington.

If you were to hear the conversation we have at the start of each run, you’d probably think that I hate running. Almost every long run starts off with a harmonious “I actually can’t run today” as if we didn’t all willingly choose the sport that exclusively runs. Yet, we always end up putting one foot in front of the other, starting the run. It can be monotonous to say the least, spending over an hour at a time doing nothing but the same thing; however, some of my favorite moments come from these runs. By about a mile into each run, our conversation shifts from the “I can’t believe we do this” to anything and everything. Often we’ll talk about school, sports, and come up with the tastiest food combinations to daydream about till the end of our run. Most of these conversations are silly and forgettable, something to lighten the mood of the moment. But, now as a senior, I can see each of those moments made the difference between us stopping or going a mile further.

I cherish each moment where a conversation turned to a piece of advice. I’m grateful for the times when my teammates pushed each other out of our comfort zones. Like convincing ourselves in the group chat to run at Brandywine when there was a torrential downpour. And subsequently wiping out a few times in the mud. Or exploring a new place to run locally; and then getting chased for a block in the city by the three biggest pit bulls we had ever seen. Each of those moments were not only memorable but created a unique experience that we all shared. As we went further in miles, we got closer in friendship. Through each hardship encountered, we felt the ability to preserve through because we all had each other’s backs.

My advice from all of this to you would be to find someone to do your long runs with. I recognize that giving up a portion of your weekend to run for an extended period of time may not be something we all face; but doing something we find challenging, tedious, or undesirable is. The people around us can have a profound impact on how we face challenges, and achieving our goals. So, find your group, the group of people that will joke around with you while pushing you to never quitting, and you’ll be surprised how far you can go.

ZOEY ADELE USHLER ’25

April 17, 2022 was going perfectly fine. It was Easter and I went to a Flyers game with my family. I had no idea that would be my last time stepping into my childhood home forever and would be one of the last normal times I’d ever see my father. I saw him at school the next day and then that was it; the last normal time ever seeing him in front of me.

April 19th, 2022. Some of you may know this date, some of you won’t remember it and others don’t know it at all. That’s okay though. I had cheer practice that night, which was a constant, and I was extremely lucky I was staying at my mom’s house that night, or else Tuesday morning would have been an even bigger surprise and also a complete and terrifying mess. Tuesday morning, I texted my dad asking if he’d be at lunch that day so I could see him, which I always did. This was nothing new, but the fact that the text never ever went through I knew something was wrong. My mom lied to me about where my father was, and I found out he wasn’t coming to Florida with us the next day. I was ready to break down and cry more than I already had, at this point I still knew nothing at all, just that he couldn’t contact us. Getting on that plane to Florida on Wednesday morning was one of the hardest things to actually accomplish. I was lucky enough to have cheer as a welcomed distraction for the weekend after getting the unsettling news.

People never think something can happen to the perfect family or more like the perfect co-parenting family which was my family. I never thought I’d have to explain where my dad is to people but yet I do. Even though this situation still hasn’t fully set in with my brain, and I do not know if it ever will. I still can’t tell if it’s for better or worse, I have a feeling in the end it might be better, but I still sometimes think it may be worse.

Coming back to school was one of the most nerve-racking experiences because I feared everyone would hate me and never talk to me again. Coming back to school was not optional and not something I could control. What would my peers think of me? But after meeting with some teachers and seeing my friends again, I realized that my support system was larger than before and many people still cared and wanted to make sure everything was okay. During these times of reacclimating to school I learned who my real friends were and which teachers cared about me. Even though I did not fully trust the support given to me originally, I eventually overcame my fears and let people help me in ways I could never thank them enough. I plan on being supportive towards other people in the future if anyone goes through a similar situation, so I can help them with their path towards feeling whole again.

Even though I’d like to completely forget these days, I know that at some point I may need to help another person with something similar. This will always be the hardest thing to physically, emotionally, and mentally write and think about for the rest of my life. I’m still completely scared of everything that I generally do not know, but sometimes we don’t need to know everything. I learned to lean on the support system I have and that they will always be there for me. All I have to say is never take a loved one for granted, even though they may seem crazy at the time there with you; the moment they disappear from your life is the worst thing to imagine. Thank you to my father for forcing me to grow up faster than I needed to. But a very special thank you to my mother for being my rock and best friend these past 17 years but especially the last two and a half years.

ASHLEY MACKENZIE VANDERSLICE ’25

Growing up, I was afraid of the dark. Now, when most kids say they are afraid of the dark they are referring to that which it conceals. Monsters under their bed. Creatures in their closet. Anything that a lack of light renders them unable to see. This, however, was not my situation. I feared the darkness itself.

When the lights would go off, it would envelop me. My door would disappear, my walls would shrink in and I would be trapped in the inky, suffocating, box of my bedroom. It was terrifying and I spent every day dreading the upcoming night. Then, I got my first night light, and my perception shifted entirely.

Unlike traditional night lights that plug into a wall, mine was shaped like a ladybug and had several stars and a crescent moon carved into its back. When I pressed the on button, red, green, and purple stars filled the dark space, illuminating the walls and ceiling. With this newfound ability to see the dimensions of my room, nighttime was no longer something to fear. Instead, it was something I began looking forward to. I spent hours in my bed staring at the artificial sky. The nightlight didn’t just combat my fears; it transformed my room into a celestial haven where I felt at peace. That is when I first fell in love with stars.

As I got older, confinement began taking more abstract forms. I wasn’t physically stuck in a room, but I felt restrained by daily routines that I could not control. However, this ulterior form of captivity provided me with a new appreciation for the night sky. The real night sky, not just the one plastered across my ceiling. When I felt stuck in the present, I would gaze at the stars and imagine each one as a different path my life could take. Right now is only temporary. There are boundless possibilities for the future. Great things lie ahead.

As I approach adulthood, I have found yet another reason to admire the night sky. With college around the corner, it has only recently hit me that I will not live here next year. I will be at a new school, with new people, in a new town. Everything will be different. But as the world around me changes, there is one thing that will remain constant: the stars. They are reliable. Every night, the sun will set, and the stars and moon will rise. This I can depend upon. And on nights when I find myself missing home, I can look at the stars and feel comfort in the knowledge that everyone I love exists under the same sky.

I am not a little kid anymore. I am no longer afraid of the dark. My fears are greater now and cannot be vanquished by something as simple as a night light. But, when I glance at the night sky, I feel as though I haven’t aged at all. The stars are not confined to the boundaries of time. They existed long before me and will sparkle for centuries to come. When I look at the stars, I remember the girl I once was, I imagine the person I will become, and I question who I am right now. When I look at the stars, I feel instantly connected to every person I have ever known and a thousand more I have yet to meet. There is an entire universe waiting to be explored. I can follow the stars to incredible places, and when I am ready, I know they will lead me back home. The future is bright. As long as the stars continue to shine, I will not be trapped in the darkness.

MAKAYLA RAYE WARTHEN ’25

There are moments in life that split everything into before and after. Before, things are routine easy to overlook. You’re wrapped up in the stress of school, friends, and little annoyances. Not worried about anything serious. And then, without warning, the after arrives.

For me, that moment came on what should’ve been an ordinary night two years ago. It was 11:00 p.m. I had just finished dancing in a crowded circle at a youth event in New York City, drenched in sweat, skin sticky, and mood... off. My mom had recommended I wear my hair out instead of the braids I usually go for. I fought her on it. But she insisted, “You’ll look better this way.” Now, standing there, my hair completely messed up and uncomfortable, all I could think was: She was so wrong.

Annoyed, I called my mom and demanded she bring me hair ties so I could get my hair out of my face after all, she was the one who insisted I divert from my usual hairstyle in the first place. A few minutes later, someone handed me a small bag of hair ties she had sent over, like she’d anticipated my meltdown before it even started. Problem solved before I could finish being dramatic.

When the event ended, my sister and I walked outside, still a little grumpy, but there she was my mom waiting with my dad and our dog, Chanel. Everything was fine. Everything was normal. Back at the hotel, I took a long shower to wash off the night. Still, everything was fine.

Then I heard counting. At first, it didn’t register just background noise. But then it got louder. Three… two… one… Something felt off. I stepped into the hallway, and all of a sudden, my world split in two. My dad was shouting. My sister was crying. And my mom my strong, unstoppable, larger-than-life mom was on the floor. That’s when I heard the words from my sister that made time freeze: “Mom’s heart stopped.”

Suddenly, EMTs were rushing in. The room blurred. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Everything that had been fine just moments earlier was now collapsing. And all I could do was replay our argument in my head, furious at myself for being mad over a hair tie. Because at that moment, I truly thought I had lost the most important person in my life.

She survived but the days that followed were some of the hardest I’ve ever lived. Because of COVID restrictions, I couldn’t be with her in the hospital. I stayed in New York with my grandmother, constantly wondering: Is she okay? Does she remember me? Will she ever be the same?

One morning, my phone rang. It was my mom but the voice on the other end was scared and unfamiliar. She didn’t know where she was or why she was at a hospital. The cardiac arrest had taken her memory, and she was terrified. My sister and I visited whenever we could, holding her hand and reassuring her she was safe. But each time we returned, it was like we had never been there at all. She didn’t remember the hugs, the whispered

promises that everything was going to be ok, or even our names. At that moment, I didn’t know if I’d ever get my mom back. But if there’s one thing I’ve always known it’s that my mom is a fighter.

To know my mom is to know that she’s a woman who gives everything she has without hesitation, who somehow knows what I need before I even say it. She had to grow up fast, learning to survive on her own as a teenager, working job after job just to provide for herself in a world that never made things easy. But no matter how many obstacles she faced, she never let them break her.

She never stopped pushing forward, never stopped fighting for a better life not just for herself, but also for my sister and me. She’s the reason there’s always a water bottle in my bag, the reason my charger is never missing, the reason I never leave the house without a jacket even when I swear I won’t need one. She is my greatest supporter, my fiercest protector, and my home. Because of her unwavering love, her endless sacrifices, and her constant belief in me, I am able to achieve anything I dream of. But the truth is, no school, no achievement, no moment of success will ever mean more to me than the love and support she has given me every single day of my life.

More than anything, it’s the little things that make her so special to me. Sitting on her bed every night, spilling all the latest tea and laughing until we can’t breathe. Waking up to 30 TikTok videos she swears I have to watch. Answering her calls on her drives home, knowing she doesn’t really have anything to say she just wants to hear my voice. Or our walks together in the park where it’s just the two of us, talking and reminiscing. And now, two years later, my mom has come back to us in full. Piece by piece, memory by memory.

That night the one that nearly broke me taught me something I’ll never forget, and I want to share it with all of you: Don’t wait for a crisis to appreciate what you have. And don’t let the small stuff distract you from the big love in your life. That love might come from your parents, your sibling, a friend, or someone else entirely but whoever it is, hold onto them.

For me, that love is my mom. But it’s also in the bond I share with my little sister, Maya. Even when we argue over clothes or get on each other’s nerves, she shows up for me patient, funny, and full of love. We know how to push each other’s buttons, but we also know how to make each other laugh when no one else can. And it’s in my dad, who never hesitates to drop everything when I need him. Whether it’s killing a bug, ordering my shopping cart, or just being a steady, quiet presence I always know he’s in my corner. It’s that kind of love the everyday kind, the kind that surrounds you quietly that holds you together when everything else falls apart.

So make sure to say thank you. Say I love you. And say it now. Because life can change in an instant. And when it does, it won’t be the grades, the gossip, or the hair tie arguments that matter. It’ll be the people who love you through it all.

So to my mom: Thank you for surviving. Thank you for fighting. And thank you for being the reason I know how to keep going.

BENJAMIN KELLEY WILLIAMS ’25

Since I was little, all I can remember is my life revolving around ice hockey. My mother took up hockey during college and my brother started playing as soon as he was old enough. They were both goalies but I knew that I did not want to be a goalie. This is partly because goalies have a reputation of being kinda weird. While I am not directly calling my mom and brother weird, the goalie was not the right position for me and I ended up playing defense pretty much ever since I started.

Some of my most prominent memories early in life involved traveling to watch my brother play in tournaments in New York, New Hampshire, Pittsburgh, and Virginia. During these trips I would spend my time playing knee hockey in hotel hallways and running around the hotel with my brother’s team, even though I was younger, they didn’t mind me tagging along. These things that we did probably annoy literally everyone in the hotel except for us but we never seemed to care. My favorite memory during these tournaments was during my brother’s finals game. I went to the bathroom twice and his team scored each time. The team moms’ superstition took over and they would send me away every time we needed a goal. They ended up winning all because of me in a shootout.

I couldn’t wait until it was my turn to start playing hockey. To this day I still look forward to the start of October and the start of my season. I would often have the same kids and the same coaches every year, which made my team seem like more of a family as each season progressed. One year we bonded more than ever because we had a new coach who was a former Marine and he had us go through grueling off-ice practices but they brought us even closer together. At the end of the season I was in the best shape of my entire life and my entire team was able to hold a plank for over six minutes and hold a wall sit for over 10 minutes. Just like my brother, I was able to play in some travel tournaments and the memories we built competing and spending time together made that travel team one of my favorites and helped me grow as both a person and player.

My love for hockey did not just stop as a fan or a player. For the past two years I was fortunate enough to become a coach of a middle school hockey team with one of my best friends from my high school team. The team consisted of almost all new players. It took some time for me to get used to coaching kids that I did not know but it became one of the most fun things I’ve ever done. Last year we made it to the playoffs and came back from a four goal deficit and a 15 minute overtime to win the game. They were going crazy and I felt a big sense of accomplishment because of the growth that all of the kids went through on and off the ice. Coaching a team made me feel a deeper appreciation for my own coaches. It turned out that most of the kids on the team went to Tower Hill which meant that I’ve been able to keep up with most of them and being able to randomly hear “Hi, Coach Ben” has never failed to make my day.

Ice hockey has been a constant throughout my life from childhood memories of watching my brother play to my own experiences as a player and now as a coach. It has brought me closer to my family, created lasting friendships, and taught me valuable lessons about camaraderie and teamwork. In every form it’s taken I’ve found a way for ice hockey to bring me closer to whomever I’m with. Throughout the 14 years I’ve been

involved in the sport it has given me so many opportunities to connect with the people around me and it has become my passion. As I move on to college I look forward to the new memories, challenges and relationships it will bring on or off the ice.

HANNAH YUFEI XUE ’25

My favorite button is the delete button. That might seem counterintuitive after all, the alphabet is what forms words, and punctuation is what finishes sentences. One could argue that the space bar is essential, since it takes up so much room on the keyboard. My father, a statistician, and my mother, an accountant, would tell you the numerical buttons are what matter most. But no novel, magazine, or scientific report could exist without the act of deletion. Even now, I’ve removed countless sentences, words, and letters from this speech.

I read with the scrutiny of the delete button. When I edit my work, I’m slashing out unnecessary adjectives, adverbs, and descriptions. I’m battling ellipses and em dashes scattered throughout paragraphs. The delete button, my sword and my shield, gives me a second chance. That grammatically incorrect sentence can be fixed. My misspellings can be corrected. Those wordy lines can be rewritten. I’ve nothing to fear when the delete button is by my side.

Even when I print my work onto paper, my finger is itching for the delete button. The words are inked onto the page, unremovable, but I still find myself wishing I could erase them and restart. Though the battlefield is bare, my mind is not.

As I hand in my English essay, I’m furiously swinging my sword at empty air. As I send in a chapter of my novel for a writing competition, I’m hunting for new letters to cut down. My delete-button eyes scan my sentences over once, twice, thrice, becoming narrower and narrower each time. Perhaps it would be best if I wiped the entire thing and started over.

The delete key grows in size, taking over the keyboard until there is just one comically large control on my computer, D-E-L-E-T-E stamped onto it in flashing white print. The more I read my work, the more I want to smash that button over and over until there’s nothing left on the document but the innocent blinking cursor.

What does each press of that delete key amount to, if my work isn’t good enough?

For days after my English paper is returned and the writing competition results come through, I block myself from the gradebook and the awards website. Opening those tabs on my computer takes more courage than picking up my sword ever did.

There comes a point where the sword and shield that is deletion begins wielding me, instead of me wielding it. Deletion takes on a mind of its own. It becomes motivated by self-consciousness, perfectionism, and the overwhelming desire to be the best at what I do. It’s the catalyst for hours spent anxiously picking at my nails, hours when reading others’ writing only makes me feel worse about mine.

Ernest Hemingway said, “The only kind of writing is rewriting,” but knowing when to let the delete button rest is just as important as knowing when to use it. For me, chasing the satisfaction of a “flawless draft” is far more detrimental than leaving a work slightly blemished.

Hemingway isn’t incorrect, per se. The delete key still holds an important role in the writing process imagine how convoluted this speech would be if I hadn’t edited it but it’s a double-edged sword. Too little deletion, and the work comes off as unpolished. Too much, and I fall into the trap of never being done.

I’ve learned that deletion isn’t the soul of my writing. There is no novel that is universally adored (just take a look at Goodreads reviews). Mistakes are inevitable, in sentences and in life; perfection isn’t synonymous with emotion. When I write from my heart, I form a special type of connection with the words on the page. That’s why I continue to do this not for the shiny medals and gold-foiled certificates, but for the joy that it brings. Even the delete button can’t wrest that from me.

JOEY ZHU ’25

A few weeks before writing this speech, me and my friends stumbled into some old photos of ourselves in freshman year. All I can say is “oh my god, who let me go outside wearing that.” Needless to say for those who knew me, it was… rough to say the least. Ill-fitting clothes, horrendous bowl cut, and thick lensed glasses, all thanks to my parents. I looked like and I am not afraid to admit this a total nerd.

Seeing that did cause me to do some self-reflection however. I’ve come a long way these past three years (thankfully), and I’m almost an entirely different person than who I was in freshman year, not only in how I dressed but in personality. I went from an under confident freshman to speaking on stage now, and a large part of that was changing what I felt was… lacking, to say the least: the way I dressed. Over the next few years, I would almost completely replace my old wardrobe and begin to develop an actual fashion sense. I can’t say it was easy. I still made mistakes, and I still looked like I just rolled out of bed sometimes, but now, three years later, I look better than I ever did.

I could have never gotten the courage to improve myself without the support of my friends. They have supported me throughout my foray into fashion with varying degrees of support but nonetheless without them, I could have never gathered the courage to step out of my comfort zone.

This speech is, of course, not about my objectively flawless taste in fashion. My point is that I was able to turn into a much more confident version of myself simply because I changed something that I wasn’t satisfied with: the way I dressed. We all have something about ourselves that we aren’t satisfied with, probably not as vain as whether your jacket matches your pants, but just like I was able to change how I dressed, changing what you aren’t satisfied with is not as hard as it might seem. After all, you have a whole community around you who will support you; your parents, teachers, and friends will always want the best for you.

I’m not saying it’ll be easy it takes me 30 minutes in the morning to get ready now but I am telling you that after it’s all said and done, even if it’s something as small as improving how you dress, it’s worth it.