Senior Speeches 2024

Senior

Speeches

2024

BY THE CLASS OF

JACK ALLEN ’24 I know many people talk about friends and family during their Senior Speeches, but today I am going to be talking about my enemy, bread. Yes, you heard that right, I want to devote this time to talking about that dark presence in my life that has truly haunted me for as long as I can remember.

Looking back, I am astonished that my parents even let me come face to face and interact with this demonic combination of flour and hatred. I believe my first experience with bread was when I was younger and still innocent and pure to the evils in this world. I vividly remember how vile it was, sitting in front of me at the table. It smelled strange and looked unnatural. I tried to give it a chance, but as I maintained my stare, I could feel my insides quivering as the bread began to stare back at me.

I rejected the bread, but it did not take this rejection well—the food always comes back to bite me when I least expect it. In lower school, I remember kids would pick up a piece of bread and chase me while yelling, “Jack repellant.” Now, I’m not sure if that was maybe just a sign that they didn’t want me to be near them, but regardless this marked one of my first battles against that piece of grain.

It plays mind games on me, targeting me when I am in my most vulnerable state—hunger. Every day during meals, bread appears just to make a mockery of me. Whether it’s shooting out of a toaster or disguised with sauces or seasoning to look “unbread-like,” bread is everywhere. That fiend has even corrupted my family and friends. The fact that people say something is “the best thing since sliced bread” honestly disturbs me. Why can’t we compare things to actual good stuff—I mean I’ve come to think I am the only one resistant to bread’s oppression.

Before you ask, no I am not allergic to bread and no I don’t have an irrational fear of it—or at least I don’t think I do. I’m not exactly sure what caused my initial disgust, to be honest, I was probably emotionally scarred from Uncrustables when I was younger. Regardless, my family has been pretty accepting of this dietary restriction. I say “pretty accepting” because although my relationship with bread has become so well known that even some teachers here at Tower Hill are aware of my resentment, this has not deterred my dad from forgetting and asking at some point without fail every month whether or not I would like him to make me a sandwich for lunch.

Most of the time when I bring up my stance on bread people will propose questions like, “What would happen if you ate it?” “How come you eat every other thing that is made from the exact same ingredients?” “Have you ever tried it?” (shakes head no), and my personal favorite: the “Would you rather” questions.

One thing I have learned through my experiences with bread is that even though it would probably be easier to just say I eat it, I have grown a sort of comfortableness in not necessarily doing what everyone else is doing or eating what everyone else is eating. In this way, I’ve become more independent and I encourage everyone to

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stick to your beliefs. Kinda like how when people say don’t yuck someone else’s yum, don’t let people yum your yuck either.

Thank you.

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MEGAN ANGENY ’24 I swam the 500 freestyle almost every swim meet. For those of you who are less familiar with swimming, the 500 free is the longest-distance event you can swim in a high school swim meet. The 500 is 20 laps and it takes around seven minutes to swim. This event is so long that one of your teammates has to sit at the other end of the pool to count for you so you don’t lose track of what lap you’re on. It sounds like fun, I know. Today I’m going to tell you the story of how I got myself into that situation.

My freshman year was the COVID year, and in order to keep the number of people in the pool area as low as possible, only the fastest swimmers were taken to compete in swim meets. Mind you, I was definitely not one of the fastest swimmers, so I was told I would not swim in the first meet, or in any meet for that matter. However, my coach told those of us who weren’t swimming to pack our bags just in case someone got sick. Can you see where this story is heading? One seemingly normal Thursday in the winter of my freshman year, I was minding my business, walking to lunch, when my swim coach stopped me in the hallway and said, and I quote: “Perfect, just the girl I was looking for!”

She proceeded to tell me someone had gone home sick and that she needed me to swim the 500. What I said next would turn out to be the dumbest thing I have ever said: I told her yes. If I could only go back and tell freshman Megan what she was getting herself into.

The rest of that day leading up to the meet I was a nervous wreck. How the heck was I going to finish 20 laps in a timely manner during a meet? I told my advisor my concerns about swimming the 500. At the time, I was in my own head about doing something scary so I wasn’t really listening to what he was saying. But looking back, this is one of the best pieces of advice I’ve ever received. He said to me, “Clearly she believes in you, trusts you, and thinks you are capable, otherwise, she wouldn’t have asked you to do it.”

At the meet, I reluctantly warmed up and prepared myself for the very real possibility of drowning during my race. Shaking, I made my way up to the blocks and put on my goggles. I told myself all I had to do was finish the race: a literal moment of “just keep swimming.” Another thing you should know about the 500 is that a bell is rung when the first swimmer makes it to their last two laps of the race. Personally, I thought this was super mean because, for the slower swimmers like me, it meant that I was barely halfway through the 20 laps when the bell rang, indicating that the fastest swimmer in my event was about to finish. Though I wasn’t sure I could do it, I finished my first 500 ever and was proud of myself for trying, even though I was a full 3 minutes slower than the girl who won the event.

I had the opportunity to swim in every meet after that. I was still super nervous to swim the 500, but my times had started to slowly improve. The 500 had become known as my signature event of sorts. Not because I was incredibly fast, but because I stuck with it and began to embrace my role as a long-distance swimmer. I even started swimming the 200 free along with the 500.

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Although I joke that I regret saying yes to this event my freshman year, I actually could not be more grateful for everything the 500 has done for and taught me throughout my time on the swim team. Saying yes gave me the opportunity to be involved with the team in a way I never thought I would. I set my fear of embarrassment aside, not caring if I looked slow or out of place. I just took any chance to swim that I was given and tried my best.

I was also able to contribute in a way I didn’t know I was capable of. Specifically, this year, I was able to set a personal record at our DISC meet, cutting 11 seconds off of my time in the 500 and placing in the top six. This meant I not only contributed points to our score, but I also earned my varsity letter, something I had been working hard toward this entire season.

The best thing I earned from saying yes, though, is the friendships I’ve made with my teammates. I have met some of my best friends through swimming, and I don’t know what I’m going to do without them next year. I have also been super lucky to get to work alongside our wonderful coaches this year as a captain, a role I definitely would not have without saying yes my freshman year.

Just about a month ago, I swam my last 500 ever. Much like my first time swimming this event, I had no expectations going into it, but this time, I told myself all I had to do was enjoy it and take it in. I ended up finishing my last 500 with my second best time ever, but that’s not what mattered. What mattered were my friends who cheered me on as I swam my last 500 and who cried alongside me when I got out of the pool for the last time.

What I want you to take away from my story is this: much like my advisor and coaches proved to me four years ago, an opportunity would not present itself if you weren’t ready for it. You’re stronger than you know, you can handle more than you think, and you can swim longer than you feel that you can. So, say yes when someone has trust in you, you might just learn to have trust in yourself, too.

Thank you.

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KATHARINE “KATE” BARTON ’24 “Nothing is permanent.” This is a quote that irks my soul.

Now, in theory, I do understand what whoever coined this phrase meant, things change and it can’t really be that bad. But in my own life some things are permanent, but how I deal with them has changed instead.

Right before my freshman year, I had a health scare, the whole nine yards, the ER trips, the scary maybes, and what ifs. My body sort of just stopped working right. I was a complete medical mystery being bumped from doctor to doctor. I missed a lot of school and did about half of the year on Zoom. I had to change how I lived my everyday life and accept that my normal wasn’t like anyone else’s. My hips and knees dislocate, and I have constant nausea and chronic exhaustion. It’s not great and in fact, is permanent.

Figuring out how to live my new normal became my number one priority. Throughout the mystery illnesses, I fell into a habit of comparing my grades, my health, and myself to the other seemingly perfect teenagers around me. I couldn’t even have the cliche college essay material about sports injuries, the winning goal, or teamwork.

Thankfully, this mindset was not permanent. If I stayed in this place, I would have missed out on core memories, friendships and mentors. As we emerged from the pandemic, something shifted. These self-isolating thoughts were replaced with a search for alternative ways to reconnect with my school, community and friends.

At first, I wasn’t sure what that could even look like. Some of the best mindset-shifters even took me by surprise. Because I couldn’t play the required three seasons of sports, I started managing teams. I was not thrilled about this prospect at first, but it turned out to be a great way to reconnect. I commiserated with an exchange student who was sidelined by injury, got soaked by underclassmen while volunteering on the pool deck and found joy in watching others do what they love.

Once I started rebuilding my connections with my community, other ideas came more easily to me. At church, I teach Godly Play, and I love being a mentor to three to five-year-olds who think I am a full-grown adult and who are funnier than most adults. The Book Club I had created in seventh grade grew and I formed new friendships over a shared love of literature.

One of my doctors introduced me to a metaphor: The Spoon Theory, which describes the amount of physical and/or mental energy that someone has available to do daily tasks and how it can become limited.

Each person is given 12 spoons a day, and sometimes I have 12 but sometimes I might have just a few. This has helped me get unstuck from my scared mindset. Although I still resent my illnesses, I have learned that to live my life, full of things that bring me joy, that I have to work with my body instead of against it. I ration my time

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into the necessary parts of school, work and appointments, but I save time and more importantly energy for things and people that make life fun.

The idea of non-permanence in a world of permanent things is idiotic, but it forces and encourages change to the surrounding world. I have adapted to my physical restrictions. Slowly and deliberately, I stopped comparing myself to those other seemingly perfect people. None of us are perfect, and many of us are dealing with invisible challenges. There will always be things my body simply cannot do. However, this diagnosis has led to a kinder and more flexible notion of what it means to be me and to look past outward appearances in others, too. Thank you.

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NICHOLAS BRADY ’24 “I am speed.” The mantra of Lightning McQueen from Cars defined my childhood. Growing up I was fixated on anything related to cars and racing. My sister’s Barbie VW Bug was the first toy I was drawn to. This was the start of my love for cars. I initially satisfied my interest in cars by incessantly watching the first two Cars movies. On my first day of kindergarten, I couldn’t wait to talk to my friends about Cars 2, which had been released a few months before. At the same time, I played a lot of racing games; I could beat anyone at Mario Kart. My favorite level was Moo Moo Farm and I even took the time to learn every shortcut on the track. Eventually, I outgrew Mario Kart and moved on to the Need for Speed and Forza games. I logged hundreds of hours playing Need for Speed: Most Wanted and Forza Motorsport 5 with my childhood friends. The Forza games really introduced me to racing and I developed a passion for NASCAR. My parents took notice and took me to the race in Dover as well as getting a giant cardboard cutout of my favorite driver, Jeff Gordon.

Jeff Gordon was the fastest driver in the 2000s and practically the Michael Jordan of NASCAR. I wanted to be the driver to eclipse all of his records. I started researching how to get into racing and how to become a NASCAR driver. Unfortunately, my research indicated that, at 14 years old, I was already considered too old to start racing. All professional drivers were either rich, had been racing since they were toddlers, or both. The best drivers had 20 years of experience by age 23 while my only driving experience was once in an electric gokart at a birthday party.

I realized that a racing career in NASCAR was not feasible, but a career in engineering was. My research into how to become a race car driver exposed me to other opportunities, and I shifted my sights to getting into a good engineering program where I could learn to design race cars, rather than drive them. The first step was to more formally expose myself to motorsports and continue the journey I started with that Barbie VW Bug. If you can learn one thing from my experience, I hope it’s this: Don’t give up on something because it seems too late or otherwise impossible. Keep following your interests until you find the path that works.

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REBECCA “BECCA” CASE ’24 Reflecting on my time at Tower Hill and about what my final message would be, I realized that most of the people here don’t really know me, with the exception of close friends and faculty. If there is anything anyone here knows about me, it’s that I work… a lot, but there’s a reason for that and I’d like to share that with you all today.

When I was about three years old, my parents separated. Shortly after the divorce, my stepfather moved in, creating an environment where I was alienated from my siblings and isolated from my mother. Those six years living with him were traumatizing, leaving me with several mental scars, however, when I was 11, he was arrested and I moved back to what I had hoped would be a normal life. While it seemed like it would all finally be over, I was diagnosed with several mental health issues, causing me to struggle throughout my academic career. During my middle school years, I avoided my mental health, focusing my energy on helping others instead. While it was a great short-term solution, by the time I had reached high school, my mental health started impacting my relationships. Throughout my freshman year, leading up to my sophomore year, I had attempted suicide, reaching the bottom of my mental state. After that experience, I started pushing for help, knowing I couldn’t get better without it. At the beginning of sophomore year, I was hospitalized, where I met incredible mentors who helped coach me through my struggles.

Although I finally received the help I needed, the rest of my sophomore year was not easy either, but being hospitalized encouraged me to take control of my own life. I surrounded myself with loving friends and supportive teachers and began working at a small ice cream shop. Initially, tackling school and work was challenging and sometimes it still is, but after finding the right balance, I managed to succeed. I finally found an unconventional coping strategy that worked for me: working.

While some jump at the opportunity to miss work or leave early, I cover other people’s shifts and stop by on my days off, sometimes even staying for hours and helping out just to be around that environment. Over time, my coworkers stopped being my coworkers and started to become like family and my three bosses served as the stable father figures lacking in my life. They’re always quick to give life or financial advice, consistently giving me long lectures about cars, sports and making money, and while I find most of these talks boring or insignificant, I would never trade them for the world. Additionally, my bosses have always believed in me, complimenting my work ethic and training me on a variety of different skills. These skills have helped me meet a variety of different people and allowed me to work on customer service and leadership skills, which have in return helped my battle with anxiety, making me more comfortable talking in front of or to other people, but that one is still a work in progress. However, like most families, it’s not perfect. We fight… a lot and pull petty pranks on one another, but at the end of each night, it’s all forgiven. Although I’ve only known them for two years, I have been accepted into my bosses’ biological family, tagging along to family functions and breakfasts in between school and work. When the Ice Cream Shoppe closes for the winter, I’m left feeling homesick, waiting for the opportunity to see everyone again, and when the shop opens again, I become overwhelmed with

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excitement to start working and to see my makeshift family. This job has changed my life in more ways than one and for that, I will be forever grateful.

So, if there is anything to take out of my speech, it’s this: no matter what you’re going through, it isn’t permanent, but sometimes you have to be the change you need in your life. Look for coping strategies that work for you and surround yourself with the people you love because family is what you find in people, not just those who share DNA. Thank you.

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ZIYUAN “NEAL” CHEN ’24 I am Neal and I am an international student at Tower Hill. At first, people were aware of me being an international student. For example, one of my especially curious friends asked me if there are iPhones in China. They are not only made in China but also made in China. Although it is debatable in what conditions it was made.

This awareness was more or less frustrating to me but also convenient. For example, teachers would pay special attention and explain the terminology to me alone because of the potential language barrier. But gradually they don’t see me as a foreigner but a student like anyone else in the classroom, then everything gets worse. I could righteously not know what entropy means and make grammatical mistakes in every sentence I wrote. People would only think that is because I don’t know English. Once they realized that I do know English. It all went downhill. Now I write a sentence in the wrong tense simply because I am careless.

The language excuse doesn’t work anymore. This has not happened yet but I imagine that if I told my history teacher, “I failed the quiz because I cannot understand him properly,” he would probably tell me, “I think it is just that you need to actually read the textbook when I tell you to do so.”

Same thing happens in the restaurant. Sometimes I don’t know what an item on the menu is and have to ask the waitress in almost perfect English. And she would stare at me as if I was an alien. It is very hard to be a person that is not that American when I talk American. Once in class we talked about what we would put on pasta. While referring to tomato sauce, I said ketchup. People immediately turned to me with utter anger and disgust in their eyes. It took me a solid five minutes to comprehend the look on their faces. Some part of the English language just doesn’t make sense to me. Ketchup is a sauce made of tomato, then naturally they are the equivalent things.

But after all, I am thankful for the fact that people stop viewing me as “the Chinese international student.” I am just like any other member of the community. At the beginning, I was concerned if I could blend in and be like others. But now I truly think it is unnecessary. This country and this particular community accept me for who I am, instead of asking me to fit the mold of a stereotypical American teenager. I am not the international student in Tower Hill, I am just a student in Tower Hill, like all of you. Thank you.

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RACHEL CLEVENS ’24 My two sisters love video games, art and are unadventurous with their consumption of food. On the other hand, I find video games a waste of time, art a personal lost cause of mine and will jump at any opportunity to expand my palate. For years, when I was in my room binge watching Gilmore Girls and blasting BTS on repeat, I could feel the confused stares radiating from my sisters’ room while they played Mario Kart and snacked on bland saltines.

Yes, I am the middle child and I struggled to find one singular common interest with either of them. It is like I put a wall between two twins, and it was not until I found my own twin that I was able to create close connections with my sisters.

Because of the failed bonding, I have tried to experience with them, I, an introvert, attempt to venture out my connections at places like school, summer camps and work.

Spring of sophomore year, I was assigned a project in math and I decided to work with one of my friends. We spent so much time together working on this mundane project, and as the due date passed by, we continued to spend time together. We learned that we both have a deep appreciation for music, we enjoy night drives to our favorite place (our second home) Wawa and we both value the same things in a friendship. We even started working together at ice cream shops, cafes and restaurants.

That summer spent with her has made me realize that you can have non-blood-related sisters. She is my soul sister, and she became the twin I was searching for. Her parents call me “second daughter,” and I feel comfortable telling them anything, from funny stories to my trivial worries.

Her family has welcomed me with open arms and warm smiles, which I will never take for granted. They have made me realize how family- and friend-oriented I am and that although some relationships come naturally, it is still worth fighting for the ones that can take a bit of time, like my sisters. I value these close bonds more than anything materialistic and I have proven to myself that I will drop anything to be there for the ones I love.

This includes dropping the act of fitting in with polar opposite sisters. When my older sister moved away for college, it gave me the chance to create new connections with my younger sister. The car rides home from school are a blueprint for creating these connections. When she shows me her average middle school art projects, I now try to understand the deeper sophisticated meanings and motifs hidden in her masterpieces, rather than laughing at the vast mess I see on her paper. My older sister and I have recently perfected the craft of teaming up against our parents to voice the importance of adolescent opinions in our household. We have grown apart physically, but that distance has allowed us to create bonds closer than ever before.

So instead of sitting in my bed listening to them giggle about their video games, I now join them and laugh too, even though I could not explain a single thing happening.

Thank you.

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KATHERINE “KATE” CONNOLLY ’24 As a perfectionist, I have always had the attitude of what’s the point of doing something if I am not good at it?

Oftentimes, I would begin a task, quickly realize that I could not complete it perfectly at which point I would immediately give up. However, throughout my high school experience, I have found that there is great value in engaging in things that you might not be great at. Actually, sometimes doing something that you are awful at proves to be way more valuable than doing something that you can already do well.

I came to this realization through participating in cross country. During the pandemic, I felt bored constantly, and I felt as though I needed a new challenge, a new goal to work towards. Sophomore year, after seeing a million distance running TikToks, I decided I would give cross country a try.

Well, I don’t know if “try” is exactly the right word for my participation in the sport. I certainly showed up... maybe twice. I thought running for long distances was boring and stupid, and I almost always gave up. To say the least, I was horrible at it. I thought to myself: I’m bad at this; what is even the purpose?

It wasn’t until the summer before junior year, when I again found myself plagued by boredom, that I would give running another try. It just so happened that that same summer, I found myself having a brand-new treadmill planted in my basement.

When the cross country coach sent out an email about the summer 100 mile challenge, I thought this is perfect for me. However, initially, I spent more time calculating the lowest mileage I could run each day in order to complete the task than actually running. But finally, I pressed the start button on my treadmill.

The first few runs were torturous. What are you supposed to think about while running? Why run when you can walk? I often procrastinated completing my runs until the latest hours of the day, having several Strava uploads at a nice two or three a.m. Despite this, I persisted.

Soon, I graduated from my treadmill and began to run outside. Two mile runs became five mile runs which sometimes even became seven mile runs. Running had evolved from an awful nightmare to a peaceful mental escape. By the end of the summer, I had completed not 100 miles but 200 miles.

Now, I love running. I love finding local 5Ks to run in. I spent my winter break going on long runs while blasting Christmas music. I beg my friends to join me for runs. I can keep up with my brother, who is about a foot taller than me, on runs. I’ve gotten lost in many local parks, losing track of my mileage.

I’m certainly not the fastest runner, not even close. But I’ve learned that it’s not always being the best at something that’s important. I now know that finding joy in an activity can be just as productive. While I know

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it’s very common advice, I encourage you to tackle a challenge that you might think you are awful at because, with a little hard work, it might prove to be something you love.

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JOSEPH COOKE III ’24 Then something clicked into a wake-up call.

One word became two, two became four, four became eight.

All flowing right in, through a closed gate, now busted open.

Once uninvited now accepted, the mind became an index.

The body became eager and the heart felt the same, Opening up to something that was once pointless.

The essence of time was in my favor, I was the time’s controller.

The night wouldn’t end until my joy and excitement expired.

Until I was done, because I called the shots.

This was a defining moment for me, a high school student with a passion for words that flowed like ink from my very soul. As the clock struck 11 p.m., the dim light of my laptop screen illuminated my bedroom. After exhaustive hours of reflection and contemplation, encapsulating thoughts and feelings such as: Is this even good?

Will they understand what I’m trying to say?

Should I even show this to the world?

The clock was now 11:59 p.m., the deadline for submitting my poetry assignment was mere seconds away, and my heart raced in sync with the ticking clock. The cursor hovered ominously over the ‘Submit’ button, a choice that carried the weight of my dedication and artistic expression.

‘Click.’ I submitted it anyway.

Going into my junior year of high school I was scheduled to take a class called Creative Writing. At the time I didn’t really think much of it until I read the course description. This course required students to write multiple types of poems and reflect on peers’ poems. Participants were also tasked with writing fictional stories and creating presentations to read aloud. These were all weaknesses I have and tend to avoid. I emailed my scheduling advisor and asked if there were any openings to switch English classes. The only other option was a Post-Colonial English seminar class, which also didn’t pique my interest. When the time came, I settled in and accepted the challenge; I faced my weaknesses head-on. I soon rose to the occasion and unraveled skills and talents embedded deep within. While spending time productively, I was successfully able to complete every assignment. I became more familiar and understood the requirements and components of each type of poem. I grew more comfortable expressing my thoughts and feelings while adding personal ideas and real-life scenarios.

My class was assigned the task of writing a 13 ways poem after analyzing and comprehending Wallace Stevens’s “13 Ways of Looking at a Blackbird” poem in class.

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That night, I composed my own poem titled “13 Ways of Looking at a Box.” Through informal and formal workshops, unexpectedly I received rousing feedback from my peers in addition to my teacher, who encouraged me to submit it to the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards. Surprisingly, my poem was awarded a Gold Key. From that last-minute submission to the accomplishment of a Scholastic Writing Gold Key, I learned that growth and success not only come from perseverance but also through facing new challenges head-on.

Through the process of crafting poetry, I honed my skills, discovered an interesting passion, and uncovered a spark of creativity that I never knew existed. The Gold Key award is a reminder that the journey, though challenging, is what shapes us into who we become. As I pursue my journey, I continue taking strides forward to become a student who learns to embrace the art of expression and still grow in the process. I learned to take on new challenges and to recognize that there are parts of me that are indeed still unexplored. I'm excited about what the future holds and look forward to other opportunities to broaden my perspective and unlock more hidden talents. Now I recommend all of you to approach new things with an open mind and be ready to give it your all. Start facing your challenges head-on and maybe you will be able to find a new passion and even end up being awarded your own version of a Gold Key. Thank you.

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AVA CORROON ’24 At the very moment that I’m beginning to draft my Senior Speech, I’m sitting in the corner of the outpatient center in bed five at Nemours Children’s Hospital.

Every four weeks, like clockwork, I walk into the faded brown building, follow the long corridors with bright colors designed to comfort young children, and sit in the waiting room until one of the many kind nurses brings me into the lab.

When I come to the outpatient center to receive my medication, the routine of it all provides me a certain comfort. Just a few years ago, the thought of spending a day like this would have been unimaginable, but having Crohn’s disease has altered how I view everything, from my family, to school and even food.

Maybe you’ve heard of Crohn’s disease from the numerous commercials for Crohn’s medications like Humira, Entyvio, or Skyrizi, and now that I’ve mentioned these, you’re most likely going to start noticing them everywhere. Crohn’s is a chronic inflammatory bowel disease. For me Crohn’s has affected the connection between my stomach and small intestine, called the duodenum, causing lots of inflammation and scar tissue to form making it hard for me to digest food, you’re welcome for that nice image first thing in the morning.

Throughout my whole life, I have always had an extremely sensitive stomach, whether it was getting motion sick on practically every car ride, or being a picky eater because certain foods made me feel instantly nauseous, or even just getting random sharp pains in my stomach. There have been too many instances to count where I have thrown up in my friend’s car, thought my appendix was bursting, or tip-toeing my way through the cafeteria because the sight of a squashed tomato on the ground nearly killed me.

When reflecting on my medical history, one memory comes to mind where my stomach issues exponentially worsened: advisory lunch. It was the fall of my freshman year, and the Keim advisory was getting PureBread for lunch. I, of course, ordered my favorite, the children’s chicken and cheese wrap, after lunch I instantly felt sick to my stomach, and needless to say I have never gotten the children’s wrap again. From then on, the times where I didn’t feel like the magic school bus was exploring my stomach were few and far between. January and February of 2021, I was extremely sick, I lost a lot of weight, and could barely keep any food down. Clearly there was a problem, I was scheduled for a colonoscopy and endoscopy, and after my procedures my doctors admitted me to the hospital.

I was in the hospital for ten days. After my stay, my stomach issues definitely got better, but not completely, and in November of my sophomore year, I had surgery to remove scar tissue from my duodenum. This surgery was extremely difficult for me, I had a nose tube which made the recovery process very hard, and I got very nauseous watching any screens, so my only option was to listen to music. Luckily Taylor Swift’s Red TV album just came out so I was set. These two hospital stays were, of course, extremely difficult, but I learned a lot about myself.

I have learned valuable lessons about patience, resilience and the importance of the little things in life. Looking back at old pictures, I can see the 180 degree turn my life has taken and I am so grateful, whether it’s new

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friendships, being closer with my family, trying new foods (and not feeling sick after) and making every day a new adventure that I am ready to conquer head on. Without the support of my family, friends and teachers, this journey would have been much more difficult. My teachers showed me so much compassion and support, that I didn’t miss a beat academically. My friends made me posters and gave me gifts that helped me keep going. My parents stayed by my bedside the whole time, helping me through every second. I am eternally grateful for the community that I have at Tower Hill and elsewhere. The kind words I received from people are what truly made a difference in my life. No matter how small you think your words are, they mean so much more to people than you think. I wanted to share my story to remind you that there are people in your corner who want you to succeed and who support you, even if you don’t think they are there. I am in remission now, but there will be a time when I am not. I now know I have the strength to overcome anything that comes my way. Embracing this reality has allowed me to be comfortable in my own body, and be proud of what I have been able to overcome. Thank you.

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COALE CROUCH ’24 I thoroughly enjoy preparing to play games. Not the actual playing of the game, but rather the Wiki reading and planning phase where I optimize my run as much as possible. Every few years when the new Pokémon game comes out, I take a look through the pokedex, the gym leaders, and the map to find the perfect team. It’s not a “oh this one looks cool” kind of thing.

Instead, my thing is using my very own ChatGPT, blockchain, NFT, and some other buzzword equation of Pokémon awesomeness to scientifically determine the best team of Pokémon for any given game. I must keep most of it secret, but I can tell you that my equation of awesomeness even factors in how many Marills need to be “knocked-out” to max a Pokémon’s HP EV. (It’s 26 with a power weight for those select few who may be interested.) Really, I’ve reduced a children’s game down into spreadsheets, so that I may excel, but you may be saying, “Wow this doesn’t sound like fun,” and you’d be right. But why exactly?

I see each part of playing, or rather preparing for, Pokémon as a means to the end. An end that I’m making spreadsheets for. An end that I hope gives me some sense of satisfaction. But if everything is just a means to the end, then where is the fun in the journey? What’s worse, the more recent Pokémon games have had terrible post games, leaving me with a sense of regret that I did not enjoy the story while it was unfolding.

Unfortunately, this regret is not just relegated to my strange and overengineered way of playing Pokémon, but into many people’s lives.

For the past 83 years, The Harvard Study of Adult Development has been an ongoing study collecting data on the lives of a few thousand individuals. What makes them happy? Do they find meaning in life? Those simple data points. One of the older cohorts, composed of people in their 80s, was asked what they were most proud of and what their biggest regret was. Despite having some Nobel Prize winners in the group, they still said they were most proud of the relationships they had with their friends and family. The largest regret was spending too much time at work and not enough time with people they cared about. Pursuing awards, accolades and wealth were not important to these people, rather the connections formed during their progression through the study were the most important.

Probably the most important finding from the Harvard study is that “relationships are great for our health.”

Individuals with a strong cohort of friends and social connections actually had a 50% increase in the likelihood of surviving a given year. It’s difficult to describe how it feels when our relationship needs are met, but it’s certainly easy to notice when they’re not. We feel lonely. It is a powerful feeling and rightfully so. For middle aged individuals, feeling lonely for long periods of time leads to a “29% increase in the risk of heart disease and 32% increase in the risk of strokes.” This is by no means an attempt to dissuade you from pursuing your goals, but rather a reminder to check what is important to you and ask why it is important.

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For me, my goals of getting into a good college and somewhere down the road making an arbitrarily large amount of money have begun to take a backseat. They are still very much in the metaphorical car on the ride of my life, but having my friends in the passenger seat instead has made the trip much more enjoyable.

Additionally, be conscious of the size of the “car” you drive. Even with friends, family, or someone else important in the passenger’s seat, having too many things in the backseat can distract you from the road ahead.

Too many activities and commitments loop you back around to no longer enjoying the journey; instead, you may want to get done as fast as possible. Find the balance. Don’t pick a three-ton armored assault vehicle like a Chevy Tahoe or Cadillac Escalade with eight seats, drive an actual car instead. Pick your copilot, the few things you can reasonably travel with, and just enjoy the ride.

But please do drive an actual car, the high beams on the Tahoe’s hit me perfectly in the eye while I’m on the road and it makes driving at night more of an adventure than I’d like. Thank you.

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MADISON DENNIS ’24 I hate sharing my food. If you ask any of my friends, they will attest to the close calls to World War III that emerge when one of them snatches food off of my plate without asking. But there is only one scenario where this would be acceptable, and that’s when it comes to vegetables—because I also hate vegetables. To this day my mom constantly loves to remind me of how my toddler self could never be deceived by the classic airplane noise tactic as long as there was something green at the end of the spoon. Every time she would attempt a new vegetable, it could end up anywhere from in my hair to her hair to the floor and walls, basically everywhere except in my mouth. I also remember the time I hid my vegetables in the air vent and the whole house ended up smelling like old boiled broccoli.

But this situation is important because it was the only time that I can remember when my brother didn’t swoop in as my personal superhero and eat my vegetables. And I guess he gets a free pass because we were mad at each other for all of six hours because of the LEGO incident, which is a different story for a different day, but I’m sure he learned his lesson from the broccoli fumes that we could all smell for the rest of that week.

Each time I came to dinner, after I would finish my protein and carbs, I would stare at my vegetables and simply refuse to eat the rest of my meal. However, 9.9 times out of 10 my brother would offer to eat my vegetables, and at one point he just stopped offering and would take the remaining food off of my plate.

But this isn’t really about my extreme stubbornness and dislike for vegetables or my ultimate pet peeve of people taking my food without asking. But when I sat down to reflect on my time at Tower Hill, I soon realized it wouldn’t have been the same without the two short years my brother has been here with me. I am going to miss his kind and caring nature. For instance, I’m going to miss how each morning he drags both of our bags to the car, so by the time I’m actually ready, all I have to do is drive. Maybe I just got lucky and have the best little brother in the world, but thinking back on all the 15 years we’ve spent together has made me nervous for what’s to come. After I graduate, we won’t be sharing plates or car rides as often. And I’ll have to find a way to discard vegetables myself, which is, I guess, doable. But nothing will be able to replace the bond I have with my brother. No quantity of miles between us will erase the memories and laughs we’ve shared, and these will certainly be the moments I think about if I ever find myself feeling lonely without him.

What I encourage you all to do is cherish the bonds and relationships you have now, and when life circumstances get in the way of a bond you especially value, think back on your favorite times with them… even if they involve gross vegetables.

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MICHAEL DIGNAZIO ’24 As I make eye contact with my oldest sister, Grace, I cannot help but smirk. I just banned Claire from the Dignazio brotherhood for another 10,000 years, after just recently repealing her previous ban and beginning the review of her second application. In the midst of the Roman Colosseum, Claire became visibly upset by her inability to join the elite group, consisting of myself, Grace, and two of Grace’s college friends. As it turns out, my decision to bar Claire from the troop resulted in a disastrous tour of the historic landmark and a very unpleasant experience at dinner.

I would consider my family unique in the sense that it consists of very strongminded people who have consistent behavioral patterns. For example, Claire is easy to make mad, as she takes everything seriously. Grace generally avoids conflict, and is a voice of reason within the house. My dad always offers his opinion on what is going on, regardless of who it will infuriate, and my mom, like Claire, will never let anything go. This can manifest in a comment from my mom 15 minutes later, while we are discussing an entirely different subject, about something that upset her. Thus, I like to pit Claire and my mom against each other. I wouldn’t say it is because I’m evil or find joy in their arguing. I just feel it is my calling to instigate productive conversation when things seem dull.

Growing up as the youngest Dignazio child has its pros and cons. When I came around, my dad, in a moment of true genius, discovered a new phrase that I have learned is impossible to argue with: SGME, or, stop giving me excuses. I’ve found this phrase very frustrating at times, and if this was junior year, I’d spend the rest of the speech talking about what defines an excuse. However, I want to focus this speech on my siblings, Grace and Claire, and what I learned as a result of watching them grow up.

Grace was the pioneer. She suffered from maximum parental attention being the first to enter high school while she endured weekly piano lessons, tennis matches all the time, strict curfews, and allotted homework times. Aside from a weird high school anti-social phase, she was and remains extremely calm and well mannered. I grew closer with her when she went off to college; I would go up to Swarthmore frequently to have dinner with her or tour the arboretum campus. Grace has always been a voice of reason in the house. She is also unshakable. I have only seen her cry once in my life, and it was one of the most difficult experiences I have endured. She is deliberate and I have learned from her how to manage tense situations and maintain a positive outlook.

Claire did not need any motivation from my parents when it came to wanting to do well. She was extremely intense with grades and remained at the top of her class. She is the most strong-minded in our family and will argue anything to death. This may already be apparent, but she is also ultracompetitive. Many of my conversations with Claire end because I no longer have the bandwidth to defend my position. Claire has taught me what it means to really give it your all, and how not to act when you lose in Mario Kart, which is throwing the remote through the drywall and then beating up your shocked siblings. I have found that I see eye-to-eye with Claire more often now than before, as she is closest to me in age, which I would not have expected 10

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years ago when she refused to even play with me in the Club Penguin Dojo for fear of losing a game based solely on luck.

I am in many ways a blend of my siblings’ personalities. I find myself seeking the perfect balance in life between Grace, who is stoic and driven, and Claire, who is fiery and competitive. I grapple with how to plan my future while enjoying today, be supportive of friends while pushing them to grow, and find the precise point where working hard is hard enough, but still allows for time to do the things you enjoy, even if that may be just relaxing.

Soon, I will encounter my most difficult job as the youngest child, being the last to leave my home for college. I fully expect my relationship with my siblings and my parents to continue to evolve and grow stronger. It will certainly change form. The factors that defined my childhood are slowly fading away, and I will not have the opportunity to live under the same roof as my siblings again. However, I will cherish those memories, even enduring Claire’s wrath after besting her at anything, or seeing Grace upset, as I embrace this new chapter of my life.

My message to everyone in the audience is to value the time you get to spend with your family and learn from the people you love. Reflect on disagreements, and be present. Even if it is just taking a moment to step back and smile, while the Wii remote rotates through the air heading toward the wall at Mach 10, and a pillow rockets toward your head from across the room, it will change your outlook. At the very least, you should probably duck.

Thank you.

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CASSIE DONG ’24 Let’s say you’re a student on the planet Asteria. Each day you wake up, go to classes on a floating ship, and—I don’t know—eat plankton with your best friend Gorge. But when someone turns 18, they’re given a career on this planet.

It’s called the bequeathing—the bequeathing ceremony—and the career you’re bequeathed is the one you’re to dedicate your entire life to. You’re turning 18 and it’s your turn. You step into the bequeathing room, but when usually a title shines above the bequeathed’s head, they’re three dots and then the ground begins to shake. Gorge is on your side when you see outside, there’s this planet nearing closer and closer to Asteria with a flank of floating ships accompanying it. Gorge grabs your arm and says, “I knew you were the one.” Gorge, your best friend isn’t who you thought they were, and the world you knew on Asteria starts to collapse.

If this sounds like I ripped off a bunch of dystopian or sci-fi novels, I probably did, but I like to think I was inspired by them. Because having grown up on a healthy heaping of fiction, dystopian novels and fantasy stories, I’ve been interested in the experiences of characters confronting the realization that their reality has been an illusion, that they must question what they’ve known. In the process, there’s fierce resistance, denial, shattering betrayals, friendships, probably some secret rebel group or society, destruction, change and regrowth. Yes, maybe my teen brain has been too formatively impacted by fictional characters created by a person sitting at a laptop in pajamas.

But in my life, I’ve seen how small changes can reconstruct my world or reality. I love cilantro—would even eat a whole bowl—when as a kid, it was picked out gracefully. Same thing with enoki, king oyster, and morel mushrooms: delicious! Aromatic, fragrant, palette-changing, life-altering, especially in hot pot or stir-fried.

Pesto is amazing, though I have no idea what pine nuts are, and the first time I tried it was in high school. Also, I used to want a dog, though I’m not sure if it was because I actually wanted a furry companion or the children in stories and my friends were always asking for one. But, I even resorted to the classic tactic of asking my parents, “Can I have a dog? They would say, “No.” “Can I have a dog?” And again, “No.” Then, I’d pull a “can I not have a dog?” They’d say, “No” and I would get a dog. Now weighing the idea of raising a pet, I’m okay.

And who knew the ninth grader carrying around a pull-downable cup pencil case filled with a complete collection of Mildliners, some Muji .5 ink pens, and Zebra Sarasa vintage pens would become the senior stuffing two mechanical pencils in the front of her backpack. I no longer use my pencil case (I should)! And my Mildliners just sit on my desk. Middle-school Cassie would so disapprove of my current self-stuffing papers into her backpack, but it works for me. Who knows, I might become a college student taking notes completely on her iPad, using Notion, and occasionally watching My Little Pony and Our Beloved Summer episodes for four hours a day.

This view holds true also in the grander scheme of things. According to Google, since the human eye can only see visible light, we can’t see more than 99% of the world or total electromagnetic spectrum. Though many people on Quora say it’s beneficial that humans can’t perceive more for the reason of constant sensory

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overload, it means to me that we physically cannot see the reality, whatever that is. What we perceive our understanding to be might be so much different in actuality. Other animals like bees and snakes can detect other wavelengths of the electromagnetic spectrum and thus their reality varies. But then, what’s to say that the fixed viewpoint we see now is all that there is.

So, when I reflect on my bit-by-bit changes and discoveries in high school, I realize I’ve “redefined” my life this way, changing the clothes in my closet, eating foods I’ve hated, listening to songs I never thought I would enjoy, venturing to places I hadn’t. Of course, the reason I’m able to have many chances for exploration is thanks to all the support I receive from my friends and family. I am so grateful for these people.

With each thing I learn, my world becomes bigger, it comes more into focus, or maybe flips on its side. This is all to say, you will surprise yourself and the world will even surprise you. Since you are also practically your world, I won’t need to tell you this, but it’ll change. Be open to it! Be open to those twists, the turns, the reveal.

Question what you know, what you think you know. See how the world unfolds. Thank you and have a great day!

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KEELAN DONNELLY ’24 Growing up about 30 minutes outside the city of Philadelphia, I was naturally drawn to their sports teams. Specifically, my dad introduced me to the Philadelphia Eagles when I was about six years old. Even though I knew very little about football, I enjoyed watching the team with my dad on Sundays, and it’s a thing we still do to this day. As years went by, I started to become more and more of a fan of the Eagles. Being the proud fan I was, for many birthdays I asked for the jerseys of different players to show my pride for the team. What I did not know at the time, was that every Eagles jersey I wanted was cursed. My first two jerseys were DeSean Jackson and Nick Foles. Being two of my favorite Eagles at the time, I was very happy to be gifted their jerseys. But, in 2014, DeSean Jackson was released, and was no longer an Eagle. And the next year in 2015, Nick Foles was traded to the St. Louis Rams. I was devastated. My favorite players had been traded, and I felt like I had no way to show my support for my team. Another year went by, and the Eagles selected Carson Wentz with the second overall pick in the 2016 NFL Draft. Very excited to see the new quarterback play for the Eagles, I asked my grandma for a Wentz jersey for my birthday. She got me one, and I was thrilled. In 2017, the Eagles won their first Super Bowl, and I asked for another jersey. This time, asking my grandma for a Zach Ertz jersey. She also got me that jersey, so I again had two of my favorite Eagles players’ jerseys. But later in 2021, Carson Wentz was traded to the Colts, and Zach Ertz was traded to the Cardinals. Again, I had two outdated Eagles jerseys that I felt I could not wear.

My dad, getting tired of buying me jerseys and seeing the players get traded later on, decided to only buy retired players jerseys from then on. My next jersey was Brian Dawkins. I wanted to ask for a Jason Kelce kelly green jersey, but I’m still hesitant with my curse.

Being an Eagles fan can take a toll on your emotions. I know everyone last year was disappointed when the Eagles lost the Super Bowl and we lost our late start to school, but those who watched the 2017 Super Bowl know how great of a moment that was too. Through great years, tough years, and through 4 of my favorite players being traded, I’ll always be an Eagles fan. Every Sunday is a chance for my family to get together and take a three-hour break and escape from our busy weeks, and watch the team we’ve been watching for 12 years.

Even though some games are frustrating to watch, I’ll still think of watching the Eagles as some of my favorite family time, that I will always value highly. Even though I won’t be watching it at home, I’ll still be watching the Eagles in college and talk to my parents about the game wherever I go.

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EMILY JANE “JANIE” duPONT ’24 If you know me, you will know that for my entire life, I have hated pretty much any sort of fruit on the face of the Earth. I especially don’t like oranges. Despite the countless efforts of my parents at the dinner table and my lower school teachers during lunch, I refused to ever even touch any slimy little glob of fruit put on my plate. You might wonder where this absurd phobia came from, but the truth is… I have no idea. All I know is that I want nothing to do with them and that’s how it has always been for me.

I wish that I could now tell you about how I have overcome this phobia and then deliver some sort of insightful final remark emphasizing the importance of conquering your fears. But I can’t. I have absolutely no intention of expanding my palate at the moment. In fact, I think I dislike fruit now more than when I was younger. Instead, I’ve chosen to focus that bravery elsewhere.

What I do hope you can take away from my proverbial greatest weakness is the importance of learning to be comfortable with vulnerability and being confident enough in who you are to be able to poke fun at yourself. In other words, be brave enough to take yourself less seriously. I used to view my phobia of fruit as something I had to hide so people wouldn’t judge or make fun of me, but I’ve learned to use it to my advantage. It acts as a pretty good fun fact to break the ice on the first day of class, or even a good way to get closer to my loved ones, as it always gives us something to laugh about. And they definitely do their best to take advantage of it: from putting fruit in the hood of my sweatshirt to putting oranges in my shoes—all to provoke me. And though deeply traumatizing, I wouldn’t trade those memories or inside jokes for anything. Even as intimidating as getting up here and giving this speech may be, using my fear of fruit to make light of the moment helps to disarm a potential insecurity through humor.

Whether you are just beginning at Tower Hill or about to graduate, make sure to be the person that you are, and not someone else’s idea or vision for you. As silly as they may be, the little details about you are the very things that make you both unique and unforgettable. Don’t let the opinions of others stop you from unapologetically being yourself because in the end, the right people are out there. You just have to be brave enough to find them.

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JACK DUFFY ’24 Now, while some of you may have tried to cut back on Wawa donuts to get into a bathing suit, I doubt that many of you, other than the ones who hang out in the wrestling room, have ever pondered the question, why the word “die” is used in diet? That is no longer lost on me!

Two weeks back I started my off-season wrestling, which forced me to drop a bunch of weight. Making the weight was no fun, but the process reminded me how much wrestling has shaped my Tower Hill experience.

Each year, from November to March, my teammates and I are stuck with the unpleasant reminder that we are tied to a weight class, which requires a level of discipline that I never thought I would have.

Wrestling is a sport that requires mental toughness, which is more often put to the test by the cookie-bar in the commons, than it is by our opponents on the mat!

Imagine a starving man rescued at sea. Other than getting rescued, food is the only thing that has been on his mind. And I can relate! But he gets off easy.

Every winter, starving wrestlers have to face the daily torture of the lunch room. And as you know, sometimes the temptation is just too much! For me, the bargaining begins before I even enter. I tell myself, “If I only have one plate, I should be fine.”

But we are only human, and the temptation is always there! Fortunately, we have our teammates to push us.

While we would like to stuff ourselves with paninis, we know that missing weight is not an option because you are part of a team, and no way you are going to let those guys down. So salad it is.

Then there’s the evening. You get to look forward to a few hours of practice with the heat cranked up. You have on even more layers than you wore to school, and your sweaty and equally as miserable teammates driving you into the mat.

On match day, you get to weigh-in, sit in the corner and stuff your face, try not to lose in front of your classmates, and then you start the process all over again!

What is funny or ironic is that as challenging as all that sounds, I would not trade it for anything in the world.

The wrestling room has become my domain here at Tower Hill and remains my home. It is where I can truly be myself, and it’s where I have been around some of the best people that I have ever met. Together we have suffered, laughed, and most importantly beat Friends!

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And even though they say that misery loves company, it is the company that I have been in that makes me forget my misery!

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LILA FANELLI ’24 I love long car rides. I love the feeling of relaxing in a car for hours while watching TV, eating junk food and listening to music. Growing up, most of my family’s long car rides were spent going to swim meets or visiting my grandparents. However, since junior year, almost all of my family’s long trips have been spent going to the same place: The University of South Carolina.

As a sophomore, I was thrilled about my brother’s decision to study in South Carolina, mostly because I knew that his college choice would mean long car rides for our family—I would be able to spend at least nine hours in the car moving him in. However, I didn’t realize how lonely the drive back home would be, and how much I would come to dread the long car ride home after dropping my brother off without him in the back seat next to me. As I’m now a senior and in the process of figuring out where I’m going to college, the person who I think about most is my older brother. My most memorable childhood moments include my brother. For as long as I can remember, he tormented my childhood.

He was pretty awful. For example, when we were kids, his favorite game to play was “How many things can I stick in Lila’s hair?” I still remember the feeling of silly putty and chapstick being smeared into the roots of my hair and my mom having to cut it out. I wish I could say that even though my brother was mean, I never retaliated. That would be a lie. My parents often say that I was actually much worse than my older brother. My favorite game to play with him was “How many of my brother’s most prized possessions can I take and then lie about before I get caught?” I used to steal things from him for years such as his favorite coins and trinkets before sneaking them back into his room when he finally stopped asking where they went. One time at the beach, I even buried his flip-flops in the sand and we never found them.

However, as we got older, we also spent more time together. This mostly occurred because he had a car and a license and I always wanted to go somewhere. He would drive me everywhere, to school, to swim practice and to friends’ houses. I remember us both being super upset and thinking that this was the worst thing ever. I remember my brother complaining about having to spend his gas on me and me begging my mom to drive me instead. Looking back now though, I realize that this was where my love of car rides stemmed from. If it weren’t for these experiences, my brother and I would probably not be as close as we are now. I can’t remember when exactly he became someone I could count on or when I could say he was my best friend, but I think it began when I slowly started to look forward to our car rides every morning. Even most of my favorite songs and sayings come from something my brother said or listened to first. Ever since my brother got his license, he slowly became the first person I told things to and my favorite person to drag to Dunkin’ with me every morning.

While I’m sure my parents are happy that we’re much closer now and don’t argue quite as much, the closeness is a tad bittersweet because of how physically far away he is. Dropping him off at college was the first time I ever resented the thought of a long car ride. I remember being upset all nine hours home. I was finally an only child, something my eight-year-old self used to dream about. But I missed my brother. My mom was finally the

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one to drive me to school and swim practice and friends’ houses, but it turned out I wasn’t happy about that. I no longer had fun car rides or fights over music choices and my parents’ attention was now focused only on me. The distance between home and South Carolina is big, but I know next year there’s a possibility that the car ride between us could be even longer depending on my college choice.

Looking back, I wish I had been nicer to my brother earlier. I wish I had taken advantage of living with my best friend sooner. However, that’s not how growing up works. As I look ahead to next year and think about the people I will miss, thinking about my brother and how far our relationship has come gives me strength and confidence. I know that my most important relationships will survive the distance. No matter how far I am in a few months, I’ll only be a long car ride away.

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JAMES FARNAN ’24 For the longest time, my lower school self was haunted by a simple and unfortunate fact: I could not whistle. As a young kid, the mere fact that I could not whistle made my life feel incomplete as I watched many of my friends whistling notes or fun tunes. These tunes were the bane of my existence and the anger would churn within me. The way they could easily whistle would get on my nerves. All the sweet tunes they would learn to show off at the playground made school unbearable. I could not allow this to happen any longer. So, I began my quest to create those bittersweet melodies. But, the soundless air was deafening and defeated my confidence. My confidence would begin to hurt my progress because I thought to myself, “Is it even possible?” I let myself believe it was impossible, this would not deter me though. I had to show all my friends that I could do what they could too. As time passed, the silent sound of air tuned into barely detectable sound. This noise was a beautiful one, although short and unreplicable. This first sound made my week and I was proud of what I had accomplished.

So, with this new vigor and hope, I started to practice every day. At first, this newfound hope was nothing but hope. I still couldn’t replicate what I had done on that day even with all my attempts. Thus, I began to practice even more than before: in class, on the playground, in the lunchroom, and everywhere in between. My fate was undecided, I was confident in my progress and I knew that all my work would pay off soon. Eventually, it did. I was finally starting to progress in consistently producing sound, although my tone was still off. This consistency was everything to me because I knew that I was a moment away from unlocking my true potential.

This destiny would be found and I could begin doing what all those around me could as well. This meant everything to me and as I got better, I started to whistle the newest songs, catchy rhythms, and just whistling because I could. Although my trials and tribulations when it comes to whistling may be different from those in our day-to-day lives, it still taught me that if I wanted to do something, it was possible even if the road ahead seemed long and unforgiving. There are times when our aspirations are far from our realities and we need to work for what we want. I am reminded of these lessons in my day-to-day life and use them to propel myself to what I aspire. Finally, we all have moments like these in our lives but it is up to you if you want to do the work to accomplish it or just be another person who can’t whistle. I can whistle.

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PAITYN FARROW ’24 I’ve been going to Martha’s Vineyard for as long as I can remember. It’s now one of my favorite places, but I didn’t always feel this way. Today I want to share some of the most memorable experiences and valuable lessons that I’ve learned from my time in Martha’s Vineyard.

The earliest memory that I can recall from my time in Martha’s Vineyard is being stung by a jellyfish all up and down both of my legs at a beach. At this point, 10-year-old me had already decided that I hated Martha’s Vineyard. I was previously annoyed that I couldn’t vacation with my friends from school who usually went down the Delaware shore or to the beaches in Florida. Since my family has owned homes up in Martha’s Vineyard for generations, it has always been one of my mom’s favorite places. Hence, I would often spend time there away from friends—reluctantly. My immature and closed mindset carried on over the next couple summers until COVID hit...

When COVID began, my mom and I packed up and basically moved to Martha’s Vineyard for a few months.

My prior feelings of isolation initially intensified, but as time passed, I began to find my surroundings peaceful.

The world was set upside down with COVID, but it was clear to me that I was safe within the small yet strong and supportive island community. I was able to bike into the town of Vineyard Haven and walk my dog on the empty beaches while talking to my mom about anything and everything. I would FaceTime my friends daily of course, but I also started to value the time I spent by myself. I now find this era irreplaceable as it allowed me to appreciate the island my family has loved for generations and realize how important it is to be in touch with yourself.

Right next door to my family’s house in the Vineyard is my mom’s best friend’s house, like the kind of friend where I call her my Auntie. However, I quickly began to think of this as my best friend’s house. She has a son my age named Colin who I’ve known since we were babies, but we have always lived far apart. Being neighbors in the summer, we naturally reconnected and became inseparable during our time on the Vineyard. As the years have passed, Colin and I have gone from playing catch in the driveway and biking around town together… to driving across the island and jumping off the “Jaws Bridge,” yes the same one as from the movie Jaws. I’ve found that growing up alongside someone with a completely different lifestyle due to where he lives has strongly impacted my perspective on many things in life. I don’t think I would be who I am today if I wasn’t part time neighbors and chosen family with Colin. I’ve come to know some of my closest friends through Colin and I’ve likewise introduced him to my friends. Despite the fact that he lives in New York City, we talk almost every day about whatever’s going on in our lives and when we reunite in the Vineyard; it’s as if we never left. The friends I’ve made on the Vineyard have made me realize how community can be your strongest influence, so it’s important to choose who you surround yourself with wisely.

I now find myself looking forward to being reunited with my friends that I only see a couple times a year, taking my dog on endless walks and visiting the same beach where I got stung all those years ago. As of this August, my Vineyard cycle will be interrupted because I’ll be starting college. Thinking back to the time I

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didn’t enjoy being in Martha’s Vineyard I can only laugh at myself. The special feeling I get when I’m in Martha’s Vineyard has now taught me the importance of community, connections and how to embrace every experience. So wherever, whoever, or whatever it may be in your life that brings you joy—cherish that and never take anything for granted.

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RYAN FREEZE ’24 I love traveling. Traveling has been a big part of my life ever since I was little. My experience with travel is that my parents are always so stressed to keep to a certain schedule, with any deviation from that said schedule throwing the entire day completely out of whack. Scrambling to get luggage together and getting to the airport will forever remain hectic in our household, but, when we eventually do get to where we’re going it always provides a great experience I’ll never forget, which brings me to my favorite traveling experience, my trip to Ireland. Ireland is a beautiful country that my family originates from. Rich with history and filled with beautiful landscapes, I thoroughly enjoyed my time in Ireland. I saw many things, including the towns of Kinsale and Galway and Dublin. One of my favorite things about Ireland is the town names. My favorites would have to be Cork, Balinderry, and especially, Dingle. What also pleasantly surprised me about Ireland was the weather. I was expecting it to be that sort of grey-ish rainy weather, when in actuality the days were warm and sunny. Going back to what my personal favorite experiences were in Ireland, I stayed in a pub, which was incredible, because, I mean, come on, how many times in your life are you going to get to stay in an old dilapidated, dusty pub? Had no idea you could find pubs on Airbnb, but there we were, staying in a fully functioning pub, smoke lounge included. Right next to this pub was actually a BBQ restaurant that was quite frankly amazing, and the owner informed us the esteemed Guy Fieri would be making a visit, which is just really cool. Alongside the pub, which was obviously the best destination, I saw the Book of Kells in Dublin, and great sights like the Aran Islands and Cliffs of Moher, both of which were breathtaking. I’ll take away some other memories as well, such as the time my mom became “soaked to the gills” trying to work the shower, or the time I got trapped in the bathroom. You see, this particular obstacle came about when I was pulling on the door and the lock decided to just, fall out. I was fiddling with the lock to try and put it back in place in the door, but to no avail. I was left embarrassed and astounded at my own ineptitude as to how to open a door. It also didn’t help because of the language barrier between that of my family and the Gaelic men that owned the restaurant. Their thick accents made it near impossible to tell of my plight without them retorting, “What?” “I’m not sure what you’re saying?” Eventually the message got through that I had in fact broken the door, and that I was stuck in there for a solid twenty minutes, pondering the events of life that had led me to this fateful juncture. I returned to my family who had asked me why I was taking so long, to which I explained, “Oh you know, just kind of, stuck in the bathroom for several minutes, no big deal, just kind of broke… the lock… on the door.” It’s times like these where I often find it’s the more embarrassing memories I take away from my trip. The more relatable moments that I play on loop in my brain bring me back to those times where I could forget about the stresses of schoolwork, it is for that reason remembering my trips and the people that went on them bring me joy and help me through situations that would otherwise be difficult to navigate. In short, seniors, find something like traveling where you cherish those relatable memories, and the ones you make this year hold close when you bring them with you to college. I understand these next few months will be difficult, but if we all push forward, we’ll find the light at the end of the tunnel. Lastly, find the thing that will push you to have a great year, such as traveling to another country, reliving the happy and embarrassing moments.

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TESSA GATTUSO ’24 Rose Kennedy once said, “Life isn’t a matter of milestones, but of moments.” In light of these wise words, I have decided to share three aspects of my life that have created some of my favorite moments.

In honor of preseason being over, I have decided to start with a story from my first day of preseason sophomore year. Excited to run, the cross country team set out on the first run of the season, on this particular day we were running the Bancroft Loop. For anyone who is unfamiliar with the Bancroft Loop, it is a flat three and a half mile run that goes through Rockford Park and then leads us onto Bancroft Parkway. Now you would think this would be a good run for the first day. Unfortunately for me, it was not. With a mile left, I approached the Rockford Park entrance. Where my body decided it was done for the day and I promptly puked. My sister being the kind and loving person she is, left me and continued her run. I figured I was going to finish my run alone until I heard an unfamiliar voice ask if I was ok. I was not okay but nonetheless I responded yes and tried to remember her name from warmups.

I couldn’t remember her name but I knew she was a freshman. She kindly ran back to Tower Hill with me and listened to me explain for the next 10 minutes that I never puke and especially not from running. As the season progressed, I eventually learned her name and we became close. Each day I looked forward to practice, but specifically warm ups—a time where I could talk with new friends and teammates and just have fun. I wish I could tell you that things changed by junior year but sadly they didn’t. Junior year came around and we had our first race of the season, the Unionville two mile. Despite my earlier claims that I don’t puke from running. I puked during this race, 600 meters in… At the finish line, I was greeted with this same girl, who laughed at me when I told her I puked mid race. Despite this puking nature I somehow developed, she simply didn’t care.

Each race she was there laughing with me. I began to look forward to finishing my races where she would ask if I had puked or not. Although it’s such an odd question, it was a moment we could find joy in—despite the running we had just done.

Now if you know me you probably are well aware of my hatred of the lunch block and the freezing temperature of Kullman Commons that comes with it. Since my days as a Tower Tot, I have never been one to enjoy lunch.

This was all true until last year. Despite my constant complaining, my friends forced me to sit in the Commons with them for the entire lunch block every single day last year. In the beginning, this was my personal hell. I would sit in the same spot at the table every day and talk with my friends. As the year went on, I noticed a common theme in our lunch conversations. They always started with someone saying, “Tessa are you ok? You look really mad.” I became confused with this question because each day I was perfectly fine. I was then enlightened that I have what my friends like to call “the lunch face.” Described to me as a look that I gave where I seemed really mad. I never tried to do the lunch face, it just happened. As the year progressed, fewer and fewer people stayed the full period in the Commons. My friends and I decided the perfect time of the school day at Tower Hill is 1:35 in the Kullman Commons. Other than the occasional teacher table and maybe one friend group still left, we had the Commons to ourselves. This time was perfect—we still had part of the lunch block left, but it was quiet and peaceful which is not a common sight in the Kullman Commons. Each

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day we looked forward to 1:35 in the Kullman Commons—a dumb time, in my least favorite block, had quickly become one of my favorite parts of my day.

Lastly, the infamous A block Honors Pre-Calculus. If you were a part of this class, you know it was something to look forward to. If you weren’t, let me give you a brief explanation of how class went. We would start with someone, but usually me, creating a random conversation with our teacher to take up some time. Some days we were unsuccessful and only wasted a minute of class time. Other days we would spend up to 20 minutes talking about the most absurd topics—fully unrelated to math. Even those who didn’t love math found joy in this precalculus class. A day did not pass without a funny conversation or a bad math joke. This class got so tight we got a prom picture together, which for some reason, none of us have received.

Now that it is my senior year, I still look forward to joking around with the team during warm ups. I will inevitably puke again during cross country, and this girl from my first day of preseason will continue to laugh at me when I do. 1:35 in the Kullman Commons may not be the same as half of the table is now in college, but I will still have a lunch face, and the lunchtime conversations will continue to be the best moment of my day.

Find your version of the A block pre-calc class where you can be silly and have hypothetical conversations about random topics that don’t pertain to the topic of the class. Whatever it is, give yourself something small to look forward to in everything you do, no matter how dumb you think it is. Don’t take yourself too seriously, I promise it’s more fun to just not care. And lastly, arguably the most important of all, surround yourself with good people—the ones that truly care about you and will help you succeed—because it will make your high school experience so much easier and more enjoyable.

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ABBIGAIL “ABBI” GERACIMOS ’24 I love routine. Pasta on Mondays. Piano after school every day for eight years.

Two hours a week, 800 hours of effort throughout my life. A core part of my day.

I’m still surprised how quickly that faded from my life to make room for more time playing sports. I would have continued piano if I could. I believe being extremely busy provides structure, and limits the amount of time you spend thinking about inconsequential or irrational things. I find comfort in knowing exactly what I’m going to do each and every day. However, as I look forward to my schedule becoming more flexible next year, along with many other changes to my life, I’ve learned to rely on those around me, rather than my routines, for structure and stability. It’s cliché, but considering my siblings are the people I will miss most when I go to college, and since they are a part of the routines that make me feel calm, I guess maybe they deserve some time in this speech. My siblings’ impact on my life has been so many things that there are not enough words to describe. Even though I don’t always love my position as their personal Uber and you will often hear me complain about it, driving my siblings to school and their extracurricular commitments requires me to be more organized with my time. I balance my own priorities with helping them with their homework, not because I feel obligated to assist them but rather because I enjoy spending time with them while being productive. My brother’s constant energy and enthusiasm reminds me not to take for granted the moments I share with my family. The most significant lesson my siblings have taught me is how to view things from different perspectives, even when I want to be stubborn and argumentative. My sister’s comments sometimes appear critical, but, in reality, she is essential to holding me accountable and helping me consider situations from other viewpoints. Growing up, my siblings and I played any game we could get our hands on, and created our own games when we were bored, so I may be a slightly competitive person now. I’ve always been able to rely on my siblings to be a constant presence in my life, and that has added to my love for stability and routine. I love knowing exactly what’s going to happen each day, exactly what I’m going to do. When things are unpredictable, that’s an opportunity for something to go wrong. When I transitioned into high school, I had to let go of my routines. Let go of piano, of my comfortable middle school environment with the friends I had known since I was six. Surprisingly, I have actually learned a few life lessons from my time here.

Embrace unpredictability, A chance for something to go wrong is also a chance for something to go right.

Change is in fact inevitable, no matter what you do. So accept that some things are outside of your control, and rely on those around you to keep you grounded.

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LAYNA GERHARD ’24 I love Jj, Shrubby and Babe. Jj, Shrubby and Babe are my three cats. I will start off by telling you all about some of their notable characteristics and then, even though they are just cats, some of the very valuable things that they have taught me.

Recently, Jj and Shrubby have been put on diets. When Shrubby gets hungry, he patiently sits by his food bowl and waits quietly until someone feeds him. Jj, however, definitely does not sit quietly, instead he scream-meows for hours.

Because of his screaming, we had to adjust his diet to include snack time, which is whenever he gets too annoying and no one can stand to listen to him anymore. Seeing how effective his strategy of using his voice was, inspires me to speak up and advocate for myself.

Now for Shrubby. Shrubby has always been a special cat. As hinted at by his cool name, he is very unique. One of his quirks is that he gets scared very easily. I think his biggest fear is probably tin foil. As soon as the tin foil comes out Shrubby runs and hides upstairs. Although there wasn’t much Shrubby could do about it, he is lucky to have ended up in my family because we prefer to use Tupperware to keep our leftovers fresh, and rarely ever even use tin foil. This perfect match up between Shrubby and my family, reveals to me how important it is to surround myself with people who can support me. Whether that be through understanding my irrational, although probably more rational than tin foil, anxieties or believing in and helping me accomplish any goals I set for myself.

Babe’s defining characteristic is that she’s the new cat. No matter the fact that she’s not new, we’ve had her for about two years, she will always be viewed that way since we got her after we had had Jj and Shrubby for a while. She used to live with my grandfather, and was an outdoor cat, and had his 10-acre wooded property as her house. After my grandfather passed away, we took in Babe. Since she doesn’t get along with my other cats, she lives in the confines of my bedroom. Although I tried to make my room fun and entertaining for her, this change was definitely very hard for Babe. Despite how big a change this was for her, I am inspired how adaptable Babe was as she worked her way into our family.

Even though I sadly cannot take my cats to college with me, I can take these lessons I’ve learned from each of them. Next year, when my class size is much bigger, and connecting with teachers may be difficult, I will need to seek out help and speak up, just like Jj, when I have an issue in a class. Just like Shrubby found a family that supports him regardless of his uniqueness, next year I will need to find the people who will support, and accept me. Being in a new place, with new people, I will need to do my best to adapt just like Babe did.

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GRACE GILBERT ’24 If you know me, you know I love eating good food. More specifically, I love a delicious meal of chicken tenders and french fries along with a warm brownie sundae for dessert. Where can the best version of this common meal be found you may ask? In my opinion, it is at a restaurant you might have heard of called Charcoal Pit. Ever since I was little, I have been going to Charcoal Pit with my friends and family but my addiction really escalated when I was 13. When I hit this age, it became my friends and my favorite place to catch up with each other after a long day at school, a challenging practice, or just because we wanted to be together. It has been a place where we have shared countless laughs and great memories with each other while getting an outstanding restaurant experience. I went so much that by the end of my junior year, several employees even knew my name and exactly what I was going to order. However, recently my Charcoal Pit experiences have significantly changed. Though I have always cherished eating the amazing food with my friends at Charcoal Pit, changes in the establishment have recently hindered its amazingness and have caused my friends and me to be very upset.

Lately, one of the biggest changes is that the new management will not let me order the kids chicken tenders and french fries anymore. This was really disappointing to me as it was the perfect portion, had the perfect ratio of chicken tenders to fries, and it was very inexpensive. Now I am forced to get the adult chicken tenders and fries which isn’t as good and is a whole five dollars more expensive.

Additionally, the new renovations are not my favorite. Ever since I was little, I loved the old fashion aesthetic of the restaurant along with the music they would play. It gave the restaurant a cool vintage vibe to it. When I was little, the jukeboxes that were installed at every table were a staple. I loved playing music from them with my family and friends. I would always beg my parents to take me back to Charcoal Pit just because I wanted to use the jukeboxes. As of now, many of the tables are modernized and the jukeboxes that are still in place, do not work and are there as decorations.

Another big change is that they will not seat you until your whole party arrives. I know this is a pretty common thing for restaurants to do but it has made my friends and I very angry as this new rule has inconvenienced us.

They have been super strict about this new rule, even when the restaurant is almost completely empty.

Although I know most of these changes are for the greater good of their business, I feel upset as a loyal customer who doesn’t want there to be any changes at all as Charcoal Pit has always been somewhere I’ve known so well and has been my comfort place. Even my parents joke that they believe it is my second home.

One of the biggest things I’ve learned this year is that change is inevitable and is bound to happen. Things won’t always stay the same way as they always have been but that’s okay. I know when I look back at my times

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at Charcoal Pit with my friends, I will not remember these changes that seemed jarring to me at this time in my life, instead, I will remember all of the good times and memories that we made there together.

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GRACE “GIGI” GONZALEZ ’24 I love my cat. Anyone who knows me knows this about me. We have five cats at my house, many of which we kept after we fostered them as kittens. I have a special bond with one of my cats in particular—her name is Isabella. However, my family and I never tended to call her that. We prefer the name Fluffy. My cat Fluffy is the biggest ball of fluff I’ve ever seen.

Every time people come to my house, they see the practical adoption center we have and ask: “which one is your favorite?” Typically, I say, “I love them all equally.” But just like when you ask your parents if they have a favorite child and they say no, I also, deep down, have a favorite.

My phone is filled to the brim with pictures of my cat—I’m basically her biggest fan. All day at school, I sit in class and find myself wondering what she is doing at the moment. While I’m calculating slopes and studying government, I find myself missing my cat.

With my family each on their own schedules, I spend most of my time at home—inseparable from my cat— wherever I am, she has to be. I have only ever noticed her having this attachment towards me, which I tend to brag about to my family.

My mom used to say Fluffy is the most aloof of our cats. She says this because the first week we moved into our current house we didn’t see Fluffy for days, our initial thought was that she had gotten outside. But after a multi hour search of the house and yard yielded no results, we went to the garage for one last check where we found her asleep hidden in a pile of old curtains.

I have a lot of other crazy stories about Fluffy but none of them will be able to express how much I love my cat, knowing every day that I get to come home and see my cat keeps me going. Because I am so used to coming home and spending time with my cat it makes me somewhat scared for the changes I’ll face in college and it makes me think about how it’s the little things that we find comfort and peace in. While I will miss her dearly, I am also excited to be pushed out of my comfort zone even if it means I can’t see my cat every day, because after all, my phone is stocked with the best pictures of her.

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PHOEBE GRAY ’24 I love summer. You might be thinking: Yeah, obviously everybody loves warm weather and having no school, but I’m really obsessed. I used to believe that this one season could solve all my problems and that every other season was therefore destined to be miserable.

This is definitely an exaggeration. I love any time of year, but still, whenever it’s time to study for exams in the middle of the night or when I come out of swim practice for the sun to already set at five o’clock and my hair freezing, I imagine the perfection of summer. Even thinking about summer now, I can envision myself sleeping in late and spending a day doing what I choose. I can make money while doing practically nothing lifeguarding at the pool, and meet up with more friends when I find time. I can even defrost what I call my camp personality. Anyone who knows me knows I love camp, probably too much. It’s something unique to me with a community completely separate from home. I look forward to it all year round until I can disconnect from life for weeks at a time. No phones, new friends, old friends, nature, never bored, no school. I can go on and on about camp or anything else I love about summer, but anyone around me has heard enough of that. I definitely recommend you to find something like camp. Somewhere where you can be completely yourself and have something to look forward to whenever you aren’t there. It’s important to find things you are passionate about in a way that comes naturally. Even as I grew up through camp and became a counselor, it gave me somewhere to turn when I needed to talk about the rest of my life with someone disconnected. I’ve always been passionate about camp and having a community like that, but I’ve also found that wishing for it and sulking can make the present less bearable.

Complaining about school and the weather and anything else can be a natural instinct to relate to people around you, but you don’t want it to become too much of the same thing. Being too negative about everything can cast a shadow on what someone could be trying to enjoy. I realized my complaints and wishes for summer were becoming too much when my friends around me shared how it made them feel. I realized I wasn’t recognizing what was right in front of me. Though camp is a great escape, it can’t replace the world I live in for the rest of the year. It’s easy to get caught up in how busy the school year is, but once in a while, instead of whining about it, I try to change my attitude, even for a few minutes, and think about what I can be grateful for instead of what I’d rather be doing. My favorite motto is, “If you can’t get out of it, get into it.” I learned it at camp, of course, but I really bring it with me wherever I go. It is essentially saying to have a good attitude about the things we can’t change and to make the most of situations. I can’t escape the changing seasons, but I can put on a warm coat and have fun even as the weather gets colder. The long, freezing walk from gravel into school in the morning is more enjoyable when I make the journey with my friends. Focusing on summer keeps me complaining about being pale and having shorter days, and it distracts me from the beautiful orange of the falling leaves or of the way the sun glistens on tree branches when they get icy. School and homework are inescapable challenges, too, but locking in and getting it done makes room for things that you really enjoy.

There is still time to see your friends at lunch and during frees, even if you’re stuck in classes with people you don’t know for the rest of the day, and there is room on the weekends to see people you missed and eat good food and watch that movie you’ve been meaning to. Making time and changing your attitude can make

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everything that much more enjoyable. I’m forever grateful for camp and everything it has given me, but I am learning to be even more grateful for the people in my daily life who are there throughout the other 330 days.

The great Miley Cyrus once said, “There’s always gonna be another mountain; you’re always gonna wanna make it move.” This is true, but the sooner you realize it’s more fun to just hike up the mountain and enjoy the view instead of trying to get around it or complaining the whole while you do, everything will be much more enjoyable for you and for others around you, too. A smile is contagious. Nobody expects anyone to be excessively positive all the time, but working on getting out of bed when I’m stuck in a slump and going on a walk or doing something productive helps me to move on from complaining and sulking. Yes, there are times when you need extra help or have to relax or need to let out a long rant about everything in life, when things are truly unenjoyable because nobody likes to do homework late into the night, and of course, some time on a beach would be awesome right about now, but there are times when simply a change in attitude can change an entire situation. There is always something you can do to brighten your day or those around you. And if not, you can always just wait it out until summer. Thank you!

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MICHAEL GRILLO ’24 I’ve always heard people say, “Home isn’t a place. It’s the people who make it what it is.” There’s no doubt in my mind that it’s my family and friends who make my home so special. I’ve always enjoyed spending time with my family and friends. When you’re with the right people it feels like all of your problems and worries go away.

My parents have always been there for me whenever I need it. Their unconditional love is definitely something I take for granted sometimes but I don’t know where I’d be without it. Talking to them is easy because they understand me better than anyone and because of their calming tone and demeanor. When I’m with them I feel safe and protected the same way I did when I was little and afraid to sleep without a light on. They’ve instilled the confidence and pride in me to always believe in myself. They also gave me my brother.

I obviously can’t talk about my home without mentioning my brother. I feel very lucky to have been born with a built-in best friend for life who is only a year older than me. Being raised side by side, we did pretty much everything together. From being on the same youth sports teams, to playing outside together, to going to school together, to our countless inside jokes that only we found funny. We were far from perfect, like all siblings we have our fights and disagreements but we always make up and have each other’s backs. I remember a few years ago when we were on the same lacrosse team and a kid tripped me and then pushed me after I got up and my brother immediately stepped in and got between me and the other kid. Watching him stand up for me like that made me feel protected and cared about in a way I had never felt before. It was testament to our strong brotherhood.

I feel rich in family but I definitely can’t talk about my home without talking about my friends. I’ve made many friends over the years. And some of the happiest moments of my life have been spent with friends. Some of the most fun things we’ve done together include going to parties, going on late night walks, and “jelling” (aka “chilling”) and falling in koi ponds with them, no matter what we’re doing together it’s always a great time.

And I wouldn’t want to do it with anybody else. I’ve also built and strengthened many friendships through sports. Taking the field and going to war with my boys by my side is truly a one-of-a-kind feeling. The memories I’ve built with them like beating Friends in lacrosse and ruining their undefeated season last year will always have a special place in my heart.

Seniors, it’s crazy to believe that we’ll be graduating in just over 3 months. It can feel overwhelming and scary to know that we’re gonna have to leave behind our home that we’ve been building over many years, but we should be excited and embrace the change and keep an open mind going into this next chapter of our lives. It’s important for all of us to spend time with and keep making more special memories with the people who make our homes so special. Even though I’m heading off for college next year I’m gonna make the most of the short time I have left here but I always know that my home—my parents, my brother, and my friends—are only one call away. Thank you.

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COLE HAMSTEAD ’24 Bob Marley once said, “Beginnings are usually scary, and endings are usually sad, but it’s everything in between that makes it all worth living.” We all know the feeling of being thrown into the unknown, whether it’s starting at a new school, moving to a new place or starting a new journey. Beginnings can be scary, with a lot of doubt and uncertainty. We may question ourselves and wonder if we’re going on the right path, but it’s the uncomfortableness that pushes us to grow, learn and better ourselves. Endings are often linked with sadness and loss. Whether it’s saying goodbye to a friend or leaving for college, endings can bring a sense of loss. But they also bring the chance to look back on the experiences we’ve had along the way. Endings remind us to be grateful for what we have and the memories we’ve created. However, it’s everything in between that defines us. It’s the lessons we learn and the experiences we go through that shape us into who we are. We explore our interests, try new things, and gain valuable experiences. It is during this time that we find our true calling and purpose.

Imagine a book with only a beginning and an end, no pages in between to tell the story. I would not want to read the book because it lacks a lot of the story. Life is the same way. The middle, with all its ups and downs, is where our best experiences lie. It’s where we find purpose, passion and joy. Never allow the fear of something new or the sadness of endings stop you from achieving your dreams. Embrace the scary beginnings, because they lead to growth and transformation. Acknowledge the endings, because they remind us of the joy of the journey. And most importantly, cherish everything in between, because it’s the best part of life’s journey.

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THOMAS “TOMMY” HANNA JR. ’24 On a hot summer’s day, the warm wind whips into my face as I book it as fast as I can down Route 52. Of course, as a rising freshman in high school, I can’t drive, so my legs suffer through the relentless peddling of my Trek bike, which wasn’t supposed to achieve such speeds. However, the anticipation of hooping with my friends and cooling off in some nice, super clean Brandywine water as we bump Bob Marley keeps my legs peddling. After a 12-minute sprint on the bike, I pull up to the rest of the bike mob, and we mobilize through Alapocas.

Finally, after a long day of chilling, we finished with some overly-competitive 2K games, and would go to sleep despising at least two of us, all to do it again the next day.

As we enjoy the end of summer, there’s not a care in the world; no homework to do, no game to prepare for, just a bunch of 15-year-old boys chasing a buzz and looking to pass the time. After all, anything was better than sitting locked inside trying to avoid a virus. Yes, I’m bringing up the dreaded word that everyone’s sick of, COVID-19. Remember the times? Hallways had directions, the basketball court was a lunchroom, and demerits flew as we struggled to keep our masks up. Not a great environment for teenage boys, or really anyone at all.

But I promise there’s a reason for bringing this up, and a moral to this story. As we whipped around Wilmington making simple, and sometimes dumb fun, we were making the most of our situation. Completing our same routine of playing basketball, swimming in the polluted Brandywine regardless of an eye infection that knocked a kid out for a week, then rolling to Dash In, and finally, hopping on the game late at night, even as the world around us worried about what COVID would mean for the future of humanity, as 15 year old boys, we didn’t worry about any of that. We just enjoyed the simple things in life. After months of only seeing people through a screen or flimsy mask, we were just happy to be outside, living out our final days of summer under the sun, not a roof.

Expert adults were concerned for our wellbeing, asking how our generation would recover from the lack of social interactions and life skills. They were predicting the beginning of a group of degenerates, and while I can’t say they were totally wrong, I look at the flip side. I think this time period of lockdown and confinement led us to appreciate our friendships and to never take things in life for granted. It taught us how to make the most of our time together, because you never know when it will suddenly be stripped from you. And most importantly, it taught us how to value the simple pleasures of life, even if it’s diving into an infected river. All in all, I’d say these antisocial degenerates turned out just fine. Thank you.

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ZOË HEIFETZ ’24 The phrase “corrections are gifts” has guided me ever since I was five years old.

From when I was five until I was fifteen, I spent many long afternoons and early Saturday mornings in ballet class. My classmates and I grew up together, always waiting anxiously for Ms. Kristina, our scariest teacher’s arrival. When she stepped into the studio, we lowered our gazes nervously. I vividly remember: her signature French twist hairstyle, that she was very tall, and that most of all, that she was very, very intimidating.

Ms. Kristina would always begin classes with her infamous mantra: “corrections are gifts.” Starting at a young age, she raised us to believe that her attention was a sign that she cared about our progress as students. This phrase reminded us to appreciate our time in class as an opportunity to get better.

We all felt validated by the littlest bit of advice, which allowed us and empowered us to make a difference in ourselves. Seeking Ms. Kristina’s approval via her corrections inspired open minds and a desire to work hard towards a goal.

Back then, this teaching style felt like a lot of pressure, and often times, I hated ballet. But looking back, I am so grateful that I stuck with it for so many years. It taught me such important lessons and mindsets that I still rely on today. For me, ballet was one of the most formative experiences because it was also one of the most challenging.

Now that I am older and stand equal to Ms. Kristina’s height, the phrase “corrections are gifts” is not so scary.

Her saying reminds me that constructive criticism can be a gift, coming from people who care about you and want to see you succeed. Most of all, though, whenever I think about this phrase, I remember how much I valued Ms. Kristina’s corrections, which today reminds me to appreciate learning new things, even when it is challenging or difficult.

It is easy to reflect back and recognize the value of the lessons I learned now that I no longer do ballet.

Reflecting back on this phrase reminds me that, as a senior, each day here is one day closer to graduation.

While it is easy to get caught up in the monotony of routine, waiting for the next weekend or next break, reminiscing about ballet as I wrote this speech was a good reminder to cherish the present moments. One day soon, I will look back at my time at Tower Hill just like I do my time in the ballet studio.

Through these next few months, when summer seems so far away, appreciate the present challenges and the people in your life that make you better. Surround yourself with activities and people, who challenge you, support you, and make you a better version of yourself, because ultimately, like Ms. Kristina would say, “corrections are gifts.”

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AILI INGUITO ’24 Step 1: Wash and dry your hands completely.

Step 2: Open two small cases, one labeled 180 and the other labeled 10.

Step 3: Start with the left. Inspect it carefully before proceeding.

Step 4: Move on to the right, performing the same method as Step 3.

Step 5: Throw both of the cases into the trash.

Step 6: Celebrate.

Can you guess what routine I just described?

I have always had bad vision. Cursed by my family’s genetics, I have been wearing glasses since I was in the second grade, and I have experimented with various shapes, sizes, and colors of glasses—from transparent white to both turquoise and dark blue to maroon red to cat-eyed black-and-white frames and many more, and I cannot wait for the new kinds of glasses that I will wear in the future that will make bold, fashion statements that will assuredly precede their time. Although glasses are an essential facial accessory that helps me see, they do have some minor drawbacks. To name a few, they can break, fall off, fog up, or get lost. So… what’s the alternative? What was my routine earlier about?

It was about contacts. No, not the contacts on your phone, nor physical contact sports, nor the eye contact that you are supposed to maintain with your audience during presentations and speeches, such as this one. My aforementioned routine detailed my process of putting in contact lenses.

The mere idea of touching and poking my eyes—a crucial step in putting on contacts—has always felt daunting to me, and thus, had deterred me from making the switch between glasses to contacts. That is, until two years ago, until the summer between my sophomore and junior years, when I made up my mind to finally try contacts. Not only was I driven by the prospect of being able to wear sunglasses, I was motivated by the idea of freedom in movement that contacts would provide, and so encouraged by my family, I booked an appointment for a contact lens fitting.

Let me set the stage for you. It was June 11, 2022. I walked into the eye doctor’s office, afraid that I would be unable to put on contacts. I struggled for quite some time. Self-doubts crept in, as I kept trying to no success.

To me, it seemed impossible, despite the mere fact that many other people could do it, including my friends and all of my family. As I dejectedly left the office, my fear came true. I failed. I could not put on contacts. Not yet.

Five days later, on June 16, I walked into the eye doctor’s office again, with a clear objective in mind—a singular goal. I was determined that I was not going to leave the building if I did not have my contacts in. No matter what it took, I would get them in. Again and again, I attempted the task for what felt like forever in front of a mirror with my mom by my side. I’m sure you can guess what happened that fateful day, considering I stand before you today a glasses-less human. I believe I cried tears of joy when by some sort of miracle, or maybe due to effort and perseverance, the contact lenses somehow attached to my eyes. Proving my self-doubts

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wrong, I was able to do what I previously thought was impossible. With the mission accomplished, I left the office with a big smile on my face. I was proud of myself.

The rest of that summer could be described in three words: practice, practice, practice. As with anything, the more you do something, the more you improve at doing the thing. If I practiced, the process of putting on contacts did not have to be the bane of my existence or my mortal archenemy. And although even now, on some days when it may take a bit more time to put on contacts in the morning, I know with full confidence that I am quite capable of overcoming challenges that may have once seemed insurmountable in my eyes, pun intended. So… what’s the takeaway of my speech?

First of all, my routine of steps tied with putting on contacts is a microcosm of the way I try to approach different areas of my life to achieve my goals. One positive little mantra that has stuck with me is to “take it one step at a time.” I have always found it much easier to tackle something that seems to loom so large and overwhelm me by breaking it down into smaller tasks, and focusing on the next mini action I can take.

Secondly, if all this talk about glasses and contact lenses were to be a metaphor, it could be to try a new lens on life, to intentionally take on a new perspective and see with a new attitude, shifting critical negatives into grateful positives. And lastly, for those who are part of the glasses gang that wish to wear contacts, this is a small bit of encouragement from me to you to try it, or feel free to proudly stay strong in the spectacles lane.

For those who are already part of the contacts club, I hope you reminisced on your own story of your first-time trying contacts. And for those lucky ducks who have perfect vision, I envy you, and now you have a new lens on the experiences of those who unfortunately need lenses. Thank you.

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HARRY JONES ’24 I’ve been a mayor, a drug dealer and an army general; I’ve been fired for military misconduct, bought a ship that I sailed around the world with a crew I met in a bar and had pirates take it from me soon after. I achieved these highs and lows whilst in my friend’s basement, engulfed in the smells of his mother’s cooking.

Every day after school we would walk across the street, around the back of the house, passing the dryer vents as the clean draft hits us in the face and in through the two big glass doors. What was waiting for us through those doors was our childhood… board games. One board game that always called me back was Game of Games.

Game of Games came to fruition one day in June, the summer before my freshman year of high school.

Although my nerves about high school were peaking and my life was changing, I knew I could always go back to something familiar, and that something was board games. My oldest brother, our two friends and I, sick of playing the same games over and over, decided to create a new game. We wanted a game that had aspects of all the board games we enjoyed most, and that’s when it came to us: The Game of All Games. Our game would have themes of war and fighting like Risk; it would incorporate storytelling and adventure like Dungeons and Dragons; and it would possess the strategy of Axis and Allies.

Although building our game and making the rules was fun, the best part was playing it with my brother and our friends. My brother was typically the Narrator and could control the game. Each player would start in one of the thirteen provinces: Mountain Mexico, Desertia, Riverdale, Egypt, Beatbush, Trolland, Karst, Utah, Bouliene, Irelévávant, High Merkage, Northern Isles or Wreavage. After being randomly dropped into one of these provinces, your life as you know it begins. You can do anything you want to do with the only limits being your character’s physical, mental or intellectual capabilities.

We played Game of Games nonstop for months. It felt like the game wouldn’t let us go, constantly dragging us back for more. Having made each rule and even the vast game board ourselves, the possibilities were endless and intricate. Our game had every little detail that other games did not because we tailored it to fit our specific wants and needs. We didn’t play the game as ourselves, we played as if we were our character, making each move and taking each action. Your character was always a stand-in for your own abilities, hampered and restricted by the abilities stated by my brother, the Narrator. The reasons I loved this game so much are completely different from the reasons my brother and our friends loved it. When I look at it, I see spending time with my brother that last summer before he went off to college. I hear my brother calling me down from my room to start the multiple-hour-long sessions. We played this game and wrestled with who we were and who we were trying to be before it all changed forever.

The parts I miss about it now are the parts I wasn’t even thinking about when we were actually together and playing. Now I miss the people I played with and the little time we had left as we were then. I loved the carelessness while we stayed up all night playing. I loved the many different people I got to embody and build from the ground up. I loved every bit of it and miss every bit of it even more. The game itself brought many

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lessons, arguments and fun, but in the long run it is my childhood—concentrated in moments—and essentially representative of who I was becoming.

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OLIVIA JORDAN ’24 It’s been just over four years since I’ve joined Scouting, and in that time I’ve had some truly incredible experiences. I’ve barreled down a river in a raft, I’ve hiked sections of the Appalachian Trail with just the gear in my pack, and I’ve constructed a medieval catapult using nothing but lashings. But by far the most memorable thing I’ve ever done is strand myself on an island overnight.

Perhaps strand isn’t the right word; in fact, we had plenty of canoes waiting to take us back in the morning. But what we didn’t have were supplies. You see, when my patrol decided we wanted to do the wilderness survival merit badge, we opted for the “go big or go home” philosophy. Instead of traipsing off into the woods a few feet away from our campsite, we set our sights on the tiny island in the middle of the lake at Akridge. Although our scoutmaster protested just slightly at the idea of sending a bunch of children to spend the night on an island alone, he eventually caved to our relentless bothering and terms were set: as long as an adult camped right on the lake’s shore, easily within shouting distance, we were free to go.

According to what we told our scoutmaster, the trip went off without a hitch. In reality, the trip went off with several capsized canoes, many failed attempts at a fire, and approximately zero hours of sleep. But despite what on paper may seem like a failed experiment, and what in the moment I probably would have described as torture, looking back, I wouldn’t change it for the world. That single night, sitting inside what could only very generously be considered a shelter and chatting the hours away through the drizzling rain, bound my patrol together the way only experiences like those can. And although at the time all I could think of was how damp and miserable I felt, now I miss those conversations with my patrol on an island that was all our own.

It’s been several years since that trip, and my fellow patrol members have grown up, just as I have. Many of us are Eagle Scouts now, and I am so proud of them for everything they have accomplished. I know for a fact that I would never have earned Eagle if it weren’t for all the support that they have given me.

For my Eagle project, I constructed a patio and firepit for St. Barnabas Church, our charter organization. It is quite a large patio, and as such, I made plans to dig the hole with a backhoe. However, when the day arrived, I discovered that the backhoe I was going to borrow had broken down the previous day. I was convinced that the project was doomed; we were running a tight schedule already, and digging the hole by hand would take ages longer than expected. But as I was panicking inside, my patrol mates simply picked up their shovels and started digging.

Through their hard work, and the hard work of every other troop member and parent that lent a hand that day, I managed to finish my project. I’m reminded of the immense support of my patrol members every time I see that patio walking into our troop meetings, and every time I look down at the Eagle patch on my uniform.

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For me, becoming an Eagle Scout was not just a matter of completing tasks, and it certainly wasn’t something I did alone. My Eagle Scout journey, and my entire time in Scouting, has been about learning to treasure even my worst days, and keep going even when plans fail.

It’s easy to agonize over your mistakes, picking apart every last detail. I know I’ve spent my fair share of time doing so. But through the process of earning Eagle, I’ve learned to quiet the part of my brain that immediately demands to know what exactly went wrong, and instead focus on asking myself “what next?” So, no, my perfect survival shelter was not remotely waterproof, and no, my Eagle project wasn’t the quick and professional patio installation that I planned for. But I kept going, with family and friends by my side, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

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SIDDHARTH “SID” KANCHARAPU ’24 Teaching is hard.

One of my first jobs was a teaching assistant at a math tutoring center. Having had a smooth-sailing time from my middle school math classes, I expected the majority of my mental energy to go towards spending time explaining problems, and maybe even have time to talk to other TAs in between. But it turned out I was naive and innocent.

In my first session, I worked with a group of five to six diligent students who did their work, asked clarifying questions about new concepts and left. Leaving the center, I felt proud of myself. Surely everyday would be this easy right?

No. I quickly realized that the better you did with a section early on, the more likely that the managers would notice your performance and assign you students that would require more effort.

In later sessions, I would get students who were more inclined to stare at their phones than complete their work. Facing potential disgrace, I was forced to find reliable ways to incentivize the students to complete their tasks. I found that letting them go early if they finished their work quickly, or even rewarding them with candy would encourage them to focus. After a couple months, I actually developed a good rhythm.

But just as I thought that I had won, the managers introduced me to the level three student: the wanderer class.

These irrational students would arbitrarily get up to explore the math center, roaming around and meeting new people until the two hour session was over, not even pretending to care. From the intelligence I initially gathered, they weren’t afraid to do the work; they would at times pick up their pencils on short impulses. My initial conclusion was that these students couldn’t be bribed by any amount of candy or shortened time: they just wanted to stir chaos.

And chaos would arise. At the end of each session, I’d find myself face to face with highly anxious parents, eager to know why their kids weren’t improving or angry about a bad quiz score.

I realized that perhaps the students just needed to feel comfortable in a different environment. With these students, I found that talking with them helped them focus, as they became more at ease in the center and more willing to put in effort. One student would be having trouble with their math class, while another would be practicing for a math league competition. Sometimes these conversations even got off topic. A few asked whether I would recommend for them to go to Tower Hill, but most of the time they would forget to wait for an answer and be onto a new idea.

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Yes, from my experience at the center, I have promised myself never to pursue any type of job in education or academia. Still, I learned to become adaptable when dealing with new people as you never know how they’re feeling or what they want. Instead of immediately sorting them into buckets, having in depth conversations will build long-lasting connections. You might even learn a thing or two.

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SANVEE KARNIK ’24 Imagine this: You are in a jet racing down the runway. As you approach well over 200 miles per hour the plane begins to tilt upward, the force of gravity keeping you pressed against the back of your seat, and before you know it, the people on the ground beneath fade to mere specks. The curvature of the Earth’s surface comes into view all around you, with the evening sun casting a golden hue over each beautiful feature. And above you, the alluring, dark expanse of outer space. This is my passion.

Everyone has a passion that motivates them and keeps them driven. For me, that is the Lockheed SR-71 Blackbird spy plane, also popularly known as the Blackbird. It is one of a kind in many ways, not only by design but also by the unbroken records it has set in speed and altitude, surpassing the expectations of what it was even designed to do.

My interest first started with astronomy, aircrafts and spacecrafts when I was very young, which manifested through countless family trips to various museums, planetariums and the Kennedy Space Center, just to name a few, as well as my ever-growing collection of astronomy and aeronautical engineering books. I was fortunate to see an SR-71 in the Steven F. Udvar Hazy Center in Chantilly, Virginia a few years ago, and to say the experience was inspiring and thrilling would be an understatement. Standing directly in front of it was almost intimidating, as it was mysterious yet breathtaking. During its flight period, it carried out numerous successful spy missions.

However, I feel there are two main aspects of the SR-71 in particular that have motivated me. The first is that, according to Lockheed Martin, the company that designed this aircraft, this plane set a new record for speed, at Mach 3.2, which is about three times the speed of sound. For me, this represents the determination and perseverance with which to strive to achieve a goal or pursue a passion. The second is the record this plane set for altitude, which, according to the National Air and Space Museum’s website, is just over 85,000 feet. Knowing this encourages me to believe that if you work hard and face challenges with resilience, there is no limit to what you will achieve.

The immense effort that was put into designing this engineering marvel, as well as all that it has achieved, portray these characteristics that have motivated me, such as hard work, the ability to achieve what was once thought of as impossible, determination, and striving to push the boundaries of exploration.

Overall, my passion has also brought me closer to my family because of our common interest, all the time we’ve spent together and all the places we’ve visited. When I go off to college, we won’t be able to have as many spontaneous trips, but I will be forever grateful to my parents for supporting me in my greatest passion and the memories we’ve made during trips which I will cherish throughout my life. I hope to take these values and the experience and knowledge I have gained at Tower Hill with me into college.

In the words of Jennifer Lee, “Be fearless in the pursuit of what sets your soul on fire.”

Thank you.

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SAIRA KAZMI ’24 The dolphin’s gray tail appeared on the surface of the glistening ocean. How would my siblings navigate this and make their way back to shore? I stepped back to create the best angle to capture this pivotal moment for my movie. At a young age, I would record random scenes on family vacations to produce iMovies—the beach was my favorite recording spot. I wanted to document as many moments as possible to make these trips last forever. But it didn’t end here. I’d always arrive at a family gathering with a new idea for a movie, hoping my cousins would like it more than the last. I remember what I particularly loved about these movies was that I wasn’t afraid to make mistakes, I could take the videos in whichever direction I wanted and I could always undo something if I didn’t like it. Looking back on these memories, I’ve realized how passionate and excited I was about the movies I made. I didn’t even know it at the time, but I had accomplished something that would take me a while to find again.

As I grew older, the time for these videos became undermined by my busy life—any free time I had was spent with my friends or family—but there was not even enough time for that. I went from talking with my parents during our drives to school and practices to quickly grabbing my keys and running out the door. I went from writing song lyrics with my sister on big posters for our worldwide performances (which usually took place in the living room) to writing essays all the time. Sooner than I could grasp, I was so distracted by my everyday life that it became difficult to pause for the small moments.

This past winter, my family and I went to California to visit the cousins who I often bonded with over our videos—it was the first time I’d seen them in about six years. Mid-conversation one of them asked if I remembered how we used to create iMovies when we were little, and a deep sense of bittersweet nostalgia hit me. Of course I remembered. I thought about how quickly time flew by since those very moments, and I felt like I had to make every positive moment in my life going forward ten times more special.

I reflected on the past few years of my life and realized that I was indeed following my passions this whole time—I just needed to recognize it. Every night spent with my friends, every trip I took—these moments served as fuel that drove me to work hard in other aspects of my life. These were my current versions of iMovies.

What I’ve grown to appreciate is that my life did not have to be one or the other. I did not only have to be the carefree kid in those iMovies or only someone who’s super busy all the time. It’s possible to do both, and life can be the perfect balance.

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TYSON KEITH ’24 In the spirit of it being spring/lacrosse season, it seems like the perfect time to have my Senior Speech on it. My lacrosse journey did not start until my eighth grade year, despite watching my younger brother play for years, and friends and family always asking me to try. Instead, I tried baseball, tennis, track and spring soccer. Finally, in eighth grade, I was inspired by Sully to pick up the game he had played and loved for years. Unfortunately for me, my debut season would be swiftly cut short by COVID and I was left to hit the wall in my backyard solo for the next few weeks before the entire world was shut down and the season was canceled for good. This brings us to freshman year, where I was still dead set on playing the game after a full summer and fall of being dragged to my brother’s tournaments and games once again. I even switched positions to defensive middie, but disaster struck again when I broke my collarbone during practice, and I was back to square one without any game time but hopeful and ready for the next year. My sophomore year was different. Partly because I switched positions again from defensive middie to long pole, hoping my bad luck would be over. I struggled a lot. I made plenty of mistakes and was in all honesty, terrible, but that did not deter me. I was stuck in a limbo of too bad to play on Varsity but too good to play on JV, so I had to assert myself and ask to play. This work paid off as I got plenty of JV time, and improved my skills as a player and teammate, and was eager to jump in my junior year. Junior year was pretty similar, only I was a lot better than before. Our team’s defense was solid, so I still did not touch the field on Varsity but was overlooked for JV time. With hardly any game experience, I stuck to improving my skills and learning from teammates in practice, and it truly paid off. I now stand here as a senior who has started every game so far and hope to continue that streak as I close out my career as a Tower Hill athlete. As I reflect on my journey as a lacrosse player, I think the best part of all of this is that this year I get to do it alongside the kid who sparked my love and passion for the game: my brother. But also, I think it serves as a motivational piece for any/all underclassmen out there who may be struggling with the same thing I did. It’s never too late to try a new sport or activity and if you truly put effort into it you can work your way up to your goal whether that be starting every game or just getting a varsity letter.

Thank you.

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DEREN KESEN ’24 Change has always been a constant in my life. When I was six years old, my parents and I moved to Delaware from Istanbul, Turkey. I started first grade at Tower Hill with very little knowledge of English; at the time my English vocabulary consisted of hello and goodbye, my name is, a shaky counting of the numbers 1-10, and maybe a list of your most average fruits. I initially struggled in school as I couldn’t understand what my teachers and classmates were saying, and it took a long time for me to be accustomed to the life and culture here. I spent my first months copying the things my classmates did or said. For example, I would listen to the person before me in the lunch line and repeat what they said when it was my turn, because I had no idea how to say what I wanted, which often resulted in me ending up with a mystery lunch. Sometimes, when I didn’t know what someone had asked me, I would reply confidently in complete made-up gibberish and watch the blank stares of my classmates.

Eventually, my English fell into place, but I would still hate it when someone would ask me to say something in Turkish, or, my most dreaded question, “Do you eat a lot of Turkey in Turkey?” It made me feel different and out of place, and all I wanted was to fit in. For the next few years, I counted down the days until summer time, when my parents and I would travel back to Istanbul. I missed my family. I missed the city. I missed where people looked and talked like me. And I badly missed the food. Throughout the school year, summer was always a constant, comforting time in the distance in which my life would change again and I would go back home. Each fall, coming back to Delaware, where life felt so much harder, was very challenging.

For the past few years, though, my perspective has changed. Over the course of my time here, I’ve developed such great friendships, had amazing opportunities and experiences, and found new interests that I love. Now, over the summer I find myself slightly missing Delaware. Don’t get me wrong I love going back home, and there is almost nothing I love and miss more than my grandmother’s cooking, but while I’m there I miss my friends, my dog and things like getting to drive myself wherever I want. This has led me to realize that although I miss my family and Istanbul every single day, with the support of my parents, friends and school I’ve found a second home here.

As I look back on my experiences now, I realize how meaningful change was to me, and I wouldn’t trade my two homes for the world. I can’t imagine my life without my amazing family and friends in both places, just as much as I couldn’t imagine my life without missing one place, then the other, at any given time. I think you really have to love something deeply to miss it, and I am forever grateful that I have people in my life in two different parts of the world to miss.

This year I will face the biggest change in my life since I was six years old. A time in first grade I thought would never come has caught up to us, as graduation is a few short weeks away. There’s a part of me that wishes everything could stay the same, but although it’s scary, this time I’ve decided to accept the change as it arrives and just live in the moment. Change has made me who I am today, it’s brought me my bestest friends, and

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most importantly it’s taught me that home can be in more than one place. I hope that this next change will bring me even half as much joy as this one has. Take from my experiences this: change is inevitable. So, although it’s often frightening or uncomfortable, just embrace it, because things might just change for the better. Thank you.

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NATALIE KIRK ’24 Throughout my time at Tower Hill, I’ve always had problems with things like focusing, keeping up on work and my mental health. Yet, for the longest time, I had no clue why I was having these problems, and the older I got, the more frustrating not knowing got. To start off, my focus and work issues have been a problem since I started going to school, and it has even affected me outside of it.

We figured that there had to be something wrong because I wasn’t working as fast as the other kids, the typical strategies for learning weren’t working for me and I couldn’t keep up with the workload or deadlines. Since I didn’t know what was wrong, it felt like everyone around me thought I must be lazy and a procrastinator, and it felt horrible. I was working hard, but it never felt like it was truly paying off. It wasn’t until I was in ninth grade that I was diagnosed with ADHD. Many people are afraid to put labels on things, but I’ve never had that issue. I’ve found a kind of comfort and hope in labeling things, and when I got my diagnosis, it was one of the best feelings in the world. I was finally able to put a name to my issues, allowing me to take the steps I needed to find what works for me and what doesn’t. It was great knowing that everything was catered to my needs and the way that my brain worked, which allowed me to be free from a lot of stress that had been on my shoulders for years.

A little while after, I saw that my mood, as well as my grades, started to decline, and it deeply upset me. I didn’t understand what the issue was, and it was frustrating because I thought that I had taken care of the problem. I soon realized that it might have been because of the stress and pressure I had on myself to do well and keep up and the lack of time I had to let myself decompress and truly relax with nothing on my shoulders. One night, I ended up coming downstairs and crying to my mom, saying that I couldn’t take it anymore and I needed to see a therapist. After a few months of searching, we found the perfect therapist for me, and I started on my healing journey. I soon after got diagnosed with severe anxiety and started taking medication to help me with it. We realized that a lot of this anxiety stemmed from school and is associated with bad feelings and memories in my head, and it left me feeling uneasy about anything to do with school. This helped me come up with coping strategies to get through it, and my therapist helped me face these challenges and encouraged me that I was on the right path. She helped me remember that it was perfectly okay and normal to feel how I was feeling throughout all of this but reminded me that I had to face my fears and try to find comfort somewhere in the uncomfortable, which would help me get through it. This played a major role in my journey through my depression diagnosis and was a key factor in my recovery.

Right as I started to feel better, everything started to get worse again, and it was the most frustrating and discouraging feeling I had ever felt. I got so used to having this feeling and mindset of waiting for the other shoe to drop after everything would get better just to get worse again. We soon realized after my decline that I had depression, and after a long and hard fight on my own, even with therapy, that I couldn’t do it anymore.

My mind and body were so tired that I was barely able to do simple, minor tasks throughout my day. The toll it was taking on my body got so bad that I lost 20ish pounds in three months without trying to lose that weight, and I ended up collapsing in a class and breaking down into tears, and that’s when we realized there was a terrible issue. We didn’t know my weight until I went to my doctor that day. That day is one that I will never

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forget, and honestly, I never want to forget. My doctor walked into the room, and the first thing she said to me was follow my finger, and so I did. After about a minute or two of that, she put her hand down, put one hand on each shoulder, looked me straight in the eyes, and said… You’re tired, aren’t you? And that was it; I broke down in the doctor’s office, but I felt an immense form of relief. I finally felt heard, and that was the day we decided I needed to start on medication to help me through it because I couldn’t keep up this fight alone, and if I did, we weren’t sure that I would make it through it.

After that moment, I worked my butt off, and it paid off; I finally started to get better, and it was the best feeling I had ever felt. I still have these issues to this day, and I’m not sure if they will ever go away, but now I know how to manage them and how to live my life in a way that works for me, and that prevents me from being in that situation again. Now, I can’t sit here and tell you that it’s easy to get through; hell, it’s one of the hardest things you could ever have to do. But I can promise you that it is worth it and that you can never truly live until you get through it. What I want you to take away from this is that everyone goes through something, but just because what you went through isn’t what I went through doesn’t make it any less difficult. I also want you to take away the idea that asking for help isn’t bad and that showing your emotions and confronting them is the strongest thing you can do in life. I just ask you all to please ask for help when you need it rather than live in pain because I promise you it’s not as scary to open up as what can happen if you don’t do anything about it.

Thank you.

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ALEXANDRE “ALEX” KITTILA ’24 A shower of dust sprayed into my red eyes as I tossed an old box labeled «Attention, Fragile!» over my head. I looked through box after box, resulting in nothing but a disgruntled look on my face. I had hunted through almost every antique store on the Rue des Rosiers, and I was losing hope. Even though my vision had practically turned red and black, a glint of navy blue and gold lead paint caught my eye. I slowly unwrapped the loose paper and gave a little blow.

Old scraps of yellowed tissue floated across the room. The one item I had been looking for months lay there in my hand. A grenadier guard tin soldier, but not just any tin soldier, a CBG Mignot figure, France’s oldest surviving tin soldier manufacturer. And while the grenadier had definitely seen better days, it was finally mine.

I had gotten into collecting tin soldiers when I had accidently stumbled across a family member’s massive showcase. A doctor in the French countryside, he rarely saw too many people, leaving plenty of time for his hobby. My hands slid across his glass displays; case after case I ran past, in awe of the sheer size of the army.

And who was at the head of all these mighty corps? In the highest display case? On top of a great white horse was none other than L’Empereur himself, Napoleon.

Every time we visited family in Paris, I begged my mother to let me go antiquing in the many marché en puces scattered around the city. I never found too many interesting figures, however, until that fateful summer when I finally found the original shop of CBG Mignot. The shopkeeper explained to me how the shop had been there since the 1700s. She got me started with everything I needed to know about collecting tin soldiers; she recommended a few books, explained to me the rivalry between the two major brands, WBritain and CBG Mignot, and, most importantly, that the paints were dangerous due to their high lead contents.

The tin soldier collecting was a fun way to interactively learn about history. The uniforms, the colors, the characters, it was everything a 12-year-old boy could have wanted. With my introduction from my great uncle to the Napoleonic Wars, I found a completely new aspect of history often overlooked by the classroom.

However, the deeper I dove into the subject to learn which figures to collect, the more my interest in history grew.

I would look up my favorite corps for their uniform colors and then absorb a little bit of information about each corps. Oh, this unit was in Egypt, this one in Italy! Over time, the entire period began to piece together in my brain. Learning about Napoleon’s exploits never felt like a chore; it was exciting!

In my free time, I even went so far as to read books and play video games all surrounding my new favorite historical genres, a shocking development for my parents who had so recently believed I hated history.

Of course, as the years passed, my interest in history became more refined. And while I may have moved on from only studying the Napoleonic Wars, I have never lost my love for them. So when learning a hard subject

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or something generally considered “boring,” sometimes it’s nice to have a little help from L’Empereur himself.

Or at least a 54-millimeter version of him.

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BRADY KOCH ’24 I decided to dedicate this speech to explain why I value thrill-seeking so much, specifically the sport of mountain biking. Obviously the thrill of going airborne off large mounds of dirt and death gripping through steep sections of jagged rocks makes me excited just to think about, but in reality, it’s the product of putting myself in these situations that I have come to truly appreciate. Perhaps what will resonate with everyone in this room given our school’s motto, Multa Bene Facta, and will certainly resonate with the track team, is the term “becoming comfortable being uncomfortable.” The meaning of this is obvious, the only way to grow is by doing uncomfortable things, so why not get comfortable doing such things. That term pretty much sums up why I find myself drawn to sports like running, mountain biking, and wrestling because they all will put you in uncomfortable situations that require overcoming barriers. Now, the way people describe overcoming these barriers in these sports are a little different. For instance, in running at the end of a race you may hear people yell, “empty the tank,” in wrestling if you took a desperate shot and got sprawled on you may hear people yell “drive,” and in mountain biking when you’re eyeing up an intimidating feature you may hear “just send it dude.” For mountain biking the mental barrier has less to do with pain or fatigue, and more to do with emotions like fear and anxiety. This is because unless you’re completely deranged the risk of serious injury is an uncomfortable reality every mountain biker must come to terms with. Upon accepting this reality and deciding to continue participating in the sport, dedicated mountain bikers have made a commitment to regularly leap outside of their comfort zone for as long as they can participate in the sport, and for many that ends up being decades. I will never be comfortable riding my favorite trails, but I will continue to ride them and for that reason I will continue to grow from these experiences while at the same time really enjoying myself. The way I have grown is not in size, muscle, or speed, but rather mentally. The more you face fear, the less it will be able to impact you and eventually fear won’t have any control over you. I would love to say I am never scared, but that would be a lie because I still get scared, however mountain biking has played a large role dissipating my sense of fear and not letting it decide whether or not something is worth doing. An example of when I was able to let go of fear was my first time ever hitting a downhill jump trail. I was very afraid of it at first and I allowed it to make me anxious despite the fact that I knew I was capable of riding the trail and that it was indeed a risk worth taking. However, I first had to overcome the fear so that it didn’t get in the way of my performance. After finally getting over it I dropped into the trail with a calm mind and cleared the jumps effortlessly. Another positive benefit of facing my fears and continuing to push myself on my bike, is being able to practice the skill of thinking clearly while being under pressure. The quick pace of mountain biking allows for very little time to make decisions. Whether it’s only having a few seconds to decide if you need an extra pedal stroke or two in between two jumps, or which line you’re going to take through a section of rocks and roots all the while dodging trees and the occasional angry hiker requires very quick thinking. These types of situations allow me to practice thinking under pressure which is a skill I highly value. Mountain biking has given me many opportunities for personal growth and for that I’m very grateful. With that being said I encourage all of you to constantly seek improvement and never give fear a voice. Thank you!

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ELLE KRIKELIS ’24 I had never been a world traveler. For years, I never visited anywhere farther than Florida, so I was very content staying in one spot for most of my life. This all changed in sophomore year when my parents convinced me to sign up for our school’s Costa Rica trip because “it would be a great experience for you” and “even if you hate it when you’re there, you will be grateful when you come home.” I wasn’t convinced. Even though I took French (not Spanish), I hated the outdoors, I had only ever traveled with my family and had never been anywhere outside the United States, I would love it, right?

It turns out, I did love it.

During the trip, our goal was to make concrete poles from scratch for a wildlife refuge that we were living near.

This consisted of spending all day, for ten days, cutting wood, building molds for the poles, mixing concrete by hand, cutting iron, and pouring the concrete into the molds to create a total of 30 poles before the end of our trip. This was the most grueling hands-on job I had ever done, and though I may have complained through the entire process, everyone on the trip found ways to make the experience fun. Activities like starting an ironcutting competition, (which I won with a time of eight seconds), making playing card games a ritual every night, and filling the group whiteboard with funny quotes, games and drawings, were ways that our group was able to make the most out of our trip.

When the final day of the trip came, I didn’t want to leave. I loved the group of people I was with, doing something that benefited the town we resided in, and experiencing different cultures and lifestyles. Leaving Costa Rica, I discovered how much I had evolved.

I learned I wasn’t content with living in Delaware for the rest of my life. I wanted to travel the world and experience what it meant to live a life; to go anywhere and everywhere and experience every other culture and every other life that I could. To appreciate the little things. To make the best out of the worst. To work to make others’ lives better.

After having so much fun in Costa Rica, I longed for the same experience, so last year I signed up for an exchange trip to Australia. This consisted of spending three weeks living with a student and her family. During those three weeks, I got to experience Australian foods, like vegemite, an underrated spread, school, sports, like Australian Football, beaches and lifestyles. Even though I missed my family sometimes, meeting new people and living a completely different lifestyle made up for all the homesickness. I found myself living in the moment more often than I longed for the past. I concluded that those three weeks without my family were undoubtedly the most influential weeks of my life. Not only did I gain a new group of friends and a new favorite toast spread (you guessed it, vegemite), but I also gained an understanding of what I wanted to do in the future. I wanted to try something new, get out of my comfort zone, meet new people, and experience the world.

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Costa Rica and Australia changed my life. I know that sounds cliché, but it’s true. It made me uncover more about myself than I ever thought. I learned that I want to travel the world. I want to leave my home and find new ones wherever I can with the knowledge that I always have someplace to go back to. I want to be my own person; I want to find my place in the world, wherever that may be.

So why tell you about all the cool places I’ve been and the awesome toast spreads I have tried? It’s because I urge everyone to try to get out of their comfort zone, to try something new even if you think you’re gonna hate it. Try something new now, because you may not have the security and support of school, friends, and family in the future. After all, trying something new may end up becoming something that changes your life. And a final note, even though I never thought I would say this, maybe listen to your parent’s advice every once in a while?

They’re not right about everything, trust me, but sometimes, their advice can be life-altering. Sometimes. Thank you!!

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GRAYSON KYLE ’24 There’s something about a brand-new notebook sitting on a shelf in a store that always draws me: the tightly bound, crisp cream pages; the snap of the band enclosure; the faint scent reminiscent of a library. I can never resist buying one and bringing it home. Over the years I’ve collected at least a dozen notebooks, and each time I say to myself that I’ll fill the leather-bound pages with something of value. But when you write something down, even if erased with a pencil, the marks remain etched in the page, the first words still a shadow. No matter how many times I try, I’m frozen by the permanence of it all: what if I produce something mediocre? Thus, my pen never hits paper.

When it comes to academics, a bit of perfectionism works great. Most assignments have a set of requirements that are easy to fulfill. Challenges arose on other forms of work, like essays, that outlined more vague expectations, making it difficult to figure out the “correct” answer. Art, then, was another story entirely; With most artistic mediums, every action is immediately visible and subject to critique. I was paralyzed by the freedom to choose, to err, to explore uninhibited. On every attempt I was plagued by a fear of imperfection and mediocrity that prevented me from truly engaging in the arts until. That is until photography class.

Film photography differs from many art forms in that it separates the action from the outcome; a single click in the moment makes a photograph that goes unseen for weeks where at that point it is fully developed and rendered unchangeable. No one, myself included, can see the product as I’m making it: I couldn’t find fault in what didn’t yet exist, and others couldn’t judge what they couldn’t see. The darkroom also sets photography apart; without the light, I found a place of escape where I could relax with friends, listen to music and experiment with the process. It was a natural space to take risks, for trial and error—the darkness providing a place for experimentation without any expectations. Over time, my thoughts on creation shifted from believing that its endpoint required some award-winning level of perfection to appreciating the value of making something for the process itself. If the final product was something to be satisfied with, then that was only an added benefit, and anything regrettable about it could serve as a springboard for new ideas.

Since then, I’ve gotten much better at circumventing my tendency to seek out perfection, though by no means have I mastered this just yet—I still replay a singular measure on the piano, trying to find the best possible phrasing; I still redraw something over and over when it doesn’t feel just right; I still spend hours slouched over the screen of my laptop considering dozens of potential phrasings (this speech itself is a case in point). I still haven’t written my first sentence in a journal, but I think maybe now I’m ready.

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VICTOR LI ’24 For the longest time, my parents have had a reputation for signing me up for classes in anything I demonstrated even a little bit of interest in. Anything ranging from basketball to archery to kung fu to swimming. They’d do it all.

Worst of all, they’d never consult me beforehand. They might see me drawing on my own and then the next thing I know they’d tell me on a Friday night that I now have drawing classes every weekend, starting tomorrow. Even if I were to object, they’d play the card that they’ve already spent the money and that I should just stick it out to see if I’d like it. Although I understand that they were just trying to support my hobbies and interests, ultimately this organized system of lessons and classes is what made me lose all passion for whatever it was that they had signed me up for.

This type of structure is ultimately what killed my passion for cello. In middle school, I avidly practiced cello and eventually became the first chair of the middle school orchestra at my school. However, with each lesson, my enjoyment became less and less and less, and slowly I lost all drive for the art. So, after I completed two years of orchestra in high school for the art credits and the chance to go to Hershey Park, I quit.

In early 2021, when I got my first guitar, I explicitly told my parents that I was not interested in taking any lessons and any lessons that they signed me up for I would not be going to. Although they agreed at first, I still had to defend this part of my life as best as I could. I refused absolutely everything guitar-related they tried to throw at me ranging from the lessons they had agreed to not sign me up for and my dad trying to get me to play pieces for the choir he had recently joined. The clear-cut setting of that boundary was probably one of the best decisions I have ever made. Ultimately, it also helped me establish a better relationship with my parents as they slowly began to understand that any lessons or pressure would eventually kill all of my enjoyment of any subject.

To this day, I still regularly play guitar. I love the freedom that the guitar gives me because there is no more pressure than I would like. There are no set practice times so I can play for hours upon end for a whole day or just not even pick it up for multiple weeks. Sheet music is never placed in front of me to play, there is no set rate of progression, and there is no need for mastery of a song or skill. I can learn as fast or as slowly as I want, I can choose the difficulty of the songs I’d like to play, and I can actually enjoy the music I play. There is no need to play in tempo with a whole orchestra around me or even no need to play well for an audience. The only person I play for is me. In the end, I am the only one who decides when and how I play.

I urge everyone here to do something similar by making sure they have full control over even one little part of their lives that they find meaningful. Make sure that this thing is something you love doing and not just something that would look good on a resume. When you find that “something,” defend it with your life and don’t let anyone else take control of it.

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ALICE LIN ’24 Did you know yellow is the least popular color straw at Bubble Shack? This past summer I was a bobarista. Bubble tea has always been my favorite drink, so working at my favorite bubble tea shop was more than just a summer job for me, it was an adventure bound to happen. The thought of working in customer service seemed daunting at first. I was worried about speaking too softly for customers to hear, making errors at the cash register, forgetting how to make a drink, tripping, spilling the drink or getting fired on my first shift. I admit I was probably overthinking a little bit. After the first week, I easily overcame my fear of speaking to customers. I realized many of the younger ones feared ordering even more. Half of the time I had to assume I heard them correctly because I felt awful asking them to repeat their order for the third time, begging them to speak up.

I began to love my job even more than I had expected. I loved chatting and hearing gossip from my coworkers and my boss. I loved it when a regular customer came in and I knew their order by heart—like the man who ordered his strawberry black tea with 200% sweetness every weekend. Yes. 200%. Each shift, I would mentally check off the flavors and special drinks I’d made and add the ones I wanted to try myself. I have to say, strawberry black tea is pretty good, though I prefer it at regular sweetness.

One day, a coworker’s casual remarks about the unpopularity of the yellow straws sparked a flood of ideas.

Then, something crystalized in my brain—an observation that I could not shake off for the rest of the day. Why is the color that represents warmth and cheeriness always picked last? Most people don’t put much thought into those moments of quick decision-making when picking out a color straw, but as someone indecisive, I know that those few seconds may feel like an eternity. My mind would swirl with all sorts of thoughts, from everything I’ve ever been taught about color theory and what would make the drink "Instagrammable."

Ultimately, I would go with my favorite color blue, which is always the safest option.

To combat the bias against the yellow straws, my coworker and I decided to replace all the colors in the straw bucket with shades of yellow, forcing customers to decide between neon and mustard yellow variances. Were we cruel or were we bored teenagers with nothing to do on a slow day? These small ridiculous pranks created so many inside jokes and memorable shifts. The hot summer days quickly flew by, and when school started, I continued to work on the weekends. Unfortunately, Bubble Shack permanently closed back in October. It’s a shame because I was so close to trying all the special drinks on the menu. However, the bubble tea shop and its people will always hold a special place in my heart.

Being a bobarista has not only satisfied my boba cravings but has also taught me valuable lessons. Be open to new flavors, embrace the adventure and savor the experience. To anyone as indecisive as I am, know that whether you choose a different color straw than you normally would or stick with the safety of the usual, at the end of the day, it’s just a drink. Life is not defined by perfect decisions; rather, it’s a journey of staying true to yourself and persistently moving forward.

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ELEANOR LOEPER-VITI ’24 Constant change has been just about the only constant in my life. The different places I’ve lived have determined my upbringing and environment, but as I sat down to write about it, I came up blank. I couldn’t summarize all of my experiences into one cohesive speech. Instead, I like to think of each place as a separate part of my life that I can look back on and learn the effect of wherever I was on who I am today.

I was born in D.C., but only stayed there for a year. My parents loved it there, but once my mom joined the State Department, she took a year of language training and then we were off.

My only memory from my first time living in China was on the Great Wall of China. I was on my mom’s shoulders and we were singing the theme song from Sleeping Beauty.

After that was Arlington, Virginia. I was only there for a few months, so it’s probably the most forgettable of my homes, but it prepared us for the next place.

The Netherlands was where most of my memories started. I met my family friends there that I’m still close to today. My brother was born in a hospital in Leiden when I was five and a half and I became an older sister. My older sister and I decided to raise pet snails which we kept on our balcony.

I then moved to Asheville, North Carolina. My parents took a year off work and we rented a house. We bought four chickens from a hatchery and set up a coup for them in our backyard. I was absolutely obsessed with them, though sometimes the rooster would chase me around and I’d have to run back inside to avoid being murdered.

All too soon we had to leave again. My family was back in Virginia, Falls Church this time, for a year so my mom could refresh her Chinese. Most of my memories are from sleepovers at my best friend’s house where we played with her Little Pet Shops for hours.

For my mom’s second year of language training, we were in Taiwan. I lived on Yangming Mountain, where there was a rumor that it used to be house a top secret Japanese research facility. When they lost the war, they released their test subjects, poisonous snakes, into the surrounding environment. There are still thousands of them around the mountain today.

China the second time was spent in Chengdu. My best friend and I developed an obsession with the hundreds of LEGO sets she had. We created two main characters whose love interests were two princes called Edward and Joshua Charming. We actually started writing a book about them, and I still have my work today.

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I then went back to Falls Church, Virginia, and saw people that I hadn’t since second grade. We had so much fun catching up with each other.

Most recently, I was in Poland. I stayed at my school for three years, the longest I’d ever been at the same one. I felt more acclimated into my environment than I had ever been before, and comfortably traveled around the city on my own. My friends and I loved walking around the city center, exploring new clothing stores and trying all the bubble tea shops. Leaving Warsaw was uniquely difficult, but now I get to add another place to my list.

In the one and a half years I’ve been in Delaware, I got my license, my first job, and made incredible friends.

As I look toward college, it isn’t just another move for me. It’s the first one that I’ll have control over. For once I’m not just being dragged along by my mom to wherever her next post is, but I get to choose where I end up.

I’m still not sure where that is, but I can’t picture myself settling down in one place for too long. For a lot of my life, I was bitter about having to switch countries, houses and friends every couple of years. Now, I couldn’t imagine it any other way. Each of my homes has shown me all of the different options that I have for how I want to live my life, and I look forward to taking advantage of all those opportunities.

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THERESE LUCIAN ’24 I love the sound of birds harmonizing in the morning, the music leaves make when they combine with a brisk breeze and the sound of ocean waves crashing on the shore line. I love hearing rain outside my bedroom window, and I love nothing more than looking up into the night sky and admiring its complexity.

For as long as I can remember, nature has always been high on the list of things I appreciate the most. When I was a kid, I used the outdoors as my main source of entertainment. I wandered aimlessly through my backyard’s forest; climbing tall trees, following deer prints, chasing fireflies and watching baby birds hatch from their nest. The outdoors always seemed to make me feel like I was detached from the world—enjoying the organic peace of natural life.

As I matured, and my time for aimless adventures decreased to responsibilities, nature’s purpose in my life matured with me. Now that I have obligations and finals, and big tournaments and interviews, nature has transformed from my entertainer into my greatest stress-reliever.

It always brings me back to the present whenever I am overcome with the inescapable stress a busy life brings.

Whether I am stargazing, or at the highest point of elevation in a hike, or simply watching the sunset as I drive to practice, that second I save for myself to travel back to my childhood playground never fails to clear my mind. Nature reminds me that calm life will always exist and continue inches from me, no matter what.

Birds will still chirp in the morning, leaves will still rustle in the wind, the ocean waves will continue to crash on the shoreline, rain will still fall outside my window, and the moon will always be shining in the night sky when I look up. Nature serves as the greatest reminder, for me, that life will always go on.

Maybe some of you relate to me, maybe a week at the beach brings you back to yourself, or a long walk across a park clears your mind. But if you don’t at all, I hope that you do have a place or a group of people that is always there to put you back into perspective when you need it the most. I hope that you allow yourself moments to look out the window and remember that so much is out there existing beyond your stress.

Thank you!

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ETHAN MALONE ’24 Fear for me has always been a driving force in my life since the early days of my childhood. Everything from bees, to looking down a black diamond while on the mountain. Only now do I realize that bees are not so scary, and that black diamond that I used to be horrified by is only a warm up run. As I grew and matured through my childhood, I learned to stop having fear control me, and try new things even if they seemed scary at first.

One example of this new discovery of mine happened this past winter, in the snowy slopes of Jackson Hole Wyoming. Now, I have felt pretty confident in my skiing ability up until me and my family traveled to Jackson, but nothing could have prepared me for a little chute called Alta Zero. The chute rarely opens due to how little snow that side of the mountain gets, but that winter it snowed heavily, the heaviest it had snowed in several years. I was following my group of friends and they led me down to the chute, a steep and narrow slope down the shady side of the mountain. I took my first couple of turns down, and my left ski caught an edge, causing me to tumble down the mountain and lose both of my skis. Although the fall was pretty embarrassing, and very much humbling, I got back up with the help of one of my friends, and went back down to the lodge. Although I feared the chute at first, and rightfully so, going down and facing that fear helped me become more confident in that type of terrain, and made me into a better skier.

Another time I can remember being scared was when I attended Upland Country Day School, back in third grade. I was so petrified of bees, I couldn’t even look at them without running away. But there was one thing that scared me more than bees. Wasps. If you ask me, I see no purpose in why wasps exist in this world, except to cause destruction and chaos. I knew this in elementary school, and avoided them at all costs. However, on one fateful Wednesday, me and my classmates were heading to lunch, and I spotted the biggest wasp I have ever seen. It must have been as big as my hands at the time. Well, I decided the best course of action was to scream and run away, but the speed of my legs couldn’t compare to the bullet that was coming for me. I did get stung, and although it did hurt, I realized that the anticipation of the sting, or the fear of it, is more scary than the actual sting itself. This realization came with a new interest with bees, rather than running from them now.

I know to stay calm and embrace them, but not wasps, they are the devil.

I would like to come up here, and give a great speech on how to conquer all of your fears, but that’s not possible. Everyone in their life will have fears, knowing that most of them are in your head is important to realizing that you can be afraid and do it anyway, and start trying new and interesting things. Though I’m afraid to go to college and leave my friends, family, and school behind, nothing could be worse than getting stung by a wasp.

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SAMUEL “SAM” MARONEY ’24 Over the summer I was a beach lifeguard. I lived at the beach with a friend and sometimes by myself. It was the ideal summer. But waking up in time for work every morning became a problem early on, staying at the beach with friends and staying in the same room made it hard to get to bed at a decent hour. Some nights I would debate just pulling an all-nighter because if I fell asleep that late, I knew I would not wake up in time for work. The punishments for showing up at work late were pretty cruel, usually it was a brisk morning swim, one lap on the buoy line, this was about 1000 meters which for most swimmers is not too far, but I have never swam long distance, and this swim usually resulted in a rough morning, adding to my fatigue from the lack of sleep the night before. It took me about a month to start to get a routine going, but with a routine everything became easier. I would wake up on time, get to work about 5 minutes early and wait until we set up the stands. For a couple weeks none of my friends were down at the beach and I was staying by myself, during this time I had very little distraction and work was going well. Unfortunately, that did not last long, once some friends started coming to the beach, it became hard to stay focused on work, I would have to decide whether or not I would drive to Dewey at 11 when I had work the next day, or stay home and go to bed. With all my friends at the beach, it made that decision a lot more difficult. I was losing a lot of the structure and routine that I had developed, and the mornings started to become more difficult. I would commonly be running into the lifeguard house 30 seconds before I had to be there. I knew that I needed to focus on work and make responsible decisions if I wanted to continue to be a lifeguard. I started to stay in some nights when all my friends went out. It was not fun to be staying home alone without any friends, but it gave me time to get college work done. Lifeguarding was going very well, I was on time to work every day and had energy to complete all my workouts. Until one day when I showed up exactly three minutes late for work, this does not seem that late, but with my boss that was considered very late, it was a cold and rainy day and I was sent back out to the buoy line. I was told to swim down and back twice, that’s 2000 meters. The wind and waves were terrible, and after finishing the first 1000 meters I was thinking about quitting. I was tempted to walk back to shore and tell my boss that I quit, but I decided to stay out on the buoy line and keep swimming. Finally after about 30 minutes of swimming, I was done. I walked to shore and could barely feel my arms and legs. I got back to my stand and my boss was waiting there. He told me that the 2000 meters was a joke and he was surprised that I swam it in that terrible weather. I was pretty upset that he was joking about that because I had already swam and now I would be tired and sore for the rest of the day. Luckily there was nobody on the beach because of the rain and my boss decided to give me the rest of the day off. I learned that putting in and showing extra effort is important at work and in life. When people see the effort that you are putting in, they are more inclined to treat you better and help you more, because you are showing that you care and want to do your best. Thank you

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ISABELA “IZZE” McINTOSH ’24 Braided ponytails. When my advisory and friends mentioned making my Senior Speech about my hair, I almost laughed at them. I thought that there was no way I was going to make a speech about my hair but here I am. To start off I don’t actually like braided ponytails so why have I worn them every day for the past decade?

For me my love, now dislike, for braided ponytails started in first grade. When I was little, I used to always wear my hair out whether that be in a regular ponytail or just completely out in a curly mess. Occasionally someone would touch my hair but I typically just shrugged and moved on. Until one day. I remember this day being my final straw, I finally had enough of people touching my hair. I was in line when I felt someone touch my hair and for some reason on that particular day I had had enough. Luckily I don’t remember who exactly touched my hair but this memory is locked into my brain as the pivotal moment in my hair journey. I knew what changes I had to make. Seven-year-old me decided from that day forward I would only wear a braided ponytail. The braid served as a shield against everyone else and lowered my risk of having other people’s hands in my poofy hair.

While at the time this seemed like the most genius idea, I now look back at this moment and realize it was my worst mistake. I wish someone would have told me to not change what I was doing but rather speak up for myself. But I didn’t and the braid became a part of my daily routine. At the beginning of my freshman year, I knew I wanted to make a change and finally let go of the braided ponytail. However, on the morning of the first day, I found myself with two hair ties and eco gel, ready to pull my hair back. At that moment, I felt seven again. I was worried about what other people would think and if people would touch it. It sounds stupid now, but that was the only thing I could think about that day.

The same exact thoughts flooded my mind on the first day of sophomore and junior year. Always wanting to not wear a braid but ending up tying my hair back. But junior year homecoming made me realize that I needed to learn how to adapt to change. I was getting ready for homecoming teasing the idea of wearing my hair out to my friends as I did every year. But this time I knew it would be different. While my friends did practically have to pry my hair ties out of my hands, I made it to the dance without my braid. At first I felt a little selfconscious, but as time passed I gained more confidence in myself and realized my classmates had changed even if in my mind they are the same seven-year-old classmates that would touch my hair. This experience helped me to realize that in order for me to grow as a person, it was important for me to step out of my comfort zone.

While braided ponytails remain a part of my daily routine, I am no longer afraid to wear my hair out. And when I wear the braid today, I wear it for me. It might sound silly but my hair has taught me to embrace change, let go of the past and look forward to the future. While I know my life is about to change in just a few short months, I find myself looking forward to the change instead of being afraid of it.

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COLTON “COLE” MERCER ’24 After freshman year at the beginning of summer, my mom approached me on the topic of a job, but like you would think, I didn’t have the freedom of exploring my options to choose a job I was interested in. Instead, my parents thought of an excellent way to give me the longest life lesson I would ever go through to date. They told me that I would be working on a farm, which would take up about most of my summer. This was an organic farm, so I wasn’t dealing with any pigs or cows, I was dealing with crops like watermelon, garlic, cucumbers, etc. and whatever else I was needed to do. Seven a.m. to 4:30 p.m., those were the hours of farming I partook every single weekday of my summer for about three months or so.

It was probably one of the most physically straining things I’ve ever done due to the 100 degree plus fields under the sun, long working hours, and picking and planting that caused daily back issues. At the end of the day, I could wring pools of sweat out of my clothes, and got an absurd farmer’s tan.

I ended up working on the farm again after sophomore year during the summer even though it wasn’t what I wanted to do since there weren’t any other jobs offering positions close to my house. But this time I was paid an extra two dollars, probably because he needed the extra hands and didn’t expect me to come back, and also even managed to convince a fellow student to work there with me by lying to him, saying it wasn’t so bad.

Realistically some aspects of it weren’t actually so bad, for example the co-workers kept it interesting because you never knew who you were expecting to be working with each day. And there was a group of workers, who were super interesting and fun to work with. First off, they only knew a couple of English words, but I didn’t get to talk to them enough to learn much about them. The best part was when they would randomly quit to work at some other farm, for a few days to a couple weeks, and then completely unannounced just pull up again and start working like they never left; it was pretty common. I even learned how to tell if a watermelon is ripe or not by the sound it makes when slapping it.

To wrap this up, as I said earlier about this being the longest life lesson I’ve ever gone through, my parents’ reasoning for making me work there initially was because they wanted me to have an experience that I didn’t want in the future so I would work harder for the things I want in life. I do not think I will actually be using the skills that I acquired from working there, but just like they had intended it, I will now always work just a little bit harder for the things that I want. If you’re going to take away anything from what I have said during this short time… Try to approach things with a positive outlook especially if it is something that you don’t want to do; a negative attitude only blocks the potential for a legitimate experience. You might even realize it wasn’t so bad and be able to use what you learned for future experiences, just as I did with my experience. Still I never want to be on a farm again; manual labor is hard.

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OWEN MORRIS ’24 The Fourth of July with my cousins has always been my favorite time of year.

The smell of freshly grilled hot dogs and hamburgers captivated my young mind and small stomach. Filling up plates the size of our heads, my cousins and I head back to eat at our family’s table. The sky’s still blue, but the fleeting rays of a setting sun slowly give way to a night perfect for fireworks.

When we were on the road for the five-hour car ride to my grandparents’ house, all I could ever think about was how lucky my cousins were. Everyone else lived in the same town, so my mother, sister, and I were the ones who always had to embark on this seemingly endless trip. But swimming on the hot summer days, staying up far past bedtime, cookout food and fireworks made the Fourth of July the best holiday I shared with my extended family.

Heads illuminated, eyes captivated by the glistening sky. Standing in the back, I took in every sight and sound.

While the end of the show approaches, everyone waits for the grand finale, but my thoughts focus on a special finale on the golf course. Glow sticks in hand, lining up along the tee box of the first hole, eyes poised to the left of the green, we prepare for the race to our grandparents’ house. Having recently seen Secretariat, each of us chose our favorite racehorse, and a three, two, one countdown opened the imaginary gates.

Thundering onto the succeeding tee boxes, no one yet takes the lead, but, hurtling down the hill after the women’s tee, my oldest cousin takes a devastating spill into the long rough grass just before the fairway. Feet pushing off the fresh fairway, one of the twins and me are neck and neck for second as the other pushes past us into first place. Despite the countless glow sticks, we still struggle to see in the dark. Twigs snapping beneath our pounding feet, a stumble in the rough just before reaching the backyard of the house puts the twins and I in a deadlock for the win. Flying past the tree where the birds sing in the morning, we spill out onto the stone patio leading to the house. Tantalized by sweet victory, our legs pull us to the door. But the three little hands grabbed the doorknob at once.

Nights like this used to be a Fourth of July tradition, but as I’ve grown up, my relationships with family members have changed. Gearing up for the seemingly endless drive to my grandparents’ house used to fill me with anticipation of silly games with my cousins. Now instead of games, I look forward to dinners with aunts, uncles, grandparents, and of course my cousins, to catch up on their lives and exciting experiences.

Appreciating the relationships I have formed with older relatives gives extra purpose to the memories with my cousins. Old memories and the people I have created them with will stick with me forever and have shaped who I am today. As I move on and out of my parents’ houses, I look forward to sharing my new experiences at my grandparents’ kitchen table.

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DEMETRIOS “DEMETRI” MOUTSATSOS ’24 Life is full of surprises. During COVID, my two dogs accidentally decided to start a family. At first, this seemed like a huge mistake because we never had experience raising an entire litter, actually, my only experience with dogs at that time was throwing a ball around and giving belly rubs. To make things more complicated, the COVID outbreak had just turned into a pandemic. This meant that my parents, who are essential workers, were out of the house all the time.

This left my brother and I to figure out a way to raise a litter of puppies by ourselves. Little did we know that these nine little creatures would teach us many life lessons over the next few months.

In fact, the litter guided me through an emotionally challenging time in my life. As a mere freshman, I learned to manage life’s uncertainty and fear by being present in the moment, helping others, and developing my own leadership style. I never expected to help raise nine Brittany Spaniels. I never expected a global pandemic or to attend school online. I didn’t feel in control of my world, and that left me feeling uneasy. When the puppies arrived, they turned my world upside-down, or rather, right-side up. Their lives gave perspective to my own.

We dubbed the litter the “Bouquet Francais.” We gave each pup a traditional French name (like Jean-Claude or Benoit). Uncertainty and chaos became daily themes. With classes online, I was placed in charge of monitoring the litter. I initially felt scared and clueless, but panicking wasn’t an option. I often checked in on the puppies and refilled their water, entertained them and made mushy kibble. But the most important, but disgusting job I had was to clean their litter pads. I had to make sure that they had fresh pads because they would step, and roll around in their feces, and then would continue to jump on me.

Knowing I had to feed, exercise and clean the puppies daily gave me a sense of purpose and routine. Before the puppies came around, I had a lot of time to waste and wasn’t really doing anything productive. But when the puppies arrived, I didn’t have the option to fool around because I had to balance school and taking care of the puppies. This routine helped me cope with the uncertainty of life, and I began imposing routines on other aspects of my life as well. I started to fill up my time doing productive things like teaching myself the piano. I also pushed myself in tennis and squash, even though we weren’t having team practices during COVID. Doing these things reduced the time I spent stressing about the uncontrollable things going on in the world around me.

The puppies also taught me how to be patient. Whenever I put a fresh litter pad on the floor, the puppies would make sure to poop, and then roll around in it. Initially this would make me frustrated because I would have to change the pads again, but I realized that I can’t be in control of everything they do.

Even though I had many restless nights from the puppies barking, or many busy days from taking care of the puppies’ needs, it was all worth it. All the time spent was worth the joy that the puppies brought me. In fact, it was so worth it that my two dogs decided to accidentally have another litter the year after.

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Remembering the unconditional love and affection from my Bouquet Francais still makes me happy to this day. Letting go of them was heartbreaking, but they weren’t mine to keep forever. Interestingly, challenges in the future seemed like something I could face. Life, like raising puppies, is an unpredictable journey. Though I realize that I can’t control the future, I can control my own actions and look forward to each day with a positive attitude.

Don’t be intimidated to do something that you’ve never done before. You never know what impact something will have on your life until you experience it for the first time. Thank you!

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MEGHAN MUMFORD ’24 I was in love with volleyball ever since the first day I stepped on the court. I always had a competitive nature and playing volleyball emphasized that part of me. Starting in fourth grade, being able to practice regularly, compete with my friends, and improve made it something that I loved. I never wanted to leave the court.

Going into eighth grade, my goal was to play volleyball in college and everyone supported me. There was a burning passion inside of me for this sport. I tried out for Tower Hill’s varsity team in my eighth grade year and made it.

Throughout that season, however, I began to feel more and more pressure being placed on me from my coaches and myself. Suddenly, all I wanted to do was leave the court.

I was not able to handle all of my emotions at such an intense level, which led to breaking down after practices.

Every little error I made caused me to crumble. I dreaded going to practice every day, scared that every mistake I made would be criticized. My biggest fear was letting my team down. I became a perfectionist and no matter how well I was doing, if it wasn’t perfect, I wasn’t happy. This attitude followed into my next year of my freshman season. I was told by my coaches that my negativity was starting to wear off on my team. Not only was it impacting my team, but I began to bring this negative attitude into my everyday life, causing me to lose self-confidence.

I began to take breaks away from volleyball and focused on self-care. I started practicing positive self-talk, and I eventually was able to gain my spark back with the help of my teammates and coaches. I started to reclaim my love for volleyball and didn’t base my happiness on how good my last game was.

Sophomore year brought new physical challenges in the form of injuries. After pushing myself all summer, my body needed a break. Once I was healed, I constantly worked to get better for college and gave my all on the court. My recruiting profile was gaining traction, and I was optimistic heading into June before my junior year.

However, as the summer continued, I became burned out and I decided that I no longer wanted to play in college. I had gone from college to college playing in ID camps and getting invited to talk with coaches. The fear of not being perfect or not playing well became my biggest concern and my confidence declined after every camp. Recognizing that this was not healthy, I took a break from playing volleyball and focused on my wellbeing.

With the pressure of playing in college let up, I was able to play with more confidence and started to enjoy the sport I loved again. I also started participating in beach volleyball to further my passion and play with my teammates. Volleyball became fun again and my team became my family.

My best memories from my past 10 years are surrounded by the friends and memories volleyball has given me.

Waking up at four for a tournament a couple hours away wasn’t the best, but it all made up for it when I would drive with my mom. The long drives with her included listening to hours upon hours of Taylor Swift and One

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Direction and multiple stops to Wawa to get snacks that we always forget to pack the night before. Spending time with my friends during the breaks at tournaments just sitting on the dirty floor with blankets overtop talking about whatever came to our minds. Our completely defeated run at AAUs in 2021 where we won only a single set in 16 games we played. Winning the State Championship and the bus rides to and from games are things that I will never forget. I’m so grateful for the things I have learned through my teammates and coaches and for the memories I have from volleyball.

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KARINA MUNSHI ’24 I hate bowling. I’ve hated bowling for a long time due to how incapable I was at it. When I was younger, I’d occasionally go with family or friends and play just as average as any other kid my age would. Then, at about eight years old I had a mortifying incident where I accidentally flung my bowling ball all the way into the lane next to me, where it slowly rolled the whole way down the gutter. The group of older and scary teenagers who had been playing their game in the lane I had just taken over, were laughing their heads off. I was humiliated. Out of all the many embarrassing moments in my life, I think this was one of the worst.

Since then, I couldn’t stand bowling. Just the sights or sounds of bowling alleys terrified me. Bowling shoes were suddenly the most uncomfortable type of shoes and bowling balls were the constant subject of my nightmares. I refused to go bowling whenever there was an option; if I had to go to birthday parties with friends or family outings, I tried my best to find an excuse to miss them or simply say that I didn’t feel like playing. If I had no way of getting out of any type of bowling occasion or was forced to eventually go, I played terribly. I repeatedly sunk the ball into the gutter, stepped over the line and even got the ball stuck in the middle of the lane.

A few years ago on Thanksgiving break, my parents and extended family were trying to decide on a casual activity to do. We usually do things I approve of, like going to see a movie or shopping. But that year, they suggested we go bowling. Internally panicking while everyone else agreed, I began preparing myself for yet another round of humiliation and failure. Initially when we arrived at the alley, I kept as quiet and distanced as I usually would every time. But when I saw my family getting excited to play, I wanted to change the way I looked at this situation.

Instead of allowing this forever fear to consume me, I accepted the fact that I wasn’t the best bowler. I allowed myself to embrace the hilarity and stupidity of the situation I was in, more than eight-year old-me would have ever thought. I was finally able to laugh and have fun with my whole family, especially with my cousin who played as bad as I did, as her style of bowling was chucking the ball with both hands while squatting. I took part in celebrating when one of us did well and casually making fun of the others when one of us, most of the time me, didn’t do so well. What started as a reluctant outing turned into a surprisingly enjoyable tradition. I’m still pretty bad at bowling most of the time. But every now and then, I manage to get a strike or a spare, or occasionally even win a game.

From what I’ve learned in my many years of bowling inexpertise, is that it’s okay to be bad at something and it’s okay to feel uncomfortable. Because in those moments, you can often find the most joy and make the best memories. So even if you aren’t good at something, or if you think you hate it, don’t be afraid to change your mindset every once in a while.

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MARGARET “MAGGIE” NEWSWANGER ’24 I live about 45 minutes south from Wilmington and looking back it has been one of my favorite things about going to Tower Hill. When first attending Tower Hill in seventh grade it was a huge adjustment from previously making a 10minute trip to my old school. It would now be a not so smooth trip north across multiple highways each morning and back down after school. However, my mom and I were prepared. I used those car rides to do homework or more realistically catch up on my favorite shows. In the morning it took about an hour to get to school with traffic. I sat in the back with a blanket and my headphones, while my mom practically Ubered me around. As I got older, however, I started using these car rides to tighten my bond with both of my parents.

My mom would drive me all the way up and back from school and my dad would take me back to Wilmington at night for club volleyball. With my mom I started taking out my headphones and sitting in the front seat. We would talk the whole way up, and took that time to stay close and catch up on our lives. Good thing I love talking and she is really good at listening. The car rides with my dad were different and sparked my love for music. Every ride my dad would introduce me to a new band playing the top songs while also making it into a history lesson.

My dad would share his experiences of the many concerts he has been to and I enjoyed learning about what they were like. My interest in old music went greater than just the car rides as I began expanding my knowledge on my own. We even started going to concerts together like Billy Joel, Bonnie Raitt, Stevie Nicks, The Grateful Dead and more. I enjoyed spending these long car rides with my dad and getting to bond over something we both love.

I now drive by myself to school every day. No more relaxing in the back seat, this time I actually have to drive the car. I have used this time to continue expanding my love for music, while also ruining songs by repeating them too much. My friends always ask me if I dread these rides or ever get tired of the 95 rush hour. Sometimes the rides get boring, and it almost feels like I have run out of music to listen to, but I really do enjoy it. I also like to use these car rides to sit with my own thoughts and reflect back on my days. Although these rides get long and repetitive, I have learned to use them to my advantage.

I know that I am going to miss the time I got to spend with my parents and the many hours spent with my own thoughts when I go to college. I always begged my parents to move so I was closer to school, but because of my siblings and reasons I can’t really remember, or maybe never fully listened to, it was always a definite no.

However, looking back it has been my biggest blessing. I appreciate my long drives and the opportunities it has given me to get closer with my parents and also have time to myself. I want to thank my mom and dad for taking me up and down the highway for school, volleyball and to see my friends endless amounts of time. I will truly miss those drives next year.

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KATHERINE NIU ’24 Even though a lot of things have changed as I have grown up, one thing that hasn’t changed is my love for food. So, here it is: the ultimate list of Katherine’s food recommendations, all of which you should definitely try to enhance the quality of your life, trust me.

There is good steak, and there is the steak at Ruby’s Inn, which I would call, a phenomenal steak. When I was ten, my parents took me on a hiking trip to Bryce Canyon. But, how I will remember this trip is not all the rock things we hiked past, but the dinner we had at this random hotel.

I ordered steak, well done (which I no longer do, don’t worry), with a side of veggies and fries. Even though this dish sounds basic, I promise it was far from it. The juicy steak, crispy potatoes, and crunchy vegetables were so delicious that I cleaned my plate in minutes and then cleaned my mom’s plate too. It actually might have been one of the best meals I’ve ever had, even though it was eight whole years ago.

Next, is the rosemary salt bagel from Pavement Coffeehouse in Boston, a bagel so good that I would literally go to sleep excited to wake up and go get it.

Two weeks into my summer program in Boston, I decided to try out a random cafe near my dorm. I picked the rosemary salt bagel with avocado off the menu because the name sounded pretty. But, the first bite was lifechanging. The warmth of the toasted bagel, paired with the tang of the rosemary and salt made my whole morning and every morning after that. So, if you’re ever in Boston, do yourself a favor and go to Pavement Coffeehouse.

The next one is again, in Boston, but this time it is a vegan cafe called Life Alive. And before you think there probably won’t be anything you like there since it’s vegan, think again. When you walk in, you are met with very aesthetically pleasing modern architecture. For reference, imagine THE Hub, but make it even cooler and add food too.

My friends and I would go to that place almost every day. We’d sit down, order and talk for hours. My first dish from that place was a summer falafel bowl, with warm falafel and rice, and a plethora of vegetables. I know of no other place that can make a simple bowl of grains and vegetables taste like a warm summer’s day. But even better, were their acai bowls. It was lowkey just glorified “healthy” ice cream, but the crunchy granola and cacao nibs and sweet fruit came together to be a combo that I would remember forever. My friends and I cherished that place and even still reminisce about it now, as it was where we had our best meals and conversations.

Now, let’s head to what I would call the food capital of Delaware: Bethany Beach. I will focus on Pomodoro Pizza, the best pizza place I’ve ever tried. That’s right, my favorite pizza place is in Delaware.

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One time, I went to Bethany with one of my childhood friends, and we found that we both loved Pomodoro’s.

So we went, bought two slices each and took a picture of all four beautiful slices together. The pizza was crispy, with salty sweet sauce and the most perfect amount of cheese I’ve ever seen at a pizza place. We devoured it in less than a minute.

Finally, the last two dishes are from my own house. My parents are both really good at cooking, a trait that I definitely did not inherit (yet). Though they both make a lot of really great food, I think that they both each have their own standout dish.

For my dad, it is homemade scallion pancakes, only without the scallions. I eat scallions now, but when I was a picky little girl, I would ask him to make them without scallions and I guess it sort of became a thing. Because they take a lot of time to make, each time I ask my dad for them he usually makes a face, even though I know he secretly enjoys the process. Anyway, all his effort is so worth it, because I clear the batch every single time.

For my mom, it is beef noodle soup. If you know me, that is probably my favorite food of all time, and she makes it especially well. My mom perfected this dish years ago, and it always hits. The noodles are just the right amount of chewy, and the beef is so flavorful, and the whole steaming bowl just comes together to be the best comfort food ever.

Food is very simple, but it means a lot to me. Some meals can be so remarkable that I still remember them clearly in my head even after years. But, for me, food not only carries flavor, but memories too. Any time I reminisce about my carefree days eating bagels in Boston, or think about my parents’ specialty dishes, I smile. I think it is genuinely one of life’s greatest gifts, bringing so much joy despite being so commonplace. And, if you want to have arguably the best food experience ever, I highly suggest the ultimate list I shared with you today.

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LANGLEY OWEN ’24 The letter A is red, December is dark green, and the word plug tastes like macaroni noodles with no cheese. Imagine living in a world where listening to music is a kaleidoscopic experience or the sound of someone’s name triggers explosions of strange flavors. That is my reality as someone with synesthesia, but these examples only scratch the surface of my experience.

Growing up, family members often heard me saying things like, “The color periwinkle tastes like the smell of Softsoap.” While that sounds entirely random, it makes complete sense in my mind. Synesthesia causes my brain to mix up all five of my senses. In this instance, my brain recalls the smell of a random brand of hand soap and connects that scent with the color periwinkle. Instead of stopping there, my brain decides to add a little flavor (literally) and convince me that I can taste the smell of the soap as well. (I’ve only intentionally tasted soap once or twice at age two; trust me, Mr. Bubble Bubble Bath doesn’t taste that bad!)

Synesthesia is so much more than tasting words or hearing colors. I have always been a creative thinker and thorough observer. Synesthesia enhances these traits in a way that has shaped my quiet yet clever personality. I discovered my eye for detail and passion for creating through visual art. One morning in my tenth grade Drawing and Painting elective, my art teacher told us we would do a new activity involving music. As we gathered our materials, she said, “All you need to do is draw what you hear.” I immediately understood what she was expecting, but as I looked around at the confused faces of my classmates, I recognized I had a secret advantage. I realized that this activity would allow me to explore my synesthesia differently. As soon as the first song began, I took a second to close my eyes. Colors in various shades of blue exploded and danced across my mind. I saw swirling sapphire and indigo waves, flashing whites, and ashy clouds tumbling and rolling, creating a thunderstorm over a thrashing sea. The second song was entirely different; inky black numbers and spiky white shapes jumped and jolted, neon green spirals twisted and twirled, following the staccato and rhythmic nature of the piece. After finishing the exercise, I swelled with pride and appreciation for the art my synesthesia and I created together.

It is difficult to believe that I used to assume that everyone saw the world the way I did, with such vibrance and imagination. It came as a shock to me at the age of 11 when I found out that my mom did not, in fact, think numbers had genders. Ever since that moment of self-discovery, I have begun to understand why I am often labeled as a memorious, detail-oriented and creative individual. While synesthesia can often be enjoyable, it can occasionally make it feel like I’m experiencing everything simultaneously. The air might smell like my backyard in 2012, the wood on the chair could form a shape that looks like a dog, and my Left sock may feel a bit tighter than the other one, but that’s fine because the Right side has a more laid-back personality.

Though sometimes overwhelming, I will always be grateful for how synesthesia influences how I think.

Without it, my experiences in life would be far more bland and dull. Synesthesia has helped me tremendously with memorization and even developing an imaginative perspective on the world and those in it. It has taught me to observe each little detail and to be present in every moment. So, the next time the name Fred tastes like

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beef jerky with a slight tinge of sourness, I will be reminded that there is something oddly beautiful about the slightly chaotic nature of my mind.

ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ

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VEER PAHWA ’24 In third grade, when I was in India visiting my grandparents, I had the opportunity to see my grandfather’s garden. Reflecting now, it was extremely impressive. From the mango trees around the edges to the towering banyan tree in the middle, I can’t begin to imagine the effort that went into maintaining it.

Yet I had a slightly different view of the garden as a third grader. I remarked to my dad that the garden really wasn’t that impressive, and I still remember his response to this day. He challenged me to attempt to grow a sunflower, the quintessential symbol of simplicity. I was confident; after all, if a child draws a flower, it’s likely a sunflower. There had to be a reason for this simplicity, which I assumed was that it’s not hard to grow. Little did I know this seemingly straightforward task would turn into a summer-long journey filled with failures.

Despite my initial confidence, the sunflower eluded me time and again. I was cursed. Each time I tried, some unfortunate events, although most of which were completely within my control, happened to prevent my sunflower from growing. On my first attempt, I drowned the seed, and the next time, I didn’t give it enough water. A storm would come by, and one time, some tiny bird somehow managed to knock the pot over. It was a humbling experience, a reminder that even the simplest things can be challenging. Undeterred, I decided to shift my focus to pumpkins, hoping for a more fruitful outcome.

For three and a half months, I immersed myself in research, hard work and diligence. I surely couldn’t fail this time. Finally, my efforts bore fruit, quite literally. My pumpkin was thriving, ready to be harvested. But fate, in the form of a chubby rabbit, had other plans. I returned home one day to witness, frankly, the chubbiest rabbit I had ever seen. The devastation was real, and what hurt more was the eye contact it made with me just before slowly hopping away.

Yet, in the face of disappointment, my family’s encouragement became the driving force. I persisted, and the next year, I triumphed over challenges, growing my own pumpkin to carve. The journey was long and filled with setbacks, but the satisfaction of success was unparalleled.

Now, as a senior in high school, with the demands of academics and the future pressing upon us, I find myself with less time for hobbies like gardening. Frankly, I am not a great gardener. However, the lessons learned from that summer and my experience gardening have still taught me invaluable lessons that I wouldn’t have learned anywhere else. To sum it up, always rise to the challenge. You never know what you might learn, and even if you aren’t great at something, there is no harm in trying. Thank you.

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AUGUST “TATE” PEDDRICK ’24 Last year I took Creative Writing in the fall. I remember one class we were assigned to write poems centered around a particular place. Our teacher gave us some advice.

She said think of anywhere in the world you would want to be at in this very moment. Picture yourself there, and the words should easily fall into place.

Quickly, my mind began to drift away. For me, it was the banks of a secluded channel tucked away behind a Cape Cod beach. The channel lied between the Nantucket Sound and a large salt marsh. Its narrow entrance and elusive tides prevented any boats from entering, creating an untouched oasis for all the marine life New England had to offer. The channel served as a highway for flounder, mackerel, scup, blue fish, and best of all: striped bass. Besides the Cape’s 12-foot great white sharks, the striped bass are at the top of the food chain. Clocking in at up to 60 pounds, they’re the crown-jewel of north eastern fishing.

When the tide switches from low to high, dozens of striped bass travel through the channel to the salt marsh to feed on the rich amounts of eel, crab and mussels in the shallow waters. It was any fisherman’s dream.

In the past decade fishing has gone from a casual hobby to an obsession of mine. Every summer I find myself spending less time lounging on the beach, and more time tying knots, reading fishing reports and scavenging tackle shops. At Cape Cod, my schedule revolves around the tides. If the tide switched from low to high at six in the morning, I would be setting my alarm at 5:30 a.m. and biking to the channel at sunrise. Regardless of the time of day though, I was always the only one there. For whatever reason my favorite spot was unknown, and I could fish in complete silence. I would wade along the shallow banks peering into the deeper drop off for any action. Unlike the crystal-clear edges of the channel, the middle was pitch black, hiding the giants that swam at the bottom. My tackle was a little undersized to say the least, and the anticipation of hooking a fish that weighed twenty times more than the rod I was holding called for some intense focus. I liked to tie on a small top water lure. I would cast it to the other side of the channel, and skip it across the surface. When I was lucky, a striped bass would explode out of the water and bite my hook. This was only half the battle though, because reeling in a fish half my size required a pretty brutal and stressful fight. Once finally pulled onto the beach, I would take a picture, unhook my lure and send the fish back on its way.

This occurrence was incredibly rare though. Most days, and I mean most days, are filled with the same casting and retrieving for hours on end with zero action. When I would get back to the house my dad would always say “that’s why it’s called fishing and not catching.” While this quote would become a little irritating, it definitely had a lot of truth. When I thought of one place in the world I could go to in that November class, I didn’t think of reeling in a trophy sized striper. Instead, I thought of standing alone in the water with my rod, throwing out casts and soaking in the serenity around me. Away from the noise, busyness and anxiety of the rest of the world I was completely at peace: catching a fish was only a bonus. My advice to all of you is to find that place that makes you happiest. Escape the stress from your chaotic lives, embrace solitude and don’t be afraid to get your feet wet.

Thank you.

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REECE PETRUNICH ’24 I’d like to discuss something today; the benefits of playing Clash of Clans, a mobile game, in preparing us for real life challenges. As a veteran of this game playing for over 10 years, with friends along the way, I think I have a keen understanding of how this game is applicable to real life. You might wonder, “How can a game involving armies and magical spells help us navigate the complexities of the world?” The key lies in the lessons hidden within its simple gameplay mechanics.

At glance Clash of Clans may seem like just another game. However upon further inspection you’ll find a world filled with thinking, patience and dedication—traits that are imperative in real life scenarios. The extended waiting periods within the game are one of its features. Whether you’re constructing buildings, training your troops or enhancing your defenses you often find yourself waiting for days or even weeks.

Why does this relate to our lives? Because waiting is a part of life itself. We wait for opportunities to arise, for results to materialize, for achievements to be unlocked. During these moments of waiting, it’s easy to lose focus, grow restless and give up prematurely. Nevertheless Clash of Clans imparts lessons on persistence and dedication. It underscores the notion that significant accomplishments require time and each period of waiting presents an opportunity for growth.

Furthermore, when you’re upgrading your town hall, the heart of your village, you’re facing weeks of waiting for it to complete. What do you do during this time? You don’t just sit around doing nothing. Instead you strategize, plan and make the most of your resources. You use the time to improve aspects of your village. Isn’t that similar to how we handle challenges in life? When obstacles or delays come our way we don’t give up; we adapt, seek alternatives. Maximize the situation.

Moreover Clash of Clans underlines the importance of long term planning. Instant results are not realistic in the game. Building alliances, fortifying your base and training troops all require effort and time.

Correspondingly, success in reality doesn’t happen overnight. Is a result of pursuing goals despite challenges while staying true to yourself.

The game also emphasizes the significance of teamwork and collaboration, as lessons. Winning alone is not an option. Working with clan members involves planning attacks together, sharing resources and supporting each other when needed.

Isn’t it the same, in life? When we come together pooling our talents and resources to achieve a goal we can achieve much more. It’s important not to overlook the wisdom that can be gleaned from things, like mobile games. While Clash of Clans is a game, the teamwork, patience, determination and forward thinking it instills are life lessons. So time you’re waiting for your troops to train or your structures to upgrade remember; you’re not just engaging in a game; you’re equipping yourself for the challenges life may bring. Thank you.

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MOLLY PIETLOCK ’24 My cousin is my best friend. Zachy is my 15-year-old cousin with autism who continues to change my life for the better. Without realizing, you’ve probably seen my Zach before. He could be seen at any volleyball game wearing a Tower Hill volleyball shirt with grey sweatpants, slides, and his Flyers hat, while pacing in the back of the field house. Although I don’t get to see him in person very often, Zach and I talk every day on FaceTime. Zachy is very special to me and I learn a lot from him. He has many amazing qualities that I could talk about for hours, but for today I chose three of my favorites, his humor, his imagination and his commitment.

Zach’s a funny kid. He loves scripting and reciting lines from movies in everyday life. He impersonates many characters very well like Shrek and Buddy the Elf and slyly quotes them in our conversations. Not only is he a good actor, but he is also a dancer. During one of our nightly FaceTimes right before his homecoming dance, he showed me a sneak peak of his new dance for homecoming. Of course, I had to record it and show the rest of my family who were all speechless from his moves. After the dance he told me he did good and danced awesome with his friends. While he may not have a lot of rhythm, he can hold a tune. He loves to sing and has a wide variety of music he likes. Zach goes from “The Muffin Man” to “Shape of You” to “Uptown Girl” to Dan and Shay’s “Tequila” in a matter of seconds. He can never quite get the words right and mumbles often but always has a smile on his face. Not only does Zachy make me laugh, but he has the most contagious laugh and once he starts, he doesn’t stop. Between his acting, his dancing, and his music, there is never a dull moment.

His imagination is amazing. I have very few freckles on my face but he has somehow turned each one into a button with its own specific job. On my left side I have a sigh button, a yawn button and a car engine button and on my right I have the pause button and the copy button. Sometimes he presses my buttons too many times and they unfortunately die, so he has to patiently wait for them to recharge. His imagination also works for pets because Zach’s new favorite thing to do is call my dog. I may have pretended to talk for my dog once and now Zachy won’t stop calling and texting her on Instagram. He’ll call and I’ll follow my dog around while keeping the camera on her and talking in a higher voice. He keeps the conversation going for a while and I think he knows it’s me but he loves to play along and gets a kick out of it.

No one is more committed than Zachy. My apologies to his mother for sending him my volleyball schedule at the beginning of the year, but the boy really wanted to come to the games. Zachy was at every single game this season an hour early and always stayed until the end to say goodbye. Although he didn’t really understand what was going on, he could feel everyone’s stress or everyone’s happiness and always knew what to say. When I was upset he’d tell me he loves me and that I’m good and when I’m happy it was “I love you” and “Good job, bro!” He’s my biggest fan and I look forward to supporting him at some swim meets like he supported me. Not only in person, but especially on the phone that boy is committed. My friends are now also Zachy’s friends. He has all their numbers and has specific call times and links to each of them. He never misses a call or forgets to text. Luckily for me, I don’t have a specific call time and receive calls anywhere from seven a.m. to 10 p.m. but

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I’d never pass up getting to talk to him. He has helped me learn how to balance homework and time for calls because while school is important, so is my Zach.

Zachy and I have gotten close over the past couple years and he’s taught me a lot in the short amount of time.

The biggest thing I learned is the importance of family and support. My family is always there to support me and because of Zachy I am closer to them than ever. I’m very sad to be going to college next year and not seeing my best friend as much, but I know I’ll still get my calls and we’ll be ok. Thank you to my family who brings him everywhere and supports me with him and thank you Colleen for giving me my best friend.

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ALEXANDER “ALEX” POPESCU ’24 It was June 2023, and things were looking great. Exams were over, the pressure to complete homework was gone, and there were three months of completely free time to look forward to. But, despite all of this, some friends and I were still incredibly bored. So bored, in fact, that we had come up with an idea that was simply too good.

We wanted to cross the Northeast River. But not by any traditional means, you see that would be too easy. No, here was our master plan. We would build our own boat.

Completely from scratch, with little to no knowledge or preparation, and sail away.

So we got to work. We carefully formed our vessel with sheets of cardboard from the local Lowe’s, and spent a few hours coating the entire thing with polyurethane to make it waterproof. Now here’s what they don’t tell you about polyurethane, the fumes that come out of the can are no joke. By the time we were done, there must have been a hundred billion little fume particles in the air that night.

But, long after sundown, our unorganized assembly line had managed to create, something. I remember drifting off to sleep, and maybe because of how late it was, or because of the carcinogenic fumes that had coated my lungs and entered my bloodstream, but I thought that against all odds, there was a chance that our plan might just work after all.

But only a fool would say that.

We woke up the next morning and did a little sanity check. We made sure the boat was still in one piece, and even painted it black with a can of flex seal, just for good measure. It was time to bring it down to the waterline. For the first test, we decided that just one person would sit in the boat, to make sure the thing worked at all. It was a little bit emotional, I’ll be honest. A lot of blood, sweat and tears went into making the masterpiece that was before us, but everything had come together just right. The sun was out, the sky was clear, someone was singing the national anthem four octaves too high, and our test subject was standing carefully above our creation.

And then, he sat down. It was miraculous, like the Edmund Fitzgerald, our boat carried a seemingly impossible load above the water’s surface. That is, until it immediately plummeted into the river floor. Turns out, reciting the definition of buoyancy does not excuse a fundamental misunderstanding of nautical engineering. It was the end of our boat as we knew it, and as we wrenched the soggy cardboard mass out of the rocks and water, I realized it looked more like the blowfish beneath the surface than the boat it had once been.

As I look through the cracked rear view of my life, it’s clear that our plan had a major flaw. But this mistake wasn’t about the boat, no. It’s a mistake we didn’t do it again. As we ramble on through life, opportunities to go out and do something stupid become increasingly hard to come by. And sure, a never-ending quest to cross a river isn’t the most logical idea, but doing something ridiculous can be a nice reprieve from any dire straits you may find yourself in. It’s just a shame that’s all.

Thank you.

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ASHLEY PRASHAR ’24 When pondering over my Senior Speech, ninth grade me was fixated on professing my love for Batman and Spiderman. Tenth grade me considered settling for a Marvel monologue. Then, in eleventh grade, books were on the brink of becoming my spotlight, but in a twist of randomness, I ended up choosing to dive into the fascinating realm of my name—or should I say names.

Believe it or not, my parents don’t use the name Ashley when addressing me and they haven’t at all for the past 18 years. Sure, nicknames are a normal family thing, but it takes a unique turn when none of my relatives, not even my cousins, recognize me as Ashley. Instead, they’ve stuck with the nickname bestowed upon me since I was born. Before I unravel the mystery of how this naming issue ensued, I have to rewind to the beginning of how my name was even picked.

It started when my brother was born, my family received the priest’s advice that his name must start off with the letter “Y.” My dad, with unwavering determination, picked the name Yuvraj. However, if you know my brother, you’d know that name was not chosen whatsoever. The plot twist was that my mother’s side of the family wasn’t vibing with what they called the ancient vibes of the name and rallied for the more modern Yash.

Guess who won the naming showdown? Yup, they secured the majority vote, proving that even when it comes to baby names, democracy prevails. As for my mom, she found herself caught in the crossfire between my dad’s choice and her family’s preference, with no say in the matter and let her side pick the name.

My dad, perhaps realizing that he does not want to lose the authority of naming the next child, declared that he’d be the one to name me but this time my dad’s opponent was not family members. The first name he said when he saw me was Ashley, the name I go by today and my dad won this time. But, my dad’s glory didn’t last for long at all. If you remember earlier, I mentioned the priest saying what letter the child’s name should start with. Well mine was the letter “D.” Now, whether my parents just forgot to talk to the priest or my dad chose to turn a blind eye—it’s a mystery. My apologies to my dad, but Ashley’s reign was short-lived because the priest, like a naming wizard, proclaimed that my name should have been Divya. And just like that, I found myself in the middle of a name tug-of-war—legally Ashley, but in the temple, Divya was my name. Once more, my dad ended up on the losing side.

However I guess luck was on his side because I haven’t fully adopted the name Divya. As it happens, my parents, perhaps out of laziness or simply not wanting to deal with paperwork, never made Divya my official middle or first name. So, I respond to Ashley, but within my family circle, it’s Divya.

The name Ashley has become somewhat of an ancient relic in my family. Not even my brother, not my cousins—literally no one in the family says the name Ashley. What’s even more surprising is that my dad, the one who named me, was one of the firsts to jump on the Divya bandwagon. Yes, the very person who fought for naming me now exclusively calls me Divya. This peculiar name thing has sparked quite a few headscratching moments, especially in my younger days. You see, my family clung so tightly to the name Divya that

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even my cousins were oblivious to the fact that my legal first name is Ashley. The confusion was real, and even I found myself questioning my own name in the midst of it all.

But when I started school at 5 years old, I wanted to simplify things and used a dual-naming strategy. If our paths crossed at school or in public, chances are I introduced myself as Ashley. However, if our encounter involved my parents, well, then you were likely to know me as Divya. Strategies can only ever work for so long.

My strategy was short lived when my two worlds collided.

Picture my poor cousin attempting to know my whereabouts in school from my friend but mistakenly referring to me as Divya. Cue the perplexed look and the inevitable “who in the world is that?” response. It took some serious last-name dropping to jog my friend’s memory, leaving my cousin in a state of disbelief. The friend, now questioning their own memory, wondering if they even knew me at all.

One of the latest stories not even a year ago occurred when my dad’s friend’s daughter stumbled upon my name only after adding me on social media. Imagine realizing someone’s name from social media when you knew them for 12 years. Initially, she tried searching for my socials using the name she knew which was Divya, but with no luck.

In a twist of fate, I decided to search for her name and hit the follow button. After knowing me for a good 12 years and thinking my name was Divya, her perception shattered with a social media notification that read “Ashley Prashar started following you.” Turns out, she was upset not knowing what my first name really was and went on to interrogate her father.

So, everyone around here knows me as Ashley, but those two individuals in the crowd have always called me Divya. I’ll forever cherish the plethora of confusion and hilarious stories that sprouted from my two-name situation. In my eyes they are both my first names. Though Divya isn’t even really my name, it will always be the name I cherish with lots of love. Though it is a nickname it’s something that will always connect to me. And now when I realize I will be off to college soon, I won’t get to hear that name that often but when I do, I would feel like I am right back at home.

Thank you.

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PHOEBE QUINN-PLEMMONS ’24 While my mom was cleaning out some old papers, she came across one I had written eight years ago almost to the date. On January 13, 2016, fourth grade Phoebe was writing about how it is to be the oldest of three and I believe some of it stands today. Please keep in mind I wrote this when I was 10. So here is what fourth grade Phoebe said: “What people need to know is being the oldest of three is not as easy as you might think. If you were to try it for a day, you would most likely not enjoy it. Being the oldest of three is hard because my sisters lie to me, they copy me, and most of all, they usually get their way.

Being the oldest of three is hard because my sisters usually get their way. For example, when we all went to the American Girl Doll store in New York there were three stories filled with American Girl Doll accessories, animals, and just the dolls themselves. We could get an American Girl Doll for an early birthday present. I wanted this doll named Julie. After I said I wanted it Eden and Scarlett said, “I want it too!” That day was Eden’s birthday so of course she got it. Another example of this is when there were only two lollipops left and we all wanted one. I said “I call both lollipops for my treat.” Scarlett and Eden had a big fit which meant they cried, laid on the ground, stomped their feet, then ended it with, “That is not fair!” My dad dislikes when they have a fit, so he gave them the lollipops.

Being the oldest of three is hard because my sisters lie to me. An example that shows their lying is when we were in Florida, Scarlett and Eden were playing with little dolls in the living room and that evening I wanted to sit on the couch and I could not because there were the little dolls all over the room. I asked them, “Can you clean up the little dolls?” And they said “We will.” One hour later the little dolls were still all over the living room and I asked them again, and they said “okay.” I went away and came back 30 minutes later. It was still not cleaned up. So I just pushed all the little dolls on the floor.

But most of all, being the oldest of three is hard because my sisters want to copy me all the time. One example that shows this is I have a necklace that is made from real pearls and any time I take it out they ask, “Can I have that when you die?” My response is “no.” They want the real pearl necklace so bad they ask for it for Christmas. When I got more clothes than my sisters. When my mom brought them out for me they said “That’s not fair.” My mom replied “You can get the hand me downs.” The next morning they were wearing my new clothes, socks, and shoes. They said “This is MY outfit for the day.” I went and told my mom and they got in big trouble.

Being the oldest of three children is hard. At first I thought being the oldest of three was a piece of cake.

But over the years I came to realize it is not as easy as people think.”

Now in senior year, even though I am now the oldest of five and a lot less fights happen, especially over dolls, I am still writing about these challenges for my college supplementals and complaining about it to my friends.

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But, I am going to miss having built-in friends that I can drag to places when I need to go grab something. I am going to miss our probably too often Starbucks runs after school. I am going to miss the car rides out to my dad’s house with them, singing to music that they most likely dislike or just talking about the events of the school day.

Without my siblings, I would not have learned to share properly or how to establish boundaries. I have been an older sister since I was two years old and though sometimes it is a challenge, I would not change it for the world. I am going to miss seeing them every day when I go off to college, even if it is just for a short period of time. And I know I am never going to live down that I made my speech about missing them. Before you go off on your own adventure, take the moment to tell those you love that you are grateful for them, even if they take your clothes and claim them as your own.

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SHOSHANA “SHOSHI” SATRAN ’24 I might be one of the most overdramatic people ever. Okay, maybe this is a little bit of a stretch, but I definitely couldn’t count on two hands the amount of times I’ve believed something was the end of the world. I doubt I could even count the amount of times I’ve overthought this week. I’ve been like this for a while. When I was five years old, my parents decided they were fed up with me and my little brother for a night. Valid. Our constant pleas to watch Madagascar or to make us chicken fingers and french fries, as that was one of the only meal I would eat, probably got pretty annoying. Leaving the two of us with a babysitter was a practical idea. But five-year-old Shoshi somehow decided that the fact that her parents were leaving her with a complete stranger was equal to the end of the world, and the probability of her mom and dad getting into a car accident, dying and never coming home was extremely high. After much protest, I asked my mom to at least leave me with something of hers while she was gone. Not knowing that this item would be the thing I would remember her by if my fear of her dying came true, she gave me an old raggedy shoe. I slept well that night, with her shoe as my replacement teddy bear, and fortunately enough she made it home safe. Although I no longer freak out over saying goodbye to my parents when they leave me home alone for the night (probably the opposite now to be honest), I still tend to jump straight to the worst possible scenario or freak out over something that isn’t the end of the world. The other day I asked my mom to help me think of a few times I had overreacted. I don’t think anyone has looked at me with more of an “Are you Kidding?” look in my life. She proceeded to send me a long list of examples such as, “When your friends don’t give you as much energy as normal and you think they hate you,” or “When the only thing to eat at school is pork, but you’re Jewish, so you think Tower Hill is trying to starve you.” Okay so maybe I do tend to overreact. As many of you know, I spent the second half of my sophomore year in Israel. I spent four months away from my family, friends, and life in America having the best time traveling and making memories. But as all good things do, the semester ended. I spent almost all of that June locked in my room posting things on my Snapchat story such as, and I quote, “crying because all I want to do is go home.”

Clearly, 15-year-old Shoshi was just as dramatic as her five-year-old self. I came back to Tower Hill that September scared and alone, with only a couple of friends and a sense of separation from the rest of my grade. I genuinely thought with all my heart that this was the end of the world, just as I had when my parents left me with the babysitter. But I soon made a small group of close friends to give me a Wawa addiction and make every day at Tower Hill a little bit better. Although I still overthink everything, whether it’s if I’m going to adjust to school after leaving the country for four months or even just if someone left me on delivered for 40 minutes when they normally only do for 20, I find people to keep me grounded, boost my confidence and allow me to live my life a little more freely. Sometimes all you need is a shoe, in the form of a few good friends or family members, to help you fall asleep a little easier. To my mom, dad, little brother and friends, thank you for putting up with my constant overthinking. You mean the world to me.

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ROBERT “ROBBY” SAUNDERS ’24 I wrote many versions of the speech you are about to hear. Some were in an attempt to be funny, some were about serious topics, but nothing really felt right. I couldn’t figure out what to write so I went to ask my mom, but before I found her to ask for advice, I realized what the answer was. My mom.

Honestly, my mom is probably fairly disappointed that I didn’t come to this conclusion sooner, but I hope she will forgive me by the end.

I am proud to say that my mom is one of my most notable features, as most of my friends know her as the woman who sent me to school on my birthday with zucchini muffins and beet-laced brownies. My mom insisted that just about everything I ate contained some sort of vegetable. At the time, this really frustrated me, as it took about 13 years of my life to realize that Cheetos aren’t actually illegal to eat in Delaware. I was also one of the “my parents never let me watch Spongebob” kids. Additionally, she convinced me for a shockingly long amount of time that although she wouldn’t let me play football in high school, I could just “walk on at Michigan afterwards.” Although I could name many more, the point of this speech is not just to expose my mom for her alternate versions of reality.

It’s hard to come up with many childhood memories that don’t involve my mom, as even though she had five kids running around the house, she drove me to every practice, made sure I was never hungry, and was always there for me. Every time I forgot my shin guards, basketball shoes or batting gloves, my mom was somehow already on the way with them in hand. It’s hard to imagine how I will manage to attend a college lecture without my mom making sure I have all the right class materials. I know a lot of you are probably thinking “wow he is really dependent on his mom,” and you are partially right, but I think there is a valuable lesson. I will certainly miss my mom next year at college, but throughout my childhood, she has taught me many things that I know I can always rely on. I have boiled it down to three ideals that I would like to share, so everyone can benefit.

First, reach out. No one can do it alone. No one can make it through everything by themselves. Whether it’s calling a friend just to make sure they are doing good, or asking a teacher for extra help after class, don’t hesitate to reach out.

Second, you will never regret doing the right thing. If ever faced with a choice, pick the one that will do the most good. Not necessarily the one that will make you the happiest in the moment, but the one that helps others, makes someone’s day, or gives back.

And third, do everything you do at 100%. Every sports game, every homework assignment, every essay, every conversation, every interview. Everything. And if you do this, you will never be disappointed or frustrated because you know you gave it all you could.

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I encourage everyone to take these three lessons my mom has taught me and apply them starting today. And even if you find yourself forgetting your cleats at home, you won’t forget these lessons. And finally, I want to thank my mom for everything she has done for me over the years. Thank you, Mom.

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ANNA SCHILTZ ’24 When you hear about people collecting things, you normally think of things like coins from every state, stamps, maybe even comic books. I, however, collect something a little different. I collect hotel key cards.

Now I know what you’re thinking: Anna, how the heck can you have enough hotel key cards to have a collection? And to that I say: the wonders of travel sports. I grew up traveling with my brother to his various squash tournaments, and when I got older, when I traveled for club volleyball. All of that plus family vacations I’ve amassed a large amount of key cars in the past 10 or so years. 55 in fact.

While I don’t do much with these key cards, except for that one phase I had where I decided I wanted to paint them (I got through about three before I gave up), I keep them to honor the memories I’ve made. I don’t even know where all of them are from, because I only started labeling them in the past few years, but really, it’s the thought that counts.

I don’t know exactly where the keycards are from, but they still bring back the memories of my childhood.

Even the smaller memories, like my time watching my brother play squash are easier to remember with these mementos.

While squash might not be the most popular sport to watch, it sure does require a lot of traveling. And because both my parents wanted to watch my brother play, and I was too young to be left alone, it meant I came along most of the time. We traveled to Massachusetts, Connecticut, New Jersey, Washington, D.C., Maine and New York. The key cards for those hotels mark the hours I spent sitting on floors of sports convention centers, watching my brother play the sport he loved the most and how he improved over time. I even eventually started filming matches for him to use for college recruitment. The cards also remind me, however, of the hours I spent waiting for said matches to start, because squash tournaments rarely ever keep to schedule.

I mastered the art of keeping myself entertained—which pretty much just included playing on my mom’s iPad. I played a lot of Fruit Ninja, Geometry Dash, puzzles, and those random idol games you get ads for but never actually download. I never mastered Sudoku, but that’s a task I’m currently undertaking. I also gained my outgoing nature by befriending pretty much every other younger sibling that was dragged along to these tournaments too.

When I got older, I also had my own sports that I had to travel for. I played club volleyball for about six years of my life. I went to Pennsylvania, Washington, D.C., Virginia, Florida and Maryland. The key cards for those hotels remind me of the joy of winning and the disappointment of losing. The laughter I had swimming in the hotel pools and the mass amounts of pizza I ate at 10 p.m. once a tournament day was finished because no restaurant was ever open. The cards remind me of the long walk to get to my court during bigger tournaments and the corners my team would crowd in during breaks in our schedule.

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Of course, I’ve gained key cards from my family vacations. Traveling with my family has always been something I loved. We traveled to a wide variety of states and abroad for as long as I can remember. Whenever I see my pile of cards, I can still imagine the long car rides to Florida, Hilton Head or Indiana to see my grandparents in the summer. I remember the sights I’ve gotten to see like the Grand Canyon, Vatican City, the Harry Potter Studio in London or the Sydney Opera House. It’s swimming in a Yellowstone hot spring, or ziplining in Costa Rica when I had to go in tandem with another girl I had never met because we were both too light to make it across ourselves.

I’ve been fortunate enough to travel to all these places, and the memories I’ve made there are some of my most distinct childhood memories: like the time my brother and I ate frozen maple off a stick in Canada or having to get stitches in Puerto Rico after cutting my chin open.

So I know hotel key cards aren’t common to collect, even my parents seem a little off put whenever I mention adding to my collection, but they’re mine and that’s all that matters. I don’t think collecting items has to fit into a certain mold. I’ve been told I could collect something of more value, like special coins or dolls or autographs, but I don’t want to. At the end of the day, I don’t collect these hotel key cards for their monetary value, because they don’t have any. I collect them for the memories they contain, and I think that’s more valuable than anything else I could ever collect.

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ANNA SCHLOBACH ’24 I love change. I love the feeling of starting new, and not exactly knowing what the future holds; but knowing it’s going to be good.

Whenever I mention this opinion, I am often met with concern. Comments like “aren’t you happy with what you have?” and “why would you want to start from scratch?”

And don’t get me wrong, I am completely grateful and happy with everything in my life, I am just not scared of switching it up every once in a while.

I have always wondered where this feeling developed from in my life, and I think it has something to do with being seventeen years old and already moving five times, living in a total of six different houses. Which has definitely been a lot of change. From memorizing new routes to my favorite locations, or figuring out which window has the best view, I would always adore learning the new characteristics of each house that made it different from the last.

During my first couple of moves, I remember being sad about leaving, scared I would forget all of the memories I had made. Scared that I wouldn’t love the next place as much as the last.

It is only now that I realize you truly appreciate the time you spent somewhere more, after you leave, and it becomes more of a special place when you aren’t there every day.

Whenever I drive past one of my old houses, I am reminded of all the memories made, times like when we brought our dogs home for the first time as puppies, or when I fell off my bed and had to get stitches on my forehead, or playing manhunt in the dark for hours with my brother and our friends. I think of these moments, and wonder if a new family is living there and making some memories of their own. Maybe a little girl just lost her first tooth, or maybe her brother rode a bike without training wheels for the first time. But instead of becoming sad and sentimental, I become happy, happy because someone else has the opportunity to love a place as much as I did, and make it their own. Happy because every time I catch a glimpse of my old life, I see a younger version of myself wondering who I will be in a couple of years.

As I begin my college process, and realize that this is my last year of school left at Tower Hill, I automatically begin wondering about the change to come.

I think about how much Tower Hill will mean to me when it becomes a part of my past and not my present.

And look forward to being able to recount my favorite times spent here.

I look towards the Tower Tots and younger members of our community, excited to see them make Tower Hill their own, as I have done these past years.

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For the first time in my life, I am actually feeling nervous, wishing I could continue with what I know, and not having to start fresh. Instead of moving somewhere new with my family, I will be going alone. Something that I have never done before, going somewhere that could quite possibly be hundreds of miles away. Somewhere that requires a plane or train ride and not just a quick trip down the road.

I am forever grateful for how much Tower Hill has prepared me for this future of independence, allowing me to assure myself that I am ready. That everything will fall into place.

Even though I know that I am prepared for this big change, I still catch myself overthinking. To help counter my worries, I think back to my memories of moving houses, and I try to remember the part of me who never turns down a new experience. The part of me that found all the good in change, and used it to make me a better person.

There are so many positives to change; it brings new perspectives, people and experiences, while also offering the opportunity to learn and grow as a person.

But do not make the mistake of living in fear of what change might cause. Approach it with an open mind and be grateful for every moment it brings. Thank you.

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STEPHEN SILVERS ’24 When I was seven, I broke my wrist for the first time. I was in the basement with my sister and my dad playing our favorite not-so-indoor game. Soccer. While our tournaments usually didn’t end up with someone getting hurt, this night, was anything but usual. I remember it vividly, I had the ball in the corner of the play area, with my hands up against the wall to give myself some leverage against my older sister. Somehow, all parenting skills and worry for his children’s safety went out the window when my dad decided it would be a good idea to yell the two terrible words that still haunt me to this day. “Hip-check.” My sister, ever so obediently, hip-checked me right into the wall, breaking my wrist. My mom quickly banned indoor soccer from the house and it has stayed that way to this day.

When I was 10, my friends and I wanted to race each other during gym class, so, we set up at the starting line on one side of the gym, completely ignoring the fact that the race would end with a wall on the other side. I won the race but it came with great cost, that being not able to slow down in time before slamming into the wall where I broke my wrist for the second time.

The last time that I broke my wrist was two years ago in my sophomore year during the beginning of the winter basketball season. On one of the first practices of the year I was sprinting down the court carelessly not watching where I was going. For the second time in my life, I ran hands first into a wall and broke my wrist for the third time.

What I expect you all to take away from my pain is not to be afraid of walls or hip-checks, but rather to understand that life is full of possibilities and we can either let the fear of hitting a wall, metaphorical or literal, hold us back, preventing us from taking risks and pursuing our passions, or we can charge ahead with dedication, knowing that the possibility of hitting that wall is just another obstacle we must be willing to take on. Thank you.

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JUSTIN SOLACOFF ’24 Over the past 14 years my classmates and I have grown up together, learned important life skills and developed into fairly mature young adults. We have learned how to respect and listen to others’ opinions, how to overcome hard times both in and out of the classroom, and most importantly: how to eat our school lunches without absolutely ruining the Commons but this was certainly not always the case…

So I would like to take this opportunity to reflect back on the past, with the 14 other boys crammed in at the eight-person circular table in the Commons sophomore year, and to dissuade everyone else from following in our footsteps.

Near the beginning of my sophomore year, we began to play table games at the end of every lunch. Essentially, there would be some sort of challenge, and whoever lost had to clear the entire table (preferably in one trip). It all started with 21, a simple game where everyone takes turns counting up from one, with each person adding either 1, 2 or 3 numbers. Whoever landed on 21 lost. While this game was fun at first, it quickly became unfair and corrupt when half of the table made an alliance and began targeting the same few people every lunch.

So we put our creative, and dangerously immature minds together to create a series of table games which I have ranked in order from worst to best. While it would take far too long to describe every game we made, I have picked a few of the more notable ones to include.

So, coming in dead last: Citrus Smash Unfortunately, this game was exactly as it sounds. We took an orange and passed it around the circle clockwise.

The first person would hit the orange lightly, and the next person would have to hit it a little bit harder and then a little bit harder until eventually, it broke open and spewed orange juice everywhere. Whoever hit it last had to clean the table, which would always smell a little bit better from the game. But overall I think it speaks for itself why this one comes in last place.

Next up we have Tower Stack.

Starting with one plate, everyone at the table would have to stack something on top until the tower eventually toppled. It would begin with players adding plates and cups, and end with players finding the smallest items in the lunchroom, like emptied butter packets and napkins to throw on the top of the tower. This game regularly ended with a loud crash, a big mess and about 100 confused stares in our direction.

But in first place: The Sandwich Game.

Using only the food available in the Commons, two participants would compete head-to-head to make the best sandwiches possible. Five selected table members would be the judges, rating each sandwich on creativity, taste

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and appearance. (Bonus points if you used the daily specials). We would often receive help from the kitchen staff, who loved giving us secret sauce recipes and tips for presentation. Masterpieces like the Chopped Cheese the Rueben or the turkey apple and honey sandwich, won their competitions unanimously and made this game special.

But these games were not memorable because they were sophisticated or well thought out, they were simply 30 minutes we looked forward to every day. I am certainly not proud of any of these games, but they will always remind me of lifelong friendships and just how far we have come since then. In a few months we will be going off to college hundreds of miles apart, eating our food quietly and cleanly with a new group of friends, but wherever we end up I hope we all can continue to find joy in the simple things, to turn ordinary objects into sources of fun and creativity, and to always respect the awesome places and people around us.

I hope no one in the room ever goes another day without finding a time to relax and laugh, even if it’s just for a moment, regardless of what may be going on in life.

While the teachers, the cleaning staff, and the oranges are very glad we stopped playing, these are the little moments that I will always remember about being young, with a great group of guys, when nothing else really mattered.

Thank you.

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BERGEN SOLTOW ’24 As Tower Hill students we have accomplished and overcome many things within our lives, but with our accomplishments and our success comes a heavy burden, expectations.

Not only as students, but as adolescents, we face many expectations coming from many different sources. These include our families, our friends, our teachers and administrators, our coaches, our bosses. They all expect us to keep on our toes and give 110% to any activity that we participate in, and sometimes these expectations become so much, they become overwhelming, and actually become quite difficult to cope with, because when we do not meet these expectations, we feel as if we have failed whatever it is we set out to achieve.

Take the school day as an example. We are expected to arrive at school every day on time, which in reality is not that large of an ask, but can sometimes become quite difficult to accomplish. When you enter one of your classrooms you are responsible for dedicating an hour of focus to your class. On top of being ready to learn, you are also expected to come fully prepared with homework done the night before. Any breaks in between these classes, mainly free periods or study halls, are expected to be productive and well used. After the school day is complete you attend your sport, practice for the play, your job, or whatever else it is that you have decided to opt out for. Not to mention the homework and studying that we complete within our homes. While this is a normal day in the lives of students, not just at Tower Hill, but at many different schools as well, it can become quite difficult to triumph over any exhaustion that we encounter.

Expectations can become quite difficult to manage and can soon weigh on a person so much that it ends up being something they can barely handle later in time. The real question soon becomes not what are the expectations of a certain person or a certain program, but how to balance all the expectations that we receive.

In my 17 years on this Earth I have learned the only way to manage all of these expectations… I choose which ones to meet and acknowledge that there are some that I will never be able to meet. I choose to meet the expectation of being a good student and being social with both my classmates and my teachers, communicating when I need help or a break for the stress that you become stuck with in high school, because quite frankly there is no way that you will avoid stress in high school, just like there is no way that you will avoid stress in everyday life. I choose to meet the expectation of giving my full attention to my class, even if that means that I forsake a day of sports to complete my homework and get to sleep at a good time, making sure that I am prepared for the next day. You can choose what you want to accomplish and what you prioritize. Prioritize what will make you happy, prioritize what is important to you, and prioritize what is best for you. While the expectations of a Tower Hill student are high, you can learn to manage them and decide what you will and won’t accomplish in the world. The truth is that it is okay not to be perfect at everything and it is okay to not succeed at everything you try, but you can choose what you want to succeed in. That is the only way you will be proud of yourself and can truly acknowledge everything that you have accomplished and will accomplish in your future life.

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DANIEL SOMERVILLE ’24 Almost two years ago, at a broken down Boys and Girls Club in Wilmington, I tried out for an AAU team that was on a slightly better circuit than my last team.

Little did I know, this trivial event would indirectly change the course of my entire life.

When I arrived at the first tryout, I was excited for the possibility of starting a new journey on a new team. But when I got to the tryout, and began playing, I simply couldn’t perform. I left the court frustrated, as I knew I’d have to do way more at the next tryout to make the team.

I got to the second tryout on a fresh new day, with an open mind, but I had the same issue. I couldn’t play well, and I just couldn’t explain why—there was no excuse. I didn’t make my shots, I didn’t make the right plays, and I just felt unlucky. I left the tryout without making the team, and was obviously disappointed. I would have to return to my old team. I was embarrassed, but I had no choice, I was going to play at the same tournaments I did last year, with practically the same kids.

Regardless, I played on this team with a positive attitude and tried to be the best teammate I could be. And in reality, it wasn’t all the same people. There were two kids on my team, who I didn’t originally think anything of, but over the course of the season, I began to become pretty good friends with. We traveled to tournaments, won and lost together, but mostly just lost, and created a strong bond.

Also during this time, I was really annoyed with my current school, both in school and on the court, so I was in the process of transferring. My main choice was Tower Hill, but I wasn’t really sure I could leave everyone I knew behind and go into an environment I knew nothing about. Fortunately for me, these teammates that I had formed close bonds with were Tower Hill students. They helped me through the process, informing me on the pros and cons of their school. They gave me valuable inside information that a website or pamphlet cannot show. Because of the bonds I had with them, I felt comfortable transferring, as I would go into this new school with already made connections, and it would be easier to adjust to the new community.

Now when I look back onto those tryouts that I played horribly at, I am no longer disappointed. If I had made that original team, I would not have formed close bonds with those two teammates, and in turn, I may not have transferred. I would still be miserable at my old school. And even though the team I didn’t make was truly better than the team I ended up playing on, I was put into a much better position by playing on the worse team.

Sometimes in life, things don’t initially work out in your favor. Like me, you may have no excuse on why things are happening the way they are. I had no idea why I couldn’t make that team, but honestly, it ended up being one of the better things that has happened to me. If you can remember to go out with a positive attitude and have faith in the fact that you can find the best path for yourself, regardless of your situation, you will end up succeeding, one way or another.

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WILLIAM “WILL” SOMMERS ’24 There he stood, vivid in the spotlight: a life-size cardboard cutout of Jerry Seinfeld performing a bizarre AI imitation of the real comedian. In front of him stood a microphone, and, not wanting him to appear dehydrated, we had placed empty water bottles on a stool to his side. It was, by all accounts, a ridiculous piece for Evening of the Arts, but that frantic day was some of the most fun I had that year. I was tasked with cloning Jerry Seinfeld’s voice using AI; my partner traveled to several UPS stores just to get a large enough print of the man. It was a chaotic, last-minute mix of glue, technology, and divine inspiration, and when I think about how best to describe myself, I inevitably arrive at the conclusion that I just really love making things.

When I was little, that “thing” was a movie about talking pickles that were actually cut-out paper drawings due to budget constraints. For the past four years now, it’s been original songs every July for a friend’s birthday.

And last spring—though I can’t take credit for the idea—that thing was a cardboard boat my friends and I constructed on the off-chance that it wouldn’t immediately explode when it touched the water. This endeavor proved an opportunity to evaluate the power of Flex Seal first-hand. The conclusion? Not powerful enough.

I’ve spent a lot of time chasing after inspiration; from my first time playing Super Mario Sunshine as a kid, I wanted to make my own video games, so I naively dove head-first into the realm of computer science. As the years went by, I managed to make a little game about flying squares that shot lasers, and another about flying snakes that didn’t. I wanted to understand how the engines that powered these games were made, and through countless tutorials, managed to make some mediocre engines of my own. Soon enough, I realized that I was fascinated by computer science beyond the realm of games. The same process happened with music production; inspired by artists online, I set out to learn the technical craft of digital audio.

There’s loads about creativity in and of itself that makes it meaningful to me; the process of continually improving at a skill and the small accomplishments you make along the way are their own rewards. However, the most meaningful aspects of creativity have come from others. That friend whose birthday I now commemorate with songs? I met him at a Minecraft modding camp, where we bonded over our shared programming passions. Through music production, I was introduced to a friend of a friend who took me on as a musical apprentice; we continue to share our love for electronic music to this day.

The best part is always sharing my creation with others. Sometimes a song just isn’t catchy, and sometimes people have no clue why a multicolored triangle on your screen is in any way impressive. But every once in a while you strike gold, and after the doors opened on Evening of the Arts and we realized that a flock of lower schoolers had gathered in the front row to listen to AI Jerry Seinfeld, I couldn’t help but wonder if we had contributed to the cycle of inspiration that set me on this path.

But who knows. I’m probably just trying to atone for my grave sins against comedy.

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BRADY TREMBLAY ’24 I have loved cars ever since I can remember. So I guess it’s only natural that I have also loved going go-karting for a long time as well. However, I think it might have less to do with the cars and more to do with the fact that I get to race against my family members. Particularly, against my “nemesis,” my younger brother. So, here is the story of one of our more recent karting experiences.

On a Sunday morning in September, my brother and I got into the car and went to the go-kart track. It had been a little while since I had driven the karts, so as soon as we set foot into the building, I began to worry a bit. “What if I’ve lost my touch?” “What if I crash?” And worst of all, “What if my brother is faster than me?” Eventually, we got out onto the track and into the cars. As soon as I left the pitlane, I knew that it was going to take a few laps to get used to the cars again. So, my first few laps were—I’ll admit it myself—quite slow. However, my little “acclimation period” was cut short as I felt a sudden jolt and quickly found myself stuck in the wall. I then looked to my left to see who else but my brother’s kart racing away. I started waving my arms around as if to say “what are you doing,” and then sat through the tedious and rather humiliating process of the people at the track getting my kart unstuck, as all the other karts kept passing by.

So eventually, I did get back up to speed. I had finally gotten to grips with the car, and I could keep up with nearly everyone else. After a few more laps, I was now chasing down my brother. I tried to pass him in a rather “ambitious” way, and it’s safe to say that I misjudged it. Instead of making a great overtake and claiming a fantastic victory like I had imagined, I ended up sliding into the side of his kart, this time sending him into the wall. After he got unstuck, I noticed that he was parked by the side of the track. Waiting for me to come around again. When I did reach him, I knew what was coming. In this kind of situation, I would say that the anticipation of the impact was worse than the impact itself. After that, the red mist had fully descended for both of us. On quite literally every lap from then until the end of our race, we crashed into each other.

After it had ended, we both got out of our cars and stormed into the main lobby. We then proceeded to argue about who was in the wrong, who was the better driver, and so on. But it didn’t end once we left the track, oh no. It continued throughout the entire car ride home and for most of the rest of the day. However, none of it was surprising to me. In fact, I would have been surprised if we didn’t have at least one crash and argued for ages afterward. This is because my brother and I, even if I don’t admit to being competitive, have been in a constant state of competition for most of our lives now. However, now we look back to that day and laugh, and I am happy to have that memory. I guess if there’s one thing to take away from this, other than to be careful when go-karting, it’s that you should enjoy every last moment you have with the people who are closest to you.

Even though I’m not sure where the future will take me, I know that I’ll miss seeing my brother and the rest of my family every day when I’m off in college, which makes me all the more grateful for the memories I have with them so far. Especially the ones where I beat them in go-karting.

Thank you.

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ANISH VAKALAPUDI ’24 As a child, my favorite food was a grilled cheese sandwich. Though a seemingly uncomplicated dish, it represented a unique challenge for my father. As a firstgeneration immigrant and someone forever committed to Indian cuisine, he rarely tried eating American foods, let alone attempting to cook them. However, with the help of our local Costco associate and a few YouTube videos, my father began earnestly waking up early in the morning to prepare a grilled cheese sandwich for me, all so that he could bring a smile to my face every day.

Around sixth grade, determined to take the art of grilled cheese making to new heights, I set out to surpass my father’s culinary prowess. Undeterred by the worried remarks of my parents about me setting fire to the house, I forged ahead. Learning from my father and many burns, I slowly perfected my grilled cheese masterpiece.

As I matured into a teenager, my independence did as well; making my own grilled cheese turned into additional chores, taking care of my siblings and thinking about what I wanted to do in the future. It quickly became clear that my increasing freedom came along with the need to face the realities of life on my own.

When I made the decision to pursue medicine, my parents, both software engineers, harbored reservations.

Later, in my sophomore summer, when I wanted to join an EMT course, they again decided to raise their concerns about my safety and the demands of a healthcare career. “Isn’t that dangerous?” I would hear them say. However, after many conversations and assurances that I would stay out of harm’s way, I convinced them to let me enroll, and soon after completing the course and receiving my NREMT certification, I joined my local fire station.

Although I hoped to ease into the role, I received a call for an unconscious person within my first week.

An unconscious person can be one of the worst calls an EMT can get. The best-case scenario is that the person wakes up and they know what to do as it is a chronic condition. However, if the person doesn’t regain consciousness, the EMT has to quickly check their vitals while asking the bystanders about the situation.

When I entered the house, instead of the unconscious person I was expecting, I saw a disheveled young woman. After learning that she recently got out of rehab, we realized that she had probably overdosed and convinced her to go to the hospital. After we entered the ambulance, she told us that she had used drugs and that she felt like she had let down her young son again.

As I left the hospital that day, I couldn’t shake my overwhelming feeling of powerlessness, realizing that her battle with addiction was much larger than my single ambulance ride with her. This awareness was a stark contrast to my upbringing. Throughout my childhood, my parents were always unwavering pillars of support, guiding me and supporting me in my interests. Even during moments when I might have considered them overbearing, I now recognized how they were merely trying to shield me from life’s harsh truths. However, in

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the span of a 20-minute 911 call, I was abruptly forced to confront the jarring realities of substance abuse, all on my own.

My journey keeps revealing to me the many responsibilities and privileges that come with age. Instead of risking touching a hot griddle, what now hangs in the balance is very often human lives. Like my father’s desire to make my grilled cheese, I too am now motivated to help in whatever small way I can. The challenges might be more daunting, but the enduring lesson remains the same: whether in making a sandwich or caring for a patient, it requires kindness, understanding and a willingness to embrace the change that life brings.

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ANJIE “ANGELO” WANG ’24 Sleeping is enjoyable, and that’s one of the reasons why I love Tower Hill. You might wonder why I said that. For those of you who don’t know, I came to Tower Hill in 2021, marking the end of the first phase of my life: I had spent 16 years in China, where I attended high school for one year and barely had time to sleep.

Located in a city with nine million people, my high school in China has an interesting name: Hefei No.7 High School. Hefei is the city, and No.7 means that it’s the seventh secondary school built in history. So accordingly, there should be a No.50 School, which happened to be my middle school.

For a typical day in No.7 High School, the wake-up music of the dorm would ring at 6 a.m., which gave my heart a hard bump as I always suffered and struggled from getting up every time I heard it. I had to pick up the pace for making the bed, brushing my teeth and sweeping the floor because I didn’t want to get caught in the enormous line of the cafeteria which would probably make me unable to get to the classroom on time. We had to begin morning reading at 7:10 a.m., where we read English or Chinese literature out loud. After that and the first class, we would go to the field and jog in ordered queues, except every Monday when over 4,500 students would stand in silence under the national flag, listen to the anthem and demonstrate our fierce patriotism.

The morning classes would end at 11:45 a.m., followed by massive waves of people walking to lunch. Nap time after lunch had been mandatory and enjoyable, not only because of the dorm regulations, but also because I longed for time to rest. We would go to class from the dorm again, and stay in the classroom, having Chinese, math, English, politics, history, geography, biology, physics and chemistry till 5:45 p.m., which was when we were allowed to have dinner and take a shower. To me, what used to be a nightmare became a daily routine, which is showering in a huge public bathroom without any partitions and waiting in the bathing line with other people wearing nothing, and getting my heels splashed as people behind me walked through puddles.

The “night study hall” began at 7 p.m. and ended at 10 p.m., where we did our homework and prepared for tomorrow’s classes. When I was done with homework, I would read some novels, draw random stuff if the teacher wasn’t looking, or the dean wasn’t wandering around our classroom, or think about what to eat tomorrow, when Friday would come, or why the teachers could never find out who was smoking in the bathroom. They kindly offered us another study hall in the dorm from 10:20 p.m. to 11 p.m., which was considerate since people fell asleep easily after studying. I would enjoy chatting with my roommates after 11 p.m. if the dorm keeper didn’t check everyone’s room to see if we were sleeping. At this moment, I had to close my eyes and pray that my roomies wouldn’t snore. By the way, our weekends ended on Sunday afternoon because we were already required to get to school at that time.

So, was I so thankful that I finally got out of jail and embraced my individual initiative as I began my high school life in America? Yes and no. The images of my old high school popped up in my mind every now and then. I would still miss the four-floored cafeteria with over 50 windows and my friends having every meal with me; I would still miss the moment of standing up and greeting the teacher as every class began; I would still

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miss the funny feeling of seeing those several couples holding hands, and the guys walking their girlfriends back to the dorm; I would still miss the moment of my parents, who are 8,000 miles away from me, picking me up from school every Friday and taking me to a nice dinner in the bustling city; I would still pine for my earliest youth yet realized that I could never be 15 again and recapture what it felt like. I am thankful that I do not only get the opportunity to study in America, but also cherish the faint and beautiful memories in the rigorous Chinese high school which will never come back again. Do I want to go back there again? No. Do I miss the memorable moments? Yes, especially because I am not a part of the Chinese education system anymore. This is my third year in the United States, and the old days will never fade away no matter how much I am accustomed to the American lifestyle. Likewise, I have learned to appreciate every moment in Tower Hill, as my experience here will never return, but only will remain in my brain as a remarkable, happy and precious time period.

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NATHANIEL “NATE” ZEHNER ’24 When thinking of ideas for this speech, I was being asked by my mom to create a Christmas list for my grandparents. Even if you don’t celebrate Christmas, I’m sure everyone has been asked to do this for their family for a holiday or birthday.

As I’ve grown older, my Christmas list has grown increasingly boring. With college on the horizon, I understand that my expenses will be far more independent. For this reason, my list has been “spending money” for the past couple of years, much to the dismay of my mom. While I agree that money is not a sentimental or festive gift, it has been hard for me to find something else that I really need. For me, it’s a little sad to think about how much our interests have changed as we grow up. When I was younger, the only thing I really wanted was LEGOs. Me and my siblings were obsessed with LEGOs, and took every opportunity to go to our basement work on our made-up world. We had a small room dedicated only to LEGOs, and set up bookshelves and tables for our creations. While this is definitely a better gift than money, the LEGOs were often the center of household arguments. To put it in context, the LEGO world we created had its own nations, governments, religions and wars. Somehow, my brother was in charge of all of them, and seemed to come out on top in every situation. Me and my sister were usually happy to be involved, but definitely would have liked some more power. Whenever I had a plan to make a name for myself, something would go wrong and I’d have to start at square one. This might sound like a bad experience, but looking back I think it had a positive impact on my life. As technology becomes more and more obtainable, it’s easy to fill in empty time with phones and computers. I am definitely a victim to this, and whenever I am alone and have free time I’m usually looking at screens. I think that all of our younger selves used our boredom to be creative and curious, which helped us shape our personalities and who we are. Without even knowing it, our childhoods were used to discover our interests and learn the kind of people we like and dislike. In my experience, LEGOs forced me to engage with others and learn how to argue my point of view. Despite most of it being for fun, my siblings and I would often get in disagreements about how certain things should run in our world. While I pretty much always lost, I learned how to connect with others and collaborate on issues. Learning from my older siblings allowed me to look at the world through a more mature lens. I think our time at Tower Hill has also allowed us to learn these lessons. I have been at Tower Hill all my life, but even people I know who came in middle or high school have had the opportunity to show their individuality. In lower school, we learned how to work together with activities and games that required engagement and participation. In middle and high school, we began to learn how to apply our communication experience into academics. With outlets to be creative and share our opinions, we have all grown up with vital life skills that will continue to be useful throughout our lives. As we face a new beginning in the fall, I hope we can all reflect on our time together and use what we have learned to make connections. Thank you!

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LOUIE ZHANG ’24 Throughout my life, I have been surrounded by many different types of stories.

Before I started rotting my brain with digital screens and social media, I would spend my free time reading about the conquests of leaders like Napoleon or Genghis Khan, or the silly shenanigans that Bilbo Baggins or Jack and Annie would get into in The Hobbit or The Magic Treehouse. What I enjoyed most though were retellings of real-life experiences, like the inspirational or embarrassing stories of my parents moving to study in America. I always enjoyed listening to their past, how they had to walk to the grocery store in the sweltering Arizona heat because they didn’t have a car, or when my mom brought chicken feet to a college potluck and grossed everybody else. There was something that subconsciously drew me towards them in a way that was unique to my personal experiences. I could connect with my friends and family by listening to their stories as if I were there. Stories, I realized, were not just tales but doorways, transporting me to realms beyond the limits of my everyday existence.

So, now addicted to listening to stories of others around me, I came to the extremely rational conclusion that I had to take on the very realistic goal of learning about the lives of everybody around me. I wanted to learn and understand the motivations behind why people went through their lives and see how they ticked. For those that I was already friends with, I would say that this went pretty well. I learned more about their lives, what made them tick and their guiding ideologies. For example, some people wanted to have a lasting impact on the world, have a tangible effect that can be looked back on in hundreds of years, and others just wanted to experience the most of the moment and have as much fun in the situation that they were in. And sometimes, I listened to things that were completely nonsensical and made no sense to me, like why anybody would actually voluntarily live in New Jersey.

However, challenges surfaced when I attempted to learn more about people with whom I didn’t have an established connection. When I started attending summer sleepaway camps, I now had the opportunity to interact with new people and did the completely normal thing of trying to learn as much as I could about them.

As I conversed with my newly made companions though, I noticed something strange. Many people were willing to sit and have conversations with me, but there always seemed to be a slight disconnect with them. I was very confused at the time. Why were people not willing to open up and share their experiences with me?

Shouldn’t they be happy that somebody is so willing to learn about them? After some days of reflection, and rubbing all neurons in my adolescent brain together, I came to a discovery. This entire time of reading, watching, listening and talking about others’ stories, I had not once shared my own story. I just assumed that nobody else would want to listen to what I had to say, my own life wasn’t very interesting, so I kept quiet about myself. The exchange of stories that I had been so captivated by was also what others were drawn to and what made every individual unique and interesting to talk to.

Thus, another development in my journey began this time with a conscious effort to share my experiences with others. As I start a new path and head towards college, I now want to prioritize the relationships that I have.

Being able to create memorable lasting experiences with the friends and family that I love and care about is of

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the utmost importance to me now. I want to go to college and tell my new friends there about the silly adventures that I myself got into, like how I once got really bad food poisoning by making a medium rare chicken wrap. I understand my way of thinking about relationships and stories will continue to change and evolve and I believe that this type of curiosity will serve me well in the future.

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