Commencement Address, June 2023

 A few folks had asked me to post the text of my 2023 graduation speech. I'm doing so here:

When I am asked to speak, I typically do just that - I speak. Truth be told, I am sometimes known for speaking when I should not be the one speaking or speaking too long when I should. It’s why I landed myself in an assistant principal’s office every so often, and why my outstanding academic grades in elementary school were often littered with a “B” in conduct. But speeches are kind of funny, with someone talking at you - so forgive me for a moment, as I ask you to indulge me with some interaction.

Students: close your eyes, and picture with me the spring of 2018. Five years ago, you were in the 7th grade. You were in the auditorium at the high school, having come up from the McCloskey Middle School to visit UHS. Look into your younger self, five years of experiences about to unfold, a trend about to be set, and a day that, at the time, most of your families were nervous about what it would be like for you coming up here. That path was about to be carved - not only for you - but with high stakes for a school district and a town, especially some parents, with their principal telling them that it was going to be alright. I can now share with everyone that with this incredible group of young men and women about to graduate, our first five-year group here, that things have been better than just all right.

As you remember the path that you took through high school, there were probably twists and turns that some of us know about. There are defeats, literal and figurative, at the hands of opponents near, far, and within. Visits to the assistant principal’s office. A relationship or friendship gone sour. A failed test. Hybrid learning and Zoom classes. Sitting six feet away from everyone, and grabbing lunch to head home on a bus. A canceled season. Rehearsals for a show that closed before it opened. A knee injury or four or six. Illnesses that came and went and came back again. Moments of embarrassment and disappointment. Maybe even a brush with real loss of someone very close to you, or supporting a friend through tragedy. 

But there were victories too: championships, records, perfect scores, college acceptances, new businesses, successful jobs, tournament wins, visits from state and national leaders, Student Council golds, Science Olympiad victories, and ovations from audiences. State spokespeople for nationally recognized programs. Outstanding sportsmanship awards. Unified Sports, Commended School, Industry Challenge champions - all things that you, together, made happen, all the while engaging in classroom debates, handshakes, high fives, fist bumps, and just being you. On a personal, professional level, in the past three years, I was named Principal of the Year in 2020 and have had the opportunity of ushering in more than 60 schools to learn about what you have helped us build at UHS. These successes are our norm because they are your norm. None of that happens without you.

As you open your eyes, having had a minute to reflect on your individual twists and turns, it reminds me a little bit of a reference to the movie “The Sandlot.” I got to thinking a little bit about The Sandlot a bit these past couple of years, as I have had an opportunity to reconnect with some friends with whom I played as a kid - not unlike the Sandlot. In the movie, Smalls learns to play baseball for the first time, remembering his introduction to those guys. And as graduation marks a moment in time - and, really, an only moment in time, as you only graduate from high school once, it is a good time to reflect on those many firsts that have occurred - the first love, the first car, the first accident, the first base hit, the first goal, the first day of school, the first time you came to UHS, the first “best friend,” maybe a first recital or concert, a first bow to an applauding audience. For many of us, we can pinpoint the firsts, since they are moments in time that are etched forever, often times photographed or videoed, much like when Smalls remembered walking out to the field the first time, the first time Benny hit the “guts” out of the baseball, the biggest “pickle,” throwing up on the speed ride, or the first time Squints kissed Wendy. We invariably remember the firsts, and they all hold a special place in our hearts.

The problem with firsts, is that it invariably brings out the lasts. We can remember the firsts because there is usually someone there to remind us that it is happening as a first. The last, however, often comes and goes without us knowing it. Try as I might, one day, my group of buddies and I rode our bikes to our Sandlot, played a game of baseball, and had no idea that it was our last time together. I have a photograph that I treasure from my last fraternity formal, with 12 of us singing together on the dance floor, knowing that it was our last formal, but not knowing that it could be the last time all 12 of us would be in the same place at the same time. A couple guys in that picture have drifted away, and one has, sadly, already passed away. There is no way that we can all be together in one place, at the same time, in that same way, ever again. That will happen to you, that you will wake up some day and not realize that it was the last time you and some of your friends were together, doing whatever it was that you loved doing, for a last time. Think about it. There have already been days that you went home not knowing that that moment was the last time you and that group of friends were together. 

Today, believe it or not, is one of those days. Today is one of those days that we know, going into it, that it will be a last, despite being called “commencement,” which technically means “a beginning.” Today is the last time that this first-class first class of students who spent five years with us at UHS will all be together on this field. When we reconcile that with the first time, we can certainly think of the many times you went around the bases, the hits, the misses, the giant beasts that needed to be outrun, not unlike the Sandlot. You may walk away from here and be together again as small groups, but unlike most lasts - and very much like that first day in the auditorium five years ago - you know that today is the last time we - or you - will all be together. That in and of itself is bittersweet.

However, you do leave here with the knowledge that regardless of what twist or turn this school or town takes - and, in your time here, we have learned that to be many different things and altogether unexpected - that you are forever and indelibly a first. You are forever and indelibly unique and special. As a first for us, you will always be special, like that first car, that first date, that first victory. And you are, Class of 2023, like the penultimate scenes of the Sandlot, just a little bit magical, capable of doing anything to which you set your minds - be it a first or last, or somewhere in between. As in the Sandlot, as the final scene fades, the different players went, as you shall, their separate ways, forever tied together with the memory of the first and last game, the glue of the relationship. In that spirit, we hope the memory of UHS becomes the tie that binds, that you have good fortune on all your firsts, the patience and levity to savor the lasts, and the hope that we have prepared you well to take your collective greatness to individual wins in the future. Thank you for building us and being for us a story of firsts that lasts forever.