A LOOK BACK
Commencement 2022
Judge Victor Wright '84 P '20
COMMENCEMENT SPEAKER 2022
Thank you, Dr. Austin, Trustees, parents, guardians, family, friends, my wife Julie, my daughters Lauren and Sarah, and the Great Class of 2022!
It is such an honor to be here with you to celebrate this day. It’s dangerous to give any lawyer—especially a Judge—the microphone, as we’re used to talking indefinitely. But, I’m here to celebrate you and to welcome you into the illustrious club that is Deerfield alumni.
As a judge, we are reminded that we remain judges at all times. We must also adhere to a set of rules and canons that prohibit us from discussing legal matters and cases. But I’m home here at Deerfield, and we are family, so I know you all won’t tell anyone.
For just today, I want to challenge the notion that crime doesn’t pay. I intend to defend a situation that involved deception, tax fraud, kidnapping, criminal threats, bribery, conspiracy, forgery, and last, but not least, some traffic violations.
You see, being a Deerfield student is not an easy task. It’s highly coveted to even be among those of us who have been able to graduate from this school.
For me, my Deerfield journey started with a fib. My parents dismissed the idea of me applying to boarding school. We were poor. We lived in Compton, CA—yes, that same notorious Compton – which was nice in my early years but which changed dramatically during my teen years in the late 70s and early 80s. The idea of me attending a Boarding School in Mass., I’m certain, seemed ludicrous to my parents, who grew up in the Jim Crow Era, segregated South.
But, I was determined to find an escape from the poverty and danger of my neighborhood. When Mom and Dad forbade me from applying to Deerfield, or any other school, my Counselor, Mrs. Cardell Brooks, and I launched a new plan. She told me to submit all of my paperwork through her and don’t tell my parents anything. So, I set out to be counted among you—Deerfield graduates.
I applied for fee waivers for the application and the SSAT testing fee. I wrote those waiver requests in Mrs. Brooks’ office.
Next, I had to fill out the application and submit my parents’ tax returns. That was required for financial aid. I was 14 and had no idea of the reason for tax returns.
But, I knew my brother, Eric, who was in college, needed them for his scholarship. I asked him to make me a copy. He said he couldn’t and to me to do it myself. I asked, “How?” He reminded me that Mom and Pop always kept a copy of the tax returns in the cabinet, where mom kept the fancy dishes.
I looked in the cabinet and found the tax returns. But, they were in pencil, and they were not signed. I asked my brother to sign them. He told me to sign them myself. So, I needed to forge my parents’ signatures. My dad was a gambler—he bet on horses, and I recall seeing his pay slips with his initials “DW” on them. At least I’d get those right.
My mom, on the other hand, was a church lady. She had at least five bibles around the house, and, I remembered—she always signed the inside cover of her bibles. So, I found her Big Bible, opened the cover, and there it was: her signature. I practiced a few times and then signed the Tax Forms – in pencil, so it matched. Then I needed to make copies and get them mailed before Mom and Dad got home. My mom did not drive, but we had an extra car—a hoopty—that my sisters or brother would drive from time to time. While my parents were still at work, I’d taken the car out a few times to drive around the neighborhood, just to “practice”, always staying on the side streets, and only making right turns.
So, I drove to the Post Office, took some extra quarters to make copies there, and put the tax returns in the envelope with the Financial Aid application. I drove home without being caught and got the car back into the garage before Mom and Dad got home.
A few weeks later, I got up early on a Saturday and rode my bike to Jordan High to take the SSAT. I was happy with my score, and waited, and waited, and waited ….
About three months later, as I sat in first-period English class, the school principal got on the school-wide loudspeaker and announced that I was accepted into Deerfield and had received a scholarship through A Better Chance. That’s how I found out. But, Mom and Dad still did not know a thing.
At that time, perhaps even now, the children of Black folks who grew up in the segregated era, with fire and brimstone religious beliefs—we have an interesting social compact. Stay out of trouble, and there won’t be any trouble. And, I knew that if Mom or Dad ever had to come to my school, and especially leave their jobs—because I was in trouble, it was very bad news for me. They did not spare the rod. I was told that if I ever got caught for something and went to jail, don’t bother calling home.
My father worked in a foundry, shoveling sand and pouring molten metal. My mom was a preschool teacher. We lived check to check, and sometimes not even that, with Dad’s gambling luck. Every penny counted, and when they were called to come to Willowbrook Jr. High because of me, they arrived red hot and ready for a short conversation, a quick ride home, and an evening of discipline for their youngest son.
Mr. Freeman, our school principal, my counselor, Mrs. Brooks, and the Head Counselor, Mr. Smith (for extra muscle), greeted them and led them into the principal’s office. I later heard that Mom and Dad just asked to see me, so we could go home. But, they were told to wait. I was summoned from class that afternoon, and before I arrived, they were told that I was accepted into Deerfield. I got to the office just in time to hear them say I couldn’t go. It was too far. We didn’t have enough money. I needed winter clothes. We couldn’t afford the airfare. “He’s not ready,” my mom said.
They learned the scholarship covered all those things. But I’d never seen or visited Deerfield. Neither had they. (My late father, even after I’d graduated, never saw this place.)
Then, Mr. Freeman told them, “You’re not leaving this office until you give him permission to go.” It was another half hour or so before they relented and said I could go—with one condition: I had to do whatever it would take to make it work. No crying on the phone, no whining about the work or the weather, no coming home early. We had only enough for one plane ticket, and back then, phone calls cost too much. I could call home once a week, on Sunday night, only.
So, it began. I was afraid to leave home, but I knew I couldn’t stay. I was afraid that I’d never see my family—my mom, who’d been ill—again. She told me that if she died, I was to stay at Deerfield and finish school. She later told me that when we were at LAX airport, she saw my lips tremble. So she kissed me on the lips and nudged me toward the jetway. A layover and another flight later—about 12 hours—I landed at Hartford airport at night by myself.
I was waiting for my luggage and looking for anything familiar. I heard a voice, “Victor!” When I turned around, I saw a huge, bulking white man (Dan Burdick), and all I could think was, “How does this white guy know my name?” But I answered, “yeah!”, just glad that someone would help me. He introduced himself, and he drove me to campus.
For a City Boy, I’d never seen it so dark at night. Three years later, I sat where you all sit today. It was all worth it: the Deception, Tax Fraud, Kidnapping, (enduring my parents’) Criminal Threats, Bribery, Conspiracy, Forgery, and the Traffic Violations. What I had to do to be counted among you was all worth it.
You may not realize it yet, but if you have paid attention, Deerfield has prepared you for every obstacle, every success, every challenge, and ethical dilemma. If you need help with any of these, call upon me, your classmates, teachers, or any number of other Deerfield graduates. We are here for you.
Deerfield is not an easy place to be. It has its problems, just like any other institution. But, as you have learned, if you work hard, you will learn a lot—enough to sustain you for the rest of your lives. With you, I share what it’s like to be caught in the rhythm of the Deerfield Bubble. Where school, homework, studying, dinner relationships, and life on campus become so important that all outside forces start to dissolve.
That Deerfield effect is a necessary condition to survive campus life. It is intense, joyful, maddening, and rigorous in ways that can’t be described but only experienced. It is what all Deerfield students share.
You will, as I have found, see echoes of yourself and your experiences all over this campus and in the surrounding fields, valleys, mountains, rivers, and townships.
You will feel comfortable and a little uneasy as that apprehension about a class, an assignment, or a test, creeps into your psyche. At the same time, our minds are filled with successes, large and small, and the words of teachers and students will echo in your minds for years and years.
In your time here, you have been challenged and stretched to your limits, but you have survived and emerged stronger for the experience. In the words of Shakespeare, you can show your scars, recall your wounds, and recall with pride that you have survived and will be remembered amongst those who have come before you on this most difficult path, which leads to great rewards.
“We few, we happy few, we band of sisters and brothers.” You have shed blood and tears with those who have gone before you, and never shall a day go by when others do not wish that they could have been with you and the other Deerfield kids.
As I have said before, Deerfield is a special place. It does not follow you; it leads you. It takes you places where few can go. It resides in you and with you. It creates and manifests its own luck. No matter what happens, you are worthy.
Looking at each of you is a reminder of what Deerfield meant to me, of what Deerfield means now, and what Deerfield will become in the future—especially to those who need her most.
Hopefully, your time here has helped you to recognize each of your talents and gifts. Chief amongst those talents is leadership. Leadership to spread kind acts, good deeds, compassionate listening, and a fearless examination of your comfortable existence. This day is proof that you are ready to do so.
You have been here through incredible hardships but cherish this time. You will not get it back. We are proud of you and excited about your future. You are one of the very few. A happy few. You have made remarkable sacrifices, and it will be worth it. Thank you for allowing us to celebrate and experience this special time in your life. Congratulations, Class of 2022!
Welcome from President of the Board of Trustees
Mr. Brian Simmons P’12,’14
Hello, Deerfield!
I’m Brian Simmons, President of the Board of Trustees. It’s my honor to welcome you this morning as we celebrate the resilient and incomparable Class of 2022.
Commencement is the highlight of the Deerfield year—it’s our most cherished tradition. Seniors have imagined that walk down Albany Road since their first day on campus, there’s not another moment when our community comes together like this. Commencement celebrates the accomplishments of our graduating seniors. Still, just as important—it’s an affirmation of our values, our shared experiences, and all that connects us to Deerfield and to one another.
Commencement marks the culmination of your hard work and focus. It recognizes the many choices you have made and acknowledges the blood, sweat, and tears during your Deerfield journey—and that last part goes for seniors and your parents and families.
No one who walks across this stage and shakes the Head of School’s hand after receiving a diploma can say they did it all by themselves. So, take a moment—now and always—to thank your families, your teachers, your friends, all the people who helped you get here, and all the people you leaned on when you needed advice. You wouldn’t be here today without them. How about a round of applause for everyone who helped make your Deerfield dreams come true!
Every senior class is special—and this year’s class in a unique way. You see, members of this class are the last remaining students to have been at Deerfield before Covid. That’s hard to believe—but it’s true, and your role over the past year as we emerged from pandemic limitations and restrictions has been essential in restoring many of the defining elements that make Deerfield Deerfield—and I don’t just mean senior pranks.
The example you have set and the leadership you have provided enable younger classes to perpetuate the values, culture, and traditions we all hold so dear. Thank you, seniors!
Covid taught us many important lessons. We learned that things we took for granted were more valuable than we had ever imagined; we learned how to overcome unprecedented challenges, but really what we learned was how much we could accomplish if we worked together.
Today, you graduate from Deerfield as proud members of a community that came together to ensure a challenge like covid would not define us. We charted our own course—in a way that felt right to us, we worked as a team to exceed everyone’s expectations—and we stood our ground on important issues. All of that is pretty good advice for life, by the way.
A few weeks ago, at a dinner here on campus, I quoted Winston Churchill—and I thought about doing that again this morning, but I concluded Churchill was too serious, and while I got away with it once, I had doubts about a favorable reception from this audience, so I won’t try Churchill.
Instead, I’m going to quote the auspicious speaker from New York University’s graduation ceremony last weekend—someone who never went to college, a creative genius who also reshaped the commercial side of a major industry. Someone with focus, determination, grit, solid insights drawn from life experiences—and also a small Deerfield connection—you can google it later: Taylor Swift.
Taylor said, “Growing up is about catch and release—knowing what things to keep and what things to release. Decide what is yours to hold and let the rest go. The good things in life are lighter anyway, so there’s more room for them. You get to pick what your life has time and room for. Be discerning.”
That’s a great way to go forward—particularly the encouragement to be discerning. If you take away anything from my brief remarks this morning, then remember that life tests all of us—
keep your wits about you, be discerning, and you will be fine.
Commencement marks an ending, but it also signals a beginning. In about 90 minutes, you seniors will become members of the greatest alumni community anywhere. You’ll find that the friendships you have forged here will follow you for a lifetime, and the wisdom you have gained at Deerfield will serve you well. Trust the instincts you have polished in this valley, and your Deerfield days will become a yardstick to measure the important experiences in your life. I hope you find many that measure up.
As alumni, we hope you will return often. You will always have a place here, and you’ll be welcomed back with open arms. Nothing defines Deerfield more than its alumni and their love for this place.
Later this morning, you are going to hear from an outstanding alum, our Commencement speaker, Judge Victor Wright. Victor has been my fellow trustee and friend for a decade. No one embodies Deerfield’s values more than Victor. On important, challenging topics, Victor has always been a thoughtful voice, with respect for everyone and wisdom to make sound decisions. Victor is absolutely worthy of his Deerfield Heritage. Dr. Austin will have more to say about Judge Wright—he has an incredible life story, and I encourage you to listen carefully.
I’ve had the privilege of addressing the last four graduating classes at Commencement–although I did have to record one year’s message on an iPad from an upstairs bedroom in my home—I think there are still some tech people here at Deerfield who can’t quite believe I figured out how to do that!
My term as president and trustee ends in just a few weeks. Next year will be an important milestone for the Academy with the appointment of the first woman to serve as President of the Board: Leila Govi. It’s about time, right? She’s outstanding—and a much better speaker than I am.
Like all of you, I’ve been thinking about my time here. Each of us has our own Deerfield. Students graduate, new faculty join the community, trustees come and go, and sometimes we beat Choate … sometimes not so much. But the things that truly define a Deerfield Experience never change, that’s the magic of Deerfield—the things that really matter flow through this place just like the river, ensuring that each generation of students gains the confidence and character to guide you when you are uncertain and support you when you are challenged.
I’m often asked what it’s like to be part of the Deerfield community. It didn’t take me long to figure out that a detailed answer was not what anyone wanted to hear.
So, I answer succinctly in a way that sums up my Deerfield Experience—and I hope yours, too. When you are asked about Deerfield, I hope you answer with pride and say: “I met so many amazing people. I learned so much. I had so much fun.”
Congratulations, 2022
Welcome and Remarks from Head of School
Dr. John P.N. Austin
Good morning, Deerfield.
I am honored and delighted to welcome our families, faculty, students, friends, and the Board of Trustees to Deerfield’s two hundred and twenty-third Commencement, and I extend a warm Deerfield welcome to those who are joining us via live stream.
I also want to recognize Victor Wright, today’s Commencement speaker. I’ll say more about Victor shortly, but for now, Victor, thank you for being with us: it’s wonderful to have you—and your family—back on campus.
As I read the program today, I noticed a printing error. I hate to call it out, but we have mistakenly omitted a member of the Class of 2022.
At our recent spring Trustee meeting, we awarded a diploma to our outgoing President Brian Simmons for his dedicated service to the Academy. Brian Simmons has been a standout for Deerfield through his years of dedication, generosity, and love of this school. Margarita Curtis and I both benefited from his brilliant leadership, as has the Board of Trustees. We owe him a deep debt of gratitude.
Could I ask the Class of 2022 to rise and welcome their new classmate and fellow graduate?
Deerfield turned 225 years old this year, and continuity of leadership has long been a defining strength of this Board. It is my great pleasure to report that Brian will be succeeded as President by Leila Govi, Class of 1993. Leila was among the first women to graduate from Deerfield, and she will be the first woman to lead the Academy’s Board of Trustees. Leila couldn’t be here this morning, but please join me in recognizing her service and this seminal moment for the Academy.
And now … I have the great honor to welcome and congratulate the great Class of 2022!
Seniors: What an extraordinary journey this has been for you—and for all of us. The history of this moment is just now beginning to be written, and time, undoubtedly, will bring clarity and perspective. But of one thing I am absolutely certain: you have met the challenges, disruptions, and uncertainty of this moment of worldwide crisis with grace, with care for classmates and community, and with steady leadership—supported by the love of your families, by the unmatched dedication of this teacher and staff, and in the spirit of Deerfield’s highest values and aspirations.
Last year at this time, I spoke about the extraordinary work our staff did in reinventing our campus and its operations: a single room for every student, new dorms, a dining pavilion, and an outdoor rink. Deerfield’s version of the Marshall Plan. This year our task was different. It was not, as your president, Hugo, said to me early in the year, the challenge of creating new spaces or buildings. Instead, Hugo said, our challenge was renewing a culture of proximity, connection, community, and friendship. Institutions—even those seeming as strong and venerable as Deerfield – can falter in moments of disruption. They are fragile, and what took decades to build can easily fracture and break. And it’s always the human dimension of institutions that are most vulnerable in times of stress.
As we worked to rebuild our communal culture this year, you, the Class of 2022, were, as Ms. Creagh likes to say, a vital “through line.” And as Brian pointed out, you bridged our pre-Covid Deerfield world—which you experienced as ninth graders—with this, your senior year. You extended yourselves. Connected. And created, ensuring that the experience of Deerfield and the shared traditions that define us would survive and flourish.
A few nights ago, I listened in awe as Yurok, Emily and Gale finished their senior recital with Bach’s “Air from Suite in D.” Many of you were there, and you know how good they are. Listening and watching, I found myself feeling much as I do whenever I see you and your classmates play, compete, and perform: pride, amazement, humility. In the Wachsman auditorium on that late spring evening, in a space packed with many of you, fellow seniors, friends, family members, and teachers, in the hush of the final notes, it felt almost miraculous and restorative to be in the presence of such artistry and beauty.
So many similar moments of collective accomplishment come to mind this year; the magic we have witnessed on the stage in dance and theater; the communities of learning you build in your classes through conversation and discussion; the networks of support, care, and kindness you create in your dorms; the way you have steadied us, revived our sense of community and imbued the everyday with joy; the decisive — and unprecedented—the success of the athletic performances we have seen this year—and this spring. Throughout and across the school, you have stood together, shoulder to shoulder, sometimes in triumph, at others in defeat, but always with an abiding and steadfast belief in one another.
All of these moments—and I am sure many more come to mind—are acts of collective accomplishment, and they are all the more precious because they are done together and generously shared. When Mr. Bergeron stood up at the end of the performance the other night, addressing the packed Wachsman, he noted how fortunate we are to live in a community with such talented artists. But he also pointed out how deeply fortunate we are to live in a community where, on one of the busiest days of the year, where every minute seems crucial and urgent, you took a full hour and a half of your time to show up and offer your peers the gift of your attention, support, and love. And, of course, your presence elevated the moment and helped create the magic of that performance.
In her book, A Paradise Built in Hell: The Extraordinary Communities that Arise in Disaster, the essayist and author Rebecca Solnit writes: “the prevalent human nature in disaster is resilient, resourceful, generous, empathetic and brave.” Not everyone looking out at today’s landscape will agree, given the strife and conflict that we experience and the pandemic has engendered. Nonetheless, I think Solnit has it right. Empathy, generosity, resourcefulness, grace in the face of challenge.
Watching you rise to the challenge of this year brought this home in a new way. The lesson is this:
Nothing of meaning or lasting significance is accomplished alone, and no joy is complete unless it is shared.
You know this better than most, and I hope you will take that knowledge beyond Deerfield and share it generously with the communities you will soon join.
The presence of your families—and all that they have done to bring you to this moment—here today is a testament to this truth. So too is the story of the Academy, built and rebuilt, created and recreated, over time, by previous generations of faculty, students, and Trustees–ever-evolving and at the same time always true to its founding commitments to learning, inquiry, excellence, and inclusion. We stand with those earlier generations; your success is also theirs.
Across the school, you have made one another better, helping each other reach for that best self, leaving your friends in the younger grades a legacy.
We are proud of you. We are grateful for the contributions you have made to Deerfield and this community. We are excited for your next academic adventure. And we are delighted and thankful that your journeys included Deerfield. You will always be a part of the Deerfield story. We could not be more proud of you. Congratulations and Godspeed.
Remarks from Cam Howe ’22
I love everything about performing: the spotlight, the stage, the applause. But, more importantly for my six-year-old self, I loved the attention. The reward for my minute of stardom: a beautiful bouquet. Everyone deserved flowers, especially little Cam, lingering onstage as all the other toddlers fled.
But those flowers couldn’t last forever, and they wouldn’t survive a move to another state … so at age 12, I emptied my vase for a while.
When I arrived here before eighth grade, all I knew was that Deerfield was yet another boarding school for the Howe family to invade. At first, my family of six squeezed into the Mods–so much so that my oldest sister slept in the closet. The Howes were tense for quite some time, but every faculty family still welcomed us to the Deerfield family. Either we hid our discomfort really well or maybe everyone was just really desperate for four new babysitters.
After two years, my new home also became my new school. In the fall of 2018, I started the journey of building my new bouquet.
I immediately knew I was not in my element—I was lying on a bare mattress, in complete darkness, with total strangers. Ms. Pitt enthusiastically said goodnight, but not a single other word was spoken in my cabin. Some loved jumping right into the Camp Becket get-to-know-each other activities, but I was not one of them.
As I listened to the chatter on the green machine on the way home from Becket, it sounded like everyone already knew themselves: what they were good at, what groups they’d be a part of, and who they would be friends with. Meanwhile, I was sitting next to my only friend at the time (my twin sister). It seemed like everyone came prepared, showing off bouquets full of flowers, while mine had wilted away years ago.
Desperate to find a way to define myself, I started jumping into anything and everything. But every time I felt I had found some hope, a flower to add to my bare bouquet, it just seemed to shrivel up in front of me.
In my first two years, I was a three-sport athlete, which felt right at the moment, my dad being the athletic director and my twin being somewhat (jokingly) athletic, I guess. But Kelly went on to be a tri-varsity captain, while I gave up field hockey and water polo because I have zero competitive drive.
I aspired to be the people that were bonding in the dorms or hanging out in big groups in the Crow, but I shied away from groups. I wished to be the talkative person sitting to my left and right in my voice and vision class. Sophomore year in student council, I was astonished by the eloquence and confidence of Elena and Jean. For me, it just wasn’t clicking.
One flower slowly started to bloom in my bouquet. A shining white daisy, the hope that has remained since my first ever stage debut. Freshman year, when I walked into Dance 3, Ms. Whitcomb was already praising us before she even knew if we had any real talent. Just yesterday, I was squeezing the hands of friends in one last energy circle before our final show.
Halfway through sophomore year, my bouquet finally started growing. My beautiful yellow Daffodils, representing new beginnings and friendship, were the perfect addition. Lourdes and I made the brilliant decision to join varsity swim. No, I’m not contradicting my statement about not being athletic–during three years, I never scored a single point for the team. Coach Washburn, Coach Bachelor, and the powerful women of DAGVSD, thank you for bringing the first brightness to my bouquet.
But just when the Class of 2022 and I finally felt less new at Deerfield, everything came to a halt.
Spring 2020. A long term of staying home: pass/fail classes, which was especially tragic for my now permanently low chemistry grade. We were confined to zoom, but seeing how difficult the isolation was, teachers continued to be as supportive as always. Maddy Zavalick and I willingly went to hours of chemistry extra help zoom sessions, which was way more just to talk with Ms. Fidanza about life than to somehow try to comprehend yet another impossible chem concept.
And that’s when the powerful orange marigolds joined my bouquet for every faculty and staff member here, each with a special place in my heart, especially as I’ve known them since the kickstart of my babysitting career. There have been so many reasons to appreciate you all; so many stories of your care.
In sophomore year, when I returned home after two hours of chem extra help, I realized that the book I needed in order to start an essay due the next day was in the common room of JL. When I ran back up to campus in the rain at 11 pm, Ms. Fidanza was already waiting by the door, an arm extended with my book. Once I started walking home, James saw me in the rain and immediately offered me a ride in the security vehicle.
The messages that I know many of us received on our birthday or holidays from the beloved Mr. Marge are always decorated with the perfect emojis.
The applause and cheers made each history class of the fall and winter term feel like a red carpet entrance. Really, it was just the daily greeting for each student, led by the unfailingly enthusiastic Mr. Leister.
After two months spent on a screen, we returned to a very different Deerfield and adjusted to boxed pavilion meals, rock/river/valley class groups, and dorm squads. In such a time of isolation, we all needed to find ways to add to our bouquets.
I added soft but eye-catching, vibrant purple orchids, signs of admiration and respect. Aurelia, Maria, Sophia, Max, Wyatt, Nyle, Tony, and I stepped into the health center classroom junior year and were transformed through Peer Counseling. It gave us a family of the most supportive people, with Dr. Brown at the front of it all. Just a couple of months ago, we stood backstage at a school meeting, sending a selfie to Dr. Brown, reassuring her that we would offer a touching announcement in her absence.
Junior spring came around, and I had given up on my water polo hopes and dreams (sorry, Mr. Scandling). I returned to the stage, thanks to the encouragement of Ally Atwell. The luxurious, elegant pink tulips now shine in my bouquet, the care and confidence that people in theater brought me. I loved sitting in the dressing room with Ally, Jennie, and Daphne before Rumors, cackling at our transformed appearances, the “naughty characters” that Mrs. and Mr. Hynds helped us create. There was nothing better than amping myself up with Reed and Isabella before dramatically taking to the Twelfth Night stage this past week.
Bright sunflowers are added to my bouquet every day for friendship. Parents and guardians, I’m sure you’ve all told your kids to surround themselves with people that make them better. It was never hard to find people here with brighter bouquets than my own, so I took advantage of it. We pick the flowers that add beauty to our bouquets, and we care for them, hoping that everyone else does the same with their own bouquets. My weekly dinners with Alice Zhang, Lauren Smith, Austen Thomas, and Natalie Zneimer gave me that genuine care of friendship.
The pink roses go to my family—my appreciation and admiration for you all. Thank you, Mom and Dad, for having us move here six years ago because, in all seriousness, this place changed my life. Kelly, my bouquet is about to look a lot less vibrant for a while, not being with you every day. To all the families out there, thank you for the unwavering support and trust in the place that has shaped us all into mature and passionate people who are beyond excited about what we can accomplish.
My last flower, a carnation, is a symbol of the pride and the love that I feel for the class of 2022. We redefined and taught others what was important here when no one else could remember. We knew when to offer support and how to ask for help at a time when giving and receiving love was all we could do.
As I walked up to campus this past Wednesday, I glanced to my left at the yellow school bus picking up faculty kids. I was greeted with excited waves through the windows and echoes of “Hi, Cam!” How lucky are they to just be beginning to choose their own flowers. Soon enough, they’ll be doing what we are doing today – assembling and savoring this marvelous bouquet. Like I said, everyone deserves flowers. We must never cease adding to the beauty of everyone’s bouquets.