Speeches & Awards

I assume so based on what many of you wrote in your graduation speeches. You see, parents and friends, we have a custom at Sturgis that every senior writes a graduation speech, and a committee of faculty chooses the two speeches that are most evocative of our Sturgis beliefs and values to be given at graduation; you will hear from Issy Pawley and Siobhan Mahoney, shortly. I have had the pleasure of reading all the speeches, and I would like to continue our custom of sharing select passages from these speeches with you today.

When I call your name, please stand while I read your words aloud:

From Mia Duncan: Good morning everyone, it’s wonderful to see you all here today. Standing here in a cap and gown is confirming my worst fear, becoming an adult.

From Emeline Porter: Thank you, Mom and Dad, for forcing me to go to Sturgis.

From Jonathan Rodman: Hey guys it's me. The guy who looks like the Weeknd and Trevor Noah. If someone is reading this it means I actually felt like putting in enough energy to write something. If I am currently speaking this it means that someone made a huuuuuuuuge mistake and will probably regret it.

From Athena Spyrou: Alright, to what extent is the start of the first world war similar to - oh wait - sorry that's my EE [starts flipping through papers] wrong paper. Ah here it is. Actually before I start, I want to ask: is it too late to add this to my CAS portfolio? Probably, right? Dang. Also sorry if this sounds a little like an IA, I haven’t shaken the IB mode yet. Anyway, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Sturgis East graduation of 2025. We are here at Aselton Park (bet you didn’t think Sturgis could possibly take over another part of Hyannis) to commemorate the hard work of our 94 seniors. We have been awaiting this moment since Mr. Wojtowicz started our countdown on the first day of junior year in English class. Over 600 days have passed since we got our first taste of the IB and I must say, it feels like it's been that long.

From: Anna Creedon: Coming to Sturgis was probably the best decision I’ve ever made. Many of you might not believe those words would ever come out of my mouth. But I’ve realized that good decisions aren’t about whether you succeed or fail, they’re about whether you learn. And I’ve learned so much here, not just academically, but morally. Although I haven’t fully discovered who I am yet, I know I’m getting closer. Sturgis allows students to be themselves. It gives us the space to explore, to ask questions, to grow. If I had stayed at my old school, I don’t believe I would have had that opportunity. While I can’t prove it, I feel it – this place has helped me learn that it’s okay to be different. In fact, it's essential to be different. When everyone is the same, life becomes boring and repetitive. It’s our individuality that makes things meaningful.

From Sophie Machnik: I have impatiently anticipated the day of my graduation for as long as I can remember, but as I stand here today, surrounded by my inspiring peers and the supportive faculty who have given the past four years their true meaning, I realize that this is not a moment that I want to rush past.

From: Molly Reino: That's what Sturgis does, that's what Sturgis is. It's a place for patience, wonder, love, and most of all growth. The faculty this school provides you with is like no other. They don’t judge you for your flaws, but rather help show the true person within. They don’t judge you for your weirdness but rather embrace theirs as well

Sturgis changed my perspective on life. Not the school itself, but the people. After all it is the people who made the place, and these people I will cherish forever. I hope every parent is proud of the decision they made to send their child to one of the best educations they will receive, and with people who welcomed every flaw. I aspire to become a better person each and every day because of the people they are, and if nobody has said it yet I am beyond proud of the people you have all become. Goodluck in the next chapter of our lives, we still have so much story left to write, but I know now that this will forever be one of my favorites.

From Cody Conrad: This would not have been possible without the trusting, safe, and open-minded community we built; many of us would not have spoken our truths – in English, in history, or anywhere else.  

This is the heart of Sturgis. The people here are among the best strengths that Sturgis offers. It’s the people who were picked through a lottery, by chance, who are some of the most authentic, beautiful, intelligent, and passionate people I have ever known. I don’t think many people could have gotten through high school without the compassion from others; I know I couldn’t have. 

From Wascar Jiminian Perez: Over the past four years, we have grown taller and stronger together. Perhaps more importantly, we have also grown in our abilities to communicate, to help each other as peers, to learn, to fight for what we believe in, and to develop meaningful friendships.

I know now that people can grow in meaningful and significant ways while having fun at the same time with great and supportive people. Sturgis showed us that. Now we can see that we can grow and have fun at the same time, and we can seek those places out as we move into the next chapter of our lives. Thank you to Sturgis, to my teachers, and to the class of 2025.

From Boden Corona: Sturgis has been so much more than just school. It has been our everyday. We’ve learned or have begun to learn how to lead, interact with others, respect different opinions, develop our values, and create change within our community. Some of this needs work, but that’s okay too! While we were shaking the cage this year and chomping at the bit these last few months, now there is a calm. Main Street isn’t so big at all anymore. We don’t have to make the trek to Hyannis every morning. Suddenly adulthood is knocking. Now what? We can reflect and look forward. Reflect that because of Sturgis, the “weird,” the “strange,” or “abnormal” are not so scary anymore because they often are just room for personal growth and acceptance. Reflect on how one individual can make such a huge difference by just showing that they care and giving you a chance. Reflect on how rewarding trust can be when it is earned and fostered.

And, finally, from Brooke Salamone: “I don’t want to go. Sturgis just isn’t the place for me.” I stubbornly said to my mom after she had sprung up from her seat in the middle of the restaurant that we were enjoying lunch at to excitedly announce that I had gotten in through the lottery. She had the biggest smile on her face, meanwhile across the table I sighed, groaned and took a bite of my sandwich. The last thing I wanted to do was go to Sturgis. The thought of leaving everything and everyone I knew behind to start all over again for highschool was incomprehensible to me; I just couldn’t do it. I had never been someone who ever really ventured out of their comfort zone and I had no plans on starting anytime soon. I didn’t want such a big change, it was scary. So from that moment on and for the rest of the summer, I simply just tried to forget about the whole “Sturgis” thing that I would have to deal with in the fall…..

Undoubtedly, over the past four years, we have all grown in our own ways. We have grown, and with that growth comes change. As I mentioned before, little freshman me was never someone to take that step out of her comfort zone. Now, four years later, I can’t even begin to say that about myself as I no longer have those lines keeping me inside… I’ve ventured completely out of my box. I’ve realized that Sturgis encouraged me to meet new people, learn about the world around me, make connections, and use my voice. I wish I could go back and tell little me that going to Sturgis was going to be one of the best decisions she could have made (and that maybe her mom was right all along, though she would never admit that). Though at first change is scary and daunting, change is also necessary. Change drives progress. Change is growth. Sturgis taught me that change is good. 

All this to say, “I’m glad I went.” Turns out, “Sturgis was just the place for me”.

----

To my initial claim: today is a momentous day, I now add the rationale: because today is a culmination of the past four years where we have all chosen to live, think, and gather with great intentionality, care, and reflection. Students, faculty and family have made our collective Sturgis experience momentous, and today is a day to celebrate that accomplishment.

Just as all our seniors are graduating, so, too, are some of our faculty about to embrace their own new opportunities. I would like to take a moment to acknowledge the following people for their commitment to our mission and our students:

Chelsea Emerson, Ivan Frantz, Kim Guodace, Margo McIntyre, and Diana Young, please stand.

Sturgis East class of 2025, congratulations, and thank you for choosing to see the best in each other and for making the most of yourselves. I hope that you always carry Sturgis in your hearts.

I have worked with so many of you since I started at Sturgis four years ago, serving in your classes as an inclusion specialist (or, as some of you remember it, wearing a little gray beanie in the back of your class), coaching some of you, having had the privilege of being an English teacher to some and having guided many more through the CAS portion of your IB diploma. What a ride. In these four years and many roles, I have gotten to know this class of students in many different capacities. Without hesitation, I can say this group of high school students has changed my outlook on the world and restored my faith in the youth of our time. Without reservation, I can say this world needs you all in it.

On this momentous occasion, I imagine you are sitting here with excitement, dread, or something in between at the thought of writing your next chapter. For better or worse, you must be reminded that the pen is in your hand…perhaps more now than ever before. For some of you it’s a gliding ink pen; some, a hot pink highlighter. Others, a feathered quill. And I bet a few of you are staring at this proverbial pen wishing it would just turn into a calculator or even a hammer. Sadly, there is no formula nor script generator for your life. Though a hammer..well that one might come in handy. 

So now, I guess I’m tasked with giving you some wisdom, or at least some instructions, as you begin to pen the next part of your own story.

In doing so, I’m tempted to remind you of the specifics: not to use AI, for example, for it is the tool of the oppressor to be encouraged not to think for oneself. But most of you have read George Orwell. So maybe I should remind you more generally to drink water and that hydration is not immediate, though your generation is so faithful to their Stanley’s and Owalas, I guess we don’t have to worry too much there. Or maybe I should get serious and advise you to be absolutely certain that you set goals, measure your progress towards them, and take every failure as feedback so that you can return to the drawing board with a competitive edge on your former self and a reason to celebrate every inch of progress you did make. Because it doesn’t get better–you do. And acknowledging that your circumstances didn’t just change with the snap of your fingers, rather, that you adapted and grew as a result of them is to celebrate one’s neuroplasticity…but that quote is in the back of your yearbooks, so we can leave it there.

So, what could I possibly tell you that you don’t already know? More specifically: what do I know just a little more about than you do? Well that, my friends, is that life is a competition and if you’re not first, your last. Still kidding. It’s about not growing up.

Instead of just bestowing some wisdom upon you, I’d like to engage you in a thought exercise, for despite my propensity for “yapping” (as the kids call it)...the brainstorm for your story must be all your own. Ready?

Picture yourself as a kid. Somewhere between 5 and 10, perhaps. Maybe you’re running around a baseball diamond, doing cartwheels in a soccer field, buried in a book, crafting with friends. Maybe you’re tightening that velcro on your shoes before you commit to a foot race or catching fireflies out in the yard. What were your priorities? Your hopes? Your values? What did you like or love? Love love?

Now picture that little kid right here with you today, gazing at you wide-eyed in your chair. Do you think they are proud of your accomplishment of making it to your high school graduation? Are they surprised at who you brought with you? Who you didn’t? Can they even comprehend who you are now?

And what if I told you that the kid you were is perpetually with you? That our childhood selves are actually these little bright lights that burn from within us? 

Bear with me here.

Children experience unbridled joy, but as we go through life, that joy becomes shrouded with realities, sometimes far beyond our control. I have seen you all undertake the stressors of young adulthood already: peer pressure, the IB, nutrition, IB exams, academic successes and failures, IB exams, familial and friendship strains, applying for colleges, IB exams…this isn’t simple stuff. And maybe for a few of you, you have made it out silly, jovial, perpetually optimistic. That is, that little light in you continues to burn brightly. But for many, in both the class of 2025 and the audience here today, that light has inevitably dimmed. It’s pretty hard to see. I am imploring you to consistently rediscover a version of yourself you are maybe convinced no longer exists or no longer serves you. But I know it does.

The thing about kids is: we sometimes believe them, but we always believe in them. You must believe in yourself as you write your story. I do. This will get you closer to your dreams than you ever thought possible.

There is faith in kids’ eyes, love in their touch, and kindness in their gestures. You have to have to trust that you innately possess these qualities along the way. To protect your heart and the hearts you encounter on your journey.

We thrill with kids at life’s big and small moments, and we hold them close. You must embrace both the exciting and the mundane; treat a Tuesday in March like it’s your personal Super Bowl.

Children’s moral compasses are also quite simple. So, in your future conflicts with a friend or family member, can you return to the golden rule? Can you take some space and then readily apologize to those whom you may have wronged?

I offer this last thought exercise to you as you stand on the precipice your next chapter because it is my hope that you will do things for the child in you. But also because, quite honestly, life can be really difficult. So change, adapt, make both necessary concessions and bold choices to stand your ground. But I hope you will take the time to experience the revolutionary act of joy in light of life’s stressors. Have the audacity to dream. Walk, crawl, or trudge on with your head held high knowing that you have made the child in you proud. During your most celebratory and trying times alike, give the kid in you the chance to write a few pages. Remember the light within you–the light burning as bright as a fire–and you will find pride, peace, clarity, and hopefully, happiness. In the words of Cormac McCarthy: You have to “carry the fire.” It is real. It’s inside of you. It was always there. I can see it. Congratulations, Class of 2025. Make every version of yourselves proud.

So, Graduates, I hope you take this speech for what it is because, truthfully, the best advice I can probably give came from the back of a t-shirt I own which reads: “you can’t buy happiness, but you can buy a surfboard”

Now, I’m certainly not promoting frivolous consumption as the means to happiness; nor am I some sort of spartanist ascetic telling you to reject consumerism outright.

However, what I can tell you after my many years on this planet is that when I come home salty and wet after a day in the ocean, generally-speaking, I am a happier person.

As such, it is in that vein, I’d like to share a parable. It is written by Anthony de Mello, a Jesuit missionary and spiritual writer.

This parable is about a Little Fish.

One day, a Little Fish was swimming about, anxiously searching for this wonderful thing he had heard so much about called “The Ocean”. He had heard that this Ocean was vast, beautiful and full of wonderful sights to behold. Year after year, the Little Fish kept searching and searching but all to no avail. As time passed, he became increasingly frustrated because he couldn’t find The Ocean anywhere he looked.

One day, he came across a very old, much bigger fish, swimming along slowly. The Little Fish mustered up his courage and swam over to speak to him

“Excuse me, sir” said the Little Fish “you are much older than I, so I am wondering, can you tell me where I might find this thing called “The Ocean?”

“Why, Little Fish” said the older fish gently “The Ocean is where you and I are....it is what we are swimming in right now”

“Oh no” said the Little Fish “This is just some water and there’s nothing special about it at all. What I am looking for is The Ocean”

And with that, the Little Fish swam away to look elsewhere.

Now, I’m sure there are lots of interpretations for this parable and I encourage all of you to consider what it might mean, specifically, to you

However, I personally think the point is that sometimes the most important essentials in life are often the ones we fail to see despite their being conspicuously obvious. In our haste to find something we feel is so critical, so necessary, so urgent we often overlook genuine priorities floating unassumingly all around us.

The other reason I chose this tale is because, as I am sure many of you Cape Cod beach-kids can attest, the ocean is a pretty cool place.

It is a place of beauty, of translucence; a place filled with wonder and fascination, wrapped in a furious yet calm presence. It is a place where we can go to leave all the troubles of life on shore behind - all the walls, the barricades, the shackles that bind us to time and circumstance; a place where we can reunite with our origins and be as wild and free as the ocean itself.

But, with that in mind, what I want you to think about today is this: despite its omnipresence in our lives here on Cape Cod, how many of us actually take the time to contemplate the living, breathing organism that is The Ocean? To stop and think of the myriad of adventures occurring just below its surface? To revere its pulsing energy or to bask in the kaleidescope of color refelecting off its surface at dawn?

In short, how many of us don’t really take the time to look deeply, to listen, to sincerely absorb and appreciate the moment with all of our senses?

Unfortunately I too am often guilty of this failure. We are products of our species and we are products of our era; we bustle along like wildfire, perhaps staring at the phone in our hand, often finding ourselves caught somewhere between a longing for the future and weariness of the present.

In this regard, I say to the graduates sitting here today, if you’re anything like I once was at your age, many of you have probably spent much of your youth yearning for, and racing to become, “grown up”.

Well, now you are. That future you hurtled yourself towards for the past 18 years is now here.

Congratulations.

However, now that it has arrived, I implore you: Slow down. Take the time to do something you love. Go to the ocean, play in the waves, engage in pointlessly beautiful activities that bring you joy, that put you in touch with the moment and that mold your existence to your own passions and dreams.

Because, if you don’t, it won’t be long before someone else shapes your life for you. Thus is the great predicament of being “grown up” As the Roman Stateman Seneca once stated: “It is not that life is short. Rather, what is often short is the portion of it we choose to make our own.”

This sentiment was echoed by the folk singer Cat Stevens who once sung “take your time, think a lot...for you will still be here tomorrow, but your dreams may not”

Now, I’m not recommending you live a completely care-free existence with no regard for the future. Not at all. Planning and preparation are both important activities. But, what I am asking you to remember from time-to-time is that the future itself isn’t actually real.

If you think about it, the future is made up of nothing more than abstract elements - projections, predictions, best guesses, & deductions. The future cannot be felt, touched, seen, heard or otherwise enjoyed in any visceral way.

As such, to spend your energies perpetually immersed in thinking about what is to come is to chase a constantly retreating shadow. And thus you risk becoming the traveller that is so absorbed with the destination that they miss the journey...often only recognizing what they have overlooked when the voyage is nearly over.

So, slow down. Live in the moment. Behold all that surrounds you. For, when you decelerate and observe long enough, you will feel the presence of the past, understand the ambiguity of the future and thus enter the rhythmic dance of the present contained in all things seen and unseen.

And, if you are truly lucky, the world will humbly open itself to you and present the marvels that lie hidden beneath the surface.

And in that moment, perhaps it will be you who has changed.

So, the next time you go to the beach, which I hope is often....as you gaze out upon the millions of waves that pass through every day, stop and take the time to engage in the transient presence of a single one of them.

Think about how that wave was born far out to sea and, over time, how it was shaped and groomed by the wind, eventually evolving into a form as unique and individual as yourself.

And when that wave crashes on the shore, pay homage to the fact that you are lucky enough to bear witness to a life and a moment that will never be seen again.

With that, in closing, Class of 2025, I cannot say what your sojourn on this planet may hold for you. But, I do know that if you manage to slow down and be present in the moment, you’ll likely realize that things are never just what they appear to be - not the people, places, or creatures most familiar to us. Certainly not the ocean.

So, when you feel yourself frantically searching for something greater, some meaning, some purpose, some unspecified objective...pause....and try to remember that such seeking may be what holds you back from truly living.

In other words, stop. Look around. Breathe and take in the moment. And remember the parable of the Little Fish.

Because this is The Ocean. Your Ocean. It is what we are swimming in right now.

I hope you enjoy it.

On the first day of freshman year, excitement roared throughout my body as I stepped through the doors of Sturgis into the small, teen filled hallways. Coming from a small middle school that made its home in the building of an old movie theater, I was used to being in a compact space for learning, but nothing could have prepared me for the crowds of tall, much older students. The ceilings were at abnormally different heights in every room, and as I looked up I saw tiles with paintings of Troye Sivan and designs across the ceiling. The tiny classrooms, some with little to no windows felt daunting, and the annex across the street had an almost unsettling vibe to it. The singular staircase was congested with students, and my history classroom was dark from the lack of sunlight entering the almost closet-like space. 

As I’m sure many of my fellow classmates could agree, I was absolutely petrified. 14 year old, 5 '1 me was now surrounded by 18 year olds that towered over me. In the media, high school is often portrayed as some of the most important years of your life. It is the place where we see ourselves grow from young teenagers to young adults, and it is also the place where we see ourselves change the most. It is assumed that many of your firsts will occur in high school. First job, first college acceptance, first relationship. Now that I was officially a “high schooler”, fear coursed through my veins as I was trying to figure out who I was and what I wanted high school to be. Particularly, I was trying to figure out the unfamiliar faces around me and how they were going to fit into my already chaotic life. 

New faces were coming from every corner in the confined hallways. However, the only features I could see on these new faces were the eyes of the individual. Masks that we had to wear due to the Covid-19 pandemic covered the mixed emotions that all of us were feeling, but through it all we were able to see around 100 pairs of eyes, all expressing our internal feelings of being at a brand new school. Some eyes displayed excitement and joy, while others radiated feelings of nerves and uncertainty. 

On the surface, I saw blue, brown, hazel, and green eyes. Some with eyelashes that touched the stars and some with eyebags as dark as the night. Some with fogged up glasses from the tight masks that laid upon our faces and some with contact lenses carefully placed on our pupils. Some eyes displayed kindness while others may have not, but regardless, all of our eyes were ready to take on whatever task that Sturgis was going to throw at us. 

As our time at Sturgis progressed, the simple colored eyes that were once unknown to me rapidly turned into a comfort. Instead of seeing only the eyes of random strangers, I was seeing the eyes of 95 open-minded, courageous, and enthusiastic individuals. Through history class discussions, TOK escape rooms, Spanish blookets, and theatre performances, I began to feel care and compassion for my peers, and with that bonds that I will remember for the rest of my life were formed. 

In my sophomore year Algebra II class, the kind eyes of the tall, wavy-haired brunette girl became the eyes of one of my best friends. The eyes of the funny, strong-minded girl who would sit in the hallway in front of the elevators every day turned into the eyes of my favorite person to be around. The eyes of my junior and senior year history teacher formed into the eyes of someone whose positivity and care for his students left an indelible mark on his students. Every single set of eyes has become a staple in not only my life, but everyone’s around me. 

Even though our face masks came off halfway through our freshman year and with it our smiles and frowns were revealed, our eyes served as our sole guide in reaching our goals. With them, we read dozens of books in English class, viewed pages upon pages of research for each of our IA’s, and saw many of our friends fall during dizzy bats at field day. We read the menus at Palio’s Pizzeria and Chez Antoine when deciding what we wanted for lunch, and we even saw a classmate give one of our math teachers a haircut in the back of class. Through it all, our eyes witnessed four years of laughter, joy, stress, and overall, achievement. 

Although my high school experience was filled with challenges and struggles, I always tried to see the light at the end of the tunnel, and I am happy to say that we all reached the end. We survived the excruciating EE, TOK essay, endless IA’s, and lastly, countless IB exams. Despite the fact that many of these accomplishments resulted in stress, panic, and some tears, they contributed to some of the proudest work I have produced, and I am sure many of my classmates can say the same. 

Now, standing in front of the class of 2025, I see 95 friends that I have made, and within that I see 95 people who are ready to take on this next chapter of our lives. I see future psychologists, registered nurses, pediatric doctors, music teachers, Broadway stars, concert managers, and museum curators. I see marketing managers, artists, and musicians. Lawyers, teachers, dancers, actors, and more. But overall, I see 95 people who are going to move on to great things. Instead of seeing the eyes of our 14 year old selves, I see the eyes of the future, ready to take on any challenge that may come our way. In the wise words of my idol Pitbull, or as I like to call him, Mr. Worldwide, “If you continue to work hard, let that be the fuel to your fire.” We have all worked so hard and fulfilled so many goals throughout our time at Sturgis, and I am confident that the work we have endured will set us up for success. 

Entering this new phase in our lives, I hope that my peers will use their eyes to see the good in the world. There can be an abundant amount of negativity all around us, but if we choose to focus on the good and to look for the light within the darkness, nothing can get in the way of our victories. 

I am so proud of every person in this graduating class and I cannot wait to see all that you accomplish going into this next stage of your life. Thank you and congratulations to the Class of 2025!

I don't necessarily mean the fake kind. Not the "everything’s fine" smile I slap on while turning in a creative writing assignment at 11:58 without proofreading on a Friday night. I mean real positivity. The kind that doesn’t ignore reality but chooses to respond to it with hope, humor, and a stubborn belief that the next step forward is worth taking.

Positivity at Sturgis East for me often looked like survival.

Like when Martina insisted she was definitely going to fail the math test, only to get a 98, while I, who felt "pretty good about it," got a 77. 

But real positivity didn’t just exist in the funny moments these past four years. It lived in the serious ones, too. It was in the resilience we built after tough deadlines. It was in the way Mia and I looked out for each other during English presentations, or when a group project fell apart, but the friendship didn’t. 

I’ve learned that positivity isn’t soft. It’s not a glittery poster or a motivational quote on a mug. It’s a discipline. A mindset. A choice.

It’s easy to be negative. There’s something comical about complaining, especially in school. It’s like a bonding ritual: “Did you even finish your ESS IA?” “Nope.” “Same.” Suddenly, it makes it all ok.

But one thing I’ve learned about positivity, real, quiet, determined optimism, is that it takes guts. It’s not loud. It doesn’t always make you the happiest person in the room. Not nearly. But it makes you the strongest. And at Sturgis, I saw that kind of strength every day. The strength to make it fun.

I saw it in our teachers: Dr. Pete, when he showed us how to make yogurt for some reason, my friends, who cheered at my basketball games even when we were losing by 15, my English class, who never failed to annoy the bajeesus out of Mr. Tallman with our everchanging accents while reading Hamlet, and the arts, in those brave enough to sing during open-mic, or paint something and say, “This is mine. It’s not perfect, but it’s real.”

One thing I’ll take from Sturgis is that the teachers never gave up on us. They saw more than a messy worksheet or a missed deadline, they saw potential. They believed that even when we didn't understand a new concept or formula, we were still learning, still growing. Still worth it.

And maybe most importantly, I saw it in the quiet persistence of everyday life. Those moments where things weren’t grand or dramatic, but we kept going anyway.

I don’t mean, “Be positive and everything will work out.” I know that life doesn’t work like that. It can all feel messy. Sometimes unfair. Sometimes beautiful and painful at the same time. But I am saying: Be positive anyway. Not because it’s easy. Nothing worth having is easy. But because it’s powerful.

Positivity helps you find humor in a hard moment. It helps you give grace to yourself and others. It helps you get up again, even after failure, even after rejection, even after those difficult moments. 

Positivity helps you remember that while perfection is impossible, progress is not.

And none of us were perfect students all the time. Some of us thrived. Some of us coasted (especially these past couple of months). Some of us forgot we had an oral until the moment Mr. Mendez said so, and Brooke and I gave each other a look of terror.

But what matters is that we learned. Not just academically, though the IB taught us how to write faster than humanly possible. I’m convinced half of us are qualified to transcribe court hearings now.

We learned how to think. How to ask questions. How to challenge ideas and defend our own. How to manage deadlines, or at least, how to survive them most of the time. We learned how to collaborate, how to debate, and how to involve ourselves.

And now, we’re about to leave these buildings. This school that somehow felt too small and too big all at once four years ago. We’re stepping into the new: college, work, gap years, the real world, whatever that means. Some of us have five-year plans. Some of us barely know what we’re doing tomorrow.

My point is:  Your mindset matters. It will be tested. It will be stretched. But it will also shape the way you see the world. And that, in turn, will shape the world itself.

I think there will be moments like now where those around you try to convince you that cynicism is smarter. That sarcasm is a strength. That caring too much is uncool. But I think what's more important is kindness and gratitude.

We’ve already made it through something remarkable. We survived IB high school. At Sturgis. We’re here.

And now, we get to take what we’ve learned, the academics, yes, but more importantly, the character, and go make something of it. Something good. Something joyful. Something real.

Thank you, and congratulations to us. 

From Dr. Albis, TOK1 teacher: “This student took more care with her writing assignments than any else in the class, often writing several drafts when really only one was required. She was always concerned that her language was expressing her often complex ideas as accurately as possible.”

From Mrs. Moynihan, sophomore English teacher:  “I tried not to use her work as a benchmark in which to rank her classmates' work, but it was hard not to since her work always stood out as an example of what I was expecting from each and every assignment. She was a true pleasure to have in class.”

From Mr. Mendez, Spanish Literature teacher: “I had the privilege of accompanying the student for two years on her journey through Spanish literature. Each class session was a valuable opportunity to explore diverse perspectives on the classic works through dialogue and analysis. Her constant participation significantly enriched our discussions and demonstrated her genuine interest in the subject. I'm really going to miss our conversations.” 

And lastly from me: “As her HL1 English teacher her junior year, it became clear to me from her first essays that this student not only took her writing process seriously but also took her reflection process seriously by studying the feedback I gave on each of her papers and using it to improve subsequent essays. She was a standout as a writer and as a student.”

Therefore, it is my privilege to present the Gretchen Buntschuh Literary Scholarship to Martina Garcia Raya-Radonic.

Xanthippi Abel says that she cannot express how much this student’s energy, creative expression, and sheer kindness has meant to her and the classroom culture.  This student is truly a gift to any community they are a part of.  She wants this student to remember how amazing they are, and how much she will miss their discussions and life and art.

Jim Barrasso adds “This student is a very hard worker, humble, with a good sense of humor and a lot of maturity.  A well rounded student, who loves hockey, and has a great taste in music.  They accept feedback well, and are a great communicator, with real strengths in class discussion.  They finished their Sturgis career strong and showed a genuine interest in history.

Dr. Sheila Gilligan shares “This student has been a creative and committed learner in biology, who can see the forest through the trees.  Fittingly, they plan to study forestry at university.”

I myself would co-sign all of this and add how proud and impressed I am to have watched this student grow as a person and an IB learner these past three years.  An avid reader, a perceptive and cogent writer, this student balances their keen intelligence with a solid core of good common sense–something I’m rather envious of myself.  When things have been difficult, this student has persevered with good humor and true grit.

This year’s Ryan King Award goes to Vann Page.