Students Share Inspiration and Gratitude at 2026 Graduation Ceremonies

Webster’s Dictionary defines graduation as “a mark on an instrument or vessel indicating degrees or quantity.” I don't really think that's fully accurate, so I'm going to use Urban Dictionary’s definition instead: “The best-known cure to senioritis and similar diseases. Side effects include long gowns, flat square hats, diplomas, responsibility, college, and/or a career.”

Hello, everyone. Currently, I have the difficult task of giving one of the final two speeches and following up all of my amazing classmates’ speeches. Regardless of how you define it, graduation is a very odd time in life. We all say goodbye to our teachers, classmates, friends, and the school itself.

Hello, my name is Sarah Gibbons, and I've attended Rowland Hall for the past 14 years. After being at Rowland Hall for such a long time, I’m here to say I’ve learned a few things. But honestly, being at the same place for 14 years is no easy feat, and there were definitely times when I wanted to leave. However, for some reason, I didn’t. And I'm so grateful for that.

The main reason I think I stayed is because of the community here. I know nearly half of the student body by name and recognize even more by face, and of course I know everyone’s name in my grade. That connection is special. What makes that connection even deeper is both our grade’s shared successes and the unfortunate circumstances we’ve experienced together. And next year everyone has to adjust to a new huge change. Next year, everyone gets to say goodbye to this school as they move to the new campus.

The new campus has been quite a hot topic among the student body, and people have asked me how I feel about it. It’s weird seeing the building I’ve been anticipating for more than 10 years finally being built. It went from being the building we would spend our whole high school experience in, to us being the first class to graduate from it, to us never seeing it at all. I was more upset about not getting it when I was in middle school. First we missed the Tetons (I was actually okay with that; I'm not really a science person), then DC (that one hurt; I’m still a bit bitter), and now we don’t get the new campus?

Now, I am older and wiser, and I’m really happy that I get to graduate from the campus that has been my home for the past four years. It's definitely not a perfect building. The heating and A/C never really work, the Larimer Center is falling apart and has no backstage, and the cafeteria is a creepy dungeon filled with middle schoolers. But it’s my weird old building, and I’m glad we get to be the final class to graduate from it.

So, for anyone who wants to ask me how I feel about the new campus: I don’t care anymore. I get a sick 120-acre campus with a pool! I’ll admit, the larger backstage and new theater sound cool, but I don’t want to feel bitter about not being there. I just feel happy that the grades below ours get to experience it. Even more than the campus we never got and the one that's getting destroyed soon, I’m going to miss my grade the most.

We've had a weird time in school, and honestly, I've only mentioned a little bit of it. I’m sure we all remember the replacement DC trip, where we rafted down a canyon in southern Utah and camped out in incredibly strong winds that blew our tents away. We also went to IKEA that week. It was a lot of fun. Last year, we had a Beyond the Classroom Day where we did not, in fact, go beyond the classroom. A group of us moved tables around and used the new rolling chairs to create a roller-chair derby.

My most memorable class was in sophomore year, when I took AP World. I'm sure the 11 of you who were in that class with me remember all the fun times we had, and to this day, I think that’s the best class camaraderie I’ve ever felt. In freshman year, when we all went to Camp Roger, I remember standing around a campfire with a few people, just chatting.

All the little moments I’ve had with everyone are what made my experience here so much fun. I know it can be limiting to be in a small school, but I like knowing who everyone is in the hallway. I’m going to miss all those little conversations with Anya in the CPC lounge, all the confusing moments with the other Sarahs, talking to Samuel about what we just did in English class, and so, so many more small moments that could make up an entire speech by themselves. I am so incredibly grateful to have met all of you and honored that you elected me as your president. Things weren’t always easy, and at times I really wondered if I actually deserved this position at all. But now, standing here, I can see how hard everyone has worked. I hope we all use this summer to relax, have fun, and spend time with loved ones. Thank you for being my classmates.

Before I finish my speech, there is one more thing I need to do.

Why did the scarecrow win an award? Because he was outstanding in his field.

Good morning, everyone. I am unbelievably honored and grateful to be the recipient of this year’s Bishops’ Award.

I want to begin with a sort of linguistic exercise: by a raise of hands, how many of you know what “lowkenuinely” means?

Yeah, about what I expected.

That word still leaves an acrid taste in my mouth.

Earlier this year, that profound vocabulary word showed up in one of my tens of thousands of unread emails as Merriam-Webster’s slang word of the day. I showed Dr. Taylor in the hallway and we both stood there completely bewildered. Why would people want to make a portmanteau of two already badly overused words?

Later that afternoon, a friend complimented my vintage Calvin Klein jacket and told me I was “lowkey mogging.” I nodded with a wry smile to cover up my, very, very—I promise—very mild confusion.

Since arriving here in seventh grade, I’ve encountered an astonishing amount of slang. What confused me about these words was exactly what fascinated me about them. I tried so hard to use them when talking to friends—slang still sounds awkward coming from me, I know, and I apologize—but it felt like such an affront to the level of formality required for an APUSH discussion on strict versus loose constructionist views of the Constitution.

For a long time, I viewed learning in much the same way. I thought being a good student meant being permanently “locked in.” Every waking second needed to be productive. Every tangent felt like a distraction. Every joke was time I could have spent memorizing something I’d forget 15 minutes after the exam was over. At some point, or maybe since I’ve been alive, I’d developed a schema of learning that consisted of textbooks, Bluebooks, complaining, and convincing myself that writing too much could count as a personality trait.

Most of all, I thought that loosening up for even a second would make me lose all the marbles I admittedly struggled to hold onto in the first place.

However, that couldn’t have been farther from the truth here at Rowland Hall.

Some of the moments that taught me the most here barely felt academic at all. I gradually loosened up and let some of those lighthearted moments reshape my admittedly rigid view of education. There was the anatomy packet that descended into a debate over who could have spread the prom plague. Or the time when I was annoyed with my math homework in the café and Rodrigo cheered me up with a picture of a camel, and I laughed so hard I thought I was going to vomit. Somehow, none of those moments took anything away from my learning. If anything, they made my education feel more unforgettable, more lively, and much more difficult to leave behind.

It was walking out of a psych test into the college counseling office and being cheered up by Aanika’s contagious laughter. It was signing myself out at the front office and being met by Lauren, Samara, and Madeleine’s kindness no matter what kind of day I was having. And it was watching classmates celebrate each other’s successes—whether cheering on Baker’s killer debate performance at the Tournament of Champions, admiring Oscar’s unreal drumming skills, or collectively trying to comprehend how Joe somehow ran an 11.39 in the 100m. 

And honestly, while there may be countless slang words out in the world, there is one word that best defines my time here at Rowland Hall: community.

I am lucky to have been surrounded by people who lifted one another up at both their best and worst moments, celebrated each other’s accomplishments, and found genuine joy in each other’s successes. Those experiences transformed the way I approached learning. Learning was never just about my own achievement. It was about sharing ideas in the Socratic Seminar setting, pumping each other up before an assessment, and appreciating everything unique and interesting that everyone brought to the table.

COVID-19 helped me recognize how much of that I’d taken for granted. Leaving elementary school during the pandemic, I regretted the moments where I chose isolation over connection—the birthday parties I skipped or deciding not to see that Star Wars movie, even though I probably would have disliked it anyway. Being here felt like a chance to make up for some of that lost time, and I’m eternally grateful for every friendship, conversation, and shared experience I had.

Just this year, being in Dr. Rida’s research class gave my classmates and me the confidence to share our ideas and hard work in biomedicine. But even more exciting than pursuing our own unique research projects was learning from one another. Being surrounded by others who were innately curious, ambitious, independent, and motivated to tackle complex issues pushed me to keep growing every day.

From the moment I walked through the 150-year-old green doors of this school in 2020, I felt like I had stepped into a place where curiosity about even the most niche things was cool. 

Altogether, I want to recognize the superheroes in the class of 2026. From world-class skiers, to killer soccer players, to awesome Ultimate Frisbee athletes, to blazing fast runners, future Wimbledon champions, to incredible poets and writers, talented musicians and unbelievable artists, undefeated Connections and Wordle geeks, and very frequent Houston Texas Hot Chicken customers—no shame here—what an absolute journey it’s been.

You’ve all taught me how to savor the moments that make life so funny, so utterly embarrassing, and so worth living. I am proud of every single one of you for what you’ve accomplished and will continue to achieve for many, many years to come.

I want to deeply thank all of the teachers and faculty, whether I had you in class or not, for making me feel like I could bravely pursue the things I cared about most. Thank you to every member of the staff, especially Stan, who somehow always managed to put a smile on my face helping me get safely picked up from school. And thank you so much to the incredible counselors, leadership team, and everyone working tirelessly behind the scenes to make Rowland Hall feel like a second home.

Now, maybe I want to overthink the end of this speech, as I have with pretty much every academic endeavor here, but I’ll spare you the rambling. As my dear math teacher Ms. Croft would remind me nearly every week, “Perfection is NOT the goal.” And I think my definition of perfection has changed.

It’s not getting the right answer every time. It’s the relationships we build, the people who support us, and the moments we share laughing, reflecting, and just breathing in between. Rowland Hall taught me that exploring the world doesn’t have to, and shouldn’t, be a solitary endeavor. It should be joyful, collaborative, messy, deeply human, and sometimes unbelievably hilarious. And that is something I’ll carry with me for the rest of my life.

On that note: Chat, we finally made it.

Thank you very much.

Aristotle believed that the endpoint, or telos, of education is to create virtuous citizens who flourish in society. To Aristotle, an education in and of itself has intrinsic value, regardless of what it can be applied to later on, as an education leads to moral citizens who approach the world with dignity. Even if I didn’t know it at the time, it was with this framework that I chose to spend the next four years of my life at Rowland Hall. With excellent teachers and a focus on academic rigor, I knew I had found the right place to fulfill my goal of becoming a moral citizen through education. Whether I actually achieved my goal or not I will examine in this speech. To aid in my examination, I will be using multiple philosophical frameworks throughout this speech, so keep that in mind.

I’ll start with the first week of school, in which the freshman class went bowling at the University of Utah. During this event, I made many friends, some of which I’m still close with to this day. I would also get to know some of my closest academic allies, including Sarah Walsh and Lisa Miranda, who have always been at my side throughout my four years at this institution. That is to say, even sans the educational value Rowland Hall could bring, I knew I had found a supportive community.

While my freshman year brought a lot of joy as I made new friends, there were also many challenges. In particular, I struggled a lot with missing assignments and bad study habits in certain classes, something I continue to struggle with to this day, albeit to a lesser extent. While I appreciated Rowland Hall's rigor for the Aristotelian virtues it could cultivate in me, I simultaneously hated the way it operationalized education. The constant expectation of hard work turned learning into a process of extraction, and my work became a product traded for grades. A process similar to how human effort and labour is objectified as described in Georg Lukács’s theory of reification. For this reason, I often struggled to find the motivation to work. However, over time, I learned to overcome these personal gripes and construct my own meaning within the work I was tasked with doing, enabling me to finally take full advantage of the world-class education I was receiving.

As an example, in sophomore year I took AP Music Theory, which to this day remains tied with AP Art History and AP US History for my favorite classes of all time. AP Music Theory was one of the hardest classes I had taken at Rowland Hall, which was made worse by the fact that I was only a sophomore at the time. There was constant work and examination, and I struggled a lot with certain concepts. However, I enjoyed the class because it gave me the skillset needed to create my own music. Friedrich Nietzsche claims that art makes life worth living, a sentiment I wholeheartedly agree with. AP Music Theory gave me the ability to create art, which gave the class meaning to me despite its workload.

If sophomore year represented a turning point in my academics, junior year represented a turning point in my personal relationships. There’s never been a point in my time at Rowland Hall where I’ve had no friends, which I’m very grateful for. However, there have been many times where I’ve struggled with friendship. In junior year in particular, I harmed certain people that I had previously been very close with, an act which I’m very sorry for. What I learned from this can best be summarized by the philosophy of Levinas. According to Levinas, “the other” is a being different from the self, one who may or may not have a different outlook on the world.

Following this concept, I realized that we have an absolute responsibility to treat the other with compassion. Not only as an ethical obligation to that person, but also so that we can encounter conflicting ideas that might ultimately improve ourselves. While I still have more work to do, Levinas’s philosophy ultimately led to me being a more respectful person.

In senior year, having grown both academically and socially, I was now in the midst of the college application process. While writing my countless college essays, it became easy to lose sight of why I was undergoing all this in the first place. This meant it was more important than ever that in senior year I stay philosophically grounded in the work I did. For me, going to college is largely about getting a degree so I can make money and be successful in life, I won’t deny that. However, college is also so much more. College represents a space where I can further explore philosophical frameworks and examine different ways to view the world. That is part of the reason I’ve worked so hard on my college applications, so that I could choose a school that prioritizes rigor and education above all else.

But perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself in looking toward the future. It’s time I finally answer the question I posed at the beginning of this speech: did I become a moral citizen? The answer is no, because there is no such thing as absolute morality, and the process of education is endless. However, as illustrated in this speech, Rowland Hall has helped me greatly at approaching morality from divergent perspectives. The reason this speech was so full of philosophy was to demonstrate the different ways of viewing the world that I have learned from my experiences in high school, experiences that likely wouldn’t have happened without the supportive community I came to love.

Finally, this speech wouldn’t be complete without mentioning the teachers and administrators at this school who helped me grow philosophically. I’d like to give thanks to Sarah Walsh for our many academic conversations, Mike Shackleford for encouraging me to engage in philosophical debate, Dan Jones and Lydia Jackson for mentoring my philosophy club and being great humanities teachers in general, Nate Kogan for supporting my philosophical research, Carolyn Hickman for teaching me about Levinas, Zach Thiede for introducing me to Nietzsche, and anyone else who I may have missed.

Thank you!

Thinking back to all of my time at Rowland Hall, I would bet most of the time I wasn’t in class was spent in the café. Even freshman year when the café itself was closed, I sat there with friends all the time. The café is where Noa’s posters were hung up with big promises of reopening the café. The arm-wrestling competition took place there, where the whole school must have gathered to watch Big Joe demolish kid after kid’s elbow. Too many times I remember Sawyer comfying up in the inviting metal chairs to watch a show or take a refreshing afternoon nap.

Every day for 10 minutes, everyone in the school clumps and gathers in the café, rejoicing in one another’s company. Tens of thousands of daps must have taken place over the traumatized microwaves and unused panini presses. There is nothing more needed after a tragic math test than a succulent breakfast burrito and a dabble of tabasco hot sauce.

On a more serious note, while the café has stayed relatively the same for the time I have attended Rowland Hall, my peers and myself have changed immensely. We went from getting kicked out from tables in the café by upperclassmen to the kicker-outers. Much like the diverse selection of snacks the café offers, this graduating class has some of the most diverse and interesting personalities out there. What this café gave to us was a decent snack and a friend to talk to. Since freshman year, I and everyone here have changed enormously, but the café was always a place we could go. No matter how much we have all changed, we still enjoy each other’s company and can have a good time together. For that short break every day we come together, not only for a snack, but because we are a strong community.

After high school, there will be a million more places just like the café for us to find; places where we will find new and exciting communities. In short, I am proud of us for making it here, and I am excited to see where you all go after exiting the café doors.

Did you know that one of the teachers here at Rowland Hall lives in a closet in his classroom? Don’t be alarmed—he has plenty of space (including a hot tub) in there. That teacher’s name is Dave, and he was my first-grade teacher. When I was in first grade, I found this fascinating. I actually imagined a whole house inside, like the tent in Harry Potter: small on the outside, but huge on the inside. Now, I understand that this was a joke, but sometimes I still like to imagine the rooms inside that closet.

In some ways, Rowland Hall has been that closet for me. Small and simple on the outside, but world-changing on the inside. I know you’ve all heard this before, but Rowland Hall is special. I know every single one of you, everyone in the class of 2026, by first name. Some of you I’ve known for 12 years or longer, and some of you less than two. But no matter how long, I know you. And that is something not many high school graduates can say. I don’t only know you because we go to a small school; I know you because you’re special. Even if you don’t believe it, you are. There is something different about the Rowland Hall community, something that binds us all together. I don’t know exactly what it is, but I feel it, and I hope you do too.

Now I’m not saying that people who don’t go to Rowland Hall aren’t special. I’m just saying that there is something special about the kind of people who come here, and that they leave different than they came.

Each year at Rowland Hall felt like discovering a new room in my own closet. I learned more academically, like the Pythagorean theorem, how to read, and the differences between a Cooper’s hawk and a Swainson’s hawk. But I learned so much more than that. From first to second grade, I learned how to have fun while still being respectful and kind. In third through fifth, I learned how to help my friends through conflict. From sixth to eighth, I learned how to handle my own. In ninth grade, I learned how to adapt and make new friends. In 10th, how to balance everything: school, sports, friends, family, and myself. In 11th, how to stay positive through major life changes. And finally, in 12th, I learned how to be myself through it all.

So much about high school is focused on the skills we’re expected to learn: math, writing, historical thinking, critical thinking, etc. But something that often slips people’s minds is that throughout lower, middle, and high school, we are all also learning how to be human. Having such great teachers and staff members as role models has helped shape the people we are today, and being surrounded by incredible peers has helped us practice and hone some of those core life skills. We may have fallen down a few times, but we all got back up—and that is why we are here today.

We did it.

Not only did we complete the assignments and pass the tests, but we showed up. We showed up for each other, others showed up for us, and we showed up for ourselves. We have been, and will continue to be, better together. So whatever the future holds for you, keep exploring the rooms in the closet of your life. Keep showing up. Continue to be the person this place helped you become. And most importantly, keep being you.

Thank you.

YOLO.

You. Only. Live. Once.

I’ve always loved, and always lived by, that saying. For a long time I thought that meant chasing the biggest experiences, living loud, and not wasting your opportunities. And that made it hard for me to feel confident about going somewhere like Rowland Hall.

Rowland Hall is small. It can be comfortable. It can feel confined. And I used to compare it to everything it wasn’t—the big schools, packed student sections, and homecoming dances you would see in the movies. I felt like I was missing out on the “real” high school experience. I was envious of what my other non-Rowland Hall friends enjoyed, and resentful of what I felt I lacked. When people asked me where I went to school, they’d “never heard of us.” When I told my soccer teammates I’d won the state championship, “it was only 2A.” And so sometimes I even lied. I vividly remember talking to a girl at a concert, and telling her I went to East. “You only live once,” and I kept feeling like I wasn’t “living” to my full potential. So, YOLO.

BUT, I realize now that I have been so focused on what Rowland Hall HASN’T given me, that I haven’t fully appreciated what Rowland Hall has provided me. Because “you only live once” doesn’t mean chasing what looks biggest; it means recognizing what actually matters, while you still have the chance to choose it. Because, yes, Rowland Hall is “small,” “comfortable,” and “confined,” but it is also amazingly supportive, tight-knit, and caring. There is no other school where I could have thoughtful friends in every clique, club, or grade level. There is no other school where you can walk the halls and put a name to every single face. There is no other school where teachers will care for you like you are their own children. This community is extraordinary because of what it is not. If you ever resent Rowland Hall for what we are not, you’ll never see the beauty in what makes us uniquely special: that our community is distinctly hardworking.

And so now, standing here, I can say something I honestly never thought I would: if I had to do it all over again, to live just once, in every life and every version of my story, I would choose to do it here.

As we leave here, we’re going to be surrounded by bigger, faster, louder versions of life. And it’s easy to think that’s what living fully looks like. But remember: you only live once. Make sure it’s on purpose. THAT is what Rowland Hall has taught me.

Hello, everyone. I’d like to start my speech with a question, an inquiry you may recall me first posing to some of you a couple years ago on this very stage, although with significantly more musical accompaniment: Am I a man or am I a muppet?

The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines man as an adult human male, and a muppet as a puppet characterized by exaggerated features, animated by an unseen performer.

Or, perchance, a high school student.

A puppet, controlled by grades, expectations, college decisions, whatever dubious force compelled me to take five AP classes simultaneously, and now, worst of all, LinkedIn profiles.

And if there’s one thing we do well here, it's exaggeration. The now familiar nonsensical spiral that begins with a B+ and somehow ends with a complete failure in life. While our ambition expands faster than our fulfillment can catch up.

But before I came here, I had no idea a world like this even existed.

Growing up, my experience was that caring or doing well in school was embarrassing, and vulnerable. I came pretty close to drinking the Kool-Aid completely.

Then, on a whim, and at my mother’s proposition, I applied for a scholarship here.

And somehow, I ended up standing in Convocation surrounded by terrifyingly accomplished 14-year-olds, fully convinced I had made a horrible mistake.

The only exposure I had to this school was from the first debate tournament I ever lost, and was then permanently intimidated by whatever y’all got down with over here.

I didn’t speak to anyone, and wore my mask (a fixture of my look from freshman year).

Little did I know that, eventually, I would be plastering my own face across the walls during the great electoral poster pandemic of ’25, a pandemic no mask could protect you from.

I assumed I was behind, but really I had just entered a world other people had been preparing for much longer than I had.

For the first time, I encountered people who saw me as disadvantaged. That was strange, because I had never understood myself that way before. I thought I was lucky. At worst, average.

But slowly, I started seeing myself the way they did.

There seemed to be infinite expectations, people spoke about their futures like guarantees in a way I reserved for hypotheticals. But after spending years in this environment, the ordinary future I once imagined, and saw my loved ones live, became almost unimaginable.

And one day recently I talked to my friend from middle school who doesn’t know anyone in her class going to college, and it hit me with the subtlety of a sledgehammer how insular our lives had become.

Because here, objectively absurd things just feel normal, like publishing research at 18 thanks to Dr. Rida and all our AR teachers. Or going to China TWICE and speaking fluently with locals, thanks to Xu Laoshi. Or discussing dense critical theory with any of my beloved humanities teachers.

And most dangerously, seeing college not as an opportunity, but as a verdict.

Most people will never know what it’s like to be ashamed of which AP Calculus class they’re in. And most people here will never know what it’s like to grow up where I did either.

At first I isolated myself because I assumed that I thought that my differences made connection impossible. But eventually I realized that same difference gave me perspective—and made my time here meaningful.

And somehow, somewhere between the rolling hills of the township and these very hallways, I became a person my younger self wouldn’t recognize.

If I went back in time and told myself the most impactful decision of my life would be willingly attending a private school in Utah, I know there would be quite a few follow-up questions.

But I would still tell him to do it again.

So I return to the question: Am I a man or am I a muppet?

Probably both. someone shaped by the worlds I’ve entered, still deciding what’ll stay with me afterward.

A muppet of a man, if you will.

Thank you.

Hi! Man, am I nervous. I guess I shouldn’t be too nervous, given that the only reason I’m up here is because you all voted for me to make a speech.

Thank you for that. I’m deeply honored to have this opportunity.

For the past three months, I’ve written so many drafts. My Google Drive has become a Google traffic accident. “Graduation speech” is terrible. “Sophia’s super cool aura farm everyone’s gonna love it graduation speech” was so much worse.

I banged my head against the wall for weeks before changing tactics. I got to thinking. You guys voted for me, and why? Did you want jokes? Wisdom? Is it my ravishing good looks? My magnetic charm? My extreme humility?

Well, I thought, I guess I’m pretty good at telling stories. So that’s what I’ll do.

Battle of the Classes, 2024. It’s the lip sync dance battle. For those of you who need a refresher, here’s what happened: We had everything. Bomb song: “Finesse” by Bruno Mars. Participation. Coordination. We were basically lined up for that win.

And yet … we barely came in third, which left us absolutely flabbergasted. My puny 16-year-old brain couldn’t wrap itself around the injustice.

Two years later, my slightly less puny brain still struggles to comprehend massive injustice, on a worldwide and local scale. Every day, I open my eyes to see that yes, the world is still on fire. In fact, it’s a little more on fire than yesterday, and, oh, would you look at that? There was also a secret fire that you didn’t know about, and actually, your house is on fire too.

I know us. We want to put out the fire. We all want to fix the world, lead a revolution, start a renaissance, ace our finals, get into our dream college, paint the best painting, play the best song, dance the best choreography, and generally excel.

Every rejection letter, every unfulfilled expectation—it can feel like a personal affront. We give everything to have a chance, and the world finds a way to finesse us.

So the world is on fire, and our house is on fire, and everything is pandemonium, and we just … persist.

That word means so much more than you could imagine. The worldview forced upon us is that you persist and persist and persist in hopes of excelling someday, of succeeding.

But here’s the truth about that excellence and success. It’s always just out of reach; it’s been defined as the perfect painting, the perfect test score, the perfect everything, and a completely impossible standard.

Persisting? That thing we do? It’s all the living you do as you reach for perfection.

It’s shoving your friends around the soccer field in middle school, years before the word varsity becomes a concept. It’s learning that BOTC dance, filming that documentary, cracking jokes for your friends as you study for APs. It’s driving your sister to school in the mornings and learning the lyrics to a song you love. It’s failing, over and over and over again.

And when you think about it, it’s all that living that really matters. All that laughter. All those memories. All those friends. All those stories.

Seniors, please give the person next to you a big old pat on the back for me, for doing all that living.

Let me be clear: Chase your dreams. Strive for the stars. And realize that by persisting in your pursuit, whether you have reached your goals or not, whether you ever will, you are excelling in life.

Congratulations, class of 2026. In my humble opinion, you are all successes.

Thank you.

The Greatest Year of My Life

Friends and family, welcome to the 2026 Rowland Hall eighth-grade commencement. My name is Elijah and I have been attending Rowland Hall for 5 years. I am so excited to be given the opportunity to speak and share my experiences on such a special day.

Rowland Hall’s theme this year was Better Together. Now, let’s take a second to think about that. What does “better together” mean? In my opinion, being better together is everyone having something unique to bring to the table. Better together doesn’t necessarily mean all being the same. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. When I think of better together, I think of a group project. While we’re all working towards a common goal, each member has a unique role in the assembly of the final result. This is just like real life. We all work towards the goal of a better, stronger, more united community, but we all contribute something different. One person could be helping organize fun events, while another could start a community garden. Neither person is helping more or less than the other, just helping differently.

When I first started at Rowland Hall, I was a bit nervous about starting at a new school after my family relocated to Salt Lake City, and I wondered if I would find community and belonging. Starting with Mr. Stack’s fourth-grade class set a great tone. I had a great teacher, great classmates, and met some awesome kids who have become wonderful friends to this day. It hasn’t always been perfect, but the part I appreciate most is that the Rowland Hall community is filled with supportive staff who have helped me navigate even the most challenging experiences. Resolving conflict, developing my voice, advocating for myself and others, and being a good citizen of this community have been part of my journey to being better together at Rowland Hall.

This eighth-grade year has been filled with multiple ups and downs, but it’s been great. There were the more intense activities, like making precise incisions in the brain of a sheep, but also more calm and leisurely activities, like independent reading. We also matured a lot. Not just through eighth grade, but throughout all of middle school. We came into middle school as little sixth graders who wanted nothing more than to go outside to recess. We have come out as respectable young adults with open minds and preparedness to take on anything. This is thanks in part to our teachers.

Our teachers not only educate us to be smarter but also motivate us to be better. They teach us the lessons that books can’t. They teach us the intangibles that no worksheet can. They reinforce our morals, both academic and non-academic, that we will use for the rest of our lives. Our teachers have helped us realize, through assignments, projects, and feedback, the importance of hard work, commitment, perseverance, and willingness to earn everything—skills that build deep neural pathways towards success. As students, we need them to become people that the world needs, and as teachers, they need us to live out their calling to educate the next generation and earn a living—symbiosis at its finest! They teach us to be better, together.

Also, I want to talk about our parents/caregivers. Not just for being there physically, but being there emotionally. You teach us the morals and life lessons that we need. You set the foundation that we refine at school. From helping with homework, late-night projects, being our personal Uber drivers, making meals, attending events, and everything else in between. You give us the foundation of who we are and how we show up in this community. You may not hear this much, but the truth is, you’re our rocks. Without you, everything we learn at school would be useless. You’re the oxygen that fuels our flame. You guys not only make us better, but keep us together.

To my friends, both new and returning, thank you for enriching my middle school experience—I treasure you all. Some days it felt like there was nothing better than sitting together in the back of the class, cracking jokes, and not listening to a word the teacher said. But not listening has its consequences. Too much fun, and your grade will pay the price. Not enough fun, and it feels dull and bland. You have to try to find a balance between making memories and being a responsible student. The sheer amount of tomfoolery and shenanigans was enough to make any teacher crazy, but I’m glad teachers like Maestra Alana Boynton were able to sort it out. Although it pains me to say it, we may not have been better together in the back of the class.

I would also like to acknowledge the people behind the scenes who kept the show going. A special shout-out to the custodians, meal service people, and everyone behind the scenes who we don’t often acknowledge. We wouldn’t be here without you. Heck, better together wouldn’t exist without you. Thank you, guys.

This world is moving and changing rapidly, and it’s nearly impossible to be truly prepared for what will come at you. But I’m confident that all of us in this eighth-grade class will have no problem adjusting with the determination and adaptability that Rowland Hall has instilled in us. We have what it takes to not just adapt but contribute to making the world a better place. As we prepare for high school and the next chapter of our lives, let's always remember that we are better together.

To each and every one of you, thank you for making this year unforgettable.

Congratulations to all of our new graduates!

The In-Between

Good morning, everyone. My name is Annika.

Middle school is one of those indescribable experiences. It’s the moment when you are not exactly a kid, and not exactly a full teenager. It's the time when you walk through the halls and everything stinks because no one has discovered deodorant yet. Yet even so, middle school has so much else to offer. The friends you make in middle school are the ones who you know will stick by your side. This is the time when you form meaningful connections with teachers. Middle school is the time when you start to understand the type of person you are.

My middle school experience will always be held as one of my most fond memories and as one of the most anxious periods of my life.

When I first visited the middle school as a fifth-grade student, I tried to pretend I didn’t like anything. I frowned and didn’t say anything. I was basically a poor sport. The truth was that I was scared of the changes in my life. I had never been to middle school before, and my friend had told me it was hard, and I have an overactive imagination. When I entered the building on my first day, I anticipated the worst. It was overwhelming, but it was still fun. Every day after was harder, and some days sucked, but I still came back, and not just because it’s the law. Seventh grade was even better. I knew what I was doing and found new passions for writing and poetry. Since then, I have expanded on my knowledge and discovered new things. I am more fearless than I used to be. I am more likely to try something and see what it is like. Sometimes it ends as a failure, but even so, the mess-ups are part of the journey, and without them, my life wouldn’t be as full.

In eighth grade, I honed in on this as being my last year in middle school, I had to step it up and make sure I actually have the skills to survive high school. I learned so much. I discovered parts of math that I enjoy and new science subjects that really interest me. Every unit was so interesting, and I discovered even more things that I didn’t know existed, but I really like, like ethics. Even so, it wasn’t always great. Although I was learning cool new stuff, I also had more projects and homework that needed to be completed to prep me for the high school workload. I struggled with that and time management, but it helped me understand the importance of time management, and next year I will do better. All three grades of middle school offered me so much, and have helped me with personal flaws so I can be better in the future.

When I stand here today, I am reminded of all these great and not-so-great memories, and I know I will carry them with me into high school. There is so much I have learned in these years. I learned the things I should do, the things I probably shouldn’t, and the things my friends would say, “Annika, no, never do that,” too. I’ve learned procrastination is bad, freaking out over homework doesn’t change anything, and my friends are great and know math. I have overcome personal problems and learned to balance school work and life outside of school. I have created multiple models, taken even more tests, and spent countless hours with friends. These three years have been so different from anything else I’ve experienced, and when I look back in the future, I know I will smile from all the memories. To name a few: the sixth-grade campout, learning and teaching about consumption in seventh grade, the Resist Arts Café, and flying a plane in eighth grade. Without all of my middle school experiences, I would not be where I am, and I know there is nothing else like it. Knowing what I know now, I wish I could tell sixth-grade me that middle school is going to be great, and high school will be even better.

Thank you.

From Rainy England to Sunny New Beginnings

It all started when we moved to Utah from England in 2017, when I was 2 years old. My brother, Charlie, started at Rowland Hall soon after we arrived.

When I turned 3, I was old enough to come to Rowland Hall. That was the very start of this long, incredible journey from Beginning School through Lower School to where we are celebrating all of us today. Everyone was so welcoming. School was a different experience for me. It went from doing errands with my mom to counting to 10 and learning how to keep lifelong friendships.

We had to cut 4PreK short because of COVID. We had to homeschool for around three months. It was a scary time for a 4-year-old like me. But my family and I made some lifelong memories.

When I got into Lower School, I was so happy knowing that all my friends were in my class. In third grade, we got to do the talent show. Two friends and I did a dance in inflatable dinosaur costumes to “Are You Ready for It” by Taylor Swift. Trust me, the crowd was ready for it.

Last year was one of the best years ever. We went on so many field studies and laughed so hard. One of the best moments last year was the campout. The burritos we made were the best I've ever eaten. It's going to be sad and exciting as we leave the Lower School and start our new chapter in Middle School. I will always remember the incredible community that they have down here at the McCarthey Campus. I have learned so many things, from fractions to leadership to having the confidence to believe in myself. Thank you.

My Life at Rowland Hall

I have made many friends during my years at Rowland Hall. I want to shout-out these friends, who I love very much. I learned so much about friendship from all of them. They taught me the importance of being positive towards myself and others. I also learned how important it is to be inclusive of others through my friendships with them. My friendships taught me to be my authentic self. I love them with all my heart!

I had many lovely memories with my teachers. There are two that especially stuck with me. Ms. Coti, my fifth-grade teacher, and Mrs. Pectol, my fourth-grade teacher. My favorite thing with both of them was social studies. In fourth grade, I learned Utah history, and in fifth grade, I learned about American history, like the American Revolution (my favorite).

Mrs. Pectol taught me how important Utah, my home, is. I learned how crucial it is that we take care of Utah’s history and natural habitats. Mrs. Pectol and Maestra Liz, through Kids of Color, taught me to be proud of my identity. Ms. Coti taught me how to be proud of the progress I made in my studies and grades. Most importantly, she taught me the importance of asking for help and guidance from others, which is a skill I hope to bring with me to middle school.

Even though I learned so much with them, I also want to talk about the care and love they gave us students. First, Mrs. Pectol would give us hugs, high fives, and waves to greet us. She also gave us so many opportunities that will make me have a smile on my face. Next is Ms. Coti, who is always kind and funny. Sometimes she is a little sarcastic, but I love that!

In my nine years at Rowland Hall, I would rate this school a 100 out of 10. It’s not just how nice it looks or how clean it is; it’s because of the community. This community makes the school better. Especially the students, we make each other’s day with kindness. The teachers make the students feel loved and special. That is why I love the Rowland Hall community.

A Happy Goodbye

Hello, my name is Giovanni, and I am in Kiara’s fifth-grade class.

John Dewey, an American philosopher and educational reformer, once said that “Education is not preparation for life; education is life itself.” I think this quote is beautiful because, at school, you don’t just learn; you also see the world differently. At Rowland Hall, every grade teaches more about life and ethics, like in fifth grade, where we learned about how money circulates and how to work in a group while listening to everyone.

Rowland Hall has been a sanctuary of knowledge over the years. Even though there were some ups and downs, I kept moving forward because my teachers and friends helped me. Rowland Hall is a school that imparts knowledge in a way you will never forget. It teaches us to be good people, work together, and understand the world around us. Like the Science Share, which showed me how people can collaborate and come up with great ideas together.

I would like to honor all the parents gathered today. You should be very proud of your kid for graduating from Lower School, who is now ready to start a new chapter in middle school and beyond. I have a lot of emotions when I say goodbye to this beautiful time in my life. There will always be a spot in my heart for Lower School, but this is a happy goodbye because I’m so excited about the new experiences awaiting me in middle school.

Better Together

Isn’t it great having a community that truly cares about you? Today I’m going to tell you about my experience at Rowland Hall.

I've been at Rowland Hall since first grade. My family had just moved to Utah. Before that, I spent most of my kindergarten days on a Zoom screen, with virtual classmates and my mom reminding me to do the endless piles of worksheets. It was the pandemic, and this was definitely not what I imagined kindergarten would be.

I came to Rowland Hall not knowing what to expect and having no familiar faces. I started in Ms. Susanna’s first-grade class, and she made me feel welcome. I quickly found a community and my friends.

When I think about my community here at Rowland Hall, it reminds me of this year’s theme, Better Together. To me, Better Together means connecting with more people, building relationships, working with each other, and supporting one other through challenges and victories.
 
In fifth grade, we have worked on collaborating with our classmates and brainstorming ideas with each other. At Rowland Hall, we have so many resources to help us get better at subjects and feel more confident while practicing new skills. I love working alone, but I also love the benefits of working in teams.

Working collaboratively can sometimes be a pain, if I’m being honest, but disagreements get resolved quickly, making things like group projects or even individual projects much more fun.

I remember one time when my teacher divided us into groups to write a fantasy story. At first, my group was not working very well together because we were arguing and not giving each other time to speak or suggest ideas. But when we let each other talk, and we incorporated everyone's ideas, the process went a lot faster. Working with people taught me that compromising is not always a bad idea, and that meeting someone halfway can actually make a story or group project better!

The staff here is wonderful, making it easy to talk to teachers about classwork and goals, whether it's throwing a ball in PE or multiplying fractions in the classroom, the teachers always find ways to help your brain learn a topic.

Thank you all for contributing to the strength of this community. As we go on into the next chapter of our lives, which for us students is middle school, I hope we continue to remember that better together is not only a theme, but a way of living.