This speech was written for the Baccelaureate ceremony held for my graduating class the night prior to gradutation on May 23, 2002 at Trinity Church in lower Manhattan. I took this opportunity to speak before my classmates, their families as well as our teachers because I felt that some things had to be said. Afterwards there was a silence like none other as I walked back to my seat (you don't clap in a church). At the after party numerous people came up to me: kids, parents, teachers and staff, all congratulating me on saying what I said. They were all shocked that I "had the balls" to do it, but were so happy I did. People were still talking about it at prom, one week later. A lot of people have asked about it since so I decided to put it up here. Enjoy.


When I signed up to read here tonight, I was wrestling with what exactly to say. I thought of producing sentimental prose or reflective poetry about wonderful times at Trinity and bestow it upon all of you. However, it is very hard for me to sum up 13 years at Trinity. So I decided to tell you a story. Bear with me, it’ll make sense in the end.

In a Native American coming of age ritual, young braves run through two parallel lines of their elders who are armed with clubs, rocks, whips, whatever the weapon of choice may be. The young brave must then run through the two lines, taking whatever is dealt to him by his elders. If he stumbles, he must get up; and when he finally staggers out of the line, bloody and tired, he is embraced, praised and celebrated by those who inflicted the pain.

To many of us, this ritual of running the gauntlet eerily echoes our experiences at Trinity. While the object of high school is to be educated and move forward into adulthood, many of us struggle towards the end bloodied and exhausted. Too often it seems that the blows are too hard and the welcoming arms at the end of the gauntlet are less than welcoming or even comforting.

If our four, six or thirteen years here are to mean anything other than a piece of paper and entry to a “good” college, I urge you to look around you and see who among us is battered and who is holding the clubs. Use tonight to realize your actions and perhaps right a few wrongs. The ability to do so is far more important than the college sticker on the back of your car or the money in your bank account. This is the lesson Trinity has failed to teach.

And now, since I have a captive audience and you all have to sit there politely until I’m done speaking, I would like to thank a few people. Thank you to my friends for reminding me there is good in the world. Thank you to my amazing coaches, Sharon Keigher and John O’Neill. Thank you to Señor Clark for listening to my rants and thank you to Ms. Mandell, Mr. Kachtick and Mr. Isaacson for giving me a sanctuary and teaching me so much more than just English. And last, but most certainly not least, thank you to my parents for constantly reminding me that there are many other young braves out there.