It’s been a long, long time since the first day I walked into that JK classroom. That classroom had a giant treehouse in it.
That treehouse isn’t there anymore.
I suppose, perchance, it’s a metaphor: Those people we love, those places we’ve been—none of them last forever. I have had best friends who have moved away, and I have never never talked to them again. Some of my favorite teachers, people who have made a really big impact on the way I think, have left Latin, and I’ll probably never see them again.
But with loss comes gain. Throughout my time at Latin, I have gained so much. I’ve gained a best friend who’s the perfect combination of both smarter than me but just dumb enough to trap in stupid conversations like, “Is Superman an authoritarian’s vision of an ideal strongman?” (The answer is yes, Josiah.) I’ve gained teachers who taught me as much as they’ve made me laugh. And most importantly, I’ve gained something I cannot lose: The knowledge taught in the halls of the school will be carried with me for a lifetime. And I’m not just talking about arithmetic.
The social and moral skills that I’ve learned over my years at Latin have empowered me to become a more mature individual. I’ve become the kind of person I feel the whole school could rely on. I’m not the coolest guy or the most athletic (as of now, my hitting percentage in volleyball is straight -1.000), but I hope that I could be a friend to all of you.
One of the reasons I originally ran for the job of Junior Prefect is because of what the Junior Prefect did for me freshman year. About a week after I walked into high school, the Junior Prefect asked me, unprompted, “How was your first week of school?” Frankly, I was flabbergasted. Why would a junior ever care about some random freshman he’s never met? But this incident was no outlier. Throughout my freshman and sophomore and junior years, I spent my time making friends with (and being mentored by) upperclassmen. Some of my most insightful debates, heartiest laughs, and juiciest gossip came from me camping in the junior and senior locker bays when I was younger. It was with these experiences in mind that I decided to don the mask of the Super-Senior Prefect, a new kind of hero with a sharp focus on underclassmen. This decision has provided me with one of my favorite aspects of senior year: my sons.
Most senior guys at any school have at least one “son,” though they might call them different things. Some use the classic title of “freshie!” Others may call them their minions. Some might use the equally familial (but decidedly less weird) “lil bro.” But we all know who these bright-eyed doofuses are. I have really tried to make it my mission to help as many younger guys as possible, because I know how difficult high school can be. I’m happy to state that those guys are some of the brightest, most considerate people out there, and I’m extremely optimistic about how the school will look after I graduate.
I also want to thank my teachers. I do a lot of dumb stuff in my classes that isn’t really malicious, and I’m grateful to my teachers for putting up with it. From making incredibly dumb (but technically correct) observations about certain euphemisms in Hon. Latin: Superior, to falling asleep in Physics (I swear the lights have some sort of hypnotic effect), to randomly deciding to talk in the second person during my BC class, I have required great patience from my teachers, and they have acceded, and for that I am forever thankful.
And finally, I want to say something to whoever is reading this. You bring something to our school. Whether it’s athletic ability, artistic talent, or academic curiosity, you have something special to contribute that no one has contributed before and that no one will ever contribute again. But beyond what makes you unique, we all have something that we bring to the table that is especially mundane: kindness. We all have the power to lift each other up, no matter who we are or what we’re good at. So wield that power.
Be kind.
Because at the end of the day, just like that treehouse, nothing lasts forever.
I sure wish some things did.
Raluchi C. Nzelibe
