I’d like to begin my thoughts on graduation with a confession. Growing up, I never really cared for it. I barely remember my high school ceremony. I actually tried to substitute my twin brother in the line walk at Bucknell (kiboshed by my parents who had paid good money to see me receive my diploma); at Columbia, I skipped graduation altogether, waiting tables at Tavern on the Green instead because making money meant more to me at the time than wearing a cap and gown. However, as I grow perilously close to my seventieth birthday and prepare for my thirty-fifth graduation at Pingry, the ritual has taken on a bit more meaning.

Part of my appreciation for Pingry’s graduation tradition stems from the amazing experiences I have had attending thirty-four consecutive ceremonies. In 1989, I was talking to a graduate for so long at the post-graduation reception that she missed her ride home; I suppose her parents figured she would get back somehow. Feeling guilty, I tossed her my spare motorcycle helmet and gave her a ride to Westfield on my Kawasaki Ninja ZX-7R. In 1992, I had the good fortune of attending a family-hosted graduation party in Summit; I was greeted at the entrance by a newly minted graduate who is now the head of our school. In 2001, the second year the ceremony was held outdoors, and fifteen minutes before it started, a deluge sent hundreds of scrambling students, faculty, parents, and grandparents sprinting for the building in a scene reminiscent of the sunbathers’ stampede from the water in the film Jaws. That was certainly one for the ages!

Of course, along with these spectacular incidents, I have also witnessed the more routine and obligatory graduation moments as well, including speeches, awards, and the annual lineup (since 1988) of 5,000+ seniors striding forth gloriously, departing Pingry for the uncertain futures that await them. Of course, not all of these moments stand out—how could they? But what does strike me is how much I look forward to them every June. Think about it. Over the years, Pingry’s ceremony has had a few tweaks and updates, but its fundamental order of events has not changed. Invocation, awards, speeches, diplomas, and caps flying skyward. How does it stay fresh for those of us who see it from the sidelines, year after year? And what does it say to the seniors who will graduate from Pingry this coming Sunday?

When I arrived at Pingry in 1988, it was very different from the school we know today. How different? No laptops; no phones; no internet; no required community service hours; no water polo; no BAC; and so on. When I meet older alumni on Reunion Weekend, they all marvel at how much Pingry has changed. And yet, when I attend graduation, I am poignantly reminded of how much what we do here and what we stand for have stayed essentially the same. During the ceremony, I hear students speak of the gratitude they feel for their teachers, the innumerable experiences they have shared with their classmates, and the appreciation they have for their families. I hear an assortment of grownups emphasize what the graduates have learned in their years at Pingry, and how they must draw on that knowledge as they make their ways into adulthood. These words always make me feel proud to be a teacher, and thankful I’ve had the opportunity to contribute to something so grand and important. They also confirm what I have come to feel over the years: I would not trade that opportunity for anything.

As inspiring as the speeches are, however, I also let my mind drift a little along the way, and I’m invariably treated to a flood of random memories about the graduating class. I will think about all sorts of things: seeing a student getting taped in the training room before a big game; talking to a student about an essay on The Great Gatsby; getting a group photo at the prom. Any one of these moments might not have a particularly important significance, but collectively they remind me how much we as a community have shared along the way, and how varied and deep are the relationships we have formed. That, too, makes me proud to have been a part of Pingry.

I began this reflection with a confession—let me end with another. Mingled with my joy and happiness for the graduating seniors is an unshakable sense of melancholy that comes with their departure. As the ceremony concludes, I am always struck by its finality, the end of one chapter and the beginning of another. I also know that I am seeing some of the graduates for the last time. No clearer was this feeling felt than in 2012 when I lingered at the school’s entranceway, saying goodbye to an assorted assemblage filing out. A graduate stepped up, beaming, and gave me a huge hug. As she walked away, I lost it, and turned into a corner to hide my lack of composure. As I stood there, bent over, I felt a hand gently patting me on the back. Whoever it was had gone by the time I pulled it together and turned around. More than any other, that moment captures what graduation means to me: a roller coaster of emotions, a past shared, a future uncertain but hopeful, and the reassurance that it all begins again in September.

 

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Author photo by Anthony "Truncs" Truncale '26

 

To contact the author: Mr. Keating