A driver rounding the bends of River Road will come across two identical signs that read, in blue and gold, “The Franklin Academy.” How many people have passed by those signs without a thought of what “The Franklin Academy” might mean? Most drivers will never give the signs a second thought, and they will pass out of their minds forever. (They never reach their long-term memory. Thanks, Gina, Deb, and Ken.) But then again, how many who do pass the signs think of what “The Franklin Academy” means? So, what is Franklin Academy? The easy answer is that it’s a small boarding school located in East Haddam, Connecticut, 06423. But that’s not enough. Franklin Academy is a place where experiences shape lives. It’s a haven for the great people who aren’t always seen as such anywhere else. It’s inside jokes, old stories, and good laughs. But, most importantly, Franklin Academy is a second chance. 

Before I knew any of you existed, and vice versa, I was lost. For those of you who have never been to public school, you can’t believe all of the things you hear about how terrible it is, how it’s not right for anyone. Because there are people it’s meant for. However, I am not one of them. At Cape Elizabeth High School in Cape Elizabeth, Maine, I was failing. Several extremely difficult events had severely affected my work ability. At the end of the first quarter, my lowest grade was an 88. When the year was over, I was getting 60s and 70s. I had to complete massive amounts of work over the summer to save myself from the failure I was facing.  

I never went back to Cape High. On September 15, 2008, I left home and drove three hours to a small Maine town so close to New Hampshire that you could throw a rock over the border, if it didn’t hit a tree, which it would. I was going to wilderness. For those of you not familiar with the concept, wilderness is generally a place where parents or courts send “troubled teens.” Most of my teammates were drug addicts. I have never done drugs, never will. But by the time I left Cape, I had immense emotional issues that were strongly affecting my daily performance. Wilderness was supposed to be a place for me to get over these problems and hopefully learn a thing or two about life. After seven weeks and a day, I had. The lessons I learned at the program are still with me, and always will be. Though I will never say I enjoyed my time there, I can’t deny that it saved me. However, there were still important issues I was dealing with. That’s why I came here. 

At Franklin, I have learned many lessons about life. Aside from the invaluable knowledge I now have of proper social interactions, I have learned that dogwood nuts are edible. I now know more about memory than I can remember. And I have learned about more things that will and should go unsaid than I would care to. 

When I’m in college, I will tell people about Franklin, as I hope all of you will. I will tell them about the friends I’ve made. They will learn that I was School Representative, leader of the Improv group, and on many committees for various events. For the rest of my life, people will hear of the time I got drunk on Sprite and grenadine while participating in school-sanctioned gambling. (Everything was completely safe and legal, don’t worry.) I will tell my friends and family about the living caricatures that taught me theatre, science, and math; they will learn that the best teachers tell students to sit in a time-out chair for seven minutes and thirty-two seconds; they’ll learn about the time I dressed up as a CEO and won “Scariest Costume.” 

Where else but Franklin? Where else do motion-sensing lights match the personality of students? Where else do acorns intentionally attack people and convince them the universe is conspiring against them? Where else can you buy a secretary on eBay? I don’t know of any other improv group named “Two Lenses and a Q-Tip.” Andorra wouldn’t choose anywhere else to send a nationalist lecturer. For those of you who don’t know, I am the dictator of a small, obscure Caribbean island. I wouldn’t take nearly as much pride in that anywhere but Franklin. 

For many of you, I will probably never see your face again. That makes me sad. I will go off to Champlain College in Burlington, Vermont, and leave Franklin Academy forever. I will visit, yes, but never again will I join my friends here in classes, Life Sports, and clubs. Leaving Franklin will be the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But I must move on. However, before I do, I would like to say a few words about each student you see here in the front row. 

Caitlin Anders – Make sure you leave something for the other Emerson students to do.

Nathan Baggs – May you own both Park Place and Boardwalk.

Lauren Birnhak – You will always be far more than an artist.

Benjamin Brennan – The Better Brit.

Jason Cohen – I will really never forget you.

Taylor Cole – Good to see you here.

Julia Daly – Dance your way to stardom, girl.

Joshua Eckstein – One day I’ll pick up a bottle of Arizona Green Tea and see your picture on it.

Luke Gilder – May you live up to your golden surname.

Emily Graniero – The most fascinating quiet person I’ve ever met.

Michael Hanig – I could have asked for a better roommate, but I wouldn’t have gotten one.

Sara Kahan – WOW.

Matthew Milano – Are there many wolves around RIT?

Zachary Mitnik – You sign my book, I’ll sign yours.

William Petty – You’re really gonna outdo your last name.

Caitlin Reed – Made her fortune from her patented perpetual motion knitting device.

Ashley Richard – Or is it Margo?

Chase Silvers – Very nice.

Christopher Wagner – Curiosity killed the…well, never mind.

Alicia Wenzel – Will you study turtles in your adventures in marine biology? 

To the students of Franklin Academy, I leave my blessings for the wonderful lives you’ll lead after we’re gone. To the teachers and faculty, I leave my thanks for literally saving my life and teaching me priceless lessons that I will employ for the rest of it. To those who are graduating, I leave the memories that we all share. And to Franklin Academy, I leave the invaluable gift of Monopoly addiction. Bless all of you. Congratulations Class of 2010.