Hewitt News

Good morning, and a warm welcome to family members and friends, faculty and staff, trustees, and especially to our seniors and to Hewitt students – past and present – who are here with us today to celebrate this very special occasion of the graduation of the Hewitt Class of 2025. This senior class will be forever known not only for what they have achieved, but also for who they are and who they are becoming. 

Sitting before us are future artists, mathematicians, and attorneys. In this class, we have aspiring filmmakers, surgeons, and academics. Others of these soon-to-be graduates will go on to become political scientists, engineers, economists, and actors, while others will pursue careers in mental health, marketing, the environment, international relations, and so much more. We are extraordinarily proud of these young women as they head out into the world beyond Hewitt, because they are going to make our world a better place. To all who are gathered here today: if you are able, please stand and give the Class of 2025 a hearty round of applause for achieving this milestone of their graduation from The Hewitt School. 

This year’s Commencement theme, chosen by our seniors, is “Changed for Good.” And since we both began our careers as high school English and Latin teachers, we begin by explicating that phrase as meaning both changed for the better and changed forever. At Hewitt, both definitions apply, because our school’s raison d’être is so much more than our graduates’ admission to an impressive array of colleges and universities – it really is to “change” girls and young women “for good” so that they live fulfilling lives as game changers and ethical leaders who “change” our world “for good.” So to honor the theme, and as parting words of wisdom to the Class of 2025, we will each share three stories from our own lives that have changed us for good.

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Remarks by Head of Upper School and Assistant Head of School Elizabeth Renison Stevens

Times of transition, such as this, provide a pause for reflection, a moment to consider past choices as well as future opportunities. Seniors, as each of you is reflecting at this juncture on your life, here a few thoughts I’d like to share with you about mine: 

First, I’ve realized that all the things I thought I’d given up come ‘round again. In high school, I was a theater kid: obsessed with classical theater, a devotee of Laurence Olivier, and an aspiring actor myself. I performed Hamlet’s soliloquies; played Rosencranz in Stoppard’s Shakespeare-inspired play; and attended the American School of Dramatic Arts for a summer. I applied to Vassar to study theater, fully intending to be, like that other famous Vassar alum, the next Meryl Streep. And then what happened? Well, I got to Vassar, took one class in the drama department, and decided, “Hmmm…No thanks. Done with that.” I dropped drama and picked up ancient Greek and never looked back. A chapter closed? Well, not really. Every time I’ve spoken in front of an audience, including today, every time I’ve taught a text that helps to be heard aloud, every time I’ve pondered motivation and emotion - on stage or off - I’ve drawn on that theater experience, short though it was. And imagine, what fun to walk the boards at Hewitt again this past fall, cast as Philostrate in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. So, my advice? Know that all of the things you’ve done at Hewitt - sports, clubs, the arts - they are with you whether you continue them in college or thereafter. All that we do shapes us and stays with us, whether we know it at the time or not. 

Second, it’s never too late. “I’m not an athlete” was my mantra for a long time. P.E. class in high school? Oh dear. I was last picked for softball every single game. (I would never have been on your team, Dr. Kinsey.) Until, that is, my daughter was taking up skiing at age two and a half. Left behind in the ski lodge for the day? Unsure whether she was safe on the slopes? That wasn’t going to work. So, at 36 I took up the skis and made it to black diamond comfort. Which primed me for thinking at age 43 when I saw the Japanese martial art of Aikido: I can do that. And do that I did: all of the forward and backward rolls, hard break falls from heights, and seven days of training a week that included rigorous test prep and intense seminars. And what’s more: I discovered that Aikido, the art of peace, is not only rigorous physically, but also deeply rewarding spiritually. It’s an art that cultivates balance and harmony in oneself and in working with others. It comes in handy in moments of conflict, and those moments aren’t always on the mat. So, if I started at 43 years old, how much could I actually accomplish in a Japanese martial art? Thanks to you, Sensei, I now hold a third degree black belt. So, my advice? You don’t have to do it all now; you have a lifetime to try new things and you may even get more out of them later: I don’t know that I would have appreciated the soulfulness of Aikido at a younger age. I’m glad I found it when I did. 

And finally, here’s a through line that’s never changed: Classics. When I came from dropping that drama class, I ran into a Classics professor and asked if she had room in her introductory ancient Greek course - a pretty ridiculous question if you think about it. But there started my devotion to Classics, which had budded with the study of Latin in high school but went into full bloom with Greek in college. And what is it that makes Classics still hold value, and what advice can I take from the field to offer to you? Another college professor once said to me, “If you think the Greeks were just like us, but wearing sheets; think again.” How true. The ancient Greeks and Romans weren’t just like us in many ways. I could list their appetite for conquest, for violence, their ecstatic religious rituals - many aspects of their cultures that feel distant from ours. And yet. The Greeks and Romans understood what it was - what it is - to be human. They developed genres of literature that speak to the vagaries of the human journey: the heroic quest of epic, the hubris and fall of tragedy, the absurdity of comedy, the eloquence of lyric. Take perhaps the most famous tale of all: Homer’s Odyssey. Can we not see in Odysseus’ cleverness, his escapades, his homeward journey; can we not see in Penelope’s steadfastness, her resourcefulness, her patience: so much of what life’s journey offers us, both in obstacle and in reward? This is why Classics meets us where we are, and why I encourage you to explore humanity through texts that sing to you as Homer still does to me. And why I leave you, at last, with Tennyson’s words for the once again outward bound Ulysses: 
        
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Congratulations, Class of ’25. May your sails always be full with the winds of joyful and fulfilling adventures. 

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Remarks by Head of School Dr. Tara Christie Kinsey

Poetry is where Ms. Stevens ended, and poetry is where I begin. Class of ’25, here are three pieces of advice on your graduation day. 

My first piece of advice is: Embrace your inner poet. By this, I mean: focus your energy on people and actions that inspire you to be fully present to joy, passion, sadness, and suffering – the full range of human experience. Don’t numb out when things get tough. Make sacred the care and feeding of your wild and compassionate heart. For it is with compassion – which, as Ms. Stevens can confirm, comes from the Latin compati, meaning “to suffer together with” – that we are capable of more than just bearing witness to others’ suffering. True compassion is feeling connected to others enough to act in the face of suffering or injustice. For many years prior to Hewitt, I was a teacher and scholar focused on the recovery of marginalized voices in poetry: from the overlooked poets of Northern Ireland to the neglected Anglo-Jewish First World War poet Issac Rosenberg. Poetry taught me to pay attention to whose voices are heard and whose voices are silenced, to listen carefully for what is not being said. If this sounds vaguely familiar, that’s because it is. Although I was not conscious of it at the time, there is a profound thread connecting my restoration of neglected voices in poetry and my amplification of girls’ and women’s voices at Hewitt. So to our seniors I say: embrace your inner poet, and you will continue to show up with a full heart, and care enough to confront when something just isn’t right. 

My second piece of advice is: Embrace your inner captain. As some of you know, and as Ms. Stevens alluded to earlier, I played on a nationally ranked Division I college softball team. The more temporal distance I have from that experience, the more fully I understand how it shapes what I believe leadership is – and is not – about. Recently, after informing me that I still held two university records – stolen bases in a career and runs scored in a season – someone asked: “Why do you steal bases in softball, and how does it relate to who you are as a leader?” This question prompted the story of my inner captain. Recruited in high school as a right handed shortstop, I arrived at college and my coach gave me sobering news: “You’re going to have to find another position.” Following sprint and agility drills, my coach informed me that I had a chance of playing time, but only if I became a left-handed slap-hitting outfielder. For those who don’t know the sport, let me translate: I was being told that I needed to be the exact opposite of what I was both on the field and at the plate. But after the initial shock wore off, I decided that I’d better get to work. So I came to practice early. I stayed late. I learned how to hit lefty, dive for fly balls, and throw runners out from the outfield. Midway through my freshman season, I broke into the starting lineup, and the rest is history. This experience taught me that an effective captain will do whatever it takes – even going to extraordinary lengths to adjust their own role – so that the team can win. As for stealing bases – well, what I would say is that a captain knows that sometimes you just need to trust your gut and take a bold risk for the team. Sure, you might get thrown out. But then again, you might just change the entire momentum of the game in your favor. The captain knows you can’t always win by analyzing, second guessing, and playing it safe – sometimes you need to be brave so others can be too.

My third and final piece of advice is: Embrace your inner leader. Some of you might be asking – “But wait, isn’t a captain a leader?” to which I say, “Not when it comes to women.” Research shows that while people may say they want more women in leadership, people are actually still more uncertain about women’s abilities to be effective leaders than men. Women remain stereotyped as either warm and likeable or competent and effective. So when women leaders display competence, we risk being disliked; when we display warmth, we risk being disrespected. This double bind leads many women – myself among them – to walk the tightrope between warmth and competence. Is that tightrope fair? No. But then again, life is not always fair. And women have long been, like the dancer Ginger Rogers, doing everything men do, but “backwards and in high heels.” But there is a silver lining. I believe that it is in part because of this training in extra strong headwinds that women leaders are often stronger and wiser. Consider, then, what an opportunity women have to model a higher standard for leadership than is typically seen in our world – the kind of leadership that integrates head and heart, that unites the inner poet who takes care and the inner captain who takes charge. So in closing, I say to our seniors: get in touch with your inner leader. She’s part poet, part captain, and wholly unstoppable. And when you meet this amazing woman, embrace her and never let her go. For she’s the real you. Congratulations, Class of ’25. Now go make good things happen out there.

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So, that’s a little about our lives and advice. But, perhaps, you ask: how has Hewitt changed us for good? One important way is evident through our standing here together today. Like seniors Yara T. and Goldie Z. – who in their Convocation Address on the first day of school, and today on their last, approached this very podium together, we stand here in front of you having learned how to share the proverbial and literal microphone. And, following many Hewitt students’ inspiring demonstration of shared leadership, we still bring our own unique voices, leadership, and life experiences to all that we do.

Earlier, Ms. Stevens mentioned acting in Stoppard’s play, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, and there is a line that we find particularly fitting for this occasion: “Look on every exit as being an entrance somewhere else.” In the end, we hope we have had a positive impact on this school that has had a transformative impact on us as women, as leaders, as educators, and as Hewitt mothers. Hewitt has given us the opportunity to model behavior that we want to see more of in the world: Women sharing the mic, celebrating and amplifying one another’s voices, and owning our own power and ability to effect positive change. May Hewitt never stop changing for good: changing girls and our world for the better, changing girls and our world forever. 

Congratulations, Class of 2025!