When carried by the thin voices of kindergarteners, “God Bless America” fizzes through the air with giggles as small hands mimic undulating waves.
The commencement tradition at Kearsarge Regional High School has delighted graduates and their families for years: Kindergarten students from throughout the school district — which encompasses the towns of Bradford, Newbury, New London, Sutton, Springfield, Warner and Wilmot — form a charming chorus before an audience seated between end zones of the football field. Little children grow to become high school seniors, amusing their friends with cigars and selfies as they’re presented their diplomas, and the ritual begins anew.
Mason Christensen’s memory of his turn at center stage might not have crystallized without the aid of the ‘Kearsarge 2026’ t-shirt he’d worn as a child troubadour. But luck would have that Christensen’s mom held onto the shirt, and on Saturday, June 6, the senior class president unfurled it over the podium for his fellow graduates to see.
He pumped the sleeves and let the body balloon against the wind. The white-and-blue number would hardly fit him, but after 12 years of schooling, the allusion to his graduating class had finally been imbued with meaning.
“Back then, seeing ‘class of 2026’ printed on the front felt like looking into the distant future. It all seemed impossibly far away, but like all things, the day has finally arrived,” he said.
He directed his remarks to the 13 kindergartners in the Kearsarge Regional class of 2038, who just joined the district’s annual tradition.
He urged them to try something new, even if they find themselves charting a path alone. He assured them that there’s growth on the other side of discomfort. Treasure each moment, he said. Hug your mom.
“Say ‘yes’ to a sunrise hike of Mount Kearsarge. Say ‘yes’ to being on the tug-of-war team at winter carnival. Say ‘yes’ to a late-night drive to Denny’s. Because before you know it, everyone you were singing with in kindergarten will have moved on to the next chapters of their lives,” he said.
On Saturday morning, Christensen and 118 other graduates turned a page in theirs.
Undaunted by vulnerability, William Reid bared a series of regrets from his high school years: He could have pushed himself harder, stuck with the student council his sophomore year or overcome his fear of being flattened with a tackle and joined the football team.
The missteps of the past, although immutable, can inform the future, he concluded.
“Lucky for me, I’ve got a whole lot of life left and more opportunities to not sell myself short. There are plenty more chances to challenge myself, and the same goes for all my classmates here,” he said. “Be honest with yourself about where you feel you may have gone wrong, but then take the time to understand what happened and just aim to do better the next time.”
At the podium, Emma Geraghty effused a cascade of compliments for her classmates’ accomplishments: Gage Richard, who ended the year with 100 career wins on the wrestling team; Jacob Dunn, who is headed to the Adidas Track and Field nationals; Ainsley Frenkiewich, who recently matched the school record for women’s pole vault at 9 feet and 6 inches.
The acknowledgment flowed from the microphone like a burst dam, drawing thunderous agreement from family and friends.
For the first time since the 1990s, Geraghty noted, the Kearsarge boys’ varsity soccer team had advanced to the state championship game.
Even without the title of captain, Christensen had been a leader on the team.
History teacher Couper Gunn’s second year as coach coincided with Christensen’s sophomore year. The young starter had been the vanguard of his team’s approach to pressing defensively, and that year, he’d mustered the courage to ask Gunn for more support for himself and other underclassmen.
“When you’re coming up to a coach, an authority figure, and asking him to do better — that was essentially what he was doing. He was up there advocating for himself,” Gunn said. “I was still learning, and the way he was able to help me be a better coach was a really good education.”
The pair built trust over Christensen’s four years on the team. In the halls, they exchanged a proprietary handshake, two fingers and a thumb outstretched like chicken feet.
When Christensen’s mother recently posted a photo of him as an infant on Facebook with a soccer ball framed in the corner, Gunn made the facetious reply: “I can’t see it through the tears.”
He knew before the ceremony began that he was “probably going to cry.” Only this time, the tears that ran would be real.
