Be Hatched

There's a certain electricity in the air at Upper Campus. It's the anticipation of students starting school.  My favorite holiday is Christmas Eve. The anticipation of Christmas morning is palpable. From the time I was a kid, waiting to see what was under the tree to today as a mom, hoping my girls are excited for the gifts I carefully selected--the anticipation is better than the actual celebration.  Tomorrow will be better than today, because I will actually see my "kids." But the anticipation is still pretty satisfying. The hope of a new year, with new students, new classes, new possibilities awaits. Who will rise to be the valedictorian of the senior class? Which sports will make a deep post-season run? Which teacher will shine in a new assignment? The possibilities are endless tonight. We have worked tirelessly this summer. From the early days of June putting together the calendar of events and master schedule, to hiring new teachers and creating new courses, to

Good morning Kennedy Family. It is with joy that I address you, the graduating class of 2023. It is also with sadness, hope, love, and respect that I address you because, as Mr. Codispoti tells me, “you get too attached to the seniors.” and honestly it’s never been more true than this year. As Winnie the Pooh said, How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard. I’d like to start by sharing a story from the late 1900s. I was in middle school and we had the same English teacher for 3 years in a row. At the end of 7th grade, our final year in the building, she would write a poem about the students in the class; funny stories she would remember or things she admired about us. This was a big deal to the students and we could not wait to hear it. What I didn’t realize was that it was probably a big deal for her too. To grow close with a group of kids for a few years and see them leave is hard– and the better the students, the harder the ending. The pressure of a poem I’m

🎶Seventy three thousand, eight hundred and seventy minutes Seventy three thousand, eight hundred moments so dear Seventy three thousand, eight hundred and seventy minutes How do you measure, measure a school year??🎶 In Masses, in lunches In homework, in cups of coffee In gym class, in dances  In practice, in games In seventy three thousand, eight hundred seventy minutes How do you measure a year in the life? It’s Fiddlesticks show week, which has got me all musical and sentimental.  It’s senior Mass week. It’s final WJFK episode. Its seniors last full week of school. It’s breaking my heart.  In August, the world was our oyster. We celebrated Mass 12 times this year, with 8th grade promotion Mass and Baccalaureate to come.  We danced the night away at Homecoming, Prom, and junior high Spring Fling.  We were district finalists in girls golf, boys soccer, boys basketball; state qualifiers in boys golf; state runner up in football; state champs in cheer (and baseball and track are still