St. Albert Graduates Reflect on Their K-12 Journey

May 30, 2025

There were three speakers at the St. Albert graduation for the Class of 2025, each selected based on their academic performance.

 

Ava Eickholt

The question “What do you want to be when you grow up?” is a question that every student gets asked frequently. Probably even more in their high school years compared to other ages. In high school, the question comes in different versions from family members or strangers, and is usually followed by an awkward silence, or an “I'm not sure yet”. In middle school, it was followed with innocent answers, untainted, like wanting to be an actress or the president. But in kindergarten, my answers were composed of random and unorchestrated responses. At that time, all I knew was that I wanted to be a part of something, something inspiring. I think every child does. For me, it was the cool surgeons on the TV or the teachers in real life. For others, it was the police officers or Grammy winners.

Whether you are still lost in the possible answers you can give to this question, I want you to know that you are already a part of something. In a wider view, you are a part of the class of 2025. You have filled a spot that no one else can sit in. In smaller pictures, you are a part of something even more special, like making someone laugh in the audience of the fall musical, making a parent cry in the stands (with what I hope are happy tears), or making a teacher smile on a bad day. Some of you may walk out of these doors and never walk through them again, so I am reminding you, promising you, not to doubt yourself. You have already made an impact, been inspiring, and despite what you may think of yourself, you have already grown into a person I am proud of. Life will always have you grow, will always be asking you the question, “What, or even better,  who do you want to be?” Take my advice, and don’t hold yourself back from the endless answers you can follow. You have already gone this far, and you can go so, so much farther.

 

Parker Heisterkamp

Good afternoon, everyone—teachers, family, friends, and of course, the Class of 2025. It’s a surreal feeling! We did it! This isn’t just the end of high school—it’s the end of a journey we started together back in kindergarten. Most people go to school, make friends, graduate, and move on. But we’ve done something different. We’ve grown up in this building, together, for nearly our entire lives. We’ve been classmates, teammates, sometimes rivals—but always a family.

We’ve had experiences that only a group like ours could understand. Remember our Covid Zoom classes? Some of us trying to learn while others were clearly still in bed, or muted at just the right moment to avoid being called on. Somehow, we navigated breakout rooms, spotty Wi-Fi, and the weirdness of online school—and honestly, some of us might miss those pajama days playing video games. And then came the electrical fire. One day we were in class, the next—we were just off. No class, no backup plan, just… surprise time off. At first, it felt like a gift. Then we realized how much we actually missed being here together, even if it meant early mornings and uniforms. It showed us how much this place means to us—not just the building, but the people in it.

And speaking of change, how about our multiple principals? Each brought their own style, their own rules, and their own “vision.” We adjusted every time, and we found stability in the chaos, mostly thanks to the teachers and staff who held everything together. To those teachers: thank you. You’ve seen us through every version of ourselves—from wide-eyed kindergartners to barely functioning seniors. Ms. D, who welcomed us into the world of school in kindergarten and gave us our very first sense of what it meant to learn and grow in a community of faith, thank you for your kindness and your patience. And to Mrs. Gorman, who held it down in fourth grade and somehow managed to keep us all in line while still making us laugh—thank you for your strength, your humor, and your heart.

To all our teachers, thank you for believing in us, challenging us, and reminding us to put faith and kindness first. To our families: thank you for every ride to school, every pep talk, and every reminder to finish that assignment we swore we had already turned in. And to my classmates, you are my people. We’ve laughed until we cried, survived group projects, gone through real losses, and big wins. We’ve grown up here. And no matter where we go next, we’ll always share something that no one else really can.

So here’s to the Class of 2025—the class that Zoomed, evacuated, pivoted, and persevered. Let’s carry what we’ve learned here—about faith, resilience, and friendship—into whatever comes next. Thank you, and God bless.

 

Owen Marshall

Good afternoon everyone, family, friends, teachers, and of course, my fellow graduates. Standing here today, I’m not just seeing classmates. I’m seeing people I grew up with, people I’ve learned from, laughed with, and leaned on more times than I can count. At a big school, you might only know a few faces in the crowd. But here, we know everyone. We know each other’s names, stories, strengths, and yeah, even those moments we wish we would have forgotten. There’s something different about going to a small school. It’s a place
where teachers know your parents and siblings by name. Where every win on the field or in the gym felt like the whole school won. We weren’t just students, we were family.

In a world that moves fast and where people sometimes feel like numbers, we’ve had something rare. Real connection. We’ve been surrounded by people who care, teachers who stay after class to make sure that all of their students are on the right track. Friends who always show up when it matters, and a community that’s believed in us since kindergarten. And I can’t not mention Spanish class. No VHL assignment was safe from the chaos, and none of us were safe from Mr. Poncini’s sarcasm. He kept us on our toes, not just with vocab and grammar, but with constant jokes, mostly aimed at how long it took Parker to finish assignments and Jayden’s anime obsession. Those moments are what make St. Albert great.

The truth is, none of these memories would’ve happened without our teachers’ time, effort, and patience. As the son of a teacher, I got to see the countless hours that they spend on their students. The stress that they have to deal with on a day to day basis, and the unconditional love that they have for everyone that they teach. For these many reasons, we can not thank you all enough.

As we head into whatever’s next, college, work, or a gap year, I hope we hold on to that sense of connection that we have built inside of St. Albert. Let’s keep knowing people by name, showing up for each other, and not forgetting how much the little things matter. To everyone who’s been part of our story, thank you. To our parents, who’ve spent countless hours at concerts, games, performances, and everything in between, your support shaped us, and we see it. We can not thank you enough. We might be graduating from a small school, but what we’re leaving with is something big: a foundation built on community, connection, and purpose.

Congratulations, Class of 2025. We did it.