Connection and Community

By Jennifer Parnell 

Each year, the Lawrenceville Fifth Form selects a member of the faculty that they would most like to address them the day before graduation. This honor, given annually to a teacher who has deeply influenced and touched students with their kindness and spirit, was presented to Jennifer Parnell, history educator and AI coordinator, who spoke on “Connection and Community” at the Fifth Form Prize Awards.

Late last night, I thought about sending an email. You know how it goes. 

Dear Mr. Bilodeaux and Dean Eldridge,

I hope your evening is going well. I apologize for sending this email so late. I had a lot of work this week, and frankly, things are in shambles. I’m wondering if I can get an extension on this speech. Kind regards, Ms. Parnell

Of course, that’s not my style. I was so excited about being chosen that I drafted my speech the very first night. And no, I didn’t use AI.

Hi. I’m Ms Parnell. I teach in the History Department and coach cross country and track.

Good afternoon, and a warm welcome to everyone joining today for this celebration of the Class of 2024. Welcome students, siblings, alumni, and especially parents and grandparents . Thank you for entrusting your children to us. It’s no small thing to send your son or daughter out into the world and trust that a community will care for them and nurture them.

As a parent of a 2023 Lawrentian, I remember all too well the bittersweet emotions of this weekend. There is pride, joy, love, anxiety, anticipation, and excitement. You are all on the edge of a marvelous adventure and I’m truly honored to be a small part of your journey.

And to all the introverts for whom the Harkness table was intimidating - who gave a soliloquy on stage, who memorized a passage for the Speech competition - I now completely empathize with you. For those of you who voted me up here to speak today, well played, Class of 2024, well played.

I feel very connected to this class. I came to Lawrenceville in the fall of 2021 when many of you were starting your Third Form year.

My daughter and I had just arrived from Kodiak, Alaska, melting in the heat of our first Jersey summer. I had taken a leap of faith based on a random LinkedIn message and some Zoom interviews, accepting a job offer to teach history thousands of miles away at a place I’d never seen.

Not quite three years later, I am overwhelmed at what a privilege it is to teach here. From my first day on campus, you all listened attentively to my many stories with patience and kindness.

I have to do a quick shout-out to my classes: the OG Forces, Themes, Survey, American Presidency, AI & Ethics, Capstone, and both sections of Honors Gov.

People often speak of Lawrenceville as a place of privilege. And I agree wholeheartedly.

Some of the classes at this institution are rarely offered at the high school level. Molecular Genetics. Reporting Vietnam. Radical Love in African American Literature. Poverty. Bioethics. Playwriting.

It is a privilege to have such grand educational opportunities.

There is responsibility that accompanies this privilege. You are now charged with using your education to tackle the great challenges facing your graduating class. This class is at the forefront of a revolution in the nature of human thought and intelligence itself. AI will transform the way in which we work, learn, and interact. Your generation is tasked with its responsible development and ethical use.

It’s no small task, but I know you’re up for it.

I’ve seen how capable you all are through unprecedented events:  a pandemic, tornado warnings, and even an earthquake, the first in N.J. in more than a century. You are a unique community with a remarkable commonality of experience.

I have seen you navigate the ever-changing landscape of Lawrenceville during construction, walking on soggy woodchip paths that wind their way across campus and change every week. I have seen you transition from the pods at Irwin to Tsai, from Raymond and Dawes to the Circle and Crescent, and finally to Upper, McPherson, and Reynolds.

I have seen all the day students with numerous bags, trudging from far-flung parking lots, carying all the gear you need for academics, athletics, and a social life on campus.

I have seen you on the Josh, at pep rallies, and in the panini line in Abbot, working the puzzles at Bunn, performing at Smeeting, forming and breaking alliances for Splash. I have cheered you on from the sidelines at your games, meets, and matches, from swimming to football, from hockey to lacrosse, from baseball to track and field. I have seen creative cooking at the Wok and Omelet bars. 

I have seen you try to avoid being dress-coded for wearing sweatpants. I have seen you struggle through assignments like “Write Your Own DBQ” with what can only be described as abject desperation. I have seen you writing detailed lab reports, long essays about music that tells your life story, solving math problems in the House Common room, and embracing the adventure that was the college application process.

I have seen you frantically trying to print something for a class, and racing across campus—late, but with a cup of coffee.

I’ve seen you sit silently on a bench as you contemplate a grade that was lower than you hoped, a performance that fell short, or a game that did not go as planned. I have seen you walking across campus, phones pressed tightly to your ears, in deep conversations with family; fiercely independent but reaching out for the heartfelt solace and unconditional encouragement that can only come from home.

I have seen you in triumph and tragedy, from national championships and Hill Day to the staggering loss of classmates and friends. Today I have carried to this podium the last essay submitted to me by Stella Patterson, Class of 2024, in the hope that I can finally stop carrying it to school every day.

I have watched you undertake discussions of race, gender, and socioeconomic class in countless Harkness sessions, and best of all, in conversations that continue as you leave academic buildings and walk across campus. I have listened to your debates echoing around Noyes Quad.

I’ve seen the late night and early morning emails. I have seen you persevere.

I know how hard you have worked and what you have accomplished to reach these chairs at this moment, and I am so impressed.

And all along this journey, whether we were discussing Alaska or colleges or life in general, you thought you were successfully distracting me from the vagaries of the electoral college or Lincoln’s Civil War policies, but it was always a choice - always a choice - to stray from the lesson plan.

My goal was never to teach you factual elements of history or government; you can just google that on your own. The goal was always to teach you to connect, to listen to the stories of history, to be kind and supportive to one another; to think critically, to create a cycle of communication and understanding essential for the progression of civil discourse.

History provides the context for our connections. It encompasses the contemplation of people, land, geography, and culture. It is where we have been, who we are, and where we are going. History is how we choose to remember, to define ourselves, and to govern ourselves.

It is the study of what it means to be a human being, as an individual, a member of a community, and a citizen of the world.

At Lawrenceville, we all arrive as individuals with stories, sharing a space - this marvelous beautiful campus - for a fleeting moment. For this brief period of time, I have had the privilege of hearing and reading your stories and sharing some of mine.  We have built a history together.

So every sidebar was a privilege, not a diversion.

Recently, a friend of mine posted on social media about happiness. If I was truly hip, I would say it was on Instagram or X, but we all know I mean Facebook. This friend posited the question: who from our high school graduating class of 1981 is happy? My answer is immediately and unequivocally “yes”! I am truly happy.

I have had jobs with a higher salary, and certainly the stock options from my years in the oil industry were more favorable. I have had jobs with more adventure, flying in helicopters on Alaska’s North Slope or in the jungles of South America. I have had jobs closer to the center of power in Washington, D.C.

But here at Lawrenceville, I am truly happy because of my view. The view I have cherished these past three years is the view across the warm and polished surface of the Harkness table. I love my view because every day I get to see the future.

I get to see future lawyers and engineers and scientists. I get to see future parents and grandparents and CEOs and church leaders and authors and social workers. I get to see future professional athletes and teachers and actors and producers and hedge fund managers and poets and musicians.

And I should mention I’m very grateful for all your continuing contributions to Social Security.

It is nearly impossible to describe how much positivity and energy you have brought to this campus, and how much we will miss your voices when you depart.

So my advice to you is to leap fearlessly into your new life after Lawrenceville.

You have so many talents and there is kindness among you. Embrace the uncertainty and chaos of the coming years. Seek out new people every week. Try new foods. READ actual books now that you have more time. Watch new tiktoks that go beyond those selected for you by an algorithm that could not possibly imagine the expanse of your imagination and dreams. 

Join clubs not because you think it will look good on an application, but because you actually enjoy the activity.

And then, share your story not on Instagram but in actual conversations over meals in the soft waning light of evening. Share your story in hallways and on walks, in dorm rooms, and in the car on the drive home. Take out the AirPods. Listen to the people and the world around you.

My favorite college conversations were at around two in the morning, sitting in the hallway, writing some awful essay, and contemplating the meaning of life over cold pizza.

It is in sharing your story and listening to the stories of others that we find and forge connections and build community. 

And please realize that it’s not always about the next goal, the next rung on the ladder of what is perceived to be success. It doesn’t have to be a grand adventure to be a story.

There is enchantment in ordinary days.

As John Burroughs wrote in his tremendous work "Studies in Nature and Literature:"

“The lesson which life constantly repeats is to 'look under your feet.'
You are always nearer to the divine and the true sources of your power than you think.
The lure of the distant and the difficult is deceptive.
The great opportunity is where you are.
Do not despise your own place and hour.
Every place is under the stars.
Every place is the center of the world.”

So appreciate the moments in which you find yourselves. It’s more ephemeral than you could ever imagine. Live a vibrant and connected life in whatever community you land, embracing friendships and finding joy.

And when you make your way back to Lawrenceville, please come by Noyes and share your stories.

In the telling of stories, we will continue to feel connected, to be part of this community, and to embrace our history.

In the telling of stories, we are a witness to each other’s lives.

I can’t wait to hear your stories.

I will close by saying Congratulations, Class of 2024.

It has, truly, been my privilege.

Thank you.

For additional information, contact Lisa M. Gillard H'17, director of public relations, at lgillard@lawrenceville.org.