Chris Mazzola: "It's all in your Backpack"

It is a truly a privilege to stand before you tonight. For two decades, I have sat with seniors and their families on this night, basking in the dual sentiments of elation at having completed the Thacher journey and nostalgia for all that has transpired during their years here. Tonight I stand as you do, watching my Thacher years wind to an end. It is bittersweet, because so much of my life has been spent on this beautiful campus. And what a good life it has been for me and for my little family. A lot has happened to me during my 20 years at Thacher: in brief and without too many details: I got engaged and married, gave birth to and began raising two children, endured the untimely deaths of one of my sisters, as well as those of my father and father-in-law. All the while and concurrently, I’ve had the joy of working with all of you students, faculty, staff, and parents in the capacity of coach, teacher, Dean, Admission officer, advisor, EDT leader, and dorm head. Getting up every day to go to work has been a happy affair and for that, I feel infinitely blessed. It has given me the balance and perspective to deal with the difficult moments that have come my way. Your bright, eager, cheerful faces , your earnest hellos meeting my eyes as I walked through campus, your hilarious skits and announcements at assemblies, your thoughtful, sincere approach to French class and to JC presentations, your unwavering effort on the playing fields, your willingness to try new things and put yourselves out there on the line. Every year, even though I witnessed it for 20 years straight, the sight of the freshmen coming over the hill for the riding demonstration in the fall brought tears of pride to eyes. Same for the grand entry at gymkhana. Your willingness to work hard, your effort, your enthusiasm, your eagerness, your motivation, your commitment – all of these things buoyed me and reminded me of how good people could be.

When I was in high school, my father gave me a framed quotation from the English author and politician Joseph Addison that he found inspiring and felt I should consider. It read:

Initially, I found these words puzzling and did not take much time to think about them. I did however, haul the framed piece off to college and grad school, dutifully hanging it on my wall each year, waiting for it to one day magically make sense. Eventually it came to Thacher, and hung on the wall of my first apartment in Upper School, mostly ignored as it had been for the previous 10 years in each of my temporary dorm rooms and apartments. By now, it was a familiar and comfortable, if mostly inaccessible, friend who had traveled the world with me, finally settling down at Thacher in the Ojai Valley for a long stay. I saw it each morning when I woke, but thought about the words almost never.

One May afternoon, about five years after I had first begun my work here, I was walking baby Madeleine through campus in her stroller, inhaling the orange blossoms on a warm spring day, settling above the upper field with a book as she napped, watching students play pick up soccer as the sun set behind them. It was a blissful moment. I had a tremendous sense of peace and fulfillment and simplicity. And suddenly the words made sense.

It had taken me 15 years to figure out what my dad had been talking about, but in that moment, it became crystal clear. I had my beautiful daughter and newly formed little family to love and cherish, I had a job that meant the world to me to occupy my days and nights, and I had everything to hope for – a happy marriage, a wonderful life for my child, a vibrant career, a better world. It seemed simple in that moment. It doesn’t matter what you end up doing do, but it does matter that it brings you pleasure and joy. Be happy to get up and go to work in the morning. It makes a big difference. Make relationships with people you love and who love you, not for what you can give them, or they can give you but for what you can become together. And never lose your hope – hope for the future, hope for a happy life, hope for your health, hope for this complicated world. Find the things that make you happy and do them. Something to do, something to love, something to hope for: I urge you to keep these simple words in your hearts as you move forward from Thacher, because I think they will guide you well, as they have me. The whats and whos of do, love, and hope will be different for each of you and may change over time, but perhaps they can help re-center you in times of trouble.

I have struggled greatly in recent months with our decision to leave Thacher and change course. Though I have wanted to be the head of a high school for a good while and was initially very excited about this life change, I became very conflicted as the end drew near. Why had I “blown up” our great life here at Thacher and in Ojai? How could our new school even hope to match up to Thacher and the people here? What if I was horrible at it? What if no one liked me? I dissolved into tears most nights, every single time I went to work out, and whenever I drove alone in the car. Pretty much most of the time. Luckily I am married to the calmest person on the planet and he was able to talk me off the ledge on a regular basis, although lately it’s become, “for goodness sake, just give a rest. For. One. Day. ”

Among our favorite movies of all time is Parenthood – you know, the one with Steve Martin and Mary Steenburgen. In one scene, their son is freaking out at Chuck-E Cheese, alternately screaming, pulling at his hair and clenching his teeth, all because he lost his retainer at a birthday party. As his parents are digging through a dumpster, looking for it, they talk about how they’re taken aback by how easily their son routinely flings himself into a tizzy. The scene is memorable enough that whenever one of us gets noticeably stressed out, the other will ask, “What? Did you lose your retainer again?” It’s a simple little cue to calm down and relax.

As you might guess, between the two of us, I’m the one who tends to “lose her retainer” more often. I don’t know that I’d say I freak out at the drop of a hat, but let’s just say I’m easily excitable, and tend to shall we say, exaggeration and drama. What’s funny is that our children mirror us exactly. One is just like Mr. Mazzola and one is just like me. I think you probably already know which kid is like which parent. So, as you might guess, JJ has been on the tear/guilt train with me these past months. “Why have you ruined my life?” “This is the worst decision you have ever made!” “I hate Virginia!” (He’s never been there.) I was standing in line the other day at Vons and a woman I barely know turned to me and said, “I can’t believe you are leaving. Congrats on your new job! But . . .you are so brave to be leaving JJ behind. I just couldn’t do it.”

I looked at her quizzically and said, “Excuse me?”

“Yeah, he’s going to be living in Upper school with cousin Tony and the guys, right?”

 “Ummm, yeah, I don’t know about that,” I stammered.

He also told Ms. Perry that if he got straight As, we had agreed that he could come back, live in our old house with the Perry family, and go to school with Evan. A complete lie.

But the truth is, I understand his sadness. These have been the happiest years of my life. But it’s time to move on – for me, and for you.

I’d like to add in one last message tonight before I close. You have learned so much at Thacher: You studied literearture and history, algebra, geometry, physics, chemistry, painting, ceramics, language. You’ve learned how to tie a box hitch, a diamond hitch. How to saddle up the most difficult of horses. How to comfort a friend in need, how to set a table, how to analyze and look with a critical eye, how to lead, how to be led, how to pitch in and help, how to listen, how to teach, how to give, how to share, how to take when you need to, how to ask for help. So much learning. It’s extraordinary. And why? Why did we teach you all these things? Why do you need these skills? So you can get As in college? So you can get into the best graduate school? So you can make a million or a billion or a trillion dollars? Nope. Because you need those skills just to survive. Life is hard, my friends. It is hard. No matter how much you prepare and educate yourselves and be kind and good and do what you are supposed to do, no matter how much money you make or what position you hold or how well you marry, hard times will inevitably come your way. You will not have anticipated or planned for them. Some will be painful and difficult and ugly. I hate to let you in on this secret of adulthood – but you are ready. You are strong. You are talented. And you have all the tools that you need for the hard times. And what’s more, you shouldn’t feel like you have to face the hard times on your own. Look around. You have amazing friends and family and faculty around you. Assembled beneath this tent is an amazing community full of people who will be happy to help if they can. In fact, you have generations of Thacher students and faculty members who will happily be there to help when you stumble. I hope that you can feel that in this moment, and I hope you remember it in your greatest time of need. We may be going our separate ways, but we will still have each other.

That’s something I’ve tried to remind myself during these past months as I have driven around Ojai, weeping in private. In those moments, there’s a song that has spoken to me over and over and given me strength, given me heart, because it has reminded me that as I leave, I have all of you and all that this school has given me. Mary Ellen and Mr. Haggard have graciously agreed to perform it for you tonight. As you listen, imagine that you are packing up for your most difficult trans-Sierra with Mr. Coleman. From under your bed you pull out your bin of your well-used camping gear. You’ve got your most well-worn, trusted running shoes for the long hard miles ahead, your coziest down sleeping bag for those tired, sore nights at the end of a long day, the long johns that you can peel off as soon as you begin to sweat in the morning, your warmest cap and gloves, your worn in sierra cup for oatmeal and cocoa, the pocket knife you can alternately use to cut cheese, saw rope, or poke through a blister, your favorite camping book, your headlamp, your moleskin, all that you need upon your back along with the strength of your body and your spirit, your common sense, and most importantly – your will of steel. And when the trail rises steeply, remember to put one foot in front of the other, just like when you went up Old Army, or when you climbed a mountain of research for your Sr. Ex., or when you sweated your way through pre-season sports camp, or when you endured the endless rehearsals in days leading up to opening night.


All the while, stay calm, breathe, take your time, and remember: you are strong, you are beautiful. You have all the tools you need.


Imagine this place and your time here, and I’m confident that in your memories of Thacher, you will find a spark that will rekindle a confidence that helps you realize: you can do it.

Thank you.