Valedictory Speech: No One Finds Their Way Alone

Earlier in June the Class of 2026 selected its valedictorian in Ethan Curtis. From Kindergarten to 12 at SMUS, Ethan has shown that he is a thoughtful classmate, a passionate innovator and a confident athlete. Whether it is head of the math club, collaborating with classmates to build a math tutoring business, winning hardware at the Science Fair or serving aces on the tennis court, Ethan has no doubt reflected what is possible as a SMUS student. On June 18, in front of a full gymnasium of family and supporters, as well as teachers, staff and his peers, Ethan gave an address that reminded graduating students that this was actually the whole point.

Dubbed by his classmates as "the next Tony Stark," here is Ethan Curtis'  Valedictorian speech: 

Valedictory Speech

by Ethan Curtis '26

Good evening families, friends, faculty, and students. My name is Ethan Curtis, and I'm honoured to speak today as valedictorian for the class of 2026.

I've been a SMUS student for thirteen years, and the class sitting here tonight certainly isn't the one I started with. People arrived from across the city, across the country, across the world — and somewhere along the way, every one of them became one of us.

I think back to Junior School, to holding hands in a line as we made our way from music class to art, and feeling, even at five, that as long as I was in that line, I was exactly where I belonged.

I think about middle school, about our COVID-stricken homeroom, TAG 702, and how even with everything shut down and kept apart, we still came together to compete in trivia and tag games.

And I think about high school — about the outdoor ed trips we took every year, where after just a few days in the wilderness, near-strangers turned into some of the first people we'll embrace at alumni weekends for the rest of our lives.

Again and again, this place has shown me, and hopefully all of you, that no one here has to find their way alone. There's actually a well-known SMUS story that captures this sentiment perfectly:

A few weeks before Alumni Weekend this year, conversation amongst grads was consumed by one topic, and one topic alone: Gotcha.

For the uninitiated, Gotcha is one enormous game of tag spread across the entire graduating class. You pay in, you're assigned a target, and to tag them, elimination hinges on who happens to be wearing fewer layers.

It is, for the record, one of the most sacred traditions among SMUS grads.

One evening, just as dusk was settling in, one of the boarders here tonight, was out hunting with a couple of friends. They were driving around Victoria to find his target, and he wasn't worried—he was in the car, safe, or so he thought.

But what he didn't know was that the hunter had become the hunted and another car had been trailing them. The moment the boarder and his friends parked, the trailing car's door burst open.

It was his pursuer, coming for the tag. Fight or flight took over, and the boarder chose flight. He bailed out of the car in nothing but his swim trunks.

He ran. And he ran. And he ran — until the footsteps chasing behind him faded into silence

When the adrenaline finally settled, he looked around. It was pitch black. 

Every street looked the same, and there was no one around. Just him, no phone — he'd left it in the car. Almost no clothing, thanks to the rules of our beloved game. And, creeping in fast, the freezing cold.

As he stood there, a thought settled in: if nobody came, he was going to be lost and alone all night long.

Meanwhile, the Gotcha grad chat was melting down. Cars were dispatched. Search parties formed. People were leaning out of windows screaming his name into the bleak Victoria night. The lion’s share of a graduating class had mobilized in the dark for just one person.

Thirty minutes passed with radio silence, the grad class picturing this border alone and scared. As the Gotcha Gods were ready to pull the plug, a snap came through the group chat... it was HIM. Back at SMUS. Alive, intact, and wearing a borrowed set of clothes.

By complete chance, a group of SMUS alumni were driving that same road, back in town for the Alumni Weekend that was just around the corner. As their headlights swept across the boarder's exhausted, freezing face, the driver felt a hint of recognition — and then it dawned on him: he knew this kid. The alumni pulled over, got a quick rundown on the evolving lore, and drove him straight back to the campus they had once called their own. No hesitation. To everyone else in that car, he was a complete stranger — a shirtless teen on the side of the road, the kind of person most people would drive right past and stare at, completely bewildered. But that one flicker of recognition was all it took.

The boarder's connection to SMUS was the credential that saved him. Those alumni had their own Gotcha, and they knew exactly the kind of dreaded Saturday night prep that would've been waiting for him, had he not made it back. They had once stood at grad just as this boarder does today (I won't name him). Years and graduations apart, the shared SMUS experience was enough — the moment they recognized one of their own, they ensured he didn't have to find his way back home, alone.

The shared experiences that make someone a SMUS student are what saved the border that night — and they unite us across generations. The grads here tonight, the alumni who came before us, the ones who'll sit in these seats long after — they understand the Vivat we scream before a big game. They understand the feeling when one of Reverend Fletcher's chapel stories reveals something that stays with you on the hungry walk to Sun Centre.  They understand the way boarders and day students come together: out by the flags playing music, out on the field playing soccer, or packed into Ding Chai on a late night before check-in.

And some of our experiences are niche to our class of 2026 — so specific they'd mean nothing to anyone outside this grade, which makes the bond between us even more unique. Things like: The Among Us lobbies on the third floor of Crothall. Opening your phone to seven messages from friends all flagging the same brutal snipe on @yoursmus. Landing at Tilted Towers surrounded by the boys in Howard’s. Grade 10 bird watching with Mr. Dewar instead of finishing our essays. Anderson's unexpected return and the notorious house parties that followed. The grueling night at Sombrio together. Watching Kim's progression as a DJ throughout the year. Musica Martes in Spanish class. Even the creation of the phrase 'Ultimate Credibility.'

These are just some of the many inside jokes and memories that will still get us laughing out of nowhere in ten years — and while I hope, for the audience's sake, that almost no one out there caught more than a few of these references, that's exactly the point: they belong to our grad class. They're the memories that'll bring us back to each other long after tonight.

I can't leave this stage without naming a few people, many of whom have enabled the experiences I just articulated.

To the Sun Centre staff, who kept us fed through every lunchtime conversation that ran right till 12:48 — half my best memories happened over food you served. Thank you for that.

To the groundskeepers, who somehow keep our field green no matter how much foot abuse it endures season after season. Thank you. 

To the teachers who have inspired us, challenged us, and stuck with us through it all — thank you. As a perfect example, thank you to Mr. Edgington and Ms. Carvalho, who helped me write this speech — for the time, the advice, and the patience despite my procrastination. 

And to my family — my brother Ryan, Mom, and Dad for making every project of mine become a family one, thank you.

Lastly, thank you to my best friend Rayan Shariaty for supporting me all these years, to Val for being the best campaign manager in the world, and most of all to Gautam Jay (whoops), for letting me share his Gotcha story in front of everyone tonight. 

That night, after running from his chaser, he was lost in the dark. Half-dressed, no idea which way was home, with every street looking the same, genuinely unsure what to do.

And I think a lot of us in this room feel a quieter version of that same lostness right now. This week we'll all post photos from grad on our Instagrams, smiling with friends. It may look like we're ready to walk straight into the world, guns blazing. But the truth is a lot of us, myself included, have no idea what we actually want to do. And that is petrifying.

Some of you are about to cross continents. And a lot of us — me included — still aren't sure whether the major we picked is the right one, whether the careers we're chasing actually fit the people we've become, or what it all amounts to once the chasing's done.

That night, Gautam was lost in the literal sense, much like many of us are today, in the figurative, but what’s important is that the class mobilized and his community at SMUS eventually saved him. Looking ahead, SMUS will always be able to do that same thing for us. 

Feel comfortable, confident, and empowered knowing that you have the ultimate community behind you, and that's what the diploma we've received today represents. 

Whatever you choose to pursue, you have a whole room full of your own number one fans — cheering you on through your peaks, troughs, and in betweens, ready to pull over the moment you need support.

We are SMUS 2026. Let's treasure that, and let it power us for the rest of our lives.

Vivat!