No one likes the word goodbye. It’s not a “See you soon,” not a “Talk to you later.” It’s final. It’s the closing of a door—an ending. And for the class of 2025, that ending is here. But this goodbye is unlike any other. It’s not just leaving behind high school—it’s leaving behind the very walls that shaped us. Thomas Worthington is changing, being rebuilt into something new. The halls we walked, the classrooms we laughed in, the spaces that held our best and worst moments—they will disappear with us. The school, in its own way, is graduating too. Everyone tells you time flies, that high school moves faster than you expect. And they were right, no matter how many times we brushed it off. The hardest part is realizing how little control we have—how quickly things slip through our fingers. Some say senior year is easy. But more often than not, it’s overwhelming. Because it’s not just another year—it’s the year. The one where everything changes. But endings aren’t just about loss. They’re about reflection. About appreciating what was before stepping into what’s next. We say goodbye—painful as it is—because only then can we say hello to the future. And even as the walls come down, even as everything shifts, one thing remains: the memories, the friendships, the lessons—the people we became. That’s something no goodbye can ever take away.
Three seniors were asked to share the words they want to leave behind—words that hold not just deep meaning, but lessons worth carrying forward. These are lessons you need to hear, lessons that will remain long after we’ve gone.
“You get back what you give”.
If you never put effort into anything, you can’t expect much in return. If you choose to wake up each morning and hide from opportunity, it won’t come looking for you. No matter how many chances come your way, it’s up to you to seize them—to step forward and take the next leap.
It’s okay to be scared, to be worried, to fear what the next month, week, or even day might bring. But it’s not okay to keep yourself locked away. Because one day, you’ll wake up, finding yourself at graduation about to walk the stage, and realize—terrifyingly—that you’ve stumbled cluelessly into the next chapter of your life. And then? The fear will hit harder, with regret setting in. You’ll find yourself consumed by the thought that you wasted it all, gripped by the existential fear that your life may mean nothing, uncertain of where you’ll end up.
But let me tell you something—because it shouldn’t be kept a secret. Be present. Involve yourself. Push yourself to engage in different aspects of school and the world beyond it. This is how you not only grow your passions, create friendships, but most importantly, grow into the person you are meant to be. Learn, enjoy it, and remember your “why.” Don’t dismiss something until you’ve tried it. Like I said, don’t let opportunity slip through your fingers.
My junior year of high school, something impossible became reality. We beat the girls’ UA Lacrosse team in the Galipault Tournament, shattering their 30-year win streak against us. But it was more than just a victory. And the aftershock is what hit me the deepest—the overwhelming support from alumni, Worthington staff members, and beyond. That was when I realized: this was bigger than our team. It was a win for Worthington. I realized that some experiences transcend the individual—they belong to everyone. And sharing them with others makes them all the more meaningful.
Out of all my cherished memories at Thomas Worthington, one of the closest to my heart is reviving the 50 States Miss-Senior Girl Halloween costume. The last time it had been done was in 2019, and being able to bring back a nearly lost tradition—watching a diverse group of senior girls, many of whom weren’t even friends, come together—was something truly special.
Through my deep involvement in TWHS, I’ve formed bonds with both my peers and my teachers that feel unbreakable. I’ve learned not just how to connect with others personally, but professionally, a skill I know will carry me far beyond high school. I will take what I’ve learned—especially about communication—and use it to build future relationships, and above all, a strong foundation for life.
I will forever be indebted to the Worthington School District for the past 13 years– I will carry my experience with me, always.
Thank you for everything, Thomas Worthington.
Yours Truly,
Hadley Trueman
“There’s never a need for you to change how you are and who you are for someone else’s well-being”.
Senior year stopped me in my tracks. It tore through my life like a hurricane, relentless and unforgiving. I felt ashamed—ashamed that I couldn’t handle it all alone. The weight of deadlines, work, friendships, and expectations—it all piled up so quickly that I could barely breathe. Everything felt flipped upside down, and I honestly couldn’t tell you which way was up, down, left, or right. I convinced myself that asking for help was a weakness. That it meant I wasn’t strong enough, smart enough, good enough. But eventually, I reached a breaking point. I forced myself to leap, expecting to crash. But instead, I landed somewhere unexpected—cushioned by support I never thought I’d deserve. A lot of people don’t take the time to truly connect with their teachers, and I used to be one of them. I thought I had to handle everything alone, but I was wrong. Without Mrs. Ruiz, I don’t know if I would’ve made it through the year in one piece. She listened. She understood. She reminded me of something I had long forgotten—I was doing my best. And that was enough. More than enough. We don’t remind ourselves of that often enough, do we? She taught me something else, too—something I will hold onto forever. Life is messy. It hurts. It breaks you down in ways you never see coming. But somehow, even in the worst of it, there is beauty. The bad days make the good ones sweeter. The pain makes the joy more meaningful. But above all, no matter how hard things get, no matter how much the world tries to shake you, you hold onto yourself. You do not let anyone, or anything, rewrite who you are. Because in the end, you are all you truly have. And that is more than enough.
Consequences cut deep. That was something I didn’t truly grasp until my junior year—until I found myself suspended after an altercation with a former student over something they said about my sister and best friend. I was standing up for what I believed was right. But none of that mattered. The school didn’t care. They saw only my actions, not the story behind them. That realization hurt more than anything. I thought justice was about doing what was right, but I learned that the world doesn’t bend to what I believe. It moves on, indifferent, ignoring my version of the truth. And maybe that’s the hardest lesson of all—understanding that no matter how justified you feel, you can’t dictate the way consequences unfold. But here’s the thing: every action reacts. Whether good or bad, the world won’t care which one you end up with. So when things go wrong—when you land on the wrong side—you take it. You hold onto it. You face the consequences without regret, without excuses, without looking away. And most importantly, you do not let them define you. It is easy to let moments like these shake you. To let them twist your identity, make you doubt yourself, and force you into someone else’s version of who you should be. But I won’t let that happen. I refuse. And you shouldn’t either. I will take this and use it. Learn from it. Let it fuel me—not to be someone different, but to be someone stronger. More determined. More sure of who I am. And no matter what happens, I won’t let anyone, or anything, take that from me.
No one cares as much as you do. The food stuck in your teeth, the awkward comment you replay a thousand times, the outfit you swore was a disaster—while you drown in the weight of those worries, everyone else is tangled in their own. In the end, we’re all just caught in the same endless cycle of overthinking, worrying about things that don’t matter. So don’t let the opinions of others ruin you. Don’t let their fleeting judgments dictate your happiness, your identity, or your ability to enjoy the moment. High school is short— gone before you even realize it. Regardless of the ups and downs, the good and bad times, there will always be one thing you can control, and one thing you will remember— the kind of person you are. Be kind. Love your friends, your peers, your teachers. But above all—love yourself. Because in the end, that’s what truly matters. And that’s what will stay.
Oh, and last thing — walk fast in the hallways. That’s something people might not forget.
Anywhoo… Stay Wild,
Patrick Gallaugher
“Get to, not got to”.
Winning my sophomore year felt unreal. At first, I couldn’t believe that I was a huge asset to the team. I played in that state championship game, but in my mind, I was just another player on the field. And then—we won. Suddenly, for the first time, I had this moment of realization: I helped us win today. It was surreal, like everything I had worked for finally meant something.
The next year, we came back with relentless determination. We weren’t just playing—we were chasing something bigger. There was an unspoken expectation, almost a burden. Everyone assumed we would win again. At first, the pressure was suffocating, stealing the joy from the game. But then I reframed it. We have nothing to lose. We’ve already won twice. This is just one more opportunity. And with that, I found the love for it again. It became less about expectation, and more about proving how much we had grown—how much I had grown.
Now, heading into college, I know that pressure will always be there. But I’ve learned something invaluable: It’s all about perspective. I don’t have to do this. I get to do this.
Your mindset is the most valuable advantage you have in this world. Yet, so many people let it slip away, treating opportunities like burdens instead of privileges. School is one of those things. Whether or not you believe it, education is incredibly important—but somewhere along the way, people forget why they’re there. It becomes a routine, an obligation, something they have to do rather than something they get to experience. And in that shift, they lose sight of its meaning. I used to be like that, too. I found myself excelling in most classes, rarely challenged, coasting by without ever really feeling the weight of having to put in real effort. Then came Mr. Doskey’s calculus class. I assumed it would be like every other math course I had taken—boring, meaningless, just another stack of busywork. But I was wrong. For the first time, I had to try, to struggle, to fail. And in that struggle, something shifted—I started to enjoy it. Not because I suddenly understood everything, but because I realized I had been taking my education for granted. It wasn’t just about the work or the grades. It was the privilege of sitting in that classroom, the privilege of learning. I got to challenge myself. I got to push my mind in ways I hadn’t before. And in that challenge, I found something unexpected—I discovered that I liked the discomfort. I liked being uncomfortable because discomfort meant growth. The saddest part? Most people never realize this. They never see how lucky they are to have the chance to learn, to expand their minds, to shape their futures. They remain stuck in the mindset of having to do things, not getting to do them. And before they know it, the opportunities they once resented are gone—replaced with the dull ache of regret. Comfort is deceptively dangerous. It lulls you into stagnation, into passivity. It convinces you that avoiding difficulty is the best way forward when, in reality, it is the road most likely to lead you to failure. Because staying comfortable means staying the same. And if you’re always the same, how can you ever become who you were meant to be?
Lots of love,
Caroline Sprung.
Thank you, Thomas Worthington High School—from every single student graduating in 2025. Thank you for the time, the memories, the opportunities. For the lessons we didn’t even realize we were learning, for the friendships that shaped us, for the moments we’ll carry long after we walk across that stage.
It’s hard to say goodbye. Hard to accept that this chapter is truly closing. But thank you for giving us a foundation, a starting point, a place to grow. Hopefully, we will meet again. But if not, goodbye. And much love.
To every student who will still walk these halls, to those yet to come—don’t be afraid. Don’t worry about having it all figured out. Take things day by day. Remind yourself—you are loved, valuable, and strong. And you will always be capable of more than you know.
Celebrate others, but don’t let comparison steal your joy. Don’t let grades define you. Breathe. Sleep. Never feel guilty for taking care of yourself. Eat—seriously, it’s easy to forget. Let stress exist, but don’t let it control you. Smile. Be kind—it will come back to you. Cry. Cry when you need to, cry when you don’t. Let yourself feel everything.
Be present. Go outside. And most of all—don’t lose yourself in some fleeting high school drama.
Much love, Layna Hughes.
