My Last First Day


Anna Bachiochi '20, Opinions Editor

Before I even set foot in Montrose, it already felt like home to me. For as long as I can remember, I knew that I was going to attend Montrose. I remember being so proud of that small Catholic school, dreaming of the day when I would be old enough — and mature enough — to wear the kilt. 

Montrose has not been the place I dreamed it would be. There are a lot fewer casual lunches, and we don’t spend the whole day in a circle discussing Narnia or enjoying Fr. Dick’s skittles. And, well, I no longer have aspirations to graduate as Montrose’s finest talent in the All School Musical, with plans to attend Harvard to study English and to write my teen fantasy series. I’m not even going to end my senior year wearing a kilt. 

However, as my expectations for what Montrose offered for me changed, my priorities and outlook changed too. Looking back, I’ve realized that the real Montrose, the one with the wacky heating system and the hundred-year-old pews in the chapel, that’s the one I really love. 

C. S. Lewis has a name for the type of love I have for Montrose: he calls it affection. When we love something with affection, he says, we love it simply because it is ours. In many ways, Montrose means so much to me because of its familiarity: I’ve spent so much time in each room and along each hallway that they’ve become mine. But C. S. Lewis says something else about affection, that it “opens our eyes to goodness we could not have seen, should not have appreciated without it.” In other words, my love for my Montrose has revealed not just its strange quirks but also its true importance in God’s plan for me. I couldn’t be more grateful for that. 

As I entered Montrose’s doors for the last first time, I recognized the funny thing that Montrose has done for me. Throughout my years here, as I changed clubs and favorite subjects and friend groups, I was searching for the genuine Anna, one who I could feel proud to be. I have a feeling Montrose knew who she was all along; it was just waiting for me to be ready for her. 

Not to give Dark Lord vibes or anything, but I really think a part of my soul belongs to Montrose. It always will.

This piece is a continuation of “My Last First Day” articles by Gabby Landry ’18 and Mariel Rosati ’19.