Class Speaker David Filstein and the Legend of 'Lunch Boy'

The Class of 2012 chose David Filstein as their class speaker for graduation Friday.

He told the epic tale of "Lunch Boy."

Read transcript of his speech:

I like to think that things gradually get better. Some things are doomed from the start – milk, dates, my friendship with Brian Stefanski, one of the chillest and friendliest people I have ever met, all seem to start off splendid, but spoil in the end. Yet most things, I have found, seem to improve with time.

When I first entered high school, I was fresh off of the throne of Lunch Boy. It was a demanding position. Every morning I all but crucified myself in front of the middle school, whimsically explaining the lunch of the day to the kindhearted and supportive middle schoolers of Avon, all for their mild amusement. Little did they know how seriously I took the position. Hours, if not days, were spent in preparation before each showing, meticulously adjusting the chef’s hat, painstakingly ironing the apron. I stepped in front of the camera with a forced smile, shaking, sweating (sometimes noticeably,) waiting for those doomed words – “Hey Lunch Boy - what’s for Lunch?” I sold my soul to the lunch ladies of the middle school. And what did I get in return? Free lunch, you say? No. All I got was teased. Not by my friends – the friends I had left me for other friends. I was teased by the world. Life, and lunch, would never be the same.

Nevertheless, I entered high school with a smile on my face. The weight that the chef’s hat left on my head had begun to wear off, and I was happy to start with a clean slate. I met the most relaxed and hippest teachers I had ever seen. Musical Marella would blow us away with virtuoso-like performances on his guitar. Mr. Pellegrino would incite borderline religious dogma into our brains concerning his adored Paul Revere. Mrs. Mastoloni would tell us her dreams and most horrible nightmares, during her almost FDR-like fireside chats. And Mr. Abrams, well, Mr. Abrams would NOT STOP TALKING about the “holo”-gram Tupac they used at Coachella. Soon, I realized that I had actually become best friends with none of these teachers, and was left to wonder where my eighth grade friends had gone. It was only then that I remembered – what eighth grade friends? So, I became friends with the librarians. No, I’m joking, I didn’t become friends with them. I had the unfortunate knack of being the fifth one at their table, and I always seemed to have a water bottle on me. Not to brag, but I did, at one point, eat an entire hot lunch in the library without notice. Impressive, I know. But hey, they don’t call me Lunchboy for nothing. In truth though, props to the librarians and technology department this year. The new computers are great, and I’ve never encountered more helpful people than in the library. Either way, I made real friends. Friends that hopefully, definitely, will still be my friends whether I’m a Senior in Avon High or a Senior at the Avon Senior Center. Friends that stick with me now, when I have become the most popular kid in the school. Wait, why are you laughing?

And so, High School flew by. Worrying about my first midterms turned into worrying about my Civic Virtue Project. Worrying about my Civic Virtue project turned into worrying about the SATs. Worrying about the SATs turned into worrying about the ridiculous amount of money I was spending on prom. How long ago was the SMP Rough Draft due? Were we supposed to study for the Pre-Calc Final? Would there be enough time to read Crime in Punishment during Period 2 Spanish? What happened at Dave Mathews? Yet again, I was selling my soul. And for what? A decently good grade? My prom date’s mild satisfaction? Was it all worth it? Who was I, at the end of this worry and suffering?
I knew who I was.

I was Lunch Boy all over again.

But, I was a different Lunch Boy. I had grown gradually better, and wiser. We had all grown better and wiser. We had learned when crucifying yourself was worth it, and when to simply joke about it. SATs, and assassins, was something to sacrifice yourself for. Humanities, and Prom Tuxes, suit yourselves. I had learned when to give it my all, and what to pass on. Am I going to be Lunch Boy in college? I certainly hope not. But I am going to study so hard, its as if I was standing in front of that camera in the middle school again, chef’s hat on my head. It’s the same mentality. Avon taught me to take the serious things seriously, and to have fun with the fun things. In short, I got my priorities straight. So let’s go party it up. I’ll bring the milk. You bring Brian Stefanski.

Thank you.