Sixth Former Conor Smith, of Portsmouth, RI, addressed the School community at Church Assembly on Thursday, February 16, 2017. In his talk, Conor described a pivotal moment in his life that led him to the realization that "doing the right thing is about consistency, not crisis."

It shouldn't be news to you that the smallest details can make the biggest differences in life. It is a bit of a cliché, but it's probably only a cliché because it's true. Now, these "details" that I'm speaking of can be as insignificant as a conversation had, or a conversation missed. I would know, because a single, seemingly meaningless conversation very well saved my life.

It's the summer of 2012, and a mid-pubescent, loud, and overall difficult-to-deal- with Conor Smith is elated. Why, you ask? Does this joy spring from something you'd expect a young middle-class kid to enjoy? Oh, yes. Because I had just received the greatest bike in the history of the human race. Well, at least to me. Trust me, this rugged, bright green, 21-gear-shift masterpiece, with bright, unnecessary white lettering proclaiming cool things like "XTREME" and "CRUSH" on the frame, was practically solid gold to a bike-impoverished youth like myself. I was, understandably, incredibly excited.

However, all that excitement soon mutated into that terrifying and infamous force unique to 13-year-old children: incessant and unbelievably annoying whining. My mother, being a mother, saw a new bike and naturally saw the need for a new helmet. And what a helmet it was. Imagine a squash ball the size of a watermelon. Now, cut it in half, hollow it out, and stick it on a head much too small for the black monstrosity. I was not pleased. In a high-pitched voice akin to a fork scratching a plate I assaulted my mother with phrases such as "but WHY" and "but just LOOK at it." However, she would not budge. She declared tyrannically that if I wanted the bike, I had to pay the price of suiting up. I realized that debate was futile. Assuring her that my day, no, my life was ruined, I rode off to find the other bicyclists, the giant fiberglass planet still on my tiny head. Of course, I quickly forgot just how devastating to my self-esteem the helmet was, and was soon completely absorbed in the fun of racing around campus, with absolutely no regard for our own or anyone else's safety.

We sped down the hill by Benet's. I'm third back in a short blur of child bikers. As I flew towards the lower campus road intersection, a gray sedan suddenly appeared from behind some construction at the corner. The other kids swerved, but I was too far gone. The driver and I saw each other at the same time, but with no time to react.

Then there was a giant impact. I have no recollection of being flipped (bike and all) over the front headlight of the sedan, or of being hurled headfirst into the windshield. I have no memory of then being flung towards the curb, or of my friends' yells as I landed.

I only remember sitting up, maybe 15 seconds after getting hit. I didn't scream or cry. I just sat there, looking at my mangled bike with a mixture of surprise and horror. I then looked at the windshield of the car I had head-butted. It looked as if it had taken a rather enthusiastic blow from a sledgehammer.

I ended up being getting a free ambulance ride to the hospital. Yet, aside from a few scrapes and a nasty concussion which no doubt explains my grades since then, I was unscathed. The ambulance crew said I was unbelievably lucky, and that it could have been far worse.True enough, but to this day, however, just one simple thought amazes me. That single, ridiculous, hopeless standoff with my mother undoubtedly saved my life. My whining, and her not letting up, saved me from going headfirst into a car without a helmet. So,yeah. Thanks, Mom.

It occurs to me that boarding school is mostly adults telling us what to do, and us complaining about it, and them telling us it is for our own good, and us rolling our eyes. They do their job, and we do ours. It sure gets old, for them and for us. But sometimes doing the right thing—like my mother not giving in when I whined, and me giving in and doing what I was told—might be the smart move. Whatever the "Right Thing" means to you, don't reserve that label for the big moments in your life or the most momentous decisions. Doing the right thing is about consistency, not crisis. The crisis will come later, usually as a surprise. I know that as well as anyone. It might even save your life someday.

Thank you.

See the video of Conor's Church Assembly talk here.