Why The Gregory School?
A student's reflections upon completing middle school
It’s about making space, lending a hand, and celebrating everyone’s wins — no matter what grade they're in. And that's something I'm proud to carry with me as I move into the next part of my journey here.“
My name is Zeke Bialis, and I’ve been going to The Gregory School since sixth grade. But before I tell you about these amazing years, I want to go back — to before I even got here.
Before TGS, I was in a wheelchair because of a condition in my knees. At my old school, most of my classes were up this ridiculously steep staircase — and, of course, the elevator was broken. So while everyone else got to actually go to class, I got to experience the magic of online learning...again. (Spoiler alert: it wasn’t very magical.) In fact, after COVID, trying to learn from a screen made me feel even more disconnected. It was a tough time — one that honestly, I didn’t want to remember.
But then, toward the end of fifth grade, my family and I toured The Gregory School. I was still in the wheelchair and the tour was nothing I could have imagined. When we got to the orchestra room, we peeked in, and I remember my heart sinking. Stairs. I love to play my cello, and there were stairs. And then, without me having to say anything, Ms. Saposnik, who was giving the tour said, “Of course we can build you a ramp.”
It was such a simple sentence — but it felt like a door opening. Like maybe, just maybe, I didn’t have to be invisible anymore. From that moment, I knew: this was where I was meant to be. You see, kindness is not about grand gestures — it's about small acts that tell someone, “You matter.” And in that moment, I mattered.
And it’s true. It isn’t the big moments that make TGS special — it's the little ones, like someone slowing down to walk with you across campus, a friend sitting with you while you eat lunch, teachers smiling and actually meaning it when they say "good morning." People cheering each other on at pep-rallys, or even classmates staying a few extra minutes after a concert just to help pack up music stands. Those small acts of kindness built a place where we could belong — where even on hard days, we knew we mattered.
And for me, one of the biggest examples of that kindness was out at the farm. Spending time with Mr. Clashman and the animals didn’t just give me a way to get my hands dirty (although there was plenty of that). It gave me a way to feel grounded again — to be reminded that people still cared. The goats didn’t judge me. (Severus did occasionally try to eat my shirt, but honestly, that's just him being him.) And Mr. Clashman didn’t just teach me how to take care of the animals — he showed me that patience, laughter, and trust can heal even the roughest years. That, and that scooping goat poop is totally necessary. The kindness I found at the farm — and all across this campus — helped me recover from a year that I had wanted so badly to forget. And because of that, these are the years I’ll always want to remember.
Mark Twain once said, "Kindness is the language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see." But sometimes, kindness isn’t something you can see or hear at all — it’s something you just feel. And throughout my time at TGS, it’s been that invisible kindness that made all the difference. During seventh-grade Restaurant Wars — where we all fought hard for the win, but underneath the competition, there was this steady thread of kindness. Even when tensions ran high, we stayed friends — because deep down, we knew that being there for each other was more important than beating each other. And of course, eighth-grade Interim Camp — where we learned to trust one another, to lean in and laugh even when things went wrong, and to find strength in teamwork, even when nobody was watching. It’s that hidden kindness — the quiet support, the small moments, the feeling that you belong — that shaped who we are.
I’ve played a lot of roles here at TGS. I was a President, a dictator, and King George in Civics class, and got to try out all different types of governing. And in the theater, I got to be Shrek — a big green ogre who learned that being different isn’t a weakness — it’s what makes you strong. I was painted green for over a week, and my teachers started to notice that the green was becoming more permanent. And more recently, I got to be Mr. Salt in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory — a salt tycoon with a bratty daughter and a Russian accent that, depending on the day, might have sounded a little more french than anything else.
But what I’ll remember most about those performances isn't just the paint, the costumes or the jokes — it’s the kindness. The way everyone backstage cheered each other on, even if someone forgot a line. The way the cast went to IHOP to celebrate, and the way the audience laughed with us, even when our accents got a little... questionable.
Kindness was everywhere — not in the big moments, but in the little ones you might not even notice unless you were looking for them. And that’s what made playing those roles so special: knowing that no matter what happened on stage, we had each other’s backs. At TGS, kindness isn’t just something people talk about. It’s something they live — whether you're an ogre, a salt tycoon, or just a kid trying out a terrible Russian accent for the first time.
The biggest thing that makes Gregory so special is that it doesn’t put people into boxes based on age. Here, we get to work with students older and younger than us — and that’s just normal. As I move into high school here, I know the kindness I’ve experienced will go with me, because I already see it all around me. I see it in orchestra, where the high schoolers are patient with the younger players, helping us learn without ever making us feel small. I see it in classes like Spanish, where it doesn’t matter if you're in eighth grade or eleventh — everyone’s just trying to conjugate verbs and survive together. I see it on my Odyssey of the Mind team, where middle school and high school don’t really matter — we’re just a team, solving problems and building crazy ideas side by side. And I see it in choir, where the “old” students help the younger ones with pronunciation, rhythm, and sometimes just reminding us to breathe.
At Gregory, kindness isn’t about how old you are. It’s about showing up for each other.
It’s about making space, lending a hand, and celebrating everyone’s wins — no matter what grade they're in. And that's something I'm proud to carry with me as I move into the next part of my journey here.
So, to my classmates: you have made these years unforgettable.Thank you for being kind. Thank you for being weird. Thank you for laughing, listening, and letting me be me. As we head off to high school, let’s keep that kindness alive. Let’s keep letting our freak flags fly. And let’s remember: no matter where life takes us — we are ready. And this time — if there are stairs in our way — we’ll just build a ramp and keep going because that is what Gregory has taught us.