Posted
September 17, 2026
Frankie Pieffer ’27 is a high-achieving student, the reigning Division I state wrestling champion at 190 pounds, and a University of Virginia commit. Hear Frankie reflect on his experiences as an Edsman, then read his mother Jackie’s perspective on his time at St. Edward.
A STUDENT’S PERSPECTIVE
Meet Frankie Pieffer ’27
A MOTHER’S PERSPECTIVE
By Jackie Pieffer, Admissions Operations Manager
When Frankie won the state wrestling championship, two of his coaches rushed onto the mat to embrace him. One after the other, they wrapped him in an enormous hug and lifted him off his feet. The joy on their faces was unmistakable.
I will never forget that image.
The moment held years of early mornings, exhausting practices, difficult matches, weight training, sacrifice, and pressure. But his coaches were celebrating more than another title in the program’s storied history. As they hugged Frankie, I saw how deeply they cared for my son and how much of themselves they had invested in helping him reach that moment.
Every parent hopes to find adults who recognize what is special about their child—people who see his potential, understand when he needs encouragement, push him when he is capable of more, and care about the person he is becoming. We may begin the work of raising our children at home, but we cannot do it alone. Along the way, we depend on teachers, coaches, and mentors who become our partners in that journey.
At St. Edward, Frankie found those people. And so did we.
Long before Frankie became an Edsman, he saw what the St. Edward brotherhood looked like through his dad. My husband, Frank ’98, is still incredibly close with the friends he made here. They are not just classmates; they are his brothers. Some stood beside him at our wedding, and their children have always been family to ours. Frankie also grew up with his aunt, Associate Athletic Director Nicole Pieffer, working at the school. St. Edward was never just a place his dad attended. It was part of the family Frankie was born into.
One of Frankie’s first baby outfits was green and gold, and he spent his childhood cheering for the Eagles at football games and wrestling tournaments. By eighth grade, he did not need much convincing. He came home from his shadow day ready to start high school, and I had to remind him that he had to finish eighth grade first.
Even with that history, I was nervous when his freshman year began. Only a few students from his grade school were coming to St. Edward, and Frankie could be shy. The wrestling program was a little intimidating, too. The room was filled with talented, experienced wrestlers, and I knew he would have to prove himself. Like any mother, I wondered whether he would find his place and whether the people around him would recognize all that we saw in him.
His wrestling coaches began answering those questions almost immediately.
That first year, Frankie had to wrestle an upperclassman for a spot on Varsity Gold. He did not win the wrestle-off, so he spent his freshman season on Varsity Green. For a young athlete accustomed to success, it was a difficult lesson—and perhaps one of the most important experiences he could have had.
His coaches did not allow that disappointment to define him. They helped him respond to it. They expected him to work harder, become mentally stronger, and earn the opportunities he wanted. They saw what he was capable of before he could fully see it himself.
That is a delicate balance. The adults who care most about our children are not always the ones who make things easy for them. Sometimes they are the people who raise the standard, tell them the truth, and remain beside them while they work to meet it.
Frankie’s teachers have played that role, too.
He has taken on a demanding academic schedule while competing in one of the country’s most rigorous high school wrestling programs. His IB courses have asked him to think more deeply, participate more fully, and consider ideas from different perspectives. He comes home talking about class discussions and books that have captured his interest. I have watched him become more curious, more confident, and more invested in his own education.
As both a parent and a St. Edward employee, I have the unusual privilege of seeing this community from two perspectives. I hear how teachers talk about their students when the students are not in the room. I see the concern my colleagues show when a young man is struggling, and the pride they take in the small victories that might go unnoticed by everyone else.
They notice these boys.
They learn what motivates them, where they struggle, and when they need another adult in their corner. They understand that a student entering the building each morning is also someone’s son—a young man his family has loved, worried about, encouraged, and prayed for since long before he arrived at St. Edward.
There is tremendous comfort in knowing that the adults who teach and coach your child understand the weight of that responsibility.
People often talk about the brotherhood at St. Edward, and Frankie has certainly experienced it. But parents become part of something here, too. We gain a community of adults willing to reinforce the lessons we are teaching at home and help our sons navigate the years when they are becoming more independent but still need guidance.
Those relationships do not replace a parent’s role. They strengthen it.
Soon, Frankie will graduate and begin his next chapter at the University of Virginia. I am proud of the state championship, his academic success, and everything he has worked so hard to accomplish. But I am most grateful for the young man he has become along the way.
His dad and I appreciate every teacher who challenged his thinking, every coach who demanded his best, and every person who took the time to know him. They have celebrated his victories, helped him learn from disappointment, and reminded him of what he is capable of becoming.
When I look back on Frankie’s time at St. Edward, I will always return to that moment on the wrestling mat: his coaches raising him into the air.
It was a celebration of one extraordinary accomplishment. But for me, it symbolized something much larger—an entire community that has helped us lift him.
