You Have Made Me A Better Teacher, Parent, and Person: Thank You!

It has been a week of celebrating retirement - for me, my wife, and my fellow Deerfield High School retirees. It has been wonderful! The final event, on the last day of school, is a breakfast attended by the entire staff. The retirees’ families are invited and many of our alumni retirees return to celebrate with us.

Since I knew that several speeches would be sentimental and sweet, I decided to go a different route. It is mildly embarrassing to say that I prepared a silly, mildly inappropriate, spoonerism speech before the speech below hit me.

Here is what I said to my colleagues (and now to you) on my last day as a teacher at Deerfield High School:

This is not the speech I originally planned to deliver. A few days ago, after spending time at several of our retirement events, I thought about how this community, these people of DHS, has given me so much and for which I am so thankful. You have smoothed my edges, polished my rough spots, and transformed me into someone far better than the very green young man who walked into Deerfield High School in the fall of 1986. And I am so grateful – and I recognize that this journey is not over! You have made me better. I have learned more from you than I have ever taught in any class.

I have learned patience and the power of waiting, even when it is painful, even when I want to give the answer or pounce in and solve the problem.  

I am still learning to hold my tongue, especially in meetings, and this is still no easy thing for me to do. I was an even bigger blabbermouth for many decades years and over participated far too much. I still am, but now, sometimes, I actually catch myself.

I have learned that every student in this building belongs to all of us. I am never off the hook. Learning happens in the halls, cafeteria, entranceways, and every single moment!

I’ve learned to avoid the F and E hall intersection.

I have learned I affect people in ways I may never know and did not intend. This makes me very nervous, but it has developed in me a healthy respect for the power I wield when I work with humans, especially but not exclusively, younger ones.

I have learned that when I say (or even think), “If I do that for you, I have to do that for everyone” I absolutely SHOULD do that for everyone.

I have learned that in Deerfield and Lake Wobegon every child really is above average.

I’ve learned that autonomy is overrated.

I’ve learned to shake it up and embrace change. The kids are constantly developing, the world is not static, my teaching must continue to adapt.

 

I’ve learned that old dogs can learn new tricks, but it takes time.

I’ve learned that the hardest part of love is letting go.

I’ve learned you have to give people multiple chances. Two or three or four aren’t enough.

I’ve learned that mistakes are a gift: for me, this is particularly fortunate.

I’ve learned to take lots of photos and I wish I’d learned this earlier!  

I’ve learned that when I make lists, I leave things (or people) out. Sorry about that.

I’ve learned that you are, indeed, my sunshine.

I’ve learned that seeing my own children, nieces, and wife in the hall can make me joyful in ways I didn’t even think were possible.

I have learned not to make my lists too long.

When I am teaching improvisation in theatre class, one of the first games I introduce is one most people know: human machines is the common name for the game. Using sound and movement, students create the flavor of a mechanism, environment, or even an idea. The teacher who created theatre games, Violin Spolin gave that exercise a different name. She called it Parts of A Whole. 

That may be the most important lesson I learned in my years at DHS. I am not alone. We are not alone. We are all connected to each other in ways that are complex and subtle and form a human system that takes my breath away when I glimpse only a portion of it. 

I have made mistakes. These failures were almost always due to my short-sightedness. I saw only my piece of the machine, my priorities, my classroom, my students. But I am a part of the whole. I am not a soloist or a star. I am a part of an ensemble, a troupe, a team. 

Virginia Satir was a family therapist who used the metaphor of a mobile over a baby's crib to visualize systems. All those little toys dangling over the baby; if one is hit, they all move. If one is moved, removed, or a new one is added, the whole mobile must adjust. They affect each other. They are not alone. They are parts of a greater whole. This is our school.

DHS has changed me –for the better. When some teachers or students leave, the system adapts, newcomers create a new harmony to counter the bobbing of a mobile losing some parts and gaining others. 

And those parts will carry the experience of this system, this wonderful school, with them forever. They, too, will learn what it means to be part of this whole, and they will learn that they are never alone. 

I am so grateful for these lessons, for relationships with students, parents, and you. These have been happy, productive and wonderful years. Even as I leave the machine, the mobile, I rejoice in the beautiful lessons I have learned.

Live, Long and Prosper – and I’ll see you soon!