Twenty Years Ago: May 2003

On May 1, 2003, President George W. Bush declared that, in Iraq, our mission had been accomplished and “major combat operations” were over. He was very wrong. 

At that time, I was keenly aware that, as a parent and teacher, not only was my mission not accomplished, but my major operations were only beginning. It is ironic that, twenty years later, many of my missions are accomplished (This is not the place to debate the state of Iraq). I look back at May of 2003 and it is nearly the opposite of my life now. 

My mission at school was in full swing. I had Peer Helping meetings two or three mornings a week. I was preparing for the student performance of creative writing, StageWrite, after school, later in the month. I was getting my Sunday School students ready for their May confirmation, and I was meeting with a new teaching team and designing our class for the fall. I started my adult Hebrew class, too! 

Operations at home were complex and intense. Unlike now, my children lived at home. I moved them from violin to sports practices to the park district to birthday parties and doctor appointments. Oh, yeah, they had school, homework, and Sunday School, too! 

My mother-in-law was at a nursing home in Skokie. My wife visited her frequently. My parents and my wife’s aunt helped us by picking up my kids and taking them for sleepovers and filling in when our babysitter got sick, which happened a lot in May 2003. My wife’s aunt died seven years later, and now I am frequently helping my parents.

Oddly, I didn’t see myself as frenetically busy as I do when I look back. In my journal, I wrote, “Today felt so – reasonable! I don’t remember when I have had a day when I got everything done and I didn’t feel like a madman doing it.”  But I continued, “I taught three classes, got the school work done (I didn’t have grading today – that helps). Web, attendance, special ed forms, calls, reading, and then temple, North Trail, and all the rest – but done and no craziness. What have I forgotten?”  So maybe not so reasonable? Of course, just a day later, I write, “From sane and reasonable to crazy and hectic! The day is only a few hours old and already things are nustybaum.” Are you shaking your head? I am. I was so busy that one of my journal entries ends midsentence as if I was called away and never had a chance to finish it. 

I worked out on my exercise bike most mornings. My body was letting me know that I was stressed: my neck and back hurt. I made my morning workouts more palatable by watching TV shows, but Star Trek: Enterprise had its series finale in May 2003. 

A good metaphor for my life at that time was the way that I organized my students’ debate presentations. Students were in groups of four, debating two on two. It might take ten class sessions if we saw them one at a time, so I found empty classrooms and put cameras in them, and had multiple debates for two or three days. Kids had to report to our room, find their debate room, and then set up and operate the camera, keep time, and debate! I would then take all the recordings home and grade them. It was stressful, intense, and exhausting for me, great for the class schedule and the kids. 

I ran a fundraising road rally for the congregation, which was a mix between a treasure and scavenger hunt. I organized a Mother’s Day brunch for my wife, mother, sister-in-law, and aunt-in-law. My daughter had another wrist x-ray and then we went to the Bakers Square which was demolished this week. My son had an ear infection! We went to the spring play, gymnastics tournaments to watch a former student, and Honors Night. I was a human pinball. 

Much of my free time was filled with grading (and watching those debate recordings). I also started meeting with a group of teachers who team-taught classes. Those meetings meant I was not in my regular classes, which meant sub plans and thus additional work. 

Yet, I read to both kids every night. We had our mornings together, too, even if it meant that when we left the house, it looked like the kitchen had been ransacked by raccoons. We went to dinners at Sweet Tomatoes on a regular basis, which was my children’s favorite restaurant. I rode my bike with my daughter to her school in the morning until she felt comfortable riding by herself. We even had an occasional Saturday babysitter and went to see the movie, Bend It Like Beckham! 

Like today, I was very aware of my good fortune. I wrote, “I am so lucky, so very very very lucky.” Despite a relative’s divorce and my mother-in-law’s condition, the rest of the family worked like a well-oiled Rube Goldberg machine. I noted that I did a “thousand things today,” but I wasn’t overwhelmed or unhappy about it. As with prior months, reading my old journals exhausted me now – but not then. 

I don’t know when we’ll be able to really say, “mission accomplished” in the middle east. It was May of 2003 when the Israeli government approved a plan that they thought would create a two-state system by 2005! 

Looking back lets us shake our heads at the past. It emphasizes how our view then is different from our reality now. Yet, it is our past that formed this present and what will come next. I think that frenetic pace is why I love the quiet and calm of retirement.

Good Riddence to the 2021-2022 School Year

I dreamed last night that I was visiting my old school on the last day of the year. I dreamed that I was going through offices and classrooms, wishing people well, and meeting new staff members. We joked and hugged and laughed and were all dressed in Halloween costumes. I dreamed that things were just as I left them, but different and better.

But that isn’t the school at which my friends and former co-workers teach. That isn’t the reality of education at the end of the 2021-2022 school year. That was my dream (really), but the truth is that my friends are survivors of a disaster. They end this year with anxiety, anger, frustration, grief, pain, and lots of tears. 

And it shouldn’t be this way. 

Teachers, Counselors, and other school staff are asked to carry it all. They are simultaneously hailed as heroes who will save, protect, and sacrifice for their students with opportunities and weapons and love and knowledge, and then derided as groomers and political opportunists, lazy slackers, and self-serving conspiracy puppets. When it serves the sound bite, they are the saviors of society and when it fits the narrative, they are taking our children into an uncomfortable world of race, gender, and masks. 

And it is too much. 

My colleagues have been carrying the pandemic. Their mantra has been “We’ll make it work,” and “We do what’s best for kids.” They have been performing a high wire acrobatic juggling. Sometimes, their administrators and school boards, and communities have stood by their sides and provided a net. But just as often, those who should be their allies have turned on them and thrown them flaming torches and shaken the tent, threatening to bring the entire circus crashing to the ground in flames and flesh. 

And teachers are exhausted. 

So as the end of the school year approaches, as summer rounds the corner, kids are fidgeting in their seats, and classrooms start to smell of sweat and cut grass, as the looming grading deadlines feel like Kuber-Ross’s stages, let us bid a not so fond goodbye bye to this disaster of a school year. 

Of course, we wish you a relaxing and rejuvenating summer, time with your family, and time to yourself. We wish you health, which has been Sisyphean these past two years.

And we thank you. 

I am not sure I know how to do this. As a retired teacher who left just before the sky fell, I can only half imagine what these years have felt like. For the first time, I have heard several school friends say to me, "I hate working here." As a supporter on the side, I have seen the disrespect and destruction, heard the yelling, and unbelievable thoughtlessness. Alice had it far easier. I felt both guilty that it was you and relief that it wasn’t me and anguish it was happening. People say to me every day – every.single.day – that I “got out at the right time.” I wish you could join me. Right now. 

And we should be concerned that you will. 

Teachers are leaving in droves. They watch their friends and colleagues of decades marching toward the cliff’s edge and feel the pull of gravity. Wonderful, inspiring, passionate professionals are packing their classrooms for the last time right now. As the lockers slam and the sneakers squeak down the hall, they are crying with relief and shame. Accountants are not asked to kill themselves for taxes, but sometimes healthcare folks are. 

And our teachers. 

This is not an exaggeration. I have heard a call for a student strike in the fall. What if students said, “We aren’t going back to our classrooms until it we are safe from gun terrorists.” What if parents said that?  What if teachers, across this nation, said, we will not conduct another active shooter drill until lawmakers stop the senseless stream of school shootings! 

So hear me clearly. Hear it from a retired veteran teacher: Teachers, you have been outstanding. You have made critical differences in children’s lives. You have nurtured, challenged, enriched, advocated – and educated. You have fought the good fight – over and over and over and over. What you have done matters and will continue to matter, even if you are no longer doing it. 

And now it is your time. 

Some of you will return to the classroom in the fall. Some of you will retire. Some of you will watch the stream of buses and kids with backpacks and step out of the line. Some of you will place your own children at the front and focus there. 

And that is okay.

The last bell is ringing. It brings relief and intense sorrow. Set down the load. Rest. Hold yourself and your loved ones. You have been through a war and, although it is not over, we are hoping for a few months of cease-fire. Go to your bunker. Hug your people. Cry. Unload. Recover. 

And this summer – and all that comes after it – do what heals and helps you. 

My Last Graduates

Have you ever visited your old school and found the students seem young, much younger than they appeared when you were there? And you didn’t know any of them. You might know only a few staff members. The place feels familiar but smaller and it doesn’t perfectly match up with your memories. It is a strange experience. 

I taught at Deerfield High School for thirty-three years and retired three years ago. Between COVID and school changes, the years since my retirement have been particularly dramatic for the school. There has been a lot of change and upheaval. I have remained in touch with many of my former coworkers and students. I have attended events at the school. It does not feel foreign – yet. 

Except for one very important change: my final freshmen are graduating seniors. Next year, I will no longer have any former students in the building. When I go to a play, concert, or sporting event, I will not know any of the kids. I will know some of the teachers, but more and more of them are retiring or leaving. 

By its definition, high school graduation is a one-time experience –for students. This year is my thirty-sixth Deerfield graduation - and my final one. Next year, none of the graduates will have studied with me. 

As my last class graduates, they will be spread across the country and the world. Teachers know this; our hearts leave with our students. Most, we will never see again. A few will keep in touch. A few we will bump into around town (and we’ll hope to remember their names). But this is the last time my students will be together. I share their moment of change; their transition. 

I wish them well. They are moving into a much more challenging world than their parents and teachers. However, they have endured lockdown and active shooter drills, masked classrooms, virtual classes, and countless educational fads and initiatives. They are facile with technology and social media. They hold the entirety of human knowledge in their hands literally and sometimes need to stop looking at it. 

There is nothing they cannot do. As their teacher, I happily put my fate in their hands. I have great faith that they will meet the future with creativity, compassion, resourcefulness, and determination. The future of our world rests with them – as it should. 

Congratulations, Class of 2022. Thank you for our year together  - and for all you will do in the future! 

My Comments at the Township High School District 113 Meeting Discussing Budget Issues and Consolidation of the High Schools

Here is what I said to the Township High School District 113 Board at the meeting on October 19 regarding budget issues and possible consolidation of Deerfield and Highland Park High Schools. I have also included the video of the entire meeting below if you want to hear the entire meeting. 

Good evening.  I am David Hirsch. I joined the District 113 family in 1986 when I was hired to teach theatre and English. I met my wife at DHS and our two children went first to Deerpark and then returned as DHS students. 

The district had inspiring leadership in my first decades: Jim Warren, Linda Hanson, and Anne Reibock held the same value that was repeated constantly: first and foremost, we do what is best for kids. 

I am here to ask the board of education to make doing what is best for the children of District 113 the most important criteria when making all decisions, but especially when talking about consolidating schools, calling for referendums, and dealing with difficult and painful budget issues. 

In education, smaller is better: smaller class sizes, smaller schools, smaller systems. We want our students to be seen, known, and get what they need – before they have to scream for it. We want our schools to be supportive, nurturing, and safe communities. 

One more thing: I am a 1982 graduate of New Trier High School. Mine was the first class after New Triers East and West merged. I participated in the consolidation of the two schools. It may have saved money, but it was not what was best for kids. 

Four years after I graduated high school, I taught at a DHS that had fewer students than my entire New Trier class. Students thrived! Kids were on sports teams and in theatre. Leadership opportunities abounded. Students and staff knew each other even when they didn’t share classes or activities. There was a tight and supportive safety net below every child. 

During that time, our board of education and administration made choices, sometimes difficult and expensive choices, to do what was best for kids – FIRST! 

So tonight, I am asking three things of you: 

First, put the best interests of our children ahead of all other concerns. All decisions must pass the “is this what is best for our children?” test.  If the answer is anything other than a clear and resounding yes, then please find another way. 

Second, clearly and definitively take a stand that consolidating the two schools is NOT good for kids and unequivocally state that no such plans will move forward. 

Third, closely collaborate with your best resource for doing what is best for kids: your staff. The board of education, administration, faculty, and staff must be trusting allies, not adversaries. 

This collaboration has not been nurtured. Jim, Linda, and Anne were experts at bringing everyone together. They were dynamic and skilled teachers, administrators, and team builders. They are the reason we are the only non-union high school district in Illinois. We need that kind of leadership now. 

Glynis and I did not want our children to be swallowed by Stevenson or get lost at New Trier. We loved what we saw where we worked and we wanted it for our children – and yours. 

Do what’s best for kids. Strongly reject consolidation. Engage and embrace your staff as partners. 

Thank you. 

Graduation Was Different This Year

The graduation venue was not the beautiful concert hall in the park this year. It was scheduled to be on the athletic field, but the cold and rain forced it into the gym. And while the musicians were recorded and the graduates masked, many of the traditions were maintained, translated, or acknowledged. 

Graduation was different this year. 

People were missing, not only because the venue was smaller and each student was only permitted two tickets, but because some of the graduates, for a variety of reasons, could not attend. Some family members could not attend, and some family members were present only in memory. It had been a year when the flag was always at half-mast. Many faculty members were not present. They usually greet the graduates in their academic robes. The CDC said that an indoor group gathering like this is safe if vaccinated and unvaccinated people are masked, but even so, not everyone was willing or able to participate. Still, the ceremony was streamed live, so people could watch from afar. 

I greeted my former students and colleagues as the kids lined up for the processional. It was good to see students and staff after a year of pandemic winter. Even if it didn’t feel like spring outside, smiles shined through the masks. 

I don’t think students have ever hugged me like they did at graduation this year. No one asked if I was vaccinated (I am). The physical contact was initially surprising and then oddly comforting. My students haven’t seen me not only due to the pandemic but because I retired after their sophomore year. I had stayed in touch and visited before school closed. I promised them that I would attend their graduation and celebrate with them. However, the pandemic changed what we were celebrating. This was more than a culmination of high school. This was more than the traditional commencement. 

Graduation was different this year. 

Seeing people on screens, video chats, social media, email, and text is not a replacement for sharing the air, space, and time together. Some of my students were surprised to see me. I emailed them a congratulatory note a week prior. Our relationship had survived the distance. 

Sometimes, when I am talking to my family on the phone or chatting over a video call, I feel unsatisfied. I want more than I can get from the voice and image. Yet, talking and even seeing my child on the screen isn’t enough. What a needy parent I must be. Last year’s graduation, and my son’s college graduation, were entirely on the screen and that had to be enough. They were still unsatisfying. 

Graduation was different this year. 

The power of our presence, the thirst for each other’s company, the relief, and the release of the suppressed burden of worry, solitude, and powerlessness was almost physically expelled. Every year, I am always keenly aware that, at graduation and during the last weeks of school, I may never see these students again. That is the nature of being a teacher. These relationships are on a limited lease. 

Graduation was different this year. 

Graduations in the past felt promised. Only students who misbehave are denied graduation and only for the grossest of offenses. Gathering this year was an act of acrobatic contortions and then, thanks to weather and circumstance, a marathon of adaptations. Yet, there we were, surrounded by each other. 

I am not a fan of whooping and cheering after a student’s name is read. I worry that, when a mortarboard is thrown in the air, it will hit someone. I have been an outspoken proponent of a dignified and orderly graduation. 

Graduation was different this year. 

We all cheered! Hats flew! Every speaker was on the verge of tears and made no attempt to hide it. It was like exhaling after a long time underwater, reassurance from the doctor, the reunion at the airport; there is a future, we will be alright, and people I have been holding in my heart are here in front of me. 

I hope that the graduation of the class of 2021 is unique. I hope we never experience another like it. It was exhausting and exhilarating, and I am eager to go back to the regularly scheduled dignified ceremony. 

Graduation was different this year. 

We needed it more. I hope we don’t have that need again. I hope this year’s graduation can sustain us and remind us of the power of our presence, the coming together of community, and the essential nature of a gathered community. 

I am so grateful to the school staff members who made graduation happen despite roadblocks, potholes, breakdowns, and storms. Once again, the school is the heart of our community; it nurtured our children and helped heal even this old retired teacher’s heavy heart. 

The Pandemic Proceeds: Looking Back at 2020, Part 2- April and May

February and March introduced us to COVID-19. In April, it moved in. I was living in a state of heightened anxiety. After each walk outside, trip to the gas station, store, or anywhere, I scrubbed my hands. I felt like I was being hunted by an invisible foe. 

April felt like the month of cancelations. We canceled our plans to visit our daughter in D.C. I co-teach the Confirmation Class at our congregation. and we canceled the service and prepared to move it online. We had planned a special family trip to Norway and we began taking it apart. We canceled all service people coming into our home. We canceled our plans to attend weddings, which were then canceled. It was a very different version of cancel culture. 

Meanwhile, my book club chose to read The Doomsday Book by Connie Willis. Strangely, a story of duel pandemics was comforting. 

My friends at Deerfield High School were struggling to teach students online. Students were distracted, upset, and often absent. Teachers were trying to balance their own families’ needs and take care of students. Teaching in an online environment was new to everyone! I helped a few teachers map routes through Deerfield so they could drop off gifts, goodies, and greetings at their students’ homes. 

May years ago, I recorded A Tale of Two Cities on audio as a teaching text. I read and taught it. My colleagues were teaching this way all the time, but it only seemed like the worst of times. 

We made trips to grocery stores wearing gloves. We brought my parents groceries and they brought us food, too. Every time we saw toilet paper, we grabbed it! Our prescriptions arrived by mail. 

It looked like we might want masks, so I ordered some from a DHS alumnus whose business made bed linens and was now making masks. I ordered a lot: some for us, some for the rest of the family. 

I set my parents up on Zoom and helped them use it. I found an old lamp in the basement that would give me more face light when I was on a video call. 

We began to meet people on our patio, outside, masked and distanced. We still called, texted, emailed, and video chatted regularly too. We continued our effort to stay in touch and reach out to friends and family. 

I started a group sourced poem called “When This is Over” on Facebook and published it here. The end of this time felt far closer then than it does now.  

My anxiety kept rising. My emotions were very close to the surface and I had to remind myself frequently about what I could or could not control. 

Many of the appliances in the house were running far more than in the past. My wife needed ice on her back several times a day. We ran the dishwasher constantly and it was spitting out strange melted pieces of plastic. I didn’t even want to think about what would occur if the computer broke or we lost our internet connection! 

Before the pandemic, we spent a great deal of time with my parents, and now we feared that these visits might kill them. We met on patios, but it wasn’t enough. They were still not in the same place about the gravity of the situation. My mother would mock my precautions and tell me to hide in the basement when she was coming over. We would call daily and see each other at least once a week outdoors. 

My wife recovered from her surgery, but she was in the same condition as she was before the surgery. We had unsatisfying telehealth visits with the surgeon. My wife tried shots in her spine. No help. New meds. Didn’t work. Her MRIs looked exactly like the ones from January! She started physical therapy. We looked for a new surgeon and talked about a second surgery! 

We were concerned about our daughter who was working long hours on the Federal Government’s response to COVID in D.C. Our public health expert was going to work herself sick. How do you help someone who is 600 miles away? 

I signed up for an online service that alerted me when disinfecting wipes became available. I was able to buy some once or twice. We shared them with everyone! 

Passover was online. I wondered if it was safe to go to doctor or dental appointments. I was hesitant to go into a building for anything! Although the weather was getting better, the list of people who had died grew longer. Several friends on social media talked about their experience wrestling with COVID. I attended more Zoom funerals and saw postings about the loss of loved ones. 

Throughout the spring, we brought in the mail wearing gloves and then left it on the dining room table for three days before opening it; then we washed our hands. 

Restaurants started doing curbside pick up and we began to order out more. I made signs for the cars that said, “Order for Hirsch, please” on one side and “Thank you” on the other. I participated in a birthday car parade for a friend’s sixtieth. 

The pull of college was still strong for our son. His a capella group wanted to make a video of the concert they planned for the spring. That would mean traveling back to Ohio for several days and staying somewhere – and then singing, an activity that was highly problematic. While he knew it was too dangerous, it was yet another loss. He recorded at home and sent his work in, but it was far from satisfying. 

School was still online. I made a montage for my senior homeroom with the photos I had taken over the years. I sent my former Freshman English students the letters they wrote to themselves on their first day of high school. I emailed my other former students wishing them well. 

Anxiety was growing in the pit of my stomach. I found that tears welled up at surprising times. Our daughter called often. She was working very hard both at her job and with her new puppy. 

My son’s college glee club held a virtual concert using submitted recordings, old video, and recorded material. It was wonderful. It was the first time I sat next to my singer son during one of his concerts. 

My Sunday school students were struggling with Zoom fatigue. Our classes were shorter, so we needed more of them to get ready for an online Confirmation service. 

I continued to be tech support for my parents. They received more than their share of phish and scam emails. We talked, at length, about how to recognize a fraudulent email or text. 

In May, we finally made plans for our daughter to come home. Once her puppy had all his shots, she could make the trek. A long car ride with a four-month-old puppy would not be easy. 

My book clubs met online. I wondered if they would ever meet in person again. I had a reunion with some college friends via Zoom. A friend and her husband did a chamber music concert from their home in Israel via Zoom. The DHS retirees, who usually gathered for lunch in town, had an online get together. All functions of our congregation were on Zoom. The choir met on Zoom to talk about what we would do since we couldn’t sing at High Holiday services. I attended funerals and weddings online. While I have always spent a good deal of time in front of the computer, I was now spending much more time staring into a screen! 

I was still working hard to stay in touch and support my teacher friends. They were barely keeping their eyeballs above water! Yet, the school board berated teachers calling them lazy and said they were shirking their responsibilities. It was shocking and disrespectful. Teachers were working harder than ever! My wife and I wrote a letter to the board expressing our disappointment and outrage. We were not alone. The board apologized. 

I wondered if I had this disease if I coughed or sneezed or caught my breath. Was it my allergies or was it something far worse? 

We became Instacart experts. Many houses were on sale in the neighborhood and they were selling quickly. We waved at people on our walks but crossed the street to avoid them. Not everyone understood the idea of distancing, especially cyclists. Friends started to lose their jobs, get furloughed or reduced. 

At the end of May, my son graduated from college via an online ceremony. There was even a virtual reality component where he was given an avatar and could walk around a virtual campus. It was Minecraft meets Legos. He tried it for a few minutes and then joined us watching the polished video presentation that featured video of my son’s musical groups! I think he liked graduating this way better than all the hubbub of being in a big stadium. The concerts, however, were deeply missed. 

Once he was done with college, the job search began in earnest. He started reaching out to people for informational interviews. By the end of the summer, he had spoken to more than one hundred people in dozens of organizations. He was a networker! 

We had Mother’s Day distanced on my folks’ patio. They still needed quite a bit of technical support but were becoming good Zoomers. I signed them up for Instagram so they could hear a concert by my brother’s daughter. We had several family gatherings in backyards. Thank goodness for nice weather. 

For my birthday, I got Star Trek masks and a tin of Garrett’s caramel corn! I ate it. All of it. I read the nominees for the Hugo awards. All of them. 

Our daughter trekked west over Memorial Day weekend. My son and I met her in Ohio and helped drive her home. We rented a car, sanitized it, planned the logistics, and drove my daughter and her dog to Illinois in the pouring rain. 

Finally, all of us were home and safe. For the first time since this started, I could breathe easier. For the first time, I slept well. We would face the summer together. 

Play, Joy, Laughter, and Trust

During the two weeks before Thanksgiving last year, my homeroom ran a charity fundraising game called balloon stomp. In this game, two homeroom teams face off against each other. Each one has balloons tied to their ankles and the goal is to pop the balloons of the other team. My homeroom partner and I became obsessed with inflating, counting, and tying balloons to make this game happen.

In addition to getting the kids organized and acting as referee at the matches, I took pictures as the kids played. Since our homeroom period is only eleven minutes long, I found that I was so focused on getting the balloons distributed and getting the game started that I didn’t get a chance to see what was going on with the kids who were playing.

When I looked at my photos I was filled with one emotion that was so clear on all the kids’ faces: joy! Teenagers can be moody, secretive, and hard to read. However, in these photos, the smiles were so sincere and the expressions were wildly free. Kids are leaping, balancing, responding so naturally and innocently, that it reminds me of children’s play at recess. The joy jumps off the screen!

In my freshman theatre class, we played lots of games. At the end of the year, we have a unit on improvisation. The games are silly and quick. In this context, the joy on kids’ faces is accompanied by laughter. My theatre class was the very last period of the day. Kids were tired and had been sitting for hours. As they got up and participated, their pent up energy was tapped and a transformation took place. Although kids experienced the self-consciousness of performing, they also showed a freedom of expression that I only occasionally saw in my English classroom – or for that matter when kids were socializing in the cafeteria or library. Like my balloon stompers, they were free and joyful in a way that is childlike and open. It was wonderful to watch!

There is a reason we call it play! They were enthusiastic and expressive players, either when playing a theatre game or stomping balloons!

One assignment in Senior English is to give a graduation address. After studying a wide variety of commencement speeches, viewing some, and brainstorming our own ideas, my students wrote and delivered their own speeches. Last year, it was beautiful.

My students opened up to each other. They held each other gently and they supported each other. Some students waxed nostalgic about high school, others gave advice or told stories. Several students felt safe enough to take a more personal and dangerous choice: they shared private struggles and were candid with their classmates in a way that was raw and startling. To say I was proud of my speakers and listeners is an understatement.

They shared highly personal and difficult moments from high school. They candidly reflected on how their choices shaped them. They laughed together at embarrassing and painful moments that could only be funny in retrospect. They discussed humility, gratitude, mortality, mental health, and many other complex and sensitive topics and not only did they do it with aplomb and thoughtfulness, but they listened to each other with great respect – and joy.

Let’s celebrate and cultivate these joyful, powerful, and honest moments – in the classroom and everywhere else. Let’s honor our children’s need for play, laughter, and the freedom to vigorously express themselves. Let’s make more spaces for them to cast the self-conscious and premeditated curtain aside and simply be their more raw and exuberant selves.

We could all use more joy!

Fifteen to Forty: Advice from My 1995 Freshmen

As I got ready to retire from teaching, I cleaned out my office. In the far recesses of my filing cabinet were a set of letters that some of my earliest Freshman English students wrote. These were designed as advice to the incoming students and a way to reflect on their growth. I don’t remember if these letters ever reached their intended vict- recipients. When I found them, I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away (or edit them, so they are as the students wrote them then).

As students and teachers begin another school year, here are some sage words from my students, who were fifteen when they wrote them and are about to turn forty this year:

High school is not as hard has it is said to be. It is a blast.  – E.P.

Don’t let the teachers scare you, their really not that bad. – T J.

This class is not an easy class. But don’t worry, we survived and so will you. – M. J.

Don’t go in and think no one is going to like you or this high school thing is way too hard. Be calm and go with the flow. Have a great year and don’t be real nervous or exited. The excitement dies down quickly. This is school, you know!  - D.B.

Remember to be yourself, and don’t try to fit in with a crowd if you really don’t like them.  – M. H.

Instead of reading at a good pace, I crammed it all in at the last minute. This was a very stupid thing to do. –J. H.

Freshman year may or may not be one of the best years of your life. There are many rumors about things that go on in Deerfield High School and most of them are not true.   –K. F.

Regardless of the stories you might have heard, English is not bad at all.  – J.W.

You can have alot of fun this year. Mr. Hirsch doesn’t mind if you deviate a little from the exact assignment, as long as you still shows him what he wants to see. See how far you can push him, trust me it’s a long way.  –R.M.

Bring a frosh (freshman) is really cool. No upperclassmen don’t pick on frosh…unless you provoke them of course. Actually, they think you’re really cute. Most of them want to get to know you. – B.F.

The pressures at Deerfield High School are inflicted on yourself, by yourself. I’ve loved freshmen year and I wouldn’t change it for the world. Well except for maybe a couple more vacations. Let me tell you about Freshman English. At first you’ll walk into class and wonder who the weird looking fellow is. That’s Mr. Hirsch. He’s a much better teacher than you might think he is now.  – R. G.

Our research project wasn’t a joke. I flunked practically. The reason I didn’t start it or take it seriously when Mr. Hirsch told us to. Whoops!- D. P.

One of the best decisions that you can make is to grasp onto the hand that reaches out to you, and never let it go.  – M.F.

BSing will only take you so far, hard work is the key. Freshman English with Mr. Hirsch is fairly easy, you just have to give it your best shot and tolerate the teacher’s humor.
– J. R.

Buckle your seatbelts and hold on because you are going on a very turbulent ride – but like most rides you will look back on it and say you enjoyed it.  –J. D.

Remember though, if you screw up your freshman year, don’t worry too much. You still have three more years to do better. – S.M.

If you think taking notes is absolutely something you will not do (maybe it is against your religion), at least be attentive in class when Mr. Hirsch is talking; he often gives pop quizzes, but also very obvious clues about his intentions in class (clues such as “…be sure that you understand blah blah blah VERY well). - C.C.

There is nothing for you to worry about next year. Unless you goof around and don’t pay attention in class.  – K.K.

This year, my first year at Deerfield High School was a weird one. Mostly because I had Mr. Hirsch as an English teacher. Although he is strange, he pushed me to my full potential. He tried to get me to try harder. I wouldn’t let him. – R.M.

And don’t get shaken up about finals because it is way over hyped – R. H.

Trust me, you don’t want your papers to be in total chaos, this would just kill you when tests and finals come up.  – J. H.

I’ll first give you some background on your teacher. He loves Star Trek, he has a daughter, he is married to Mrs. Hirsch who also works at DHS, he says catfish which really means capiche or understand, his jokes are funny at the beginning of the year but tend to get old, he grades really weird, and when he says hint, hint, nudge, nudge, wink wink, that means pay attention because it’s something important he’s talking about. – J. B.

Mr. Hirsch’s class is a difficult and challenging class that needs to be taken seriously. Although in class he makes corny and sometimes weird jokes, he really means business.  – N. H.


And some advice about reading A Tale of Two Cities:


Although the evil English teachers (and yes, they are power-hungry dictators) may seem like they want you to suffer, this book does have a lot of pleasure in it, that once you get past confusion, you will find. –J.W.

Tale of Two Cities gets good. I know it starts pretty badly. You just have to keep reading.  – W.N.

When I first started, I was not a fan of Dickens and I wished for a simple picture book.  – A. C.

If thou art not understanding the workings of Shakespeare, takest thine book and thine snack and go to the river.  Forgetest thou not thine blanket, for if that holy blanket is left then thou must layest they self upon the ground. The trickling of the river will guide thine self.  -  M.S.

A lot of the writing in A Tale of Two Cities may seem unimportant, and it often seems like Dickens is babbling. He is, but everything he babbles about is pertinent to the story. – A. O.

Dear my fellow traveler,
Yes. You are a traveler because you are probably traveling into a region that you have never been before thus, you do not know what to do once you get there. Remember you just go though the hardships of the travel in order to say that you ended up at the destination. – J.D.

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

Last In Line

Over the course of more than three decades, I have developed a long list of sayings and “Hirschisms” that become a kind of classroom script. As I reach the end of my teaching career, I have been trying to collect and explore them here. I promise that this is the last (and tenth) of my “line” posts.

When I was student teaching, my supervising teacher told me that she really liked my “shut up substitute.” I wasn’t sure what she meant. She clarified that I used the word, “Focus” when she was thinking, “shut up.” Recently one of my students said that I never yell, instead, I say, “Stay with me.” I guess that is my latest shut up substitute.

Frankly, I don’t have kids writing on paper that much anymore. Most of our writing is on the computer. However, for years it drove me crazy that kids would come to class without a pen or pencil! So I started to collect all the pens and pencils that were left in the room or in the hall and put them in a jar in the room for these hapless kids without them. The jar was called “the land of lost writing implements” and a few years ago a few wonderful seniors actually labeled a jar with that title and gave it to me.

I will joke with kids a lot. When a student blurts out a right answer, I may retort, “What they say about you just isn’t true!” As kids are laughing and engaged in the activity, I will echo my Freshman English teacher who jokingly said, “No fun allowed! No fun in English class!”

Students will raise their hands and sometimes state that they have a “stupid” question. I will let them know that is fine by telling them, “All questions are stupid questions.”

When students do something not so good or make an unforgivable error (for example, there instead of their), I will make a kind of laughing face and say, “I show you my teeth” but I don’t growl or bite. Usually.

Kids will come in late with a pass from another teacher. While many teachers will sign their names, for some reason, P.E. teachers often just note that they were late from ‘gym’. I tell kids that I know Gym or Jim. Jim Class. But I add that I like his brother better: Art.

Students and teachers will return from an illness and blame a family member: my sister gave it to me! I always shake my head and say, “That’s how it is in families; whatever we get, we share.” I got it from Agnes!

When someone asks me if I am ready to go back to school or ready for spring break or ready for anything, I reply, “If I am not ready, will I get more time? Ready or not!”

Kids don’t think that teachers are watching all the time. I see the flirting and posturing, the budding relationships forming in class. My former student Christine reminds me that I would tell kids to “put the hormones on hold” when I needed them to stop being so adolescent!

Then there are those students who need more than their fair share of my attention. Sometimes, classes get impatient with these kids (and sometimes I do, too). However, I always reassure them that it is okay, because “I get paid extra to have this one in my class.”

Kids often bring food into class, and sometimes it is even healthy food. When an apple comes in, I will sometimes turn into the wicked stepmother and comment that they are eating, “a nice juicy apple dearie” Or I’ll ask, “You didn’t take that apple from that naked lady by the tree, did you?”

As I was preparing to write this series of posts, I asked my former students on Facebook what they remembered. Mike remembered the sign over the clock in my classroom: “Time to Take Notes.” I really wanted to cover the clock completely, but the teacher with whom I shared the room did not wear a watch!

Joe remembered my stupid thesis formula. It is one of those things I say so often that it is my hope that every student remembers it. When I am teaching the concept of thesis to Freshman, I will often stick my head into the hall and pull in any former student walking past. Most of the time, they immediately say, “The table is pretty and brightens the whole room.”

I have always been more of a Macintosh computer person than a Windows guy. For a long time, all the computers in our building ran Microsoft software. Jeremy remembered that I referred to my laptop as a “Piece of C.”

On open house nights, I would tell parents that education could not happen without photocopied handouts as I gave them my piece of paper at the door.

There are more. I have not covered them all because it would take far too long. This post is already much longer than it should be. As usual, I have gone on too long.

So this is the end of the lines!

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!