Taking Time Off

I am struggling with what to write right now. I don’t want to write about politics, but everything other than politics feels unimportant. While I enjoy looking back at my journals from twenty years ago, they feel so personal, specific, and interesting only to me. It is a fun project – for me. Writing about an education world that has shifted since COVID feels presumptuous since I am no longer in the classroom. Perhaps I will try fiction again. Maybe. 

When I started this blog it was to both practice writing and share my view of the world. I am no longer a writing teacher, so this writing no longer serves that function. And what brings me to the computer to write is either too narrow or too hot. 

So, I am taking some time away this blog. It might be a month or two or four or six. It might not. It might be forever. It might not. If I feel moved to write, I will. If I think it is worth your attention, I will put it here. I am sure I will return to writing, but it may not be here. 

Thanks for reading. 

See you later. 

Selling the Family Home

My parents just moved. They had lived there for almost fifty years; it was the house I moved into at ten years old and the place my wife and children know as the “family” home. This is a significant and challenging transition for my parents. 

People ask me if I will miss the house. I guess I will. However, I have mountains of photos and more video of events in that house than anyone could ever view. More than that, I have real memories of the people I love gathering at that house. Those memories aren’t staying in the house. I will still have them. 

It was time for my folks to have a home without stairs. It is a wonderful bonus to have a home where someone else takes care of the roof, basement, landscaping, snow removal, and all those homeowners’ tasks that age you. It is great that my parents are moving into a smaller home in a retirement community where they can, should they choose, take their meals in the community restaurant. They will finally be able to enjoy all the good parts of homeownership and turn over the burdens to someone else. 

But not me! This is another reason that I am not feeling sentimental about the loss of my childhood home. My parents’ move makes their lives much better – and it enhances mine as well. They are moving closer to me, but it is far more than that. They are moving into a community with plenty of support for them as they age. Many of the issues I have seen friends face with their parents: moving into a care facility, caregivers, living independently, loss of driving, and many others will be considerably softened by their choice of location. In a very real sense, their move is a gift to the entire family. It makes helping them age well easier, safer, and more reasonable. It preserves their independence and mine. 

I spent some time gathering photos of the “old” house. I waxed nostalgic about my grandparents and many others who are no longer with us and spent so much time there. I took lots of photos before and during the sale of the house and during the move itself. I have not been at that house in more than a week, but like lots of figures who are no longer part of our lives, that house will always be with us. 

Perhaps I am fooling myself. Perhaps, after the new owners move in, I will feel differently. I doubt it – because this was never about a house or a place. I didn’t go to “the house,” I went to be with my folks. Yes, the house was a great place to gather, but we have other places that will work just as well. The house was important because of the people who lived in it. I will enjoy the new house and my folks’ new community for those same reasons.  

I would be remiss if I didn’t also note how grateful I am for the lessons I am learning in this process. My parents moved in their mid-eighties. My wife and I have talked about making this move a decade earlier. My parents, in this and in many other ways, are modeling thoughtful and graceful aging. I am taking notes. It is my sincere wish that they will be our elder guides for many years to come. 

Letting Go of COVID Control

I have been struggling during this time. I love spending this time with my wife and kids, but I am concerned about people I care about who don’t live with me. While I am completely content to chip away at my list, clean the house, find interesting ways to connect, create, and be involved in my community, I am keenly aware that this is a time of great uncertainty and danger. And I have been living with that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach: fear.

So my goal continues to be to not lose this moment because I am afraid about what may or may not happen later. I am working to be present here and now. I want to be able to appreciate the moments I have with my family at home, on the phone, through video chats, texts, and emails instead of fretting about the dangers from which I cannot protect them.

 

I guess I need to let go of the protector father/husband concept, too.

 

It is easier written than done. I read an article talking about how one’s mindset affects one’s immune system, and anxiety hinders the immunity system. Did I really need to be told that fear is the mind-killer? Do I diminish my ability to stay well by making doomsday plans?

 

I am a planner. I like control. One doesn’t become a theatre director and English teacher unless one is constitutionally predisposed to being in charge. I am happier when things work according to my plans because I spend significant energy structuring all the pieces. I have checklists, to-do sheets, procedure documents, and contingency plans for my contingency plans. My father calls me a “belt and suspenders man.” It is an accurate description.

 

While there is nothing wrong with being thoughtful, prepared, and planned, it can be problematic when my need to direct the show is thwarted. I am in the wings for this crisis. My role is to stay out the way and do whatever I can to help those fighting this pandemic.

 

I am slowly learning how to do that. I am not a lead in this play. I am a bit player, an extra, and I must do my small part and let the show’s leads save me. That does not come easily to me, especially when some of those key actors don’t seem to know their lines or blocking and are terrible stage hogs.

 

I need to take my own grandmother’s advice and look at things positively. This does not mean ignoring, denying, or minimizing the things that make me anxious but putting them in their place. It does not mean throwing up my hands and saying I cannot participate in the struggle to improve our world, but finding healthy ways to contribute to the fight. And of course, letting go of my expectation of control.

 

A dear friend told me her version of the serenity prayer; she said the only good thing about hitting your head against the wall is that it feels really good when you stop. I must accept that much about this situation is out of my control. I cannot let that frustration destroy the good things that are right in front of me. I must not let my imagined horrors outshine my here and now blessings. There are things I can control. There are ways I can both help keep everyone safe and help make this a more just and peaceful world for everyone. I must understand the difference.

 

Writing this is one step. Doing it is another. I’ll get back to you.  

Thinking About The Class of 2020

I graduated high school with the class of 2019. Well, I retired in 2019, but I got to share their commencement ceremony, reunions, and special events. We had graduation parties and special editions of the newspaper, yearbooks, speeches, and plenty of opportunities to wax nostalgic and say goodbye. It was important to me as I ended my teaching career.

The class of 2020 will get none of that.

The class of 2020 has been on my mind as the realities that school will remain online through the end of the term sink in. I think that most of us would agree that canceling in-person school was the right decision. It still hurts.

Yes, it is the education that counts. I have no doubt that the class of 2020 will be ready for their next steps. A few months of online learning will not hinder them when they start their post-high school lives. Rather, it is the loss of those rituals and landmarks that concern me.

While it is easy to dismiss the high school class of 2020’s losses as minor, privileged, or whiny, I think that is a deflection. It minimizes what many of us are feeling: we are losing something that can never be recaptured. Important moments are going to vanish and we will never be able to experience them.

It is not an exaggeration to say that a high school graduation is the last time – ever – that a class and community will be together. One of the most emotionally difficult aspects of being a teacher is that most of my students walk across that stage and I never see them again. I get to say goodbye to some of them. I bump into a few over the years. Some stay in touch through social media or email. Some become friends. But a vast majority vanishes. More than thirty years of teaching and I don’t get over it. I rush around after graduation trying to connect one more time. And then they are gone.

On the second day of Freshman English, I ask my students to write about their first day of high school. I tell them to be very specific: whom did they meet, what did they feel, what were their first impressions, and what happened? I tell them be candid and promise that they are the only ones who will see this particular piece of writing (unless they choose to show it to someone or talk about it). They place this record of their first day of high school into an envelope and self-address it. I save it and send it to them just before their graduation so they will have a chance to look at their first day of high school as they approach their last. I have done this for decades.

So in my drawer, here at home, is a batch of letters from my class three years ago. Last year, I wrote them a note congratulating them on their graduation and wishing them well. I planned on just putting these letters in the mail in May.

This last week, I wrote a second letter to them, reflecting on their situation, asking them to be creative about finding ways to celebrate as soon as it is safe to do so (or create new ways that we can celebrate now), and letting them know that they are important to me – and to others.

You will not be surprised that I did not say “goodbye.” I have real trouble with goodbye and letting go, as I have written many times before.

There is a human need to mark these transitions and landmarks. What we are feeling, what you are feeling, what members of the class of 2020 are feeling is real, important, and natural. It should not be discarded or dismissed.

I am delighted that some schools have scheduled alternate ways and days to celebrate their seniors. Although this may be optimistic, it is also affirming.

In my new letter to my former students, I told them that we should celebrate their high school careers. We must celebrate the friendships and memories we made. There are many ways to do this, and I know these students will invent some that would never occur to me. Some might be online or use social media. Some might not be locked in a single moment, but allow people to participate over a length of time. Some might look totally different than the traditional way we mark the end of high school.

We must not let them this moment slide away from us without celebrating this class’s growth, importance, and accomplishments – and our love for them.

Congratulations to the Class of 2020. We wish you peace, love, and health – and we are eager to celebrate you and celebrate with you – and see you again, soon!

Our Town and Our Old Videos: Glimpses into the Past

My first theatre production at Deerfield High School was Our Town. I did it because we had no money and it would include a large number of students. Recently, I have been looking at old videos and photos from my first decade of teaching. They remind me of Our Town.

A few years ago, Deerfield produced Our Town again. I cried my way through it. Similarly, I watched myself about thirty years ago on these videos. I felt like Emily looking at my very distant life.

I found the play and the videos frighteningly familiar. It happens each time I watch shows I have done, and I am surprised each time. The production is still inside me. The moments, lines, and nuances of the script don’t go away. They lie dormant, even for decades. So do the feelings I had for the people with whom I was working. 

I found, as I watched the videos and show, that I saw more than what was in front of me. I remembered the students from thirty-some years ago and saw them then and now. Thanks to the blessing of Facebook, I am still in touch with many of them.

As Emily returns to her birthday, I was returning to my own Deerfield Grover’s Corners. I didn’t need to die to relive my past. But, like Emily, I was painfully aware of how little I saw then.

During the last years of my career as a teacher, I tried to savor the moments.  Since my own children are growing up and no longer at home, the passage of time feels very real. I savor each phone call, text, and video chat.

When Emily sees her parents young and beautiful, I am filled with gratitude and fear. My parents are aging. They are doing it well, but again I am keenly aware of time. My wife’s parents are gone and, through her, I have a second-hand taste of that loss. And my students are aging, too. Their children were in my classroom.

Some of my former students have died. I can’t get over those losses. When one of those students appeared on one of the videos, it was a jarring and delightful moment. I wish I could go back and share with him what I know now. To paraphrase Mrs. Gibbs from Our Town, I was a blind person.

I watch the videos with wet eyes and wonder: Can we be the people the Stage Manager says don’t exist? Can we cherish and see each other every – every minute? Can we put the minutia and administrivia in its place and hold each other the way Emily tries to as she relives her birthday morning? I fully understand why she can’t go on with it. I had to stop the video a few times because the view became too blurry. It must have been decay from the old VHS tapes.

We do walk through the world in the dark. We don’t see each other. We take each other for granted and forget the miracles we make and live daily. The least important day is important enough.

As I reflect on my time as a teacher, as I review the old videos and memories, I keep coming back to Our Town. I am reminded of those years long ago, and the wonderful people whom I miss. That is the hard part of retirement: missing the wonderful people.

But I am so grateful to have spent time with them – and to have these memories.

Parenting By Proxy

Recently, I was listening to an episode of This American Life that talked about parents who were seeking human growth hormones for their children (usually their sons) because they wanted them to be taller. There was nothing medically wrong with their children, they just didn’t want them to be short. They wanted to give them the most advantages they could, and if a drug could give them height, they saw this as a good thing. Of course, you can guess the other part of this equation; these were affluent suburban parents.

In the past, if you were short, you had no choice. Parents of short children, often short themselves, would teach their kids what that meant and how it might be different than being other heights. And even though there is not much long-term data on the effects of synthetic human growth hormone on otherwise healthy kids, parents can now have a cosmetic medical procedure and none of that parenting is necessary.

Similarly, if a child is not doing well in school, a parent can ask the school to do testing. Sometimes that testing shows a learning issue. Sometimes it does not. Sometimes, a child’s performance in class, according to the school, may not even warrant the testing. No problem. Parents can go to doctors and others who will take their money and do the testing. Is it surprising that, when the parent is paying for the testing, often they find something that would suggest that the child should receive special services at school – or a drug to help them focus – or accommodations on testing, such as additional testing time on college entrance exams? Such a deal!

And what about those exams? When I was preparing for college, we just took the test. We looked at the booklet that came with the sign-up sheet to make sure we didn’t fill out the forms incorrectly. I don’t remember my parents being involved at all. That is not the case today –for this same set of affluent parents. There is an industry of people who will tutor and prepare and sculpt and shape children so that they score better and better each time they take the tests!

The whole process of applying to college is so messy. In our house, we limited “college talk” to certain times and days so it didn’t overwhelm us or outshine other important parts of our lives. However, some parents don’t want to be the “bad guys” and nag their kids to finish the applications and essays. They worry that neither they nor their children will be able to meet the high standards that the “best” colleges require. So they get help. They hire people who will “help” them select the “right” schools and take the courses they will need to be admitted. They “assist” students in filling out their applications. Others will “coach” students on their essays. Such a deal!

Many of these moms and dads are more like executive parents. They don’t do the actual parenting. They don’t get their hands dirty or get down in the trenches with the kids. They hire people for that. Their job is to manage all the doctors, tutors, coaches, drugs, teachers, and other helpers who do the real day-to-day parenting.

There is something downright medieval about this. I think of Juliet’s nurse and Juliet’s mother. The nurse is the real parent who knows about the ins and outs of Juliet’s secret affair. Lady Capulet is not only clueless, she is destructive because she believes she knows what is best when in reality, she barely knows her daughter. She only knows the image of her daughter that she wants the world to see.

And therein lies the rub. These parental proxies are trying to make kids into someone’s vision of the best and brightest. The children don’t do the real work. They are led, trained, and directed – and they have had little to no say in the direction they are being marched. They may believe that what their folks want is what they want – or not. It doesn’t really matter.

No wonder, when they finally get out of their parents’ homes, they flounder. The assumption is that, if we provide them with the best proxy parents, they will flourish. The real work of parenting is challenging and difficult. It is a test of values, will, and intelligence. It is a task that must be done with spouses, grandparents, teachers, neighbors, and siblings. But when we farm it out to consultants and concoctions, we risk getting a very different result than when children are helped to become self-sufficient, independent, thoughtful people - by people who love them. 

I wonder who we can hire to be sure our children are kind and empathetic? After all, they are going to select our assisted living facility. Oh, never mind; they’ll hire a consultant to make that decision for them.

Putting the Social in Social Network: Facebook Thanksgiving

I am aware that there are issues with Facebook. I try to stay out of the political kerfuffles, and I am freaked out when the item I just bought at the store appears in my feed. I wish that Facebook would do a better job of upholding reasonable standards of accuracy.  

But that isn’t why I am on Facebook or Instagram. That isn’t how I use it.

I am there because I love thinking of you! I want to hear about your life. I am delighted to see your posts and photos because they remind me of you. It really is that simple.

Some people talk about the massive time-wasting potential of Facebook, and I am certainly guilty of avoiding productive work by scrolling through my feed. Yet, I leave that experience feeling good. Someone has a new job. Someone’s child did something cute. Someone is having a great time on vacation. Someone posted a funny meme.

It almost doesn’t matter what you post because the words and images bring you to my mind, and that is why I am there. Even when your post is not all sun and rainbows.

Sometimes, Facebook posts help us help each other. Sometimes they are calls for support. I have learned about sad events and funerals I needed to attend through Facebook. I have been able to be a voice in the chorus of support through Facebook. I have been able to reach out through Facebook.

I understand that we get bent out of shape about far more consequential issues. They are important. We need to address them. We must examine all information, on and offline, through a critical lens. We must hold each other and our communication vehicles responsible.

But my Facebook use does not have that kind of weight. I'm here to wish people a happy birthday. I'm here because, as I have written many times before, I'm not good at letting go. The information on Facebook gives me a momentary glimpse into the lives of my former students, colleagues, friends, relatives, and people who live near and far, almost all of whom I do not get to see regularly.

A friend said to me that he thought Facebook was problematic because it provided the illusion of closeness. We get some photos or words and thus feel connected when we should really pick up the phone or go visit someone. It is a cheat and a trap. I see his point.

But I am not sure I would or could have personal contact with many of my Facebook friends. That isn’t to say I wouldn’t want to, but it is not feasible. Sometimes all I really want or need is a picture or a few words. Sometimes, I call and we go out for lunch or a walk. There is a place for both.

I love meeting up with friends. Yet, many of my Facebook relationships are not that kind. Our connection on Facebook is superficial – and that is enough. It makes me feel happy to just think of you and get a tiny window into your experience.

And for that I am very thankful.

Missing Teaching Does Not Mean I Want to Go Back In The Classroom

As I freshly minted graduate, I mean retiree, I miss my old routine. I miss the joys of school. Most of all, I miss the people: my colleagues and students with whom I have learned for most of my life.

While I look back fondly on my life as a teacher, I do not want to go back to the classroom. I could add a “yet” there, but the truth is that I don’t know if I will ever go back. I’m not sure. I certainly do not miss the papers or the politics!

I have relished my summer, which for the first time ever was a real vacation.  I felt free in a way I never have in the past. As the school year starts, I am enjoying finding a new rhythm and finding new ways to learn, share, and contribute. My post-teaching life is still very novel.

People asked me what I was going to do in retirement. Some challenged me saying that they struggled to “fill” their retirements or find purpose. Rather than jumping into a new job or selling the house and moving away, I am giving myself at least one year to explore and find out who I am when I am not teaching. I am calling it my gap year.

The “rules” I have given myself are that I am not going to make any major commitments for about a year. I am not taking another teaching job. I am not taking a long-term substitute position. I am not going to fill my time with busyness just to be busy. I am keeping my hand down - for now.

However, that doesn’t mean that I can’t sign up for classes (I already have) and start projects. That doesn’t mean I am sitting at home; I just don’t want to be as busy as I have been when I was working full time.

Nor do I think I will be bored. I am very good at filling my time; maybe I am too good at it and this is an opportunity to slow down, reflect, and rediscover.

I have a long list of things I want to explore. My “to be read” pile of books is ginormous and my “to be watched” list of movies and TV shows spans decades. I am so fortunate that my wife retired with me. We will explore this together. We want to travel and share our newfound freedom.

Almost everyone has suggestions for me. I should become a travel agent, writer, charity volunteer, college essay consultant, or life cycle officiate. I have lost track of the number of times people have said to me, “You know what you should do…” I am not rejecting all those ideas. I will explore some of them. Right now, however, I don’t want to become something else. I want to really to explore this in-between state and enjoy my new retired status.

I live next door to the school at which I taught for thirty-three years. I hear the bells ring! I see the busses and kids and my colleagues going about life as usual. I do miss it. More so, I miss them. Yet I can miss being a teacher while not wanting to return to the classroom. I helped with the concession stand at a recent football game and I plan to attend other events. I am looking forward to the fall play!

But time runs in only one direction and I cannot go back. So I will continue to blog and photograph and explore  - and share some thoughts here. Don’t mistake my nostalgia for a wish to return. I am on a new path and, thus far, I am relishing it. Keep reading: I’ll keep you up to date!