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. 

Twenty Years Ago: January 2004

I was surprised by all the ways that January 2004 was similar to January 2024. It was quite different, of course, but the similarities showed how things had not changed. While this reflection on twenty years ago has been a wide-eyed tour of the past, it also shows how my present is still connected to that long ago time. 

I laughed when I described our return from vacation as, “mildly overwhelming” because I was feeling the same thing after I got off the plane with my twenty-something children and my aging eighty-something parents. 

Similarly, the entire family spent a few days, “bubble headed” then and now. We got home and everyone went to sleep, even though it was 7am. Some of us took longer to get back on Central Time – the same someones as twenty years ago. 

We arrived home exhausted and, as I went to bed, “I was so tired last night that when I tried to read, the book kept slipping from my hands.” I had napped earlier but it didn’t matter at all. We were pooped! 

Twenty years ago, my daughter got a stomach bug as we got home from vacation. The same thing happened this year. However, this year, she had to suffer on a plane back to D.C! I felt guilty that I could not nurse her the way I did in 2004. 

Fortunately, unlike 2004, none of the rest of us caught that bug. In 2004, it went through the house like that nauseating montage in the movie version of The Secret Life of Dentists. In 2004, we also shared colds; not doing that this year.  

I laughed out loud when I referred to, “The ladies of the morning;” my mother, my wife’s sister, and my wife’s aunt, who would always call us before 8am. While that no longer happens, my wife and daughter have a morning call routine now. 

As it was in 2004, I returned home and I almost immediately planned the next trip. Then it was a spring break visiting my cousin in Florida back then, this year, it is little jaunts, local science fiction conventions, and a February escape. We no longer celebrate spring break. 

January remains a month of dental visits for most of us. While we no longer have a dog, my daughter’s dog had his dental visit, too. He is in much better health than our elderly ailing dog was in 2004. I was considering doggie diapers, the insulin was so ineffective. 

When my parents moved recently, I found a disc with old photos. My father took photos of the house in 2004 for insurance purposes. Most of the house looked pretty much as it did before they moved. 

That is where the similarities end. In 2004, we had some significant snowfalls, the water main broke and we had no water for a while. The furnace’s pilot light went out and we spent a very cold evening before we figured out the issue. We saw The Lion King with the folks and the kids. It was a little much for our younger child. 

As I have written about in the past, our school moved finals before winter break a few years ago. In 2004, we had two weeks of class then finals, and then the start of the new semester. That makes things more stressful. I do not miss all that grading! I would sit in my younger child’s room and try to get on the school network since the school was just over the fence. Sometimes it worked. 

I often told the story that my parents complained that their grandchildren always used “please” and “thank you” with them. I didn’t know my reply was exactly twenty years old, “At dinner, when my father made his please-thank you comment, I informed him that we were making a special rule just for him. Where the kids normally said, “please,” they would instead say, “now” or “darn it” and instead of “thank you,” they would say “finally” or “it’s about time.”

My daughter made the school spelling bee. I really don’t like spelling bees.  I rehearsed and then officiated a bat mitzvah since our congregation had not yet hired a rabbi. Like this year, the end of the month brought snow and brutal cold. 

Finally, “I was awakened at 1:55am by a  phone call telling me that the folks alarm had gone off and should they send the police? At that time of night, I thought it best to have the police go look around. However, if the problem was something inside, a burst pipe or other problem, they wouldn’t see it. I needed to go to the house. So I got dressed, bundled up and off I went.” Fortunately, that situation has not happened often. My parents just moved out of that house and now live only ten minutes north of me. 

If you ask me what were the highlights (or lowlights) of January (or February) of 2004, I probably could not have provided many specifics. When I read my old journals, it come back powerfully. Things have changed so much, mostly for the better, but I miss when my kids were little and my parents were younger. I do not miss the frenetic and stressful life we lived in 2004. 

Cherishing the Science Fiction Fan Community at Chicon 8: The 80th World Science Fiction Convention

Over Labor Day weekend, I attended the Eightieth Annual World Science Fiction Convention at the Hyatt Regency in downtown Chicago: Chicon 8. It was a spectacular and enormous celebration of the genres I adore. It also celebrated the community of fans who have been gathering this way for decades. While there was a world convention in D.C. last December and a virtual one the year before that, this was the first time this number of fans had gathered in person at this scale. I am so grateful to have been able to be a part of it – and it has made me even more appreciative of the people who did the real heavy lifting that made it happen. 

I have been to many fan conventions. If you want to explore the difference between a fan con and something like Comic Con, click here. However, This was my first time being closely involved in the planning of a convention like this. I was involved for more than three years supporting those who were doing the real work of setting up this convention. Then, about a year ago, I got a job working on the con.   

My role for this convention was to reach out to local people, groups, businesses, and others and help them get involved in the convention. I talked to libraries, museums, bookstores, game stores, fan groups, meet-up groups, businesses, magazines, other conventions, media, and anything other organization I could think of. I asked them to be presenters, bring exhibits, participate in our art show, place ads in our program book, or be involved in many other ways. This was a local special opportunity; it has been a decade since the World Convention has been in Chicago and no one knows when it will return.

I sent out reminders as various deadlines approached, “Only one week more to be a program participant, two weeks to sign up for a fan table” – and so on. This meant that, as the convention drew near, my workload decreased as these dates passed. 

So before the convention, I responded to an email calling for volunteer help. I ended up working in the program operations office and assisting with the masquerade. 

It was wonderful! Whether I was helping put up signs, letting panelists know they need to finish in a few minutes, answering questions, directing people to rooms, or shepherding costume contestants through the stages of being judged, there was one clear common detonator: shared joy. 

On Sunday night, I attended the Hugo Awards presentation. It is like the Academy Awards – only geeky! As I listened to the winners’ acceptance speeches, I gloried in the company of this remarkable fan community. We bond over ideas, words, concepts, and stories. We are interested in how science and the arts intersect. We are an inclusive, diverse, and welcoming community to anyone who wants to join us – for the most part. No community is without areas for growth. 

I attended many panels over the course of the convention weekend. These panels’ topics ranged from Star Trek to banning books to teaching science fiction and fantasy to racism and bias in the genre. I discovered new books, shows, and movies and learned new ideas about those I was already reading and viewing. I also connected to new people from whom I could learn. 

Thank you to this year’s con chair Helen Montgomery and the many people who played Atlas through the five days of the convention. Thank you to fans who traveled from all over the world to join the celebration. Thank you to the volunteers, speakers, artists, musicians, costumers, authors, creators, and everyone else who lent their energy, creativity, money, and time to this wonderful enterprise. (Yeah, I just did that). 

I have enjoyed these conventions and the people who attend them for years. Now that I have the time, volunteering has deepened my appreciation and commitment to them. 

Thank you to the entire community of Chicon 8, the World Science Fiction Society, and everyone who participated in any way. I’ll see you at a convention soon – where I intend to raise my hand and help! 

By the way, we have two wonderful local conventions in the Chicago area: Windycon is November 11 to 13, 2022 and Capricon is February 2 to 5, 2023! 

Thank Goodness for Teachers!

The school year is starting. Some of us welcome the “back to school” sales, while others see them as the death knell of summer’s freedom. And even though they are not paid during the summer, schoolteachers have spent an unfair and disproportionate part of it getting ready to receive our children. 

Professors, teachers, and especially public school faculty have become political punching bags recently. Not only is it disgusting and unfair, but it is also sharper than a serpent’s tooth! Public schoolteachers are the masons of success and, as we continue to learn from the pandemic, the foundation of our economy. When the schools stopped, the great machinery of business and industry stalled and sputtered. 

So let us give thanks for those wonderful souls who teach our children. Let us give thanks to those who have earned enough education to join the upwardly mobile and the moneyed upper middle classes, but eschew just earning a living and instead choose a vocation of giving. 

Let’s face it; those who teach could have been bankers, lawyers, doctors, scientists, artists, and all manner of professionals. Instead, they chose service to the children and our communities. They deserve our gratitude – and support! 

Get off their backs! If you don’t like the book, read your child another one. If you don’t like the ideas, discuss your beliefs with your children. While what happens in school certainly shapes children, it pales compared to what happens at home. If what you, as parents, are teaching your children can be so easily washed away by school lessons or activities, that speaks to what is going on at home far more than what is happening in the classroom. 

Consider this: teachers receive and welcome your children, even on the days when things have not gone well, even on the days when your kids were upset with you or you with them, even when you thought that maybe this whole parenting thing was a big mistake, even on the days when your children wondered if you still loved them. To whom did they turn? Their teachers. And their teachers reassured and supported them. You’re welcome. 

I have been concerned about using the term love here because it has been dirtied and maligned by those who cheat on their spouses, swindle their customers, lie to their constituents, and then tell you that you can’t trust teachers. It has been sexualized by those who pay hush money to sex workers and similarly would silence teachers who want to help our children make this a safer and saner society –for our kids and all of us. 

Because, like good parents, teachers love our children. They sacrifice for our children. They are not perfect. Like parents, they range from stellar to so-so. Like politicians, they make mistakes, even in service of larger goals. Yet, like good shepherds, they lead our children to find nourishment, comfort, community, and enlightenment. 

Stop beating up teachers and start extolling and exalting them. They hold our country together. They love our children even when we falter. 

And frankly, some of your children have questions they are afraid to ask you. Some of your children are curious about the books you have stolen from the library and destroyed. They want to talk to you about the concepts you want teachers to hide from them. Banning these ideas from the classroom will not prevent this exploration. It will not stop kids from thinking. It will change their view of their parents.  

Do you want your children to realize that, sometimes, their teachers have their best interests at heart even when their parents are silent and afraid? Thank goodness their teachers are there even when their parents want to shut down the conversation. In the age of the internet, banning books and forbidding discussion will never stop the ideas. Teachers know this. Some folks fear this. There is no stopping it. 

Teachers are the support structure and safety net of our society. As we send our children back to the classrooms, let us be grateful. 

Everlasting Gifts from Kathy Galvin

One of the gifts we receive from great teachers is that they continue to teach their students, even when they are separated by time and space; they continue to impact our lives. Their lessons become an integral part of our being. They are always with us. 

There is no one for whom this is truer than Kathleen Galvin. I met Kathy my sophomore year at Northwestern when I enrolled in Speech Teaching Methods class. I thought I might want to be a high school teacher. I thought I might want to be many things. I was a nineteen-year-old: part adult, part adolescent, part toddler, and part explorer. 

I found myself in a seminar room in the basement of Harris Hall with two dynamic professors: Pam Cooper and Kathy Galvin. They really had one name: PamandKathy. We sat in a circle and they guided us through far more than pedagogy and curriculum. They modeled how good teachers, good adults, and good people act. They overlooked our immaturity and gently guided us. They taught us to think like educators. They modeled phenomenal teaching and remarkable caring. 

With humor, creativity, and mountains of patience, they firmly and expertly helped us learn about communication, family dynamics, child development – and ourselves. They insisted we become outstanding learners and leaders – and, most difficult for me, listeners. 

They practiced what they professed. Every lesson worked on two levels: the content, of course, and the modeling from Pam and Kathy. Not every professor is a great teacher. Kathy and Pam were virtuoso teachers, pitch-perfect. 

Throughout my almost thirty-four years in the classroom, I lost track of the times I consciously thought, “What would Kathy do?” or “How would Kathy respond?” Over and over, I brought myself back to that seminar room and I recharged my patience and perspective. 

Pam and Kathy got me through a tumultuous student teaching experience. My cooperating teacher was magnificent and a fantastic role model. However, his mother became ill shortly after I arrived and he left for Florida for several weeks. I was on my own and way over my head. Kathy and Pam’s quiet and steady guidance helped me to thrive and learn to navigate solo in the classroom.

Whenever Kathy called me, I knew it was going to be life-changing. She called to tell me about a summer job at a prep school in New Hampshire, which started me on the path of teaching television, and eventually starting at TV class at my school a few years later. She called and told me about a job opening, which started an intense reflection of what I wanted to do and where I wanted to teach. When I decided to stay at my school and change positions, I called Kathy and she recommended my replacement!

Kathy guided my master’s process. Her family communications class not only helped me understand and empathize with my own family but also gave me new insight into hers. Kathy came and spoke to my wife’s professional group, the Lake County Counselors Association about the changing roles of parents in college. I remember Kathy going way beyond discussing helicopter parents and talking about attack and rescue helicopter parents. 

Even years after college, Kathy was still my teacher. I worked with student teachers and Kathy came to Deerfield and coached our pre-service teacher and me. The more time I spent with Kathy, the more I grew. Many years ago, we started having yearly summer lunches together. We shared what was happening personally and professionally.

When we had lunch the last time, I thought about all the students who had studied in that seminar room in Harris Hall - and other places. Many of us are teachers. Many of us have been teaching twenty, thirty- or more years. 

Our students are Kathy’s grand-students. Kathy’s legacy goes way beyond the people who studied with her. She was with me in the classroom every day. I have taught about Virginia Satir’s mobile, used cartoons to teach about communication, and tried to do my best Kathy Galvin impression when that talkative, awkward, slightly irritating, adolescent sidles his way into my room. 

And I kept calling Kathy for booster shots. Thank goodness I am retired. 

There is no way to quantify the gifts Kathy gave me, Northwestern, and the countless students who read her books, studied with her students, listened to her lessons, or were fortunate enough to share a lesson with her. 

Just before the pandemic, Kathy became ill and we could not see one another. Yet, truly, she is sitting beside me. In my teaching, parenting, and pursuit of all that is precious and beautiful, Kathy will continue to be my guide. I am so grateful I got to tell her this at her retirement party just before the pandemic. I just wish we could share retirement.

Letter to the Educators

 

Dear Educators,

 

Thank you. Thank you for being essential to our children and the entire country. Thank you for changing all you do at a moment’s notice. Thank you for not giving up on our children or their parents. Thank you for staying up late after taking care of your own family, and reaching deep into that already low reservoir of energy and using it to care for someone else’s kids.

 

No matter what your role, you have been striving to meet student needs; thank you to teachers, counselors, social workers, nurses, psychologists, coaches, teaching assistants, tutors, librarians, administrative assistants, custodians, student teachers, interns, administrators, technology staff, paraprofessionals, trainers, guards, resource staff, cafeteria staff, bus drivers, transportation support staff, coordinators and everyone else at school whose hands are holding the student safety net.

 

Thank you for reaching out. Thank you for trying different approaches to meet different needs. Thank you for meeting kids’ emotional needs and attending to far more than the curriculum and the cognitive, but providing another layer of support and assistance to children living in a terrible and frightening time.

 

Parents have worked hard to be your assistants and in doing so gained a new and renewed admiration for your skill and expertise. We knew you were doing something very challenging and complex and now we have a deeper understanding and appreciation of what it means to be an educator.

Because we went to school does not mean we can be a teacher. Because we visited the nurse’s or counselor’s or tutor’s office, does not mean we have even a fraction of a view of what it takes to do a good job in those roles. After being our children’s teachers’ helpers as well as their parents, we understand more about what it takes to be with them at school.  

There was a photo of a large SUV with the words, “You lied. My children are not a joy to have in class” written on the windows. Thank you for fostering sides of our children we don’t see at home. Thank you for being another adult with whom our children could find shelter. Thank you for loving our children in a way that we ourselves found challenging.

We all miss your physical presence as school becomes increasingly remote. We crave your classroom and the power of your smile and gentle way of communicating without words. We want the interactions that Zoom could not replicate, that we could not feel across the distance. Thank you for those extra special visits at home, car parade, care packages, and special appearances. The power of our relationship was so strong that it could sustain us distantly. But your absence is like an uncovered wound we can’t keep from touching.

 

We know you are being beaten up and berated by some. We know that there are those who do not appreciate the miracles you have wrought. We wish they could sit on your shoulders, cover your eyes and ears, and tell you to just listen to us! We wish the critics had someone who cared for them the way you have cherished our children. We wish everyone had someone calling out across the gulf the way you have bridged this time for us.

 

The summer beckons. You always earned your summers, what little of them you actually get for yourselves. More than ever before, you deserve a break. 

 

We are worried about the fall. We know you share this concern. Please know that we trust you. We trust that you will continue to do what you have done throughout this ordeal: Do what is best for all of our children.

 

That is why you are essential, precious, and extraordinary. Thank you is inadequate.

 

All our love and wishing you health and peace,

 

Your grateful students, their parents, and members of the community

 

 

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.

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.

A Rubric For Thank You Notes

Dear Hirschs, Thank you for the generous gift. It was nice to see you. From, X.

Is that a thank you note? What does that really communicate? That note has only a shred of gratitude. It says that we didn’t merit much energy or care. Its message is almost the opposite of the words. I don’t think that is what the writer intended. The writer didn’t intend anything, but the writer wasn’t that thankful and it shows.

There are two issues here: the first (and more important of the two) is that the idea that thanks are necessary. The second is that they are communicated sincerely. Children’s thank you notes are a learning opportunity. When children send thank you cards after receiving birthday, holiday, bar or bat mitzvah or other special gifts, they are getting out of themselves. They are thinking about the feelings and point of view of another. This is a critical developmental task that, if not accomplished, will handicap their relationships for life. Perhaps if we had more thank you notes, we’d have fewer narcissistic people.

However, I must point out that many adults either neglect the thank you note or write them poorly. Therefore, here is the Hirsch family thank you note rubric. This is our thank you note measuring stick. Thank you notes tell a great deal about both the sender and the nature of the relationship.

A good thank you note is personal. If the wrong name came after the “Dear,” it would make no sense. If the name is misspelled, that has a message, too. The note speaks of the relationship between the sender and receiver. Even if that relationship is new or indirect, it addresses that. So notes may say, “It was so nice to see my parents’ good friends,” or  “It was wonderful to share our wedding with my new friends from work.” Sometimes, you are acting as an agent for another person. Your thank you note is no longer about you; it is about the giver’s connection to your parents, employers, or spouse. The specific relationship is the core of the note. It is more important than the item that generated it.

A good thank you note is specific. It says, very directly, why the writer is thankful, “Thank you for the beautiful vase,” or “ I love books and I will think of you as I use the gift card.” Even if the gift was money or intangible, it should still be mentioned, “I will put the check to good use,” or  “It was so kind of you to let me stay overnight.”

A good thank you note has some degree of detail. It is not generic. The typical formula says that you should mention how you will use the gift or why it is important to you. That is sound advice. There are other options too, “I loved playing with your dogs while I stayed with you,” or “The frame reminds me of one I always loved in Aunt Sadel’s apartment.”

Of course, a good thank you note is timely. People quote all sorts of rules about how long you have before a thank you note is too late. I have even heard that wedding couples have a year to send the notes. A year? Really? What would you think if you received a thank you note twelve months after the wedding? You probably sent the gift a month or more before the wedding anyway. I wouldn’t remember what I gave!

A late thank you note says that saying thanks wasn’t a priority to the writer. By extension, it feels like the relationship is also not that important. A good thank you note should reflect the care and effort put into the gift.

Which brings us to the question of how to send a thank you note for awful or thoughtless gifts. If it is really the thought that counts, then these gifts barely qualify. So what is wrong with sending, as my old college professor used to say, a  “thank you and %@#$ you” card? A lot. We answer kindness with kindness but I would want to give the other person the benefit of the doubt and answer thoughtlessness with thoughtfulness. The card need not be long, but it should be as sincere as possible. It should not be sarcastic or critical. If there are problems with the relationship, the thank you note is not the way to address them.   

My grandmother was the only person who ever wrote thank you notes for thank you notes. I remember asking my father, “Do I need to send her a thank you for the thank you for my thank you?” Of course, he told me to just call my grandmother. Always a good idea.  

But her intention captures the real importance of the thank you note – or even the thank you email: gratitude and connection. A thank you note should be a sincere expression, not only of thanks, but also of the connection between the person writing and the person receiving.  It says, “You showed that you care. I appreciate that and I value our relationship.”

Sign My Yearbook

One of my most anxiety producing moments in the classroom is when a student approaches me and says, “Mr. Hirsch, will you sign my yearbook?” I always agree to sign or ask the student to wait until I have a free moment. The truth is that signing yearbooks makes me very anxious.

I joke that I should sell a stamp when yearbooks are being distributed that says:

Dear _____________

It was great seeing you in __________ class.

You are so _________!

Thanks so much for __________.

Have a _______ summer.

Your _________,

__________

Truthfully, I have not read many student yearbook messages. While their notes to each other might be banal and trite, I think that may not be the case. I watch students spend a long time writing their messages. I see yearbooks filled with notes and drawings. Kids seem to be thoughtful about yearbook notes.

That is why I am so worried. I don’t have time to craft a well-written and personal message. My handwriting is not that great. I misspell words and change my mind after I put them on the page. I just changed the beginning of this paragraph. I just changed it again.

Yearbook messages may not be carved in stone, but they are likely to be saved and, once in a while, reviewed. I worry that this five-minute scrawl is what this student will eventually remember about our time together. By the time all this has gone through my head, I am paralyzed and I regret whatever I write as soon as I hand the book back. I worry that I said the wrong thing or didn’t say enough.

So without the personal student-specific stuff, here is a version of the message I wish I could write in my students’ yearbooks:

My Dear Classmate,

Thank you for sharing class with me this year. Thank you for rolling up your sleeves and working hard. Thank you for your contributions to class, patience with me and our classmates, and willingness to laugh at my jokes. Thank you for the kindness you showed every day.

I want you to know how capable you are. It is healthy to doubt our abilities sometimes. However, your growth this year is not something you should question. It proves you can learn anything you want and become whatever or whomever you choose. You have that power. Use it for good.

I will miss you next year. Actually, I will miss you next period, tomorrow, and over the summer. I will miss you right after we greet each other in the hallway. When you graduate, I will continue missing you. I will think about you when we discuss the topics you loved and hated. I will remember you when we explore assignments that shaped your experience in this class. That is why I take a lot of pictures. They randomly appear on the background of my computer, and I will smile and miss you more when your photo surprises me like a found coin.

Please don’t doubt our relationship. Come back and visit school. You have a permanent standing appointment. At the front desk, when they ask if someone is expecting you, tell them that Mr. Hirsch is expecting you. I am always expecting you. Yes, you may befriend me on Facebook (after you graduate), yes, you may connect via Twitter or Instagram or email or owl or Morse code! I encourage you to use whatever way works for you to stay in touch – and that choice is yours.

When you have those moments of struggle, when you think the audience is empty and yearn for even the echo of applause, when you doubt yourself and your abilities, when things seem unbearable, remember that I am a card-carrying member of your fan club and I am cheering for you from Deerfield. Your audience is never empty and I know that you have the skills to figure out anything. It may take time, effort, creativity, and resources. You have more resources than you know – and I am one of them.

I care deeply about you, even when we have struggled or disagreed. I care deeply about you even if sometimes we fall down and make mistakes – and I make mistakes, too! Sorry about those. I know that, although I want you to master the skills and know the content and all that stuff, it isn’t the real core curriculum. You are the center of this class. Who you are and what you are thinking and feeling is far more important than any target, objective, or standard.

Be well. Make good choices. Move slowly. Read a lot, and continue to discover and create the extraordinary person I have come to like so much.

Your teacher and friend,

David Hirsch

The Gift of You: My Deerprints Column

My grandmother was the only person I knew who sent a thank-you note for a thank-you note. I remember asking my father if I had to send a thank-you note for her thank-you note for my original thank-you note. But my grandmother knew what she was doing. She knew the importance of gratitude and courtesy, and she was skilled in the art of cultivating and maintaining relationships.

Many years ago, I was startled when a student said, “thank you” as she left our classroom. Usually, students were in the hall before the echo of the bell reverberated off the linoleum. “You’re welcome,” I replied, “and thank you, too!” It wasn’t the “thank you” that stuck with me. It was what it meant and the immediate effect it had on our relationship. It was only a little extra, but it was a special gift nonetheless.

Last spring, a colleague of mine and I spoke at the Shepard promotion ceremonies. Rather than give them lots of advice or brag about D.H.S., we decided to focus on one idea; we told the graduating eighth graders to say, “hi” in the halls. We advised them that building relationships, as much or more than building resumes, was what would make their high school careers meaningful and happy. The extra moment in the hall or classroom is a relationship changer.

In addition to planning for class, grading, going to meetings, and, of course, teaching, many educators spend hundreds of hours writing college recommendations. My wife writes about fifty to sixty letters a year! I write a handful. Of the hundreds of students whom we have helped with the college process, only a few ever acknowledge that effort. A few years ago, when I told parents, gathered at a fall parent meeting, that most students don’t even say the words, “thank you” to the teachers who have written their recommendations, there was an audible gasp.

Every May, I receive two or three emails from freshmen thanking me for my A Tale of Two Cities recordings. I save these emails. If you wrote one to me, I still have it. I have all of them. Want to see them? I have met some wonderful students because they took that little moment to send a note after finishing about eighteen hours of listening to me. I treasure these emails and the relationships they engender.

The theatre program at D.H.S. has a saying that expresses this idea well. They say, “The most important thing is the way we treat each other.” The smile or “hi” in the hall, the thank you at the end of class, the held door, or the quick acknowledgment are gifts we give each other. After all, we live together. We go to school together. We share this community. While we may not be family in the sense that I am not paying for your college tuition (well, I am paying for a select few), we work and learn together. We spend years together.

Our community is more than teachers and students. We build wonderful relationships with secretaries, custodians, teacher aides, security guards, technology staff, and many other people on our Deerfield journeys. They deserve thanks, too. We all have reason to sincerely thank each other. As my students know, I thank them at the end of every class period –and I mean it! When I say, “thank you for flying Freshman English,” (or whichever class it is), it is more than a dismissal. I treasure our time together and the relationships we form.

And I miss my students after they graduate. Many alumni become my friends on Facebook and I treasure each quick glimpse of their post-high school lives through pictures and comments. But my favorite gifts of the season are their visits before Thanksgiving and winter break. On my desk is a picture of my class of 2012 homeroom. I am hoping they stop by over the holidays. I just want to see them. I just want to know that everything is okay. I want to say, “thank you.”

Recently, I have been able to say, “thank you” to one of my teachers. We have been exchanging emails, and we are going to see each other when he comes to town in the summer.  My experience learning with him is one of the reasons I am in education. I am so grateful that I got to study with him and that we have renewed our relationship, a relationship that began in a classroom just like those at D.H.S.

Thanksgiving and the winter holidays are a good time to renew our relationships. This season is an opportunity to look at each other and affirm what we share. I like the holiday gifts that a few students drop off before winter break. Coffee cards and notepads are nice, but the real presents are the relationships.

Long after we have forgotten thesis or theme, formula or fact, we will remember the time we spent together. That is the real reason to celebrate this season. That is why it is so important to treat each other well. That is why “thank you” means so much.