In the closing pages of this masterpiece Levin is caught in the struggle to find meaning and purpose in his life. Having watched his brother die, he is struck by his own mortality and seeks to understand the divide between his spiritual aspirations and the dullness of his “ordinary actual life.”  Prior to his Nikolai’s death, Levin was immune to these questions and in his simplicity of living a committed and thoughtful existence, he found purpose. His work ethic and generally hopeful disposition laid the groundwork for a life oriented to self-definition through hard work and connection to community. His brother’s passing shook this world and it is only through a period of unsettled reflection that he comes to understand what he believes. It is this final chapter, while looking at the Milky Way that Levin shares his wisdom and recognizes the universality of his experience, his emotions, and his being;  and in this recognition he finds both solace and comfort.

 “This new feeling has not changed me, has not made me happy and enlightened all of a sudden, as I had dreamed, just like the feeling for my child. There was no surprise in this either. Faith - or not faith - I don’t know what it is - but this feeling has come just as imperceptibly through suffering, and has taken firm root in my soul.” 

This description is followed by the knowledge that he will continue to err and be human in his relationships, something he initially hoped and believed might be cured by further developing his spiritual side through a more profound understanding of himself.

 “… I shall go on in the same way, losing my temper with Ivan the coachman… I shall still go on scolding her [his wife] for my own terror, and being remorseful for it; I shall still be as unable to understand with my reason why I pray, and I shall still go on praying…

It is in this moment that he knows he doesn’t have to fully comprehend and that he cannot reason his way to understanding or to faith. He has learned rather that because his soul, his conscience, is fit to know both right and wrong, and guides him to these, he is able to live with purpose and can choose to do so.

 “… but my life now, my whole life apart from anything that can happen to me, every minute of it is not more meaningless, as it was before, but it has the positive meaning of goodness, which I have the power to put into it.”

Today I listened as a community of people gathered to celebrate the life of Mike Dawes, a colleague and friend of mine. I listened in awe as his friends and family rejoiced in the life he’d lived, in the wisdom he’d shared, in the purpose he’d derived from his connections to everyone. It was one of the most beautiful tributes I’ve ever participated in and I feel grateful for the opportunity to both have known Mike, but to have been among his family and dear friends as they commemorated him.

As I listened to his closest friends and his son, I gladly revisited memories of the man across the hall. Mike’s office was paper-airplane-distance-flight from mine and I could always hear his booming voice greeting students, guffawing with colleagues, or challenging parents. Mike put the “positive meaning of goodness” into everything he did, whether that was fishing and spending time with family, or speaking to young people about life’s great opportunities. His life and his legacy was one of intentional celebration and gratitude, of love and laughter.   

Today, I am reminded, like Levin, that I have the power to put goodness and positivity into my life. Thanks for that reminder Mike.

Best, John

Of course, with the fun come trials and tribulations.  This was first evident when my wife and Abel were still in the hospital.  Owen, in a fit of exhausted tears, lamented missing his mommy and cried: “I want my baby brother to come home.” He was thoughtful in his complaint, but what he was mostly saying was, “I’m tired and need loving.” Needless to say the end of the day time can be challenging as Fiona comes home from camp and Owen returns from adventures at daycare.  I love this time of day but have my moments of trepidation.  Melt downs happen without forewarning and the child who is laughing one minute might be bawling the next and vice versa.  It is for this reason that I am so completely grateful for the community I live in.

I was informed ten days ago that dinners had been arranged and selected by a core team of faculty and staff.  Since then, we’ve had a steady stream of hot meals from co-workers who are trying to help alleviate some of that 4:00-7:30 PM crazy time.  Their efforts have been wonderfully helpful.  These meals and the generosity of my peers have provided some essential extra time for Kirsten and me to dedicate to our children, free from the hustle of meal prep.  More than this, it has demonstrated for our kids how neighbors and friends can live together.  Be thoughtful, help out, give what you have.  In essence, share. Although we’re still working on this one, my kids are getting the picture.  Fiona and Owen asked last night, who is bringing dinner tonight?  They meet the delivery with appreciation and gratitude, curious to experience someone else’s cooking.

I’ve known all along that living in the Hyde community has its benefits.  As my children grow up here I see how colleagues and students care for Owen and Fiona, watching out for them, and nurturing them.  I look forward to introducing Abel to Hyde and to the world, knowing those right here at home will be helping to bring out his best and to teach him some of life’s more precious lessons.

John

Today, the campus buzz mirrored that of a just opened hive. In preparation for the start of the 2010 Summer Challenge Program on Saturday, the campus came alive with faculty, student leaders, and college interns. The energy is positive and hopeful in anticipation for the start of the program. You can hear it in the buzz. When new students arrive on Saturday, they too will have their own buzz and energy about them. And, so much like bees, learning how to work well with them, learning their secrets and strengths will require patience and concern and trust. 

Best,

John

Similarly, I found this spring that I had lots of excuses for why not to blog.  Having spent nine months straight blogging, I felt like I’d had a good run of it. I loved the return to writing and the creativity it demanded of me.  I enjoyed the reactions from peers, parents, and students.  It was cathartic in many ways, just like running.  And yet, I didn’t blog much this spring.

So, here I am, back at the end of June. Last year, I posted my first blog on June 27^th and discussed in it my reasons “To Blog or Not to Blog.”  (Frankly, I must have made a pretty good argument to myself for blogging because I posted over sixty-five entries.)  I think that blogging is good for me in much the same way that running is.  Seeing as I’ve started running again this in the past month, I’m going to get back in the saddle to blog again too.

See you in the blogosphere. 

John

Hollywood brought Escalante to life in its 1988 movie “Stand and Deliver”.  The movie highlights the achievements of his first group of AP Calculus students who scored very well on the AP test when no one believed they were capable.  More than this, because no one believed it, they were accused of cheating and were forced to retake the test.  On the second attempt, their scored were again phenomenal showing doubters that Escalante’s students had overcome stereotypes and were capable of much more than naysayers believed.

He rocked the boat by confronting apathetic public school colleagues and administrators by demanding high expectations and refusing to dumb down his teaching.  He believed when many didn’t.  In one of his last interviews he spoke with NPR’s Claudio Sanchez about student potential and the responsibility of teachers saying, “a teacher should never, ever let a student give up.”  More than this, Escalante embraced the belief that teachers had to “love the subject you teach and you have to love the kids.” 

As our country faces the shortfall of expectations and belief in students’ potential, Escalante and teachers like him provide the example and hope that creates a positive tension, a tension founded on the knowledge that transformation in students and adults comes from high expectations and challenge.  

Escalante died recently but leaves behind a legacy of hope and belief in what each young person is capable of.  He also leaves behind a reminder to educators of our primary role:

“You can’t be a good teacher unless you can see that potential in everyone.” 

Thanks for the reminder and example.

Best,

John

So, what are we teaching our kids in schools across the U.S?  What are media and the general populace teaching them?  We’ve strayed away from a village raising a child, and now relate to each other most directly through Facebook messages or Tweets.  Is that a way to build relationships?  While there are clearly pros and cons to these forums and the shifts in our adult and youth cultures, the fear I have is whether or not we are intentionally building our culture or at the whim of the winds of popular demand, void or moral direction and reason.  In his “Purpose of Education,” Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. writes about the demise of education:

“We must remember that intelligence is not enough. Intelligence plus character–that is the goal of true education.  The complete education gives one not only power of concentration, but worthy objectives upon which to concentrate.  The broad education will, therefore, transmit to one not only the accumulated knowledge of the race but also the accumulated experience of social living.

If we are not careful, our colleges will produce a group of close-minded, unscientific, illogical propagandists, consumed with immoral acts. Be careful, ‘brethren!’ Be careful, teachers!”

Best,

John

Winter always presents an interesting conundrum-a long stretch until spring break, bleak weather, and seasonal affectedness disorder. Somehow, though, this winter went by faster than it did last year. Here’s why:

 1. A family education marathon: In January and February, I facilitated a sibling FLC, participated in a regional retreat, and helped co-facilitate a wilderness FLC. Through these three different programs, I not only gained a lot of perspective on myself, my goals, and where I’m headed, but also got a chance to grow closer to a number of families. It kept me busy on the weekends (which is a good thing when it’s cold, yucky, and I wasn’t coaching) and it gave me a chance to see a variety of people in action!

 2. Changing up the pace: I let my B period Spanish II class design their own project during this term for one of the vocabulary lessons in an effort to test out project-focused learning. It was neat to watch them become a more cohesive group as they worked together to create, complete, and grade the project. Personally, I felt that that was one of the best teaching moments I’ve had with them this year, and I’m hoping to continue to have them take the lead this spring.

 3. Endurance: I may not have seasonal affectedness disorder “technically,” but it sure feels that way when the sky is grey and gloomy, the temperature is much lower than I’d like it, and maybe there’s some snow to top it all off. Endurance came for me in the form of maintaining my personal well being despite my desire to curl up in a ball on my couch with my cats. For the first time, I think I actually managed to keep up my running through the whole winter. Whether it was the gym, braving the wild outdoors, and even a short jog in boots in Eustis, I was determined to keep it up because running centers me. As I told students at a school meeting, I run because it helps me to process my day and it helps me to continue to maintain my spirit. So that’s my motto-just keep running.

 This winter, I had more smiles on my face than frowns and I really enjoyed the trimester. As I look forward to the Habitat for Humanity trip next week, I’m psyched to get to give back to the community and to take the kids to a (hopefully) warmer climate in North Carolina. Bring it on spring break!

My memories of being a young teacher in my first or second year are hazy. I don’t fully recall what I taught or even who was in any given class. 1998 is different though in that I have some vivid memories of this collection of students. I should, I guess because they were “my class” as I taught all of the juniors when we opened the Woodstock campus in the fall of 1997. I cut my teeth on them and they survived somehow.

It was great hearing about “those kids” now. They are kids to me still - even as Dave shared news of his peers, I saw them in my English classroom trying to make sense of so much. Dave brought me up to speed on those who are married (Wagner, Lawten, Balin) and those who have kids (Donna, Berg & Coleman) and those who have moved around (Duryea and Dori). He didn’t even know about this blog until Megan told him (Hi McManaman!). Some have traveled around (Russell, Rogove, Kelly) in search of their callings. Others have disappeared from our view and we wondered aloud what has happened to them (Chris Cooper, Brandi Smith, O’Meara, Bixler, Barker). Many showed up for the ten year reunion in 2008. Others have returned in recent years to give their Diploma speeches (Fisher, Silberberg). Dave is not the first to have popped in. Robi Chakrabarti showed up here one day three years ago to marvel at the changes on campus and the years gone by. Shannon Curry has visited to speak to seniors about her experience and decision to repeat a year - a choice that helped propel her towards future degrees and a passionate career in medicine. I recalled a few memories of these students’ time here: playing chess with Don Thomas in my apartment; slide tackling the sinewy Cameron Rowe in soccer. Dave and I laughed about when he, at 17 years old, told me I’d been “spineless” - one of my most powerful lessons as a young teacher (and the topic for another blog).

I’ve thought of my first year teaching often. In it are the foundations of my passion for working with kids and families as well as numerous, invaluable lessons on what to do and what NOT to do!  It was a transformational year for me and watching this class graduate was one of the hooks that bonded me to Hyde. Spending time with Dave this past weekend was a treat amidst the hectic end-of-term schedule.

Hyde alumni sometimes have mixed emotions about their time here as those growing years are challenging. Dave and I also spoke about this. I am reminded however, as was he, that Hyde is also a place and a community, of great hope, significant change, and powerful learning. To the Class of 1998, I hope this finds you fulfilled, healthy, and growing. Come back some time soon.

Best, John

What is amazing about this story is not however that Apolo was 15, but how his father responded to quitting. Knowing his son well and having watched him participate for years, Yuki watched in disappointment as Apolo came in dead last. He saw his son give up on the ice and acted decisively. Knowing what his son was capable of, Yuki laid it out for him. He took Apolo to a remote cabin along the Washington coast and told him to make a decision about what he wanted to do moving forward. And then Yuki left.

Eight days later Apolo called and said he’d made his decision, “I’m ready, I want to skate.”  He was committed and ready to dedicate himself and put his best effort into skating.

Yuki’s dedication and effort to his son’s best is astounding. At the young age of 15, he identified and confronted the quitting attitude in his son. He forced his son to answer the question of what he was going to do, to confront that deepest attitude and voice within. At 15, Apolo answered this question and made a commitment that has borne fruit many times over the last twelve years. Now, at 27, Apolo Anton Ohno is a household name, he is a decorated American Olympian and an example of what hard work and dedication can garner.  He owes much of his success his father’s tough love.

NBC’s interview ends with Apolo reflecting on their relationship. Apolo commented: “Seeing him being able to see me on the podium. Who would have ever known?”  To which the NBC interviewer responds: “He did.”

As a middle-schooler in 1984, I remember seeing the Olympic Flame pass through my hometown of Guilford, CT as it made its way to Los Angeles. It was other worldly and the crowd that lined the streets waited patiently for a quick glimpse - a moment really - of the Flame as it passed. A symbol for decades, the Flame to me is the essence of effort, of each athlete’s vision and belief and hope for their best.        

When John Furlong, Chair of the Vancouver Olympic Committee, spoke at the opening ceremonies, he captured the essence of what I’ve always believed to be true about the Olympic spirit contained in the Flame, and in reality, the spirit carried by each athlete.

You are role models for our children - heroes, giants, human champions, the best ever. You are living proof that men and women everywhere are capable of doing great good, and that in life as it is in sport, we should always give our best and never, ever give up.

The Olympics, the individual athletes and their stories remind me to dream, to never quit. The Flame that burns brightly in Vancouver tonight brings me back to my childhood and my connection to the largest community; it brings me back to my deepest and best attitudes of perseverance and hope. 

Best, John