No More

Today the sun rose as it always does, climbed the sky and descended to the west. Breakfast, lunch and dinner were eaten, people traveled there and returned to here. A day like any other day. Except for my wife Karen and I. After 41 years of driving to school together as fellow teachers, this was the last time.

Every year, after the kids are gone, we end school with a few days of meetings and then a final staff farewell luncheon. There we enjoy one last meal and say goodbye to the teachers leaving. Select teachers talk about their departing companion and it’s always a sweet and often tearful moment. This year, the folks leaving had been at school anywhere from five months to eight years, but no matter how short or long, they were acknowledged for what they gave to the ongoing spirit of this marvelous community.

But Karen’s status as the teacher with the record number of years—42—and her role as a major shaper of school culture, it deserved a bit more. So all 50 of us went down to the music room and sat in a circle in the order we arrived at the school. Karen was first, I was second and around it went. We began by speaking out loud her first year— 1974- followed by Karen ringing a gong. A breath and then all intone “1975” and another stroke of the gong. And so it went until 2016. During this time, I played a Bach piece on the piano and invited all—especially Karen— to silently imagine something for each year, in school or out. (Of course, many had to wait a long time to be born!). It was a powerful way to feel the full length and breadth and heft of all those long years.

We followed with an African-American ring play and then people spoke about Karen. The last three were my daughter Talia, myself and then Karen herself. At the end, Karen moved to the center of the circle and all moved one seat to the right to feel the new order of longevity. A final song, hugs around the circle and it was done. Not your typical roast and “here’s your silver watch” deal, to say the least.

Below is the poem I wrote and read, all the things Karen won’t be doing anymore. Much won’t mean anything to the outsider, but you can get a sense of what is lost when one loses a community like this. It’s bitter and sweet at the same time, some you’re quite happy to stop doing, some you know you’re going to miss.

At some point, I’ll need to write another poem for me as the one left behind. But at the end of an intense two weeks of goodbyes and ceremonies, that can wait.

Thanks for all the years, Karen. Let’s see what’s around the corner.

NO MORE

        (Before each bullet, insert “no more…”)

·      Leaving Lake Michigan for school start-up

·      Ordering the green planning book

·      Work days

·      Staff meetings

·      Knitting at staff meetings

·      Knitting hats for teacher’s baby showers

·      Building and grounds meetings

·      Reading What’s Up newsletters

·      Filing staff rosters

·      Organizing your school notebook

·      Learning new kids’ names

·      Learning new teachers’ names

·      Learning (and remembering) the parents’ names

·      Notes to staff asking if anyone has seen the hot glue gun

·      Walking under the red flags

·      Singing in the teacher tunnel

·      Dancing in front of the kids at the first singing time

·      Reimbursement Forms

·      Ordering Art Supplies

·      Loading and unloading the kiln

·      Putting up art stools

·      Dressing up for Halloween

·      Winter Holiday gifts from parents

·      Thank you cards to parents for Winter Holiday gifts

·      Sets for holiday plays

·      Report forms!

·      Talking about report forms

·      Learning how to do electronic report forms

·      Taking art home for report forms

·      Planning vacations around winter, spring and summer break

·      Corporation potlucks

·      Auctions

·      Walkathons

·      CAIS Studies or strategic plans

·      CAIS workshops

·      Kerio e-mails

·      Computer time with Steve Rubin

·      Arranging field trips to the museum

·      Driving down O Shaunnessy and backed up on Bosworth

·      Worrying about Tuesday parking

·      Fire drills

·      Patty and Jane’s lunches

·      Mudpies

·      Stories for 1^st grade lunch

·      Singing with kids

·      Planning classes for kids

·      Teaching classes to kids

And no more Farewell Staff Lunches.

And just on the other side of all the no mores

lies the poem about to be written.

The one of yes, more…

 more time to paint,

more time to putter,

more time to ponder,

more time to play with the grandchildren,

 time to float on the raft in Lake Michigan,

held up by the memory of a life well-lived and work well done

and new life and new work before you,

All the children who you cradled in the beauty of their wild imagination

now cradling you as you bob contently on the gentle waves,

held by their gratitude.

42 years of lists crossed off and now new ones written in the sand,

   traced in the morning air, felt in the promise of each new day.

We who are left behind will toil on and happily carry forward

what you so lovingly crafted,

Will feel your signature  hidden on each piece of art hung in the school halls

And now, one “no more” left…

         no more “Goodbyes”

               now the welcoming arms of  “Hello.”

Hummingbird Music

In the final chords of the grand symphony of the school year. A staff meeting today in my home, a farewell staff luncheon tomorrow, I can feel the cadence approaching as all the instruments re-enter to sound those definitive crashing tones that put the exclamation point on the long sentence of the year. And if all goes well— if I finish my report cards before the V chord hits the I, clean the corner of the music room, make sure all the proper mallets are in their bins— then the space is cleared for new music to begin, the first tentative notes of a summer ahead.

Today the bluebird came to my window and I took time to converse with him. Out on the deck, I noticed the hummingbird circling and heard its beating wings. I spent a few moments gazing into the green-leaved trees instead of looking at the clock. I opened my ears to listen to the hum of traffic and the distant barking dog.

Summer. Time to scale down from the opera of hundreds of kids and teachers knee-deep in the human drama and enter the small haiku of bugs and plants and sun peeking through fog. Time to slow the lists and sharpen the attention to the things that whisper “We’re here,” time to turn down the volume of the headlines that shout, all that pomp and circumstance, that sound and fury so empty at heart. Time to swing in the hammock of nothing particular to do and take a trip in a book. Or a bike or just start walking with no particular place to go.

Almost there.

Letter to the Class of 2016

Woke up this morning and STILL was thinking about these 8th grade kids who just graduated. So naturally, I wrote them a letter and here it is.

Dear kids and parents,

“It’s all over but the shoutin’” someone once said and so one last shout out to close out the goodbyes to this most memorable class in this most memorable 50^th year of the SF School. You were a great class to connect with this milestone moment in school history because you embodied the best of what the school has to offer—intelligence, imagination, humor, curiosity, kindness, caring, questioning, dynamic energy, support, risk, expression, spontaneity, discipline, all those lifeless nouns brought to life in your minds, bodies and hearts.

One final shout-out to all we did together this year—here’s to “Good morning, Mr. Goodkin,” to Juba and Soup, Soup and Steppin’, to the blues and I-IV-I-I-IV-IV-I-I-V-IV-I-I. the duet improvs in the blues pentatonic scale, to Pat in Bohemia while Dreaming of dancing with Jeannie at the Savoy, breaking it all down and then Picking up the Pieces, to Louise taking the Blues out of the Closet to find the Rainbow Connection in the Superstition about the pot of gold, to tying it all together with Blue Rondo a la Turk and also to Swaying with Soul Sauce with St. George and the sword dance while playing Stations.

Here’s to the sobering stories of the “blacks make it and the whites take it,” to Big Mama and Elvis, James Brown and the Beach Boys and the Beatles, Jimi and Eric Clapton all playin’ the blues, to the fabulous Nicholas Brothers and Bill Bojangles Robinson and Gene Kelly and Fred Astaire, to Bird and Brubeck, to thanking the creators and also appreciating the imitators who brought something else to the conversation, to the American side of the hyphenated identities as America’s promise was realized on the bandstand.

Here’s to the triumph of those extraordinary lilies rising out of the swamps, to Scott Joplin and Jelly Roll and Louis and Billie and Ella and Duke and Fats Waller and Art Tatum and the many more we didn’t get to know but are waiting for you—Bird, Diz, Monk, Miles, Mingus, Coltrane all the way to Esperanza and Stefon and Wynton and Herbie and Chick.  Here’s to the bizarre minstrel shows and vaudeville and Broadway and Hollywood that led all the way from Singin’ in the Rain and The Wizard of Oz to Les Mis and High School Musical, Stormy Weather all the way. Here’s to San Diego and NAIS, to the Spring Concert and Shakespeare, to the Latino Heritage sharing, Haunted House, St. George play and 12 Days of Christmas cards, Winter all-school sing, MLK, Black History presentation. And “give me some love, people!” for that remarkable Sojourn trip, the hard, hard, stories, meeting Jimmy Webb and Minniejean Brown-Trickey and Simeon Wright, walking through MLK’s house and the Birmingham Church and the museums and memorials, watching the Warriors and sneaking out to the Waffle House. And then all the way to your glorious graduations. A 20-minute Bobby Kennedy standing ovation to all of it, to all the years before, to all the years to come, to all of you.

And to the parents. It goes without saying and yet I will say it: none of it could have happened without your continuous love, support, help and (let’s face it) money, those 5 am airport drop-offs and midnight airport pick-ups, that constant navigation through the treacherous waters of monitoring homework, juggling schedules, high school applications, organizing graduation parties, etc., etc. and yet again, etc., without your faith that your sacrifice and investment paid off as we teachers worked hard to know the miracle you created, to see, notice, reveal, cultivate and celebrate the deep character and unique genius of your son or daughter. To fulfill school’s promise to arm them with the ABC’s, 1-2-3’s and Do-Re-Mi’s needed to step forth onto both the battlefield and the lily-rich meadow of the life that awaits them, but also to fortify them with the Wizard-of-Oz gifts of courage, heart and intelligence.

In our more intimate days, we used to ceremonially acknowledge families that are leaving, some of whom we have known from 11 to 21 years, those familiar faces and changing cars at carpool, those familiar potluck dishes at the Corporation Meetings, those generous gifts at the Winter break. It doesn’t feel wholly right to not ritually acknowledge those separations and each year of the past 41 I’ve thought: “How can we go on without this family?” But of course we do and so do you and that’s the forward momentum of life that’s perpetually real and true. But a moment here to say out loud that I will remember you and miss you. Your involvement with a school community will probably never be the same—the 4 short years of high school demand both a different kind of involvement and a distance and college is just that place far away with an annual parent’s day, maybe one of which you will ever go to. So there it is, my little ceremonial marking to thank you for all the years.

Just the other month, I went to SF Jazz to hear Stefon Harris and ran into a school parent with two alums. That was a fine feeling! So whether it be at SF Jazz or the Opera or Carnaval or a gamelan concert or even the Waffle House with your earbuds in, I hope that James, Sofia and I might run into you as you enjoy the echoes of the music we set ringing in your ears. And do invite us to your concerts and plays and art shows! We want to keep track of your evolution!

Enough? This my final (for now) love letter to kids and parents who have given me so much hope for the future, so much happiness for the past, so much fun in each moment of the present we shared. Enjoy your summer and Go Warriors!!!

Love,

Doug

The Rainbow Connection

As promised yesterday, here is one of my four speeches I gave at the 8^th grade graduation. Imagine every child in every school in every state in every country given this kind of attention, this sense of being welcomed and known, this commitment to being publicly celebrated for who they’ve been, who they are and who they might become. Maybe, just maybe, we’d create a different kind of future citizen that might just bring the healing this world needs. “No Child Left Unknown” (or Unwelcomed or Unloved) might just be the most important political movement of the future. Non-partisan, non-dogmatic, just the possibility that if 100% of every class of school children was loved and honored and welcomed and taught in ways that allowed their character, passions and interests to shine, we could finally step up to our “intellectual, imaginative and humanitarian promise” (from our school mission statement), find that pot of gold that awaits us. Here is my talk about a beautiful soul named Aurora.

Rudolf Steiner, the educational visionary who founded Waldorf Schools, talks about children as descending to earth from the Spiritual World and notes what a rude shock it is to be incarnated into a body and thrown into the grand drama of good and evil in this world. For some of us, the door to that Spirit world slams shut and we never give it a second thought. But for others, that door is open wide and they pass back and forth freely. They look at a rainbow and through the gift of imagination, follow it to the pot of gold. And that’s Aurora. It’s no accident that she brought the room to a pindrop silence when she sang Kermit's song from the Muppets:  

“Why are there so many songs about rainbows, what’s on the other side?… Someday we’ll find it the Rainbow Connection, the lovers, the dreamers and me.” I think she’s been to that other side, visits it when she draws or sings or writes. She played the Fool in the St. George play, the character who sees beyond the norm and was one of the fairy spirit Ariels in The Tempest. Coincidence? I think not.

And then there’s her name. Aurora was the Greek goddess of the dawn, renewing herself every morning by flying across the sky and announcing the coming of the sun. And there’s also the Aurora Borealis, those extraordinary Northern Lights that fill the night sky with a corona of colorful electromagnetic rays. I’ve only seen them once, but it is indeed a sight to behold. How did their parents know how perfectly this name would fit? From rainbows to northern lights, Aurora’s spirit brings a magical color and light to the world.

But that’s not the whole story. Aurora’s feet are also firmly planted on this earth. In a recent report she wrote: 

"Music can hold more meaning than just words and jazz artists have used that to speak out against injustice and inequality and influence the views of people who have been hypnotized by the societal standards. Jazz highlighted the artistic and intelligent abilities of blacks and the racist inequality that plagues America." 

Those are the words of someone who has been at both ends of the rainbow and understands there’s more to do here than just gaze at the light. You have to spend some time in the darkness too.

Schools tend to prefer the studious, the mathematically-minded, the practical students and are sometimes impatient with the ones who are looking out the window when they should be memorizing the state capitols. But we need the dreamers amongst us, they refresh us with their insights, they remind us that there’s more to this world than meets the eye. Aurora’s spirit has given that kind of gift to us for all these years. We’ve taught her the color spectrum and the scientific nature of light and the names of the chords that go with the notes and she’s helped us remember the magic and mystery behind it all. As the song says, 

“What’s so amazing that keeps us stargazing?” says the song. Well, ask Aurora. 

The Work of Peace

The San Francisco School's 50th Year ended today with a glorious 8^th grade graduation. By any standards, the last few weeks have been total insanity and now that it’s done, it’s almost unimaginable that we did it. But between April 30^th and June 4^th, we hosted a 50^th Anniversary Party for some 700 folks, put on two Spring Concerts, a Shakespeare Play, several class Science Fairs and Literary Teas, a 6^th grade Social Justice Project shared with parents and other classes, a Roller Coaster Contest at Great America, several camping trips, an all-elementary Samba Contest, an elementary retirement farewell Singing Time to the art teacher (my wife), the Faculty-8th basketball game, a 5-year old music sharing with parents, closing ceremonies complete with 8th grade sharings, Mud Pie desserts with complete control (in-house esoterica), gong-up ceremony and a farewell Hug Line. And then graduation today. Never a dull moment!

What’s at the bottom of all this? Well, what I talked about yesterday— a community of caring teachers enjoying, celebrating, revealing, discovering, searching for the character of each and every student, a community refreshed by that character and helping to cultivate it so it can go forth and refresh others. And that takes a lot of praise for the youth, a lot of blessings from the adults. Not empty praise to raise their self-esteem according to some step-by-step formula, but the real deal, the praise that lets the student know that you see them and hear them and get at least a little slice of who they are or might soon be. And that you are ready and willing to proclaim that to the community.

According to Martin Prechtel, that wise man who gives a marvelous talk titled “Grief and Praise,” we have more work to do. We have to dig deeper and be careful that we’re not just praising the ego, not just feeding that insatiable beast of accomplishment and success and excessive pride, but praising the Spirit that is working through that person and teaching our students to keep the doors open a dimension beyond this concrete world. Prechtel suggests that praise is inextricably woven with grief and that there is a time for each and a time for both, for each is always present in the other. I think of the hard journey into the history of Civil Rights we took this year with the 8^th graders and the way we allowed grief to enter and hold it. And how that made the praise we heaped on each student yesterday at the Graduation Ceremony that much more potent.

How eloquently the different teachers spoke about the student standing by their side, how lovingly, with affection, humor, admiration. Each searched for the image that would hit the mark, aim for the center of each kid as they have shown themselves to us, some for over 11 years. Not a single child left unloved or unpraised. Some ignorant folks might worry we’re spoiling the kids or over-inflating their sense of importance, but no, we do this with our eyes wide open, loving their confidence and even arrogance, knowing full-well that life will beat them down to a smaller size and they will need this net of love to keep their innocence and idealism and sense of possibility, to navigate through those beatings yet to come.

I believe this is the work of peace, a real peace with grit, grief and gratitude. As I sat listening to the particular beauty of each child spoken so well, it became unimaginable to me that anyone in that room, kid or adult, would ever want to shut one of these kids out, not invite them to the party, put them in some box of stereotypic notion of who someone else thinks they are and shove the box into the closet or the corner of the room. No would want to deport them, to exile them and certainly not to harm them. While there are and will be the usual conflicts, people whose chemistry doesn’t match well or kids who will say the words (intentionally or not) that hurt, here's what makes the difference: Even as they are grumbling, “Wow, so-and-so is a piece of work!” the community is there to remind them of the work of peace.

Tomorrow I’ll share one of my speeches. Peace out.