The year was 1977.  A new movie called “Star Wars” had just opened and I couldn’t wait to see it.  Over and over and over again.  I saw it seven times, with someone different each time.  Every time someone wanted to go out they would ask what I wanted to do and I would say “see “Star Wars”.  I’m pretty sure I never had to pay to see it either.

Today TBS showed a Star Wars marathon and despite the fact that by now I’ve seen the silly thing dozens’s of times and can recite lines word for word, I never get tired of the story.  A cowboy story told in space is how it is described but it’s not the location or genre that keeps me coming back.  It’s the story of unlikely relationships coming out of extraordinary circumstances.  It’s the epitome of friendship and loyalty even when they don’t always agree with each other.

It’s also the story of a kick butt princess, smart, authoritative and tough as nails who falls in love with the bad boy.  I get that she was a fictional character but when Carrie Fischer died I cried.  I’m not sure why but obviously there was a real connection made.  Oh sure, the acting was not the greatest, especially in the first movie (which was actually the 4th movie but that just gets confusing) and there are all kinds of holes in the movie as my son loves to point out, but again, it’s the relationships that matter.  It’s the good versus evil (can you hear it said by Alec Guinness – “E-Ville”?), it’s dysfunctional families and skeletons in the closet, it’s a belief in the good inside of all of us, no matter what we’ve done in the past.  A story of redemption.

The fact that I have elementary aged kids who wear Star Wars t-shirts and have favorite characters is a testament to the timelessness of the story.  There are not many pop cultural events that touch generations of people like Star Wars.  These days trends in pop culture have a very short shelf life, except for The Floss apparently, to the dismay of every teacher out there.  That’s because there’s no substance to it, there are no real relationships involved.  The characters display emotions, happiness, sadness, anger, fear, and we feel it with them.  It’s a tiny microcosm of humanity, giving life everything they’ve got, sometimes sacrificing life itself for a cause – good triumphing over evil.  What’s not to love?

At the end of the day, I find myself watching “Rogue One” just as hooked as I was the first time I saw it.  The backstory to my favorite movie brings back all kinds of memories from that summer between high school and college, some good, some not so good, but certainly saved by a silly little movie called “Star Wars”.  May the Fourth be with you.

 

 

All we wanted to do was to get to Wooster Ohio.  From Nebraska, that would be east.  Instead, we did the most illogical thing you can do; we went west to go east to go west.  We began in Omaha, flew to Denver then east to Pittsburgh where we drove back west to Wooster.  Doesn’t make a bit of sense and yet it’s the perfect example of life in general.

It’s said that the fastest way between two points is a straight line but life, as much as we would like it to, usually doesn’t allow us to travel in a straight line.  Instead it takes us on the road less traveled, full of bumps, detours, and roadblocks.  And while this can feel frustrating, if we focus only on those things that deter us from our goals, we may miss some wonderful unexpected gifts along the way.

For instance, our detour sent us to Denver. As a kid I lived in the Denver suburb of Aurora, a special place in my memory because it was the first and only house my parents ever owned.  We only lived there for a couple of years but I attended a great little school there where I remember a couple of special teachers and friends.  Sitting in the airport, looking at the mountains during lunch I was filled with nostalgia, something I would not have experienced had we had to take a different flight.

I’ve always admired those people who seem so focused and driven, who seem to end up just where they wanted to be.  Maybe they’ve hit some roadblocks in areas we have not seen.  For me it was my career.  Where I am is not at all where I planned or expected to be but wow, have I had some wonderful experiences because my road branched off in places I thought I might want to explore.  Saying yes to things can definitely take you off of the main road of life and take you on a drive through some new territory but in my case, there is very little I regret.

I believe our culture tells us that in order to be successful, you must follow the prescribed path, get certain degrees to certain institutions, marry the right person, have the right number of kids, live in the right neighborhood and everyone will live happily ever after.  The problem is, life happens.  I have friends whose have lost jobs or family members, friends who struggle to have children, or are fighting illness.  There are compromises to be made in relationships when a spouse needs to move for a job and you have to give something up for that.  No wonder people get stressed out.  We’re setting people up to fail when we tell them there’s a prescribed path and life gets in the way.

When I was younger, I used to fight these roadblocks tooth and nail, complaining about every little inconvenience because it was all about me.  As I’ve gotten older, much like our travel adventure this past weekend, I’ve figured out that sometimes roadblocks or detours happen to send you in a better direction or away from something that’s not going to be good for you.  Maybe it’s just so you can share a wonderful experience with someone that you wouldn’t have otherwise. For me it’s a God thing.  We would never had had the opportunity to spend extra time with a good friend if we had not had to fly to Pittsburgh.  It ended up being a great gift.

So as much as going west to go east to go west didn’t make any sense, in hindsight it made all the sense in the world based on the experiences we had because of it.  Perhaps we need to learn to relax and be more flexible, more mindful of the things and people around us instead of snarling about the inconvenience – like the gentleman next to me on one of my flights.  But that’s another story.  I wish I had figured this all out sooner in my life.  Things will happen in God’s way in God’s time.  All I have to do is put on my seat belt and enjoy the flight.

 

The doors of the chapel opened and in marched the bagpipes, kept in time by the drums, followed by the dancers.  All dressed in traditional plaid kilts, this group marched in proudly, representing their school, on a concert honoring three retiring music faculty members. It had already been an emotional concert, filled with classic band pieces, one written in honor of an alumnus who had tragically passed away.  

As I sat in the audience, I was struck by what a wonderful, unique experience this was.  The audience was an eclectic array of people, faculty members, alumni, parents, colleagues and friends, old and new, all there to honor the retirees.  A friend and I had planned this trip for some time and despite a few mishaps along the way, had finally arrived at this concert in time to watch a woman we both admire conducting her final concert after 35 years at Wooster College. Why travel so many miles just to see someone conduct a concert?  Well, when that someone has made a significant impact upon your life and the lives of other music educators and students around the country, you make the time and effort to go.  

For me, she epitomizes the authoritative (she’ll say bossy), educated, independent woman.  Soft spoken but confident, she has a presence I don’t believe she realizes. She’s the kind of person I strive to be and certainly an example to follow.  Her vulnerability allows her to express what she’s feeling and thinking, even when she is uncomfortable with it.  She knew this would be a bittersweet experience for her and I watched as she almost lost it was when she was talking about how much she would miss the students.  And then she stood a little taller, made a little joke, sucked it up and went back to work.  

You see, as the consummate music educator, she realizes that while she may get emotional, her job, her MISSION, is to help her students to express their emotions through the music they play on their instruments.  There is such a fine line between being technically in control and letting go enough to allow yourself to shine through the music. As I tell even my youngest musicians, you want to make the audience feel something WITH you.  You do it using all of the technical knowledge well, but then you have to let go and personally express what the music is saying through you.

And this is exactly what she did.  Her students played pieces with feeling, at one point allowing the audience to feel the sorrow once felt when that young man died.  I looked to see that everyone around me had tears in their eyes and marveled at the magic of music.  

At one point in the concert, our friend introduced all of the graduating seniors from memory, informing us of their hometown and degree program.  Of the seventeen seniors, only one was majoring in music with an emphasis in composition.  All of the others were in areas outside of music and yet they were all excellent musicians.  Music making is something that should be done by everyone because it is part of who we are as human beings.  Just like we should be taking care of our minds and bodies, we can take care of our spirit or soul through music.  Music is a medium that allows us to feel and express ourselves, which is something that shouldn’t stop just because you’re going to be a microbiologist.  Our friend had obviously provided such a place for these young people to feed their souls.

The hands that were raised at the beginning of the concert also proved this to me.  When the audience was asked how many alums were in the audience there were so many I couldn’t count.  Again, what was it about this person that brought all of these people to see a concert?  Like any great teacher, it was the fact that she had developed strong relationships with her students and again, had given them a place to create and express themselves.  Life doesn’t get any better than that.

I’m reminded of the quote from “It’s a Wonderful Life” – “Each man’s life touches so many other lives…no man is a failure who has friends”.  If success is defined by friendship, this woman is the richest , most successful person in town, all through the power of relationships and music.  As I sat listening to the bagpipes playing “Amazing Grace”, I was grateful that not only grace, but music had saved a wretch like me.  Music can be a lifesaver and it’s because of stellar music educators like my friend Nancy Ditmer.

 

Who in their right mind tries to put on a 40 minute play with 60+ third graders?  I’m pretty sure my poor student teacher is questioning my qualifications tonight as she has survived our first rehearsal with everyone today.  The only problem with having a grade level play is having it split among three different classes and having to rehearse without two thirds of your cast every day.  Then within two days, you take the three parts and put them together knowing that the first day will be organized chaos.

There was no way we were going to do a full run today without working out logistical problems first.  Where are the props, do we have enough room for the circle dances, how will we get the mummies past the kid passing the boxes to build the pyramid – you know, the usual stuff.  In the meantime, you have to keep everyone busy and somewhat engaged so that when you want to rehearse a number you’re not having to gather everyone together again.

And then there’s dealing with the excitement.  “I’m so excited!”, “can I wear my hat now?”, “can I take my mask home?”, “are these real risers?”.  There’s a fine line between too much energy and not enough energy and either one can ruin a performance, so having enough rehearsals to make sure everything works but not to the point where it becomes old hat is key.  After 30 years of doing this kind of thing, I usually find the sweet spot but that usually means that one rehearsal is going to be just a little bit chaotic.

I’m sure to the untrained eye that it looks like I have no idea what I’m doing and that it’s going to be a mess.  I was told today by someone who was watching the kids that they couldn’t believe how much stuff I was having to do at once but that’s just the nature of the beast.  While one child is asking about their lines or a costume, another child is messing around on the risers, while I’m correcting a student who hasn’t gotten their mouth close enough to the mic to be heard, while I’m adjusting the volume and teaching a shy little thing how to hit the giant gong just right.  But I can guarantee you, it will make for an entertaining show.

So to go back to the original question, who in their right mind would do this kind of thing?  It does seem a bit on the masochistic side, trusting 8 and 9 year olds to learn lines and remember where their spots are and not try to push each other off of the risers, but it’s watching their faces and hearing their excitement when the final performance happens that makes it ok in the end.  One of my little guys who came up to me twice today to tell me he was “so excited” is a student who normally struggles in my classroom but he has embraced his role wholeheartedly and is loving it.  I typically find that my class clowns and those usually disruptive kids are my best actors, not being afraid to step outside their comfort zone and do a little over the top acting.  After all, there’s nothing like hearing people laugh because you’re funny.  It can truly build a kid’s self-esteem.

Tomorrow we get to run this thing three times within ten hours.  By the time it hits the parents tomorrow night, whatever happens happens.  We’ll do the best we can and enjoy our time singing, dancing and acting together.  It will be a far cry from the seemingly chaotic rehearsal that happened today but it was just as I expected it would be.  Now I just have to reassure my student teacher that yes, all of this will come together and she’ll be great as well.

 

 

Our kids think it’s cute and laugh at us.  I think it’s annoying.  My husband doesn’t think there’s a problem but I’m here to tell you – we’ve turned into snippy old people.

When did we turn into Clint Eastwood in Grand Torino?  It’s a sneaky thing I tell you.  We have always been happy go lucky, fly by the seat of your pants kinds of people.  We can be laughing at something one minute and then making a comment about some young whipper snapper who just zipped past us on the wrong side of the road.  We spend an inordinate amount of time in front of screens and yet we talk about the good old days where people actually talked to each other.  I drive through neighborhoods on weekends where there is not a child to be seen and comment on how much better it was when I was a kid.

But the part that is really annoying is that the two of us can be having a nice conversation and one of us will say something that sets the other one off and all of a sudden we’re “snippy”.  Not argumentative, just “snippy”.  “I think we need to get rid of some of our stuff”.  “Well, what kind of stuff?”.  “Like some of the things in the kitchen we don’t use”.  Well, can you name something specifically?”.  “Why are you grilling me about this?”  “I’m not grilling, I’m just asking”.  “Like the bread maker”.  “But I use the bread maker”.  “Yeah, like once a year”.  This goes on until one of us stops talking or walks away mumbling under their breath.  Two minutes later it’s done and we go back to being normal nice people.

Is this where it’s headed?  Will we just get grumpier as we get older?  We will keep complaining about those “young people” giving them the “grumpy old person” look when they don’t meet our standards?  We’re already doing the “huh?” and “what did you say?” more often than I would like which annoys me no end.  How can I feel so young mentally and yet behave like such an old fuddy duddy?

After all, we’re talking about the love of my life, my best friend, my soul mate.  And yet when he decides to start working on something right before we’re supposed to go somewhere, I turn into that crabby old wife, just as snippy as you please.  And on occasion, despite how I know he feels about me, he does the same.  Is this just the result of having known and lived with someone for nearly 40 years?  I watch my in-laws do the same thing after 60 years and yet I know they still flirt and take care of each other.  Maybe the snippy just comes after you’ve known someone for a long time and you’ve come to a place in your life where you know the snippy isn’t going to ruin the relationship you’ve built.

So as I write this and the feeling of snippiness has disappeared, I look at him with his  glasses resting on his nose reading something on his cell and I think about how cute he is and how much I love him.  Even when he’s snippy.

The cafe was full of well dressed people, some obviously fresh from an Easter service, all eating platefuls of beautifully made food.  We were given a table outside next to the sidewalk across from a older gentleman who was seated in an old lawn chair  playing a keyboard strapped to a luggage carrier.  His voice reminded me of a 70’s R&B singer, still smooth with a great range.  He kept sipping from his cup of ice and looking into the old coffee can, occasionally reaching in to count the few bills he had accumulated.

I was struck by the stark contrast less then two feet apart.  I watched as people walked by after having attended an Easter service, celebrating the risen Christ, completely ignoring this man as they walked by in their Easter finery.  Several people from the restaurant stopped and gave him something to which he responded with quiet gratefulness, again counting the bills before carefully putting them back in the coffee can.

I get sucked in.  It’s a beautiful place with high end stores, great restaurants and nice hotels.  it’s easy to feel spoiled for a few days, forgetting that there are people struggling around you.  I found myself sitting at breakfast the other morning, listening to the birds, celebrating the beautiful green of the trees, the color of the spring flowers, the warmth of the air, the blue of the sky, thanking God for rebirth during this Easter season.  It was all about me and my enjoyment.  Not that being appreciative for God’s creation is a bad thing, but what about those unable to enjoy those seemingly simple things? This man today made me really think.

So this morning began in K.C, with its traffic and fancy cars, more shopping than even I could do, and way too many restaurants.  I’ll be paying for that for awhile.  But due to the fact that I-29 was closed due to the flooding, we opted to go on an adventure across Kansas, through the beautiful green fields and pretty farm houses, and little bitty towns.  We stopped in Holton, Kansas, population 3200, for a snack and break,  The high school sophomores who waited on us were so very different from the poised waiters we had encountered in the city.  Sophomore #1:  “Did you give them their number?”  Sophomore #2:  “No”.  #1:  (looking at Doug) “Your number is 39”.  All of this while his too small baseball cap sat jauntily on his head.  So distracting. This with the sparkling conversation was mesmerizing.

Life is full of dichotomy, a perhaps perceived difference in quality from one thing, place or person to another.  Quality implies standards but standards are in the eye of the beholder.  Quite frankly, the sophomore boy making sure we had our number was more conscientious than the distracted waiter at the fancy restaurant last night.  Just like the difference between the dressed up young women who sat behind us in the restaurant loudly spouting inappropriate language and the gentleman sitting in the lawn chair quietly and respectfully singing his songs for a dollar.  The quality of one’s character is shown through their actions, not by where they live or work,  how old they are or how wealthy they are. I’m reminded that I need to look deeper at people to see them as Jesus sees them.

Happy Easter.  He is risen.

 

I should know better.  I usually scroll through social media just to find the funny stuff or things about music but I stopped to read something about the Notre Dame fire.  A very sad story to me, just because I have a particular interest in beautiful art and architecture.  I do not have a connection through my heritage or my religion, but I feel sympathy for those who do.  However, in this particular post, people were on each other’s case for feeling sad about this event because they were neither French nor Catholic and therefore shouldn’t be so upset.  After all, it’s just a building right?

Empathy is the ability to share and understand the feelings of someone else. Chances are I have experienced the same thing and can therefore empathize with that person. Sympathy is feelings of pity and sorrow for someone else’s misfortune.   As a society, I believe we’ve downgraded our feelings of sympathy and empathy.  If I am not African American or Muslim, for instance, I can’t really feel any sympathy for something they’re going through or dealing with.   If I have never lost a child or been abused or any number of things, it seems my feelings for others have no validity because I just don’t understand or I have never been through exactly what they have been through.  Sometimes I think due to all of our labeling and separation of people into categories that we forget the common factor.  We’re all human beings and therefore share human experiences and feelings.

Maybe it’s because we’re really good at saying we sympathize with someone but we never add doing something to the feeling of sympathy.  I feel great sympathy for the flood victims in my state but unless I do something to help, does my sympathy mean anything?    I do know that when someone has sympathy for me personally it lets me know that they care.  They may not completely understand what I’m going through but they care about ME and it has produced feelings somehow in them.  I don’t ridicule the person because they have no idea what I’m going through – they’re trying to be kind.  There just seems to be so little kindness these days.

What I’m not sure I understand is when people get angry when you empathize or sympathize with someone like you shouldn’t care.  We live in a world where we isolate on our devices, where we speak to people we’ve never met on social media with such disdain and hatred , like most of us would never do if we were to see them face to face, and we somehow decide that what we feel and think and know is SO special that nobody could possibly understand and how dare you if you insinuate that you do.

We talk about random acts of kindness like it’s a big deal and it shouldn’t be.  If we were sympathetic to others, we would be showing random acts of kindness all the time.  It’s not hard, it’s human and we should see and allow more of it.  We argue about whose lives matter most and become angry if it’s not the right lives.  Is it because some people’s lives matter more than others?  And who decides that?  And what if I’m not one of those lives?  Do I and others in the select group or groups no longer deserve any sympathy or empathy?

Personally, I want to be able to cry when someone else cries, I want to hug them when they need a hug or feel my heart break for someone whose heart is breaking.  I also want to laugh when they laugh and experience life with them.  That’s what makes us human and not politically correct automatons.  To the people of France and those whose hearts were broken by this fire, I share a small bit of your sadness and offer my sympathy to you.

 

 

 

It’s called The Ice Box.  That should have been a big hint.  It’s cold.  But I thought I knew what I was getting into.  After all, I’ve attended Stars on Ice and Disney on Ice and the ice was far enough away that I didn’t have to wear my coat inside.  But no, this is an actual ice box where our seats were wonderful, on the second row, close enough to see everything up close and personal and be cold.

First of all, it’s set up like a zoo exhibit.  There is glass for you to look through to see the ice and netting on both ends.  It makes you wonder what’s going to be out there that you need this much protection from.  And just like at the zoo, there are those people who like to bang on the glass to provoke what’s inside.  A little like an icy gladiators kind of event. One woman in front of us banged on it anytime someone on the ice got in front of her.  I think she just liked to hit things.  And just like the Stars on Ice, these guys can skate, like, really fast.  They’re so graceful and they make it look so easy.  Even the guys in their striped shirts and their cute little white helmets were skating backwards and other cool moves.

In dramatic contrast to all of this gracefulness was a group of men in dress pants, shirts and ties who very gingerly walked across the ice to get to their boxes. It was like a group of funeral directors leading a procession, appearing to be slow motion against the flurry of skaters.  After a very respectful rendition of the National Anthem sung by a barbershop type group where I’m pretty sure the strongest singer was in a different key, the event began.  These young men, the same ones with the graceful skating who had just handed roses to their host families, turned into wild beasts with weapons which of course, delighted the spectators.

Now, I grew up in the land of basketball and live in the land of football and I get things can get a little rough, but I’ve not seen anything like this.  In football and basketball it’s all about a BALL.  In this event it’s called a puck, something that slides with ease across the ice and apparently frustrates the dickens out of everyone because they try to kill each other chasing the thing down with their bent sticks.  The word “checking” usually sounds so kind.  Like, I’m checking your homework or just checking to make sure you’re ok.  Nope, in this event it means smashing you up against the glass to get at that frustrating little puck and spectators can beat on the glass again.  Very quickly into it, I was grateful for the glass because those young men and their death sticks kept crashing into it.

All of this effort is to see who can get this annoying puck into a net guarded by a giant praying mantis.  I’m not kidding.  And this praying mantis can get itself into all kinds of positions to keep that puck out of the net.  Very impressive.  By the way, it took an hour and five minutes to get five of them past the praying mantis into the net.  That’s one every 13 minutes.  There’s a reason I like basketball.  At points during the event, some men would spill over the wall of their box like zombies in an apocalyptic film and others would jump back in the box.  They even had a time out box for those who didn’t try to kill each other in a nicer way.

They get two breaks but that means entertaining the spectators.  At one point they had spectators throwing their pucks onto the ice to try and land in an upside down helmet.  Highly entertaining. During one of the breaks, I decided to use the restroom and as is always the case, the line was long.  However, the line was moving pretty quickly.  I find out it’s because there’s a woman standing on a box about halfway down the line of numbered stalls whose job it is is to call out the next available number.  It’s genius.  Perhaps airports could do that when every woman on a flight runs to the nearest available bathroom with only four stalls.

So now that I have warmed up some, it’s time to get some soft serve ice cream and go back into the ice box and watch young men beat each other up over a hard piece of vulcanized rubber.  By the way, did you know that Vulcan was the god of fire? Ironic, huh?  So, now that I have experienced the Ice Box, would I go back?  I have to say it was the best people watching I’ve had in a very long time and yes, I would do it again.  Only next time I’ll wear slightly warmer clothes and be close enough to bang on the glass.

 

 

The stylist next to mine was sharing his appointment schedule for the day with my stylist.  “Oh – and I have two updos today.  I hate doing updos.”  Ah yes, the updo.  Popular during prom and wedding season. I’ve never had one myself, mainly because it wasn’t really a thing, at least that I knew of in high school and my hair was too short to do one  for my wedding.  Who knew that people planned for updos?  Like, I COULD have grown out my hair if I had known it was a thing, but I didn’t.

The one time I tried was for my sister-in-law’s wedding.  The day before I had my hair down in curls, dreaming of going in to the stylist the next day to do one of those loose, romantic, tendrils down the side of the face updos and what I got was a really tight, up against the head French braid.  It was awful.  It now lives in perpetuity in those wedding pictures.

My stylist laughs at me when I tell her how inept I am with my own hair, but it’s true.  Oh sure, I could throw it up in a ponytail or pigtails but to do something fancy, forget it.  To this day it terrifies me when one of my little girls comes up to me and says something like, can you fix my ponytail or put in my barrette or any variety of ways to fix their hair and I tend to send them to their teacher or my student teacher.  I’m that clueless.  Having had no sisters and raising three boys, my world consisted of buzz cuts and your traditional boy hair cut, parted on the side.

So today, when I knew that I was going to get to watch an updo, I was fascinated.  So here was this pretty little blond teenager with her make up professionally done sitting in the chair with her mother helping her explain what she wanted.  The conversation between mother and daughter was interesting because mom seemed to be doing all the talking and the daughter would say occasional words, but most of the time her head was down facing her phone.

The next thing I know is that there is a bright flash next to me and mom has this fancy professional looking camera, taking pictures of the girl to document the process.  Really? I seem to remember being in my room, wearing the baby blue eyeshadow and rolling my own hair with my little heated rollers.  Nobody took pictures until the professional at the prom.  My mom certainly wasn’t posing me throughout the process taking pictures.  It was a little on the scary side.  When the stylist was finished, he took mom and daughter to a back room to a blank wall where mom could get more pictures.  Maybe it’s because I had three boys, but it just seemed a bit excessive.

But back to the updo.  Here’s what I learned.  1.  Get as much curl and poof into the hair as possible.  This means everything from a skinny curling iron to the traditional tease towards the crown of the head.  2.  Get every bobby pin you can find.  3.  There is no exact science to an updo.  4.  Pull all hair into a messy almost ponytail at the nape of the neck, twirl it around a bit and start putting massive amounts of bobby pins in until it looks “right” (it’s a lot like making biscuits I think).  4.  Use enough hair spray that even if the bobby pins move, the hair won’t.

I watched the stylist’s hands literally shake throughout the process.  He really did hate doing updos.  Imagine the pressure.  The client comes in with a certain vision and they hope the professional can make the vision come to fruition.  The hairstyle can either make or break the occasion.  I had watched those same hands stay steady while cutting someone’s hair earlier, but something about this really made him nervous.  In the end however, the updo was apparently a success and everyone left with a smile on their face.

I hope this girl really enjoys her prom and that the memories she makes are more important than the preparation for it.  It’s a rite of passage I suppose.   Complete with an updo.

Who am I kidding?  Yes, I’m working on the book because it has been a goal of mine for some time now, but to stop writing the blog completely?  Nah.  I’ve got too much to say apparently.  And tonight, I have to say a few thank you’s.

Leadership is cultivated, not something you are born with.  After a long time, I have learned to reluctantly say I am a leader.  It does sound rather presumptuous to say this out loud, but it is this learned leadership that allows me to speak up when I’m nervous or afraid, saying things that I might otherwise talk myself out of because I tend to avoid conflict like the plague.

As I’m working on leaving my past way behind, I will only reference it enough to say that it conditioned me to be wary of everything, never trusting myself or anyone else.  It taught me to do whatever I needed to do to be safe and that meant holding back on what I was feeling or thinking.  It becomes habit after a while.  But in the last ten years or so, I have been a part of a couple of wonderful organizations with the best of colleagues who have helped me to grow as a person and as a leader and I am grateful.  

Both my state and national music education organizations have given me the opportunity to serve, and I hope that what I did and continue to do has made a difference for others.  But what they have given to me in terms of the best of the best of friends and colleagues and leadership opportunities outweighs anything I feel I could ever do for them.  The confidence I am developing, because it is certainly a process, allows me to do and say more than I could ever imagined, pushing away that fear that keeps me from stepping up and doing the right thing.

This only comes when you have great leadership to observe and learn from, watching as they tackle the tough issues, making decisions that affect people in our profession, those training to join us and all of our students, the reason we do this in the first place.  These people understand that what they do is bigger than themselves and they teach me that sometimes change is hard and perseverance is important.  Their encouragement for those of us who work with them is energizing and for me personally, it causes me to work just that much harder.

And so I say a heartfelt thank you to my friends and colleagues Lance, Glenn, Rex, Neal, Joyce, Marilyn, Bryan, Leyla, Nancy, Denese, Michael, Kathy, Mackie and so many others, too numerous to mention.  I’m still learning but I’m beginning to speak up for what I believe in, for what I believe is best for teachers and students, and for myself, hopefully in a kind but firm manner.  And again, I’m grateful.