Let me say first, there were children of all ages everywhere.  Being a teacher, I’m used to a lot of children, but this was a community of children, attending an open house with their parents to celebrate a wonderful young woman’s birthday.  This is just the type of thing I love to observe because there was so much happening at once.  There were young couples walking over from around the neighborhood, hanging out in the garage, talking around the island in the kitchen and playing games in the yard.  Everyone seemed to know each other and each other’s families.  The adults and kids interacted as one big happy family and it was just fun to watch. I paid particular attention to one mom sitting across from me who effortlessly handled children grabbing for cupcakes, sharing her drink with them while never interrupting her conversation with her friend.  It was a throwback to what I would think of as a real neighborhood, not a place where everyone comes home from work or school and locks themselves behind their doors, but a place where kids are out in the yard playing and adults know each other and their kids by name.  Where does this even happen anymore in America?  

I don’t see this much, even in our small college town.  I drive through neighborhoods during the week and I never see kids playing outside.  Kids are at daycare or inside, sitting on their couches staring at a screen playing video games and, of course, someone mows the yard once a week and weeds the garden, but otherwise, we sequester ourselves within our four walls and do our own thing. Mom and Dad may go out with friends or family occasionally, but I very rarely see the kind of community I witnessed that evening.

As I watched the news in the weeks that followed, it seems that just about every day, some young person was going on a killing spree.  The blame seems to be moving towards the parents of these young people, young men mostly, signing off on the weapons of mass destruction they’ve decided to use.  These young men are loners, mostly keeping to themselves, the neighbors never see them, and nobody really knows their parents.  These young people feel or are isolated, have no friends, are made fun of or bullied.  They sit in their homes, watching their screens while the parents are doing whatever and I wonder, did anyone every invite them to a neighborhood cookout or just introduce themselves?  Did anyone take them some fresh baked cookies or at least take the time to learn the names of these neighbors?  I’m sure we could blame the pandemic for this lack of interaction along with everything else, but it was happening long before COVID.

As I was pondering this, I realized I’m just as guilty.  I know the names of a few neighbors down the hall and a few more faces beyond them, but interactions are limited to a “hi” or “how’s it going” to an inane conversation about the weather in the elevator going down to the garage.  I blame my introversion but it’s more than that.  We like our space and our privacy.  The problem is, if someone loves it too much and becomes isolated it could mean some big problems for them and possibly others.  It may sound like an oversimplification and I know there are more things to consider, but sometimes it’s that one thing you do for someone that changes a person’s life.

The other thing I wondered is if some of us are maybe in too many communities, so it makes it hard to get deep within our relationships?  When I was a kid, I had my family community and my school community.  The people I knew came from those two places.  My dad had his family and his work community, my mom had her PTA and band mom groups.  I remember a sermon from my pastor many years ago where he talked about a circle of relationships, where the center circle was a small group of tight, long term friendships, all the way to the outer circle of acquaintances.  If I remember correctly, you can only handle so many relationships and once you reach a tipping point of sorts, you tend to drop someone before you can pick up another.  

Which leads me back to the idea of having too many communities.  Right now, off the top of my head, I have my family, my workplace (soon to be 2 again) with admin, colleagues, (who also serve on some of my committees), students and parents, my church, the organizations I serve, the committees within those organizations I serve, some of which have some of the same people serving on them.  And these people are not just within my neighborhood – they are all over my state, the country and I have a couple of former student teachers (Facebook friends), teaching overseas.  It is on one hand, a huge, wonderfully intricate group of people, especially within the music education world, but it’s also a tad overwhelming and many times hard to keep track of.

Over the past couple of years, I have met a lot of people through zoom meetings.  Again, people from all over the country, meeting sometimes weekly, to the point where you really feel a connection with them.  This week, one of those colleagues has come to my town to do a workshop for our teachers.  We greeted each other in person for the first time with a big long hug, as though we had known each other for years which we have – just not in person.  It’s an odd type of community, but a community nonetheless, and the prospect of seeing others in person later this fall is exciting.

But again, having too many communities can be awkward, especially when you run into someone at the grocery store that you know you know and they ask how you’re doing and you say “fine” and then walk away thinking, “who was that”?  That was yesterday and I still don’t know.  Still, the importance of community of some kind, a place where you feel you belong is as important as the air we breathe, and it doesn’t happen through osmosis.  As I learned from my friend, it takes reaching out to people, getting to know them and their families and developing trusting, meaningful relationships with them.  Perhaps this could help change the world for people who are struggling and in turn, change the world for the rest of us.

Happy 4^th of July!  People in my town have been blowing things up for the last three days.  The fireworks tents popped up in every field and parking lot, many school programs and other organizations using them to fundraise.  The booming began before 8:00 this morning and is still going strong as of 11:30 tonight.  I’ve never been able to figure out why people set off those big fireworks during the day as you can’t actually see them, but it’s not my money going off in the sky, so whatever floats their boat.  Right now I can watch fireworks while sitting on my couch writing this.

I certainly don’t want it to seem that I don’t like fireworks because I love them.  I think I’m a bit spoiled now because my favorite fireworks experience was one year when we got to hang out with the firefighters setting them off and watch the sky right above our heads fill up with beautiful colors.  The firework remnants raining down upon our heads was not so fun, but totally worth it.  We’re going to see fireworks this Friday after the Saltdogs game, which will be my favorite part.  Baseball is ok but I’ll be there to hang with family and see people blow up stuff.

It’s interesting to me that we celebrate our declaration of independence by blowing up things. The fact that the price of fireworks increased quite a bit this year doesn’t seem to have deterred anyone from buying them.  The same people I’m sure who are complaining about the ridiculous cost of gas are still willing to dish out hundreds and sometimes thousands of dollars on something that brings them temporary happiness.  Well, I suppose gasoline is temporary as well, but I can’t ride a skyrocket to work.  

Every year we hear from pet lovers how the noise affects their pets and from military veterans whose PTSD can be triggered, but it doesn’t seem to stop people from blowing up things.  My thought this year was I wonder if we have Ukrainian refugees, especially children, who are struggling with all of the explosions.  Can they discern the sounds as celebratory as compared to destructive?  Do we as Americans care enough about these people and animals to change how we celebrate in the future?  Just a thought.

I’m sure that with all the events of the past couple of weeks, there are those who don’t want to celebrate at all, feeling they’ve been let down by their country.  And there are others who are celebrating because they believe that things are changing for the better.  I’m not going to get all political here and it’s certainly not my place to judge or comment on either.  My hope is that we don’t allow people at either extreme to make the rest of us feel as though we have no control and therefore, no reason to celebrate.  When I see all the turmoil here and around the world, I’m grateful to still be able to celebrate the good this country has to offer in any way I want, whether it’s with my family and friends or by myself, reminding myself that things can always be better, but we have the opportunity and responsibility to be involved in making it better.  So I can be grateful to live in and be a part of a country with potential, that’s still growing and changing and perhaps watch people blow things up as part of the celebration.

I’ve found a new time suck.  You know those little videos that you can watch on Facebook?  Scrolling through them is a pretty no brainer thing to do but once in a while something, good or bad, pops up that catches my attention.  

There is this one young woman doing videos, who has decided she is God’s gift to being cool and/or sophisticated in the most shallow ways.  What to wear, what not to wear, how to do your hair, how not to do your hair.  Tonight was ten things that make you look older.  Congratulations to me for doing almost all ten.  Capri pants, Bermuda shorts, little sweaters over dresses, floral dresses, clunky shoes, glasses and gray roots.  Yep, I am apparently the epitome of what is looks like to be older.

Of course, being “older” is relative, right?  After all, she’s only in her 30’s.  Her priorities include taking a bedroom in her home and turning it into her closet so she can make videos. In my 30’s, I was concerned with juggling three little boys (four if you count Doug), and my first teaching jobs.  My hands were full.  I was lucky if my clothes matched.  I wore the same pair of cheap black cloth mary jane shoes so often that my students asked if I had any other shoes. I colored my hair myself because it was too expensive to get it done professionally and shopped for things to wear on sale at Old Navy.  In the early 2000’s overalls were my go to. As much as I wanted to look better, I didn’t have the time, the means or the know how to do it. 

My 30’s were a half a lifetime ago and I suppose I am what she would consider “older”.  As I think of all of these wonderful young women who talk about older as if it will never happen to them, I take great satisfaction in knowing that yes indeed, it will.  And maybe she’ll be lucky enough to be one of those beautiful young women who ages into that sophisticated beautiful older woman I always wanted to be.  Or, (depending on her height), she may grow to be that petite, chunky, grandma that I am.  The one who wears capri’s to hide the spider veins on my legs (one time, someone asked if a cluster of them was a tattoo), Bermudas to hide the thigh flab, little sweaters to hide the “bat wings”, glasses because contacts just don’t seem to correct things the way they used to, chunky shoes so the plantar fasciitis doesn’t act up and the occasional gray roots when I can’t get to my stylist as soon as I should.  Older is work and not always pretty.

Then there’s that “older is relative” thing.  Last week it was brought to my attention that data is meaningless unless we place meaning upon it.  Age is merely data.  Put a group of women the same age together in a room and while you may see some things they have in common, they will not all be the same.  I believe however, that most if not all of them would tell you that they feel much younger mentally than the number of candles on the birthday cake. In my head I’m a much more self assured 20 year old.  And while I would love to have my 20 year old body back, I wouldn’t trade it for who I am today.  I certainly should have but didn’t appreciate the body back then and was full of angst.  Not that I can’t occasionally be angsty at my age but it’s tempered with a lot of experience and a bit of reality.  I am who I am at this point in my life.  Good, bad or in between, I am who I am because of the choices I have made and continue to make.  Choices to act my age or not, to color my hair or not, to retire or not.  Age is a number and while I have no choice but to get older, a blessing, I might add, it’s my choice as to whether or not I grow old.  And my choice as to whether or not to do the 10 things that make me look older.

“Knowing that I have the ability to control my air quality feels very empowering”.  I paused the TV, ran it back and listened again.  What was this commercial for?  Air filters.  I have to admit I laughed out loud as it showed a lovely young couple with a cute dog, so proud of their new, sparkling clean house and all I could think about was, installing an air filter is empowering?  I wish I had known that when I was a kid and dad taught me how to replace them.

Why does it feel empowering?  The commercial claims that the filter helps capture dust, bacteria and viruses.  Oh, now I understand.  She feels empowered because she feels in control of her environment.  Since COVID, I’m sure a lot of people are trying everything they can to feel more in control of their lives.  No matter how small an effort it may be.   

As I continued to think about this, several things came to mind.  I wondered if the company selling the filters was exploiting people’s fears just to sell more filters.  I wondered if people think they’re ever really in control (something I’ve struggled with), and lastly, shouldn’t empowerment be about something more important than air filters?

As usual, I looked up definitions of empowerment from several different sources. 

To make (someone) stronger and more confident, especially in controlling their life and claiming their rights.

Empowerment means people having power and control over their own lives. (notice it says their OWN lives). People get the support they need that is right for them. Empowerment means that people are equal citizens. They are respected and confident in their communities.

Having qualities that give a person or a group of people the means to take more control of their lives and become stronger and more independent.

Now, I felt empowered after receiving my degree, when I got my first teaching job (despite not having a clue about what I was in for), and when people I respected empowered me with responsibilities for events and other people.  I felt empowered as a kid when my dad gave me money to go down to the convenient store by myself to buy something, and as an adult, the first time I traveled by myself or when I walked away from a couple of unsafe relationships. While I may have been anxious doing these things, I never felt empowered because I changed an air filter.  That kind of thing comes from fear and feeling out of control.  

Changing an air filter is something I do to keep some dust out of my home.  It’s a way to make things healthier.  Just like I would wash my dishes, wash my hands after handling raw meat, and doing what I need to do to maintain my home, these are just everyday chores adults do to take care of themselves and their families.  Not out of fear or wanting to be in control, but because it’s what adults do.  And, despite our best intentions, while things like this may reduce your risk of something happening, there’s no guarantee, hence, no real control.  How do I know this?  Because I know people who have taken every possible precaution and have still gotten COVID.  People who look both ways when they cross the street only to be hit by a car whose driver is impaired.  People who have never smoked who get lung cancer.  All we can do is our best to prevent things, but we’re not in control. 

So what about people who gather to protest for or against things for which they believe strongly?  As citizens of this country, we have been empowered to let our elected officials know what we think or believe through our voting, peaceful protest, writing letters or emails or paying them a scheduled visit.  This is just me, but I believe that, despite these rights, when people are afraid of losing control, this is where the fear and anger kick in.  But if you know you’re not in control, you can still do what you believe is right for as long as you want without the fear.  Change is inevitable, just maybe not on your timeline.

Some of you may label me a defeatist, but maybe I’m just old.  I have seen terrorism from the Cold War to Ukraine. I have seen Presidents come and go for 6 decades.  Some are pretty good, some not so good, but despite what we may want to believe, (and who we want to blame) even they’re not really in control.  I have practiced hiding under desks in case of nuclear attack and for an active shooter.  I read the horrendous things human beings do to each other every day, and as much as I would love utopia, I know we’re dealing with imperfect humans, none of whom are in control either.  Oh, they may think they are by doing unspeakable acts or by who they empower to do certain things, but that could change anytime when someone retires, dies or the next person in charge takes advantage of their ability to manipulate people and things.  Imperfect humans do this.

So, back to the air filter.  To my younger friends and colleagues, don’t live in fear, but empower yourselves by doing something kind and meaningful for yourself and others.  The choices we make can make a positive difference in the world. Don’t do it out of spite or to get back at someone, but because it’s the right thing to do. Then just be an adult, take care of your family and your home, and replace that air filter.

I’ve never thought of myself as a “work hard/play hard” kind of girl.  I do work pretty hard, my first jobs being babysitting and clarinet lessons in junior high and the ever present McDonalds in high school and college. Yes, parents actually paid me to give beginning lessons to their kids when I was a kid.  But as usual, I digress.  Since then, I have not taken time off from working except to go back to school to get my degree (which is still work) and to have my boys – more work.  Working is what you’re supposed to do.

The playing hard part is not me.  I prefer to play quietly.  I’m not the ziplining, camping, mountain climbing sort of girl.  I like to sit on the beach or visit museums or shop.  But something Doug said during this our recent vacation has made me think.  As we were eating a lovely dinner outside on the front porch of a quaint, quiet, haunted 300 year old inn, he looked at me and said, THIS is why you work so hard.  I don’t know that I’ve purposefully worked this hard to provide myself and my family opportunities to get away, but in the last several years, I’ve taken advantage of the fact that things have become a bit more comfortable and we’re past the living paycheck to paycheck with three children kind of thing.  

My dad worked hard as well, but it was a different time, and he never seemed able to have or make the same opportunities.  He had some regrets that he shared with me later in his life, wishing he had explored or tried new things when he was younger.  I remember thinking, I don’t want to feel that way when I get to the point that I CAN’T do things anymore.  So I work hard, say yes way too much but get to do and see a lot of really cool things my dad never did.  

I made it a point to not spend as much time taking pictures and looking at things through a screen and just take time to experiencing whatever was happening.  I saw beautiful rivers, lakes and streams as we drove through the mountains in Vermont and New Hampshire.  We stood against the rail of a boat and saw whales open mouth feed in the North Atlantic.  We walked through and learned about where our country was born and the people who had a hand in that.  I walked through the actual house where my favorite author penned Little Women and saw the desk where she sat to write it.  We watched class blowers, peeked through an open side door to see a local performance of Turandot in Concord Mass, ate meals with the locals as they greeted each other and ate ice cream made at a dairy farm in New Hampshire, with a lobster roll in Maine for Doug.  We saw a memorial for those who died in Salem during the witch trials and walked the Freedom Trail in Boston. 

We grow up reading about these people and places and things and maybe see and learn about them on TV, but it’s another thing entirely to see and experience them in person.  And I guess for me, that’s playing hard.  And if it means I need to work hard for a while longer, than I suppose I will because there’s a lot more to see and experience in this world.  Someone needs to remind me I said this about March of 2023.  Perhaps by then I’ll have decided on a new adventure next summer where I can play hard again.  

It was August of 1976, and we had just finished lunch sitting on the blacktop field after having been dropped off at band camp.  I don’t remember all my lunch consisted of, but I do remember a tiny can of Vienna sausages.  Yes, I know, but they were in a compact little can and didn’t have to be refrigerated, which was impossible on a hot school bus in Kentucky in August. After lunch we immediately began practice, in the sun on blacktop.  Practice of course, consisted of standing at attention – a lot – while people were painstakingly placed in their spots.  

As I stood there in the hot summer sun, following directions (I AM a rule follower), a slightly dizzy, nauseous feeling began.  I would like to blame it on the Vienna sausages, but I’m sure it was more than that. I made sure my knees were not locked, I put my head between my knees, but as time went on, I became more and more dizzy.  Finally, when I was more afraid of passing out than being called out by my band director or possibly being ridiculed by my peers, I staggered over to the sideline where a band parent put a cold cloth on the back of my neck, gave me water and let me sit.  The comment I remember from my director was something like, Oh Judy, you’re a senior!  I felt like I had totally disappointed him and worked to get back into the block as soon as I could.  Looking back on this small event in my life, I’m sure he was concerned, but we were expected to suck it up, be tough and persevere. 

Over the years I have talked about how we persevered during marching band, but the truth is I was and still am a total people pleaser especially to those I look up to.  I’ve always talked about how I learned to be tough in marching band and how it has helped me through life. Now I wonder if perseverance is nothing more than peer pressure or people pleasing, depending on who you’re with, what you’re doing or what the perceived expectations are.  When I think back on things in my life that were difficult, there are only a handful of instances I would label success based on perseverance. Perseverance is defined as persistence in doing something despite difficulty or delay in achieving success.  I know people who have truly persevered through major illness, through financial struggles, through family and relationship issues, and to me THESE are people are the ones who have persevered.

Maybe it doesn’t matter what it takes to persevere.  Maybe peer pressure and people pleasing are just the tools that motivate people to push through things.  I would like to think that “pure” perseverance in more intrinsic than extrinsic, but if the result is the same, does it matter?  Do we persevere more it something is expected of us rather than something we want for ourselves?  Is having someone you’re accountable to just a version of peer pressure?  Is persevering for success something our culture expects, so we do whatever we need to do to make it happen?

What if life happens in the middle of our persevering through something?  Are we not a success then?  Are we a quitter?  What if you are a hummingbird rather than a jackhammer?  Is the idea of flitting from thing to thing or experience to experience mean you’re not a success because you haven’t persevered?  Or do you have to be that jackhammer personality, someone who pushes forward despite anything in their way in order to define perseverance. 

There have been many times that I’ve pushed through things just because I wanted to please others.  There were times when I felt I had no choice but to push through. I may have figured out pretty early that there was no real desire to persevere, but I was afraid to disappoint someone.  Not necessarily because they said or did something, but in my mind, I was afraid they would see me as something “less than”. Usually because within our cultural context they had worked hard and persevered to become a success, so I should too.  

Maybe true perseverance shows up when some kind of life changing/life threatening event occurs, when your choices consist of adapt, flee or parish.  Could perseverance just be a form of adaptation – making it work or being incredibly flexible because your other choices (flee or parish) aren’t viable options?  

When I consider the last couple of years as we’ve collectively maneuvered through the pandemic, was our adaptation to circumstances and/or flexibility through change really a form of perseverance?  Or was it simply feeling we had no choice or were motivated through peer pressure or people pleasing to do the things we did or did not do?  It’s beginning to feel a little like which came first….

Ok, I do tend to overthink things a bit – perhaps I’ve persevered my whole life and just didn’t think it was that big a deal.  Perhaps I should stop looking at challenges through what I perceive as the eyes of others.  The outcomes of my perseverance should only speak to me, no matter what the catalyst is, and I should just keep moving forward towards the direction I choose.

I should begin by saying I have always wanted to be a hippie.  Ok, maybe not BE a hippie, but I certainly wanted to dress like one.  Bell bottoms, maxi skirts and peasant blouses with long hair parted down the middle with a ring of flowers on my head.  I wanted to spend my time sitting under trees reading books and talk to others about ideas. I was a child of the sixties, a teenager of the 70’s and the idea of being this flower child while singing The Age of Aquarius and Joni Mitchell songs was how I imagined myself.  

The VW Beetle was the coolest car ever and I coveted them even before I was old enough to drive.  But I was born into a lower middle class, conservative family, where my parents talked negatively about those young men who needed to get a job and a haircut.  I had one pair of bell bottoms and one maxi skirt and I felt so cool in them. And instead of driving a hip little Beetle, I rode my avocado green Sears 10 speed bike, put becoming a hippie out of my mind and went on with my life.  After all, even hippies grow out of it, right?  Or do they?

Last week we took a lovely trip to New England, and to my delight, I discovered something exciting.  I found the place where all the hippies went.  Everywhere we went were gray ponytails. From Main Street of Brattleboro Vermont to Main Street of Concord Massachusetts, there they were. They were the coolest and I wanted to be among them.  Somehow despite the gray, they had maintained their hip, youthful attitude, not dressed like at all the other AARP member tourists.  They hadn’t dyed their hair to keep looking younger, no, it was their attitude that made them seem younger and I wanted to be a part of that.  

I imagine they still distrust anyone over 30 and don’t care what people think about them, now driving Subaru Outbacks instead of that Beetle, but still cool. I can imagine that if my dad were still around, he would be talking about those old people with their ponytails and asking why they just didn’t cut them off.  There’s just something so simple and unassuming about a ponytail – it’s easy to do, take care of and gets the hair out of your face. And anytime you need to feel the wind in your hair, you just let down your ponytail.  It’s the perfect classic hairstyle with a slightly rebellious feel.

As usual, I’m a bit behind as I just fairly recently purchased my VW, but the fact that I don’t know anyone else my age locally who owns a yellow VW beetle convertible makes me feel slightly like a rebel hippie.  I still love maxi dresses and peasant blouses and recently tried to part the hair in the middle again.  I kind of liked it.  It’s an interesting dichotomy, as I don’t want to go gray because it would make me feel old, but somehow, the gray ponytail looks younger.  

I imagine that those with gray ponytails don’t judge themselves so harshly and perhaps wake up thinking about how they plan to enjoy the day, not conquer the world.  They take walks with their dogs on lovely little main streets, listening to the birds singing in the trees, grabbing coffee at the local coffeehouse.  Probably talking about what they’ve read recently and their latest volunteer efforts that support the community. It’s the kind of life I imagine for myself.  Maybe I first need to start working on my gray ponytail.

Call me crazy.  Call me naïve.  Call me hopeful, but an idea popped in my head today that I’ll definitely be testing out this coming school year.  For the first time in a long time, while feeling slightly anxious about the coming year, I’m actually feeling a sense of excitement.  A new room, new kids and another opportunity to see if I can improve on what I do for those kids.  Priorities have changed as I’ve worked through a pandemic and observed what others have done.  I’ve had a bit of a break from something that I loved but had me burning the candle at both ends. It feels like a brand new start.

What I’m a bit apprehensive about are those things outside of actually teaching – meetings, technology, hours of professional learning, etc. Developing relationships with new colleagues, parents and the community is always scary as an introvert.  I’ve always thought that if I could just walk in, teach and leave I would be very happy. But I digress.  Let’s get to the idea.

For most educators, teaching is a calling, but when those teachers are unappreciated and disrespected by seemingly everyone, we’ve seen what happens.  Teachers are leaving in droves, leaving districts in difficult positions.  Some of those districts are trying to throw money at the situation, and while that’s nice, it’s not sustainable and it’s not the answer.  Unless the attitude towards teachers changes and people begin treating them as the professionals they are by everyone involved, the situation will only get worse.  I believe, like me, most teachers want to get back in the classroom, and, if things change, they’ll come back.

It occurred to me that if I’M ready to get back into the classroom after a couple of years, I bet other teachers are too.  This is where school districts, administration and those invested in local public school education have a real opportunity to change things. Schools must become safer, both on the inside and from the outside, teachers need to be listened to in terms of what students need and parents/guardians need to work in partnership with teachers for the success of their students.  Districts and schools need to understand that if all they do is math and reading, no child will ever want to go to school.  It’s things like the arts that keep students coming to school and graduating.  As research tells us, young students need more time playing at recess, not just one minute “brain breaks” distributed during the day.  And while technology is a great tool, we’re learning that that too much screen time, especially for young children is not a good thing.  As a teacher, I can always tell the classes where the students have been pacified with screens by the adults in their lives because no matter how squirrely they normally are, they literally freeze in place when you begin a video.  We need to have time to lead students to love learning to where they will begin to seek things out on their own.  This is when they become lifelong learners.

About five years ago, I wrote several blogs on how we could see this teacher shortage coming.  As I re-read those blogs recently, my thought was that surely I wasn’t the only person to see this.  Surely someone else in a position of authority would see it and work to bring about change.  But no.  Then the pandemic hit and everyone was saying how great teachers were and I thought, wow, here comes the change!  Then, as people tend to be, they grew impatient with those same teachers because they weren’t doing things the way the community wanted, whether it was wearing or not wearing masks, or not doing hybrid teaching well enough, or whatever was the latest inconvenience.  Nevermind that the teachers were not making the decisions because they have no control over anything.  So, just as I and others said they would, teachers have left and are leaving.  Schools can’t find enough teachers to fill the void and we’re not getting enough future teachers enrolled in teacher prep programs because why would you want to teach?  The only ones hurt are the students. 

But here is where I’m hopeful. I believe that if enough teachers leave, and enough people call for real change in the system, that teachers will come back, just like me.  Teachers want to teach.  It’s in our blood.  It breaks teachers’ hearts to leave the profession, not because they are leaving a job, but because they’re leaving what really matters – the kids.  It’s why some believe more teachers haven’t left.  While other professionals don’t get attached to a particular place or job and can move on, most teachers stay in the same place for years because they build relationships with kids.  I have left a couple of schools where teary eyed kids asked me why I was leaving or asked me not to go.  It was heartbreaking.  I’ve walked back into schools I’ve left and had kids rush me for hugs and it was simultaneously heartwarming and heartbreaking.  I didn’t go home and cry because I left a building, I cried because I was exhausted and sometimes angry but mostly because I was left the kids.

So now I’m in a position to teach again half time for a year and I’m excited.  I’m betting that if there was meaningful change in our nation’s school systems, teachers would come back.  All teachers want is a safe place to teach, where they have a voice and have the opportunity to make a difference in the lives of kids. Where there is no change, things stagnate or die.  We can either update/change our educational systems for the better by choice or it will continue to change on its own, chances are for the worst.  Let’s make our educational system a place where teachers want to return to the classroom.  I know I would. For the kids.

The death of innocents happens every day.  Every. Day.  It happens in a myriad of ways, each way bringing a torrent of emotions with it – anger, sadness, grief, fear.  These innocents die from abuse and neglect, from vehicle crashes, in accidents, and yes, from firearms.  

Every day I scan the headlines and read stories of the horrific things that people do to each other and it boggles the mind.  Have humans always been this way or are we just more aware of it?  Or are we as a species becoming more and more violent?  Are we so filled with hate, anger and fear that we see no other recourse than to take the life of another human? Or is it just the type of headline that people gravitate towards?

A year or so ago I had a discussion with a colleague about how hard it is for me to understand in this day and age, the type of hatred humans have towards other humans and her question to me was, “have you been living under a rock?”.  I was slightly insulted, but perhaps, in my little sheltered life in a little midwestern college town, I can hide.  A place where I can still walk into the state capitol building without going through security, a place where people leave their cars unlocked and running while they run into the convenience store.  A trusting place where most people work hard to treat each other with kindness and respect.  

I’ve been processing the death of innocents this week, thinking about this small town where I’m sure they trusted and knew each other, and never thought something like this would happen to them.  I’m sure as adults they practiced “what if” scenarios, in the back of their mind thinking, this will never happen here.  I get that, as I’ve had to prepare my classroom and practice with little ones for those same “what if” situations.  I’m sure the teachers in that school had practiced as well, but how can you possibly prepare for the unthinkable?  Are they too living under a rock to the point that they can’t imagine how a human being could do the unspeakable, especially to children? It has taken me almost a week to process this, I can’t begin to imagine the thought process of a teacher watching their students die in front of them and having seconds to figure out what to do.

The blame game and political games began almost immediately, each individual or group using the deaths of those innocent children and their families as talking points for needed legislation or cause for lawsuits.  Everyone doing their best to find the ONE reason this happened and placing all their energy behind that ONE thing, because, well, we’ve been living under a rock, choosing to see only what we want to see as the problem.  It’s mental health issues OR it’s guns and each side, rather than look for solutions, is blaming the other for not agreeing with them.  Others are blaming the shooter’s parents/family because obviously something wasn’t right.  That would mean that family is the only indicator of how a person comes to this moment in their life.  The only person who knows the real why is the 18 year old shooter and he’s not talking. Eighteen years old.

I don’t have any answers here and I’m certainly not going to blame anyone and start a major discussion on social media.  I’m a slow processor and it takes me a while to get my head wrapped around something so horrendous.  Not wanting to oversimplify either, I keep thinking about the importance of meaningful relationships.  Face to face relationships, not relationships through screens.  It is difficult but certainly possible to develop these relationships.  Every adult who has young people in their lives has the responsibility to make sure kids know they are loved, cared for, and listened to.  Is this the only answer?  Of course not – it has taken decades to get to this point, and it will take considerable time to turn things around, unless the adults in this country can get over themselves and their own agendas and think about the faces of those children running from that school in terror.  We need to look at these faces over and over again, otherwise we’ll keep this in the news for a little while longer until some other story takes over and we leave the families, friends and communities to pick up the pieces.  Until it happens again.

Some people are giving those who pray a hard time as well, finding yet another way to divide us, this time based on religious beliefs. Prayers are important and powerful, because those of us who believe know there is nothing more powerful than our Creator, but prayers in combination with the work of our hands and voices are even more powerful.  Perhaps by doing this we can unite rather than divide.  

Maybe we have been living under a rock, driven by the fear that sometime this could happen where we are and we just don’t want to believe it.  The truth is, the death of innocents will continue to happen until all the adults in their lives do something that matters.  What can you and I do together to start?

It was nearly 18 years ago that I left a job that went so badly that I had decided to resign after only a year of what I considered my ineptitude deciding I would do ANYTHING but teaching.  I obviously had no clue as to what I was doing, the students were rude and unwilling to try something new with their new teacher, the administration was unkind and inflexible.  I sucked it up the best I could throughout the year but it was miserable, so miserable that for the last two weeks, my husband sat in my classroom to make sure I wasn’t being bullied.  

The relief I felt after that last day of school was quickly replaced with “oh shoot, I need a job”.  We can’t survive on a new college band director salary!  Luckily, the school of music was hiring a receptionist type person and I jumped at the chance.  It was easy, I was still with musicians (albeit sometimes needy musicians) I had a desk to myself and it was no stress.  It was probably half of what I made as a teacher, but I obviously wasn’t a very good one, so I was doing what I could.  It was the first summer I had worked in many years and it felt weird, even more weird when August hit and I didn’t fix up a room for school.  

Soon after I was called into the office of the associate director of music.  After my experiences with administration, I was a bit nervous to go.  What had I done wrong?  Was I going to lose my job?  I sat at his little round table, waiting to hear what he had to say.  And what he asked changed the trajectory of my life and career.  He asked if I would be interested in an appointed position on the Nebraska Music Education Association Board.  Could I be a board member and not be a teacher?  Yes, as long as I was a member of MENC that was fine. After a little time to think it over, I became the new Public Relations/Advocacy Chair.

I had no idea what I was getting into, but for the next six years, after a few slip ups here and there, I gradually grew into the job and the job became mine.  Soon after accepting the appointed position, I got a call about an elementary general music position and interviewed.  After my last fiasco, I have to say I was a little nervous about taking the position when it was offered, so I went back to that same associate director and asked what he thought.  He said I needed to teach, so I did.  This year concludes my 31^st year of teaching thanks to Dr. Nierman.

Towards the end of year six on the board, I was approached by my friend who happened to be one of the presidents of NMEA.  He asked me if I would be interested in running for a position on the board.  By that point, I was happy in my teaching career (I was a pretty good teacher after all!), and I loved the people I served with on the board.  I’m thinking, probably General Music Chair, but no, he asks, would you be interested in running for president.  Me?  President?  Again, I took some time to think about it and said yes.  After running unopposed (people must be afraid of little general music teachers), I became the third woman elected to the presidency of NMEA.  

There were wonderful times and there were tremendously sad and challenging times.  There were changes that some people loved and some people hated.  I learned all about Robert’s Rules thanks to my friend who created a “cheat sheet” for me to run meetings which worked great except for that one time Dr. Nierman asked for something that wasn’t on that sheet….  I learned many other things too from great leadership, I got to travel and meet amazing people  in my division so as I was approaching my 11^th year on the NMEA board, I made the decision to run for North Central President.  I waited for that phone call to let me know if I had won or not and to my disappointment, I did not win.  Again, Dr. Nierman said, you know, it took me two times to win the election, you should try again.  So I did.  And the second time, I got the phone call that said I won.  To make it even better, Dr. Nierman made the call.

The last six years have flown by and next week is my last board meeting with the National Executive Board.  I have taught and traveled, served as a liaison and chair of a committee, I feel like I’ve learned more than I ever contributed and have meet the nicest, most incredible, hardworking, passionate people I’ve ever known from all over the country.  Just like NMEA, the NEB has survived tough times, including a pandemic of all things, but I feel like the ship that is NAfME is beginning to move in the right direction.  Again, there have been changes, some that people have loved and some that people have hated, but nothing grows without change.  So after 18 years of consecutive years of service, it is my turn to step off the board and allow others to experience service and joy.

So what have I learned?  Service continues.  Once you see that things need to be done, you need to keep doing to the best of your ability.  I’ve learned that if you don’t keep learning and changing, you stagnate, and while what is known can be comforting, it can also leave people out.  I’ve learned to listen intently before I speak and go with my gut which usually lets me know when I have to say something.  I’ve learned to ask questions of those people who know more than I know and have stepped out of my comfort zone more times than I can tell you.  My life has been completely changed over the last almost 20 years because someone took the time to tell me that they thought I could do something important and asked if I would do it.  As leaders, I’m not sure we do that enough.  

Someone asked fairly recently if I was retiring.  Nope, not yet, as there are other opportunities on the horizon.  There’s just so much more to do and learn and again, thanks to the encouragement of others, I’m ready to step out of my comfort zone again.  My hope is, if someone asks you to serve, you will think about it and say yes.