It began with an email on January 28, 2014 from someone named Marsha Drummond.  A friend and colleague Denese Odegaard had said I might be interested in participating in their program.  I almost didn’t read the email.  After all, why would I be receiving an email from the New York Metropolitan Opera?  But when asked, Denese set in place a series of steps that would affect so many.  With the blessing of my principal Vicki, I took the next step by accepting the invitation.

Flash forward to December 22, 2021.  It was a spur of the moment decision to invite a friend to join me for dinner.  As I we opened the menus to make our choices, a tall young man stopped at our table to take our drink orders. Instead of taking our drink orders however, he said, “I think you were my music teacher!”.  I looked at my friend, assuming he was talking to her, but soon realized he was talking to me.  “Do you remember me?”, he asked.  He shared his name, but he didn’t need to.  The last time I saw him, he had been a 5^th grader and a memorable kid.  A sweet older brother to a couple of younger siblings, I still remember him gently taking care of a little sister who was afraid to go to class for the first time, a mature kid who was learning to take care of others and enjoy new experiences.  “I’m so excited to see you – ever since you left, I’ve been hoping to see you somewhere.  You were the best teacher”.  These were not his exact words, but honestly, I was a little overwhelmed.  As an elementary teacher, you very seldom hear from your former students as their middle and high school teachers take over as being their “favorites” and elementary school seems so long ago.  But this one remembered so much, especially his experience seeing operas streamed from the New York Metropolitan Opera.

Accepting that invitation set a lot in motion, and over the years I took a lot of 5^th graders to see a lot of opera, everything from Cinderella to Carmen, from comedies to tragedies, in all different kinds of languages.  Some of the most amazing voices in the world telling stories we can all relate to, regardless of the time period or the language.  Stories that my students couldn’t get enough of.

Of course, accepting that invitation created a lot of work for me.  Other teachers participated with me and it was a matter of making sure everyone received the lessons they needed and free tickets to attend several streamed operas each year.  Students bought more snacks than any human being ought to eat, this being the first time for a lot of them to go to the theater without their parents and instead going out with their friends on a Saturday.  I stressed about their behavior, especially since there were patrons there who had paid good money to see and HEAR these operas.  But we took pictures, sang along with arias and discussed characters and plot lines.  You hoped that students learned something through this “new” genre of music.  New to them but still relevant after sometimes a hundred years or more.  Relevant to ten and eleven year old kids.

Which brings us back to this young man, now a junior in high school, who was sharing how much he loved going to see opera, especially Otello, how he still remembered the story and how great the sets were on stage.  How getting together with his friends on a Saturday was so much fun and how much he looked forward to each opera.  And he went to every one of them.  He loved them so much that when we presented what students were doing with opera at our district board office, he spoke to district supervisors and staff about how much he was learning and how fun it was to learn about opera.  On occasion, he says he watches that archived video from that experience on the district website.  

This isn’t a student who plans to get into music as a professional or an educator, in fact he’s thinking of getting into aviation.  But because Denese gave my name to the Met, and Marsha sent me that email, and Vicki gave me permission to accept that invitation to learn about opera for my students, we were able to create a memorable experience this young man and so many others will never forget.  Each of us just a little cog creating a series of movements to create memorable experiences for students.  

As an educator, this experience made me keenly aware that even the smallest decision can make a distinct difference in the life of our students.  As educators, that’s all we’ve ever wanted.  

A crisp winter morning.  I’m thinking gratitude this morning; grateful for a warm coat, a warm car to drive to a job I really like, the tummy is full, Christmas music playing and silly things like heated seats. So many things to be grateful for in just this little bit of time.  Then some crazy driver, usually driving a way too big pickup truck, almost takes off my bumper, which is difficult when you don’t have a bumper to speak of, zips around to my left, and all of a sudden, all those things I was so grateful for disappear when the nasty attitude pops out and calls this person all kinds of things, questioning this person’s intelligence, emphatically motioning with my hand what the speed limit is supposed to be.  I’m taking it as a personal insult that this person is doing this to ME, when chances are this person isn’t paying any attention to me at all; they’re all about being late to work or getting the kid to school on time.  But it’s my attitude that has made the drastic change, my stomach that’s in a knot, my blood pressure pumping in my ears.  

My pastor always used to say “the older you get, the Izzy-er you get”.  If I remember the story correctly, there was a woman named Izzy with a certain attitude whose attitude increased the older she got.  I’ve always had a temper, always taken things too personally and as much as I try to fight it, I’m becoming older and feeling Izzy-er. 

If I may say, however, I don’t think I’m the only one.  Even those who are some of the kindest, most patient people I’ve ever met are showing some cracks in the façade.  And so many people, including myself, even those who work hard to be professional and show grace are struggling to be nice.  I think, whether we want to admit it or not, the times we live in are contributing to this change and making us all Izzy-er.  

Can we talk about death?  You get to a certain age and you begin to see it all around you.  A friend’s parent, a former student’s husband, a colleague’s spouse, a family member, some within days of the other.  You look at social media and your email with some trepidation, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Despite the fact that I try to avoid mainstream media, when every newscast does nothing but talk about the number of deaths in your community, state and country, you can’t help but be affected by it.  Despite all the things I have to be grateful for, and the faith I profess to have, underneath there is a spirit of fear and insecurity.  And anger.  

I wonder if the “Izzy-ness” comes from the realization that you only have so much time left and there are things left undone.  Do I have the time to do them all?  Have I become the person I was supposed to be? Will I ever be satisfied with who I am and where I am?  I envy those people I see who seem to have found their nirvana, spending quality time with family, reading, creating, and I’m 62, frantically looking for something new to do.  Does being dissatisfied mean you’re ungrateful?  Does being “Izzy” just mean you’re frustrated that you’re still not where or who you’re supposed to be? 

Some of my friends will advise me to continue to focus on the gratitude and my faith, some will encourage me to go for the dreams, some will tell me it may be time to slow down and think about retiring.   And some will challenge me by telling me I’m all talk and no action. So many choices.

A couple of days ago a friend put something on social media about choices, chances and changes.  As I’m in the process of making some choices and making yet more changes, I try to avoid the chances part instead of embracing them.  Maybe embracing those chances would make me less Izzy.  Won’t know until I take a chance and try.  

I didn’t really want to go. He, on the other hand was very enthusiastic. “What time do you want to go?”. I didn’t really care because I really wasn’t that excited to go. Sure it was a classic and I have seen the 1961 version many times. I know the words and the music, and I know how it ends. I cry every time I see it and you don’t necessarily want to see something you know will make you cry. In public no less. So no, I didn’t really want to go. He picked the 7:00 p.m. showing downtown and that was that.

My schedule had been crazy for months and this was going to be real date. A lovely dinner for two downtown and then across the street to the theater. Remakes are never as good as the original, right? At this point I was more excited about the previews of movies to come, but it was Spielberg, so it had to be pretty good, right? The lights went down and the familiar whistle began…

Two and a half hours later, I had tapped my toes, hummed along, laughed, cried and sobbed. I had been mesmerized by the dancing, the costuming, the aesthetics, the lighting, the setting and the story came back to life in a way I hadn’t thought possible. But it was the singing and acting that made me believe in these characters and fall in love with the story all over again. I knew what was going to happen just about every step of the way and yet it was like seeing it for the first time.

Obviously film making and technology have come a long way in 50 years – the movie itself was stunning. But it was the combination of music and storytelling that got me. Relatively new names in terms of the actors, or at least not household names but the focus was on believability and quality. Quality. You could tell that great care had been taken to get people with voices that worked well together. Interesting that this was a story where the characters could never see eye to eye, but the musicians were completely in sync. The possibility of what could be. Where one perfectly crafted note drifted into the air and hung there, waiting for another perfectly produced sound to join it in stunning harmony.

My expectations had been high. They were not high enough. The music, as well known as it was exceeded everything I had every heard. After all, I’ve seen movie musicals my whole life but nothing beats live. I’ve had the opportunity to see some of the finest musicians in some of the finest venues in the world and there’s nothing like it. Until last night. A night that lived up to just about anything I’ve seen live.

I was told the other day that I’m a purist. I would say that’s true. I expect vocal execution to match the type of music being sung. Pop music is fine and fun but this would not have been appropriate for Bernstein, not for West Side Story. If they had hired some well known pop stars to play the leads and the style of singing hadn’t matched my vision, the purist in me would have hated it. Just think Madonna versus Patti LuPone in Evita or Anne Hathaway vs Patti LuPone in Les Miserables. I rest my case.

But why is this such a big deal? It’s just a movie musical, right? It’s important because for 2 ½ hours, I witnessed a combination of art forms that melded into beautiful perfection. Twenty four hours later I’m still processing what I saw and heard. The arts are that place where we can know that despite whatever nastiness may be happening in the world, there is still beauty. The arts reach us intellectually, emotionally, physically and spiritually. The arts speak when sometimes words alone are not enough. It’s experiences like this that remind me of why I became a musician in the first place and why it is so important that music teachers pass this knowledge and experience of beauty and inspiration and creativity on to the next generation.

My cynicism almost kept me from witnessing something that has greatly impacted my emotions and has caused me to rethink just how relevant the themes within this well known story are today. And I didn’t really want to go. You need to go.

I have to say that Kinders are some of my favorite people – in small batches.  I can definitely handle them for 50 minutes at a time, but I tip my hat to those who teach these littles all day long.  The art of maneuvering around all the questions and stories that have nothing to do with that day’s lesson is mindblowing.  So the other day, I found myself observing a lovely class of 5-6 year olds, some of them so tiny it was crazy to think they could be in school.  But there they were, little feet walking excitedly into the music classroom, ready to share their latest adventures with their teacher and student teacher and ready to have new adventures with music.

What I love about kinders is that they know no strangers.  “Hi!” they said as they walked in and sat on their dots, some of them waving as they greeted me.  It is a small, oddly shaped classroom and I was trying to sit as out of the way as I could, however, one little girl insisted on sitting on the dot almost under my chair.  “Do you have enough room?” I asked.  “Oh yes”, she responded, looking up at me with a smile.  Obviously someone who needed a new friend.  The teachers got right to work with that day’s lesson and the students were immediately engaged in learning all about notes and their values, reading them, clapping them, manipulating them with little cards and finally, creating notes out of pipe cleaners.  Oh joy!  Oh wonder of wonders! 

What might look like child’s play to us is anything but to a group of little people.  Their little fingers worked hard to shape the ends of the pipe cleaners into note heads, but small motor skills are still difficult at this age.  As I was sitting there observing, one little guy turned to me and asked, “can you help me?”.  Well of course!  Let’s figure this out!  So on the spot, I’m working with those little fingers to find a way to make working with these pipe cleaners a little easier, encouraging him when he gets something that resembles that note head.  

Can you help me.  Four little words that are difficult for some people to ask.  We’re afraid we’ll look stupid, especially the older we get.  But little people want to try new things and  sometimes, when they just can’t get their fingers to work the way they want, they’ll ask for help.  When do kids start feeling bad about asking for help?  Some don’t stop asking because they understand that’s what teachers and adults are for, is to help them.  But something has to happen along the way that discourages some children from asking for help, and that in turn diminishes their learning.  

Think about it – anytime a child wants to help or learn and we find a way to dissuade them or discourage them because their clumsiness gets in the way of us getting things done, we tell them that it’s not ok to ask for help or ask to help.  It tells them that our schedules and getting things done right are more important than them experimenting, making mistakes and learning.

There’s a great video I saw online recently about a “funcle” (fun uncle) teaching his toddler niece how to pour various liquids into a glass.  As you can imagine, the first times are all about spilling and overflowing and a lot of cleaning up.  But the uncle and his niece just say, “uh oh”, clean it up and try again.  And again, and again, each time teaching something a little more nuanced, like exactly where to hold the bottle or how to angle it. And when to “stop” – a concept so simple but so elemental when you are trying to pour liquid into a cup.  All of this to say, that by being patient and being available when a child asks, “can you help me”, you get to that moment when the child triumphantly says, “I did it!” which in turn encourages them to try something new.

I would love to say I figured this out with my own kids, but I’m sorry to say they got the brunt of my lack of patience and I only learned this after having taught for so many years.  It’s important that kids have adults in their lives who say “of course – that’s what I’m here for!” when they ask for help.   I wish I had figured that out sooner.  

It was still a joy to be a part of that little person’s life the other day and I hope that asking for help and getting it will give him the confidence to always ask when he needs help.  Hopefully as an adult he’ll pass that on to any children in his life.  How many of us still need to ask, “can you help me?”.   

Every year without exception, I had to give the “you’re not all that” speech to my fifth graders.  Usually occurring during the third quarter of the school year (earlier or later depending on the particular group of kids), the speech came out when the behavior had deteriorated to the point that something had to be said; the students were talking back or refusing to follow directions or treating each other unkindly.  Because you know you’re going to be all grown up when you get to middle school, can have more choices on the lunch menu and your own locker.  The locker whose number you can’t remember as a 6^th grader or get jammed into by a 7^thgrader. Life can be cruel. Obviously it’s because they haven’t learned we all have a place in the artificial hierarchies where others perceive you belong.

There are so many and for every area of our lives.  We know that people who live on the coasts not only set trends nationally but have more clout than those who live in fly-over country and live under rocks.  We all know that people in the south are less educated and therefore less progressive.  In the world of education, despite the idea that we’re all here for the kids, there are definite hierarchies in place.  Superintendents to curriculum people to principals, to assistant principals to teachers to paraeducators, we all know our place.  And we know that those who teach high school are more important than those who teach elementary school – in fact we question people, especially men, who choose to stay at the elementary level and not “move up” to high school.  After all, just like my 5^th graders, we always want to keep moving “up”, not necessarily forward.  So, elementary to middle school to high school to higher ed of course.  

A bachelor’s degree is no longer enough for teachers, despite the fact that only 32% of people 25 and older have obtained one – it is assumed that teachers will pay their way through obtaining a Masters degree, at least at the K-12 level and the “terminal” degree or PhD (doctorate) are the goal to teach college.  Notice I haven’t mentioned experience at all here.  You can have a PhD, having never or barely taught at the K-12 level and still teach college.  They may never have learned the art of teaching and yet they have the opportunity to teach those at the top level of their discipline.  As we all know, knowing content and knowing how to transfer that content to others are two completely different things.  But I digress.

Less than 2% of the world’s population has a doctoral degree.  That is quite the accomplishment, but the more I hang out with these accomplished folks, I find there is a certain biased group who, like my 5^th graders, believe they’re all that and that those who are beneath them in the hierarchy have nothing to contribute.  Of course I’m not talking about everyone – I am fortunate enough to call many of these intellectual colleagues my friends, but at the same time I know there are others who judge me and others based on our perceived “lack” of education or where we decide to use our gifts. 

Add that to the fact that I obtained my education in the south, chose to teach elementary school in flyover country and I am obviously someone who made the decision to stay at the bottom of the educational ladder.  Not that I chose to stay there because I believe that’s where my gifts lie and where I can make the biggest impact, but obviously I wasn’t go getter enough to become one of the 2%.  Thirty years of experience in the trenches of my profession may not be enough to be taken seriously. For some, no matter how much I learn on my own, if I can’t show them a piece of paper, my ideas, perceptions, and/or experiences will never be intellectual enough.   

Sour grapes?  It may sound like that, although that wasn’t my intent.  Frustration – perhaps. Like all of us, there are choices I’ve made throughout my life that have led me to where I am today.  And I’ve been beyond fortunate to have had the myriad of experiences I’ve had in my academic life/career.  Many of those have occurred because of colleagues who have believed in me and have helped me along the way.  And I suppose that is what I would like to pass on to my younger students and colleagues.  There’s nothing wrong with ambition and wanting to learn more and make yourself better, but no matter where you end up, you have something to contribute just because of who you are and because of the experiences you have had by following your passion.  Just as I need to remind myself occasionally, you shouldn’t be curtailed because someone else has placed you within an artificial hierarchy. 

Before I begin this apology, I want you to know that I had and still have the best of intentions.  After nearly 30 years in the classroom, having had countless successful practicum students and student teachers, I was ready to work hard to help my fellow teachers in the classroom.  What could I do to make things better for both the teacher and their students?  My enthusiasm for all the possibilities was probably my undoing, hence my apology.

Being a teacher leader is like being the drum major for a marching band.  I’m no longer the student but I’m not the director either. I’m somewhere in the middle, no longer having to do the daily grind of teaching but not in charge of the whole shebang either.  For me, it’s truly the best of both worlds and I still get to teach, only at a different level. I went at my new job like these teachers were my student teachers and I had to get them in shape in 4 months.  I was quick to find things they needed to fix, and fix RIGHT NOW.  I was feeling anxious for our new teachers because these poor young people barely had a student teaching experience and now they were thrust into their first teaching experience during a pandemic no less.  And it was my job to make sure they were going to be successful.  Talk about coming on strong! 

During the last school year, we had the opportunity to talk with teachers about this school year – what do we keep doing, what do we get rid of?  We gave teachers a voice, teachers who were excited and enthusiastic about getting back to “normal” and we went with it.  Colleagues I’ve spoken to across the country did the same thing.  How could we know that year two was going to be more difficult than the “pandemic” year?  How could we know teachers would be dealing with more behavioral and mental health issues, not only with their students but their own?  How could they know they would have to deal with catching kids up, having two beginning classes instead of one, recruiting, dealing with masks and vaccinations and quarantines, doing class coverage because there are no subs, covering for teachers’ classes when the teacher abruptly resigns in the middle of the semester.  We’ve known for years that we were headed for a massive teacher shortage and yet we pretended it would just fix itself.  It didn’t.  And the teachers who are sticking it out this year are the ones dealing with all of this.

My years of experience in the classroom never dealt with all of this.  One or two at a time maybe but never all at once.  Day after day without breaks, other than a minute or two to run to the bathroom or 15-20 minutes to throw down lunch, then staying for meetings or going home and working more at your job while you’re pulled by your family to be with them.  What can I do for my teachers to make things better?  Do I continue to push them to be better?  Do I work to make things easier or give them some relief?  Is pushing them going to ultimately give them some relief?

Now with an apology must come a pledge to change direction. I’m sorry I didn’t see some of this coming and that I came at my colleagues like gangbusters.  I will do my best to try to anticipate things coming down the pike by watching and listening to my colleagues across the country.  I’m sorry I came in looking for things I could “fix” and not things you were doing that could help others become better.  There’s not a better way to improve than to get with your colleagues and share best practices with each other.  This has been my focus for this year.  I apologize that I felt everything had to be fixed right now when we know all learning is a process and we measure the progress.  Then it’s my job to help provide tools that will make the lives of both you and your students better.  

In the meantime, I will do whatever I can to build up my music teacher colleagues, to let you know how important you are in the lives of kids everywhere, to speak out when those outside the profession speak in ignorance about what you really do, to help those in administration try to remember what it was like to be in the classroom and to step into the classroom often enough that I don’t forget what teaching is all about.  Being a real leader means that I need to walk beside you and not step out in front of you.  

Why use technology when you can do it yourself?  Why use an app for sticky notes when you can just use real sticky notes and plaster them all over your laptop?  Why use Siri to set your alarm for you at night when you can just reach over and do it yourself?  Because using Siri is fun.  

Seriously, all you have to do is say “Hey Siri” and she can do all kinds of things, like set your alarm, multiply numbers you don’t want to have to think about, find a place on the map or answer some arbitrary question you’re just wondering about.  She can call people by just saying things like “call Doug Bush, mobile” and boom, she does it, or even texting.  Except if you forget to actually say the name of the punctuation, it comes out sounding more robotic than she does.

What I especially love is to tell Siri to remind me of things.  “Hey Siri – remind me at 3:15 that I have a zoom meeting at 3:30”.  That kind of thing has saved my life many times.  Or “hey Siri – remind me to do High Notes on Sunday”.  I bet some of you NMEA members thought I just remembered these things.

You can even ask Siri about Siri.  Like, “hey Siri, do you have a boyfriend?” to which she answers, “I’ve been told my artificial intelligence standards are too high”, or hey Siri, what’s your favorite song with her answer being “I always enjoy more cowbell”.  Not exactly what I asked for, but humorous.

Siri will let me know if she has to think about it, ask me if I need more options or if this was what I was looking for.  It’s like having a Rosie the maid on the Jetsons, only she lives in a phone.  And doesn’t clean my house.  And doesn’t cry robot tears.  You have to be my age to get these references, I know.

There is one problem, however.  For some people it might be because of their accent or because they don’t enunciate clearly.  This is usually not a problem for me, so when I ask Siri to remind me of something, aside from a little misinterpretation, she’s usually spot on.  However, today I asked her to remind me to do something at 9:00 a.m.  I remember asking her because it was something important and I didn’t want to forget.  And this is what the reminder was – To put face mask on the Internet.  What the heck does that even mean?  I can’t remember what it was I asked Siri to remember, because I trusted her to understand me, remind me on time (which she did) and then I would do what I’m supposed to be reminded of.  No such luck.  Twelve hours later and I still have no idea what it was I was supposed to remember.  Apparently, it wasn’t as important as I thought it was, or I didn’t do something that was very important and something bad will happen soon.  I just don’t know which it is.  

It would be much more helpful when I say things like this that don’t make sense for her to say something like, “what was that?” or “what exactly are you trying to say here?” but no.  Like a good assistant, she takes whatever I say verbatim and I just have to try to figure out what I meant.  I’m sorry, I just don’t function that well at 7:00 a.m.  I’m not a morning person and it’s hard to remember things – that’s why I have Siri. 

I’m betting that none of you are like me when it comes to planning getting to work in the morning.  I’m betting you don’t plan backwards to see how long it will take to do each morning task so that you can sleep in as looooonnnnnggggg as you can so you can race through your morning to leave at the exact moment you’ve estimated will get you to work at just the right time.  And I’m betting that you don’t take into account that little something that will throw that schedule completely off the tracks.  Like the first day of school.

At the end of the school year, I decided to try a new route to work because the old route meant sitting in lines of traffic for much longer than I should have to, and since I’m not willing to get up any earlier, I opted to try something new.  And it worked!  For the last few weeks of school it was like I had found the magic road, the one nobody knew about, the one that got me to work 10 minutes earlier than the other way.  It was the way I was excited to go this morning, the first day of school for everyone in the district.  

Now as a school employee, I am VERY aware of the perils of parents figuring out the new routines, teenage drivers driving themselves to school for the first time, kids on foot and on bikes who expect you to look out for them, not the other way around.  I think of these things and know I’m going to have to slow down a bit, but have found out, that the panic of all this “newness” makes people crazy and therefore, the race begins.

Following rules is my forte, so if it says 40 mph, that’s what I do.  I use my turn signals, I keep a healthy distance between myself and the brake tapper in front of me.  While I know writing this will probably jinx me, I have never had a ticket – I talked myself out of the one I would have had, and have never had an accident, other than with the short pole in the school parking lot I parked too close to.  I like my cute little bug and I want to keep it cute.  So I follow the rules, watching out for others who are in a race for their lives apparently to get their kids to school and/or themselves to work.  And the games begin.

Trying to figure out what the person across from you is going to do is one game.  No turn signal so are they going to go straight or turn?  Is the guy speeding past you in the right lane (usually an abnormally large black, white or red pick-up truck) going to slam on their brakes before they reach the person in front of them, or are they going to shimmy into the healthy space you’ve left between you and the car in front of you?  My favorite game is picking the one really obnoxious driver who keeps zipping between cars and changing lanes to get where they want to go faster and see how many times I catch up with them at red lights.  I take great satisfaction in this last game.

Driving to and from work, unless you leave home really early or leave work very late, can be really stressful, not because of my driving – I trust myself – but because it’s every man for themselves.  I’m a planner, I know how soon I need to think about getting over before I need to turn somewhere, I analyze traffic patterns, I pay attention to places people go to sit in long lines to get their expensive coffee and avoid them as much as possible.  Because the last thing we need is a stressed out parent taking their kids to school using a new routine, driving a pick-up truck, on caffeine.  

The way I see it, driving is an artform and transitions are everything.  I like trying to make my transitions as smooth as possible, like dancing when changing lanes, or turning corners, nothing sudden or too fast.  It’s fun to have that much control over a vehicle. It’s a challenge to keep just the right distance in front of me to the point where I don’t have to use my brakes. That’s a dad thing.  Oh, and not slam on the brakes but pay enough attention so that you can make a smooth stop with no bounce.  That I learned from my aunt.  And lastly, it’s important to not scare anyone who is riding with you.  I said I had never had an accident, but I’ve been in a few with others driving and sometimes I still get spooked when someone doesn’t keep the same distance I would or waits until the last minute to brake or switches lanes too fast.  It could be why I talk to drivers who can’t hear me.  I’m not crazy, really….

What if we all slowed down and took our time?  What if we got up 15 minutes earlier so that we weren’t stressed on the way to and from work or school?  This morning at a stop light, while others pulled out their cell phones, I watched a brown and a black squirrel chase each other on a fence.  I paid attention to the canopy of trees lining 27^th street.  I saw the pretty houses for sale on Randolph St.  We live in a lovely town with a lot of great things to see, great schools to take our kids to, great little coffee shops to take our time in, if we would stop racing around.  In the meantime, I’m going to try to do my part by driving the speed limit in the left lane and hoping the big pick-up trucks don’t try to squash my bug – like a bug. 

As we were getting ready to go out the other day, I turned to my husband and said, “we’ve known each other since we were 18 years old”.  He looked at me and said, “yep, 43 years”.  It’s hard to imagine that I’ve known him for two thirds of my life.  Sometimes it feels that long ago and sometimes it feels like it just zipped by.  This is why I tend to avoid math – it makes me think too much.

So, when he said the other day that he was getting ready to do his 77^th band camp, I had to do the math.  If each camp were just one week long, that is the equivalent of a year and a half.  I’ve often joked that the reason we’ve lasted so long is because we’ve actually only been together half our married lives.  If he’s been gone for a year and a half just doing band camps, imagine all the rehearsals, football and basketball games, concerts, parades… well, we’ve hardly been together at all!

His argument against this was that I taught a lot of those camps with him, which is true.  For twenty years I traipsed up and down those parking lots and football fields teaching drill or stood outside doing woodwind sectionals, or pretended to be a guard sponsor (I was BAD), just to spend SOME time with him.  Oh sure, I enjoyed some of it, until about 3:00 p.m. in the afternoon in August with the sun beating down on the blacktop and the need to pee had disappeared hours earlier. I was good at teaching drill and marching and it was nice that he trusted me to do it.  But it wasn’t my passion, not like it is his.

You would think that after participating in and teaching marching band for 48 years (I think I have the math right), he would be slowing down a bit, but no.  While I’m trying to function at 7:00 this morning, he comes bounding into our room with a cheery “good morning” as he finishes getting ready for camp.  Wearing one of his 20 pair of khaki shorts (I don’t think I’m exaggerating), and the latest band t-shirt he is set to go.  The enthusiasm hasn’t waned, he keeps learning and trying new things and he loves being with the students.  The consummate teacher, if it’s possible to differentiate within a group that rehearses to look the same, he does it.  

Did I mention he’s writing ten high schools shows on top of what he does for his college gig?  Writing drill is in his blood, and while he can’t get too complicated or difficult in what he writes for a one or two week show at the college level, he can be as much or more creative with his high school groups, especially if they compete.  You see, it’s not just making people move on the beat around the field within phrases, it’s about creating a story with movement and music, taking themes and using shapes that bring the audience into that story.  He studies the purpose of shape and color, how they give meaning to art and music.  Knowing that this was what he wanted to do from a very young age, he has been able to go deep into the subject, a subject some would think is only for entertaining at halftime but is something he considers an artform.  

It’s just after 10:00 p.m.  He left the house around 7:00 a.m. and was probably up closer to 5:30 a.m.  He’s not home yet.  This has been the story of our 43 years together; we met in marching band, we spent summers teaching it together, he left to teach a camp right after we came back from our honeymoon and less than a week after the birth of our first child.  (and yes, I’ll never let him forget that – I’m a woman ; ).  But as I sit alone tonight, the truth is that this has taught me how be alone, to be productive, to be independent, to enjoy the quiet.  Because if he didn’t do this all day every day, I might want to do things with him all the time.  And what marriage could withstand all that being together all the time?  Chances are band camp and marching band have actually saved our marriage!

All kidding aside, I don’t know many people whose passion drives them the way this does him and while it can be maddening, it is also an amazing thing to witness. And for his sake, I hope he adds as many more camps as he wants to in the future. 

It happens every year.  The teacher nightmare.  The nightmare where you arrive at school and everyone is asking you why you are late but you don’t know where your room is or it isn’t ready and kids are showing up and none of your lesson plans are anywhere to be found.  It’s a lot like the music teacher nightmare where you show up at school and there’s a performance you don’t know about and the audience is sitting there waiting.  I would bet that if you stopped and asked a teacher friend about this “nightmare” that most will say they have experienced it, especially the night before the first day of school.  However, this year, nightmares may become realities.

We thought last year was a nightmare.  Teachers teaching in hybrid situations, students missing from classes, music teachers trying to figure out what kind of guidelines they should follow to keep themselves and their students safe, especially when CDD, state and local guidelines clashed.  Even as we hoped that this year would be more “normal”, new nightmares are happening in the lives of people who just want to teach children.

I have good friends and colleagues who believe that education is going to hell because schools are teaching whatever political/societal/cultural catch phrase or theory they disagree with.  You need to know two things about teachers; teachers are not necessarily in control of what they teach and honestly, education does not move that quickly.  Oh, don’t get me wrong, they’re being asked or pushed to move quickly, but education is researched based.  As we’ve learned with COVID, research is a slow process.  Whatever we’re asked to do, is it good for kids, is it good for kids in certain age groups, is it even in education’s purview to teach certain subjects or should parents be doing it?  We’re dealing with certain hot topics in our state and there is a huge clash between citizens and our state board of education, which trickles down to our local boards, to our administrators and then teachers who are told what to do.  Things are different in different states (local control), but you see where the teachers are in the food chain.  I read something that complained that teachers were teaching certain theories/opinions in their class and it was going to ruin children.  In my experience, and again, talk to your teacher friends, they don’t have the option to teach outside of their curriculum and in some cases, have scripted lessons to make sure all students are receiving the same information.  

While there are always some bad apples, as there are in any group in society, professional or otherwise, I would venture to say that the vast majority of teachers are in the profession because (drum roll please), theylove children and want to make a difference in their lives.  They don’t wake up in the morning and think, “how can I indoctrinate the little sweethearts today with my personal philosophy and political slants”.  No, they’re thinking of little Johnny who is struggling in math and trying to figure out how they can adjust their teaching for that one child.  Or they’re thinking of little Susie who has a rough home life and brings it to school in the form of acting out, so all they think about is how to build a better relationship with that child so they have an adult they can trust.  Teachers are too busy to be adding others’ political agendas to their plates, and like other things, are asked to leave their personal issues at the door when they arrive at school.  They’re too busy trying to survive the day by helping their students thrive. They continue to do this because for most teachers, it is their MISSION to serve students through education, getting students excited about learning.  Nothing more.  Many certainly don’t get the credit or thanks for it.

As you can see, I have a passion for teachers and what they do.  I have a passion for public education, as imperfect as it is, because the mission is to take and educate EVERY child, no matter their color, race, gender, ability, socio-economic status and whatever else you want to add to the list.  We take every child.  And the expectation is that we make sure that EVERY child, regardless of that list, gets the best education we can provide, whether it’s in person, through a computer screen, with or without a mask. We don’t turn children away and we take them the way they are. 

However, I’m reading nightmare stories in the news.  I don’t care what you believe in terms of the pandemic, vaccinations or masks.  Not my business and I am not yours.  However, when I read stories of a teacher and principal being threatened and then attacked by someone, with the teacher being hospitalized over a MASK, then I can’t help but say something.  When people threaten violence in school board meetings that will mimic the January attack on the capital, this is not ok.  I spent 30 years helping students work out disagreements on the playground and classroom, talking it out, handing out consequences if needed because this is not how adults behave in a civilized society.  At least in theory. When parents and schools inadvertently put a child in the middle of a disagreement about masks or vaccinations, this is a problem.  Did I mention that educators care about children?  Because of that, they will ALWAYS err on the side of safety.  Remember the research I talked about?  Educators are not health experts but will look at the research and apply it to the school environment. If there’s a chance masking will help students stay safe, they will mask.  Remember, these are the same people who prepare children to duck and cover, not only because of weather related issues but for a possible active shooter scenario and yet they choose to remain within the profession.  At least for now. The least we can do is to let students see that the adults in their lives are willing to talk things out to come to consensus on something that is really difficult to deal with.  What a life lesson for them!

Look, I get that people are afraid of many different things right now and I’m not dismissing any of it.  Anytime we’re faced with the unknown, there is some fear involved based on our life experiences, perceptions and so many other things. I personally depend on my faith to fight that fear and try to follow what I consider common sense, being a pragmatist when things like this happen.  That doesn’t mean I should dismiss others’ fears.  I was reminded the other day that bravery isn’t the absence of fear but continuing despite the fear.  We are a country who has persevered through many difficult times because we figure out a way to make things work together, despite the fear and difficulty. We can agree to disagree, but without the violence please.

Tomorrow morning, school begins in my district.  While I won’t be in the classroom, thousands of my colleagues and friends will.  They’ll be greeting their new students with smiles and reassurances that this will be a great year, that they will be successful, safe and cared for.  Teachers will help students through all of the “first” things of the year, new supplies, new schedules, new lockers and combinations, lunch and recess and kids will be… kids.  The mask might be a necessary nuisance right now where you are, and while my own common sense sometimes questions what I consider inconsistencies, it’s no skin off my nose to wear a mask when I visit elementary schools this year if it protects a child.  Not MY child, but perhaps YOUR child or grandchild.  That child is worth the inconvenience to me and all the other teachers who are just trying to do their job and fulfil their mission.  I can’t guarantee that teachers won’t have their “before the first day” nightmare, but I can ask that we please help teachers take care of the children this year, thank them, and not create a real nightmare for all involved.