The Measure of My Dreams

I’ve been loving you a long time

Down all the years, down all the days

And I’ve cried for all your troubles

Smiled at your funny little ways

I took shelter from a shower

And I stepped into your arms

On a rainy night in Soho

The wind was whistling all its charms

I sang you all my sorrows

You told me all your joys

Whatever happened to that old song

To all those little girls and boys

Now the song is nearly over

We may never find out what it means

Still, there’s a light I hold before me

You’re the measure of my dreams

The measure of my dreams

To our Primary School families,

That’s a song lyric that has been running through my head for a week or two now.  It’s from one of my favorite bands, The Pogues.  If you’ve never heard of them, and you think you’d like great songwriting, married with punk and Celtic music, I’d strongly recommend them.

I think it is the last line in that lyric that resonates the most with me… “You’re the measure of my dreams.”  I love the beautiful simplicity of that thought, and when I hear it, I immediately think of my children.

My dreams changed the moment I became a parent.  Everything I thought I knew about the world; everything that I thought I wanted, changed in the blink of an eye.  It is not that I put previous hopes and aspirations away, or gave up on them, but the way that I judged myself and the goals that I set for what I wanted in life changed to encompass the fact that there was now a new part of my life that was far more important than my own, personal needs.

I think that is exactly how it should be.  I think we should measure ourselves by the jobs we do as parents and teachers.  We all have dreams and aspirations, and we all understand that those dreams often change once we become parents.  From the day my oldest child was born, I began to understand that the only way that I could truthfully measure my own worth was by success or failure in being a parent to her, and later, to my son.  They became the “measure of my dreams.”

Does that make sense?  I don’t know.  We’re at the end of a busy week, and maybe I’m rambling a bit in this, my last letter to you for this school year.  So I’ll just end by saying thank you to all of you for sharing your children with us this year. We exist as a school because you, our families, believe in Holy Innocents’ and what we stand for.  Please know that I have learned much this year from each child who has been a part of our school family, and I am forever grateful to be allowed to do the work that I do and to have the opportunity to serve you and your children.

Added December 8, 2023:
Rest in Peace, Shane.
From a freeborn man of the U.S.A.

If I Should Fall Behind

Now everyone dreams of a love lasting and true

But you and I know what this world can do

So lets make our steps clear that the other may see

And I’ll wait for you

If I should fall behind

Wait for me

-Bruce Springsteen

 

Recently we celebrated Homecoming with our annual Primary School Pep Rally, and I’d like to thank all of the parents who were able to join us for this fun tradition.

I’ve always felt that one of the most important things we can help our little students understand is that they are a part of a school family that stretches far beyond the walls of the Primary school building.  In support of that goal, we held our first PS pep rally nine years ago, because we wanted to help our children feel as much a part of the Holy Innocents’ student body as possible.  Homecoming is such a wonderful, school-wide celebration of our community, and our students were unable to fully be a part of it because the pep rally attended by the Lower, Middle and Upper School students is held in the afternoon, after our school day has ended.  When we held the first Primary School pep rally, it was a tremendous success, and we knew that we had a new great tradition to look forward to each year.

 

One of the fun events we include in the pep rally each year is a tricycle race, pitting our little Mario Andrettis against Upper School students.  We’ve got great students in our Upper School, and every year they do a wonderful job of helping us make the pep rally a special event for the little ones.  We held the race again this year, and at the sound of “GO” all of the kids, big and little, went flying down the parking lot on their trikes.  As the kids circled a cone and began heading back toward the finish line, I noticed that one of our three-year-olds, Adair, was having some trouble.  She had excitedly raised her hand when I asked for racers, but now it was apparent that she had not yet fully mastered the art and science of tricycle riding.  And so, as the rest of the kids started crossing the finish line to the cheers of their friends, parents, and teachers, Adair was still struggling to circle around that cone.

 

I thought to myself, “Oh no!  Adair is out there in the spotlight all by herself.”  But then I realized I had missed something.  There, on a tricycle off a bit to the side, was another racer.  It was one of our varsity cheerleaders, a senior named Madeline Gibson.  Madeline had noticed that Adair was struggling, and despite all the craziness, Madeline had the presence of mind to slow down and ride along with her.  As Adair ever so slowly pedaled her way around the turn and back toward the finish line, Madeline moved at an even more deliberate pace.  She was making sure that, no matter how long it took her, Adair was not going to be by herself.

 

Now, there is nothing wrong with wanting to “win” the race.  And the kids, big and little, who pedaled at lightning speed down the track and back had lots of fun going as fast as they could.  But I think that what Madeline did makes her the true “champion” in this contest, and I think it really exemplifies what I’d like our children to learn during their time here: that there will be times in your life when the best thing you can possibly do is to slow down, take a look at what is going on around you, and make the choice to help out someone else, even if it means you don’t finish first.

 

Little Adair, in her determination, showed us something, too.  Just because you’re not the best at something, you shouldn’t be afraid to try.  And if things get a little wobbly, or if you fall behind, don’t ever quit- just keep pedaling and moving forward.

 

Adair and Madeline crossed that finish line together, one just beginning her Holy Innocents’ experience and the other heading toward the end of her time here.  But both of them finished as champions last Friday, and they are both winners in my book.  I am so proud of them, and of all of our Golden Bears.

 

The Wisdom of Freddie Mercury and David Bowie

‘Cause love’s such an old-fashioned word

And love dares you to care for

The people on the edge of the night

And love dares you to change our way of

Caring about ourselves

This is our last dance

This is our last dance

This is ourselves

Under pressure

-Queen & David Bowie, 1981

I couldn’t tell you why, but I’ve had that lyric going around in my head for a few days. It’s from one a the greatest songs to ever come out of the eighties, “Under Pressure,” sung by two of the patron saints of glam-rock, Freddie Mercury and David Bowie.

The line that really stands out to me is, “love dares you to change our way of caring about ourselves.” I think this is because it makes me think of how much my world changed the moment I first became a parent. In the split second of my daughter Chloe’s arrival ten years ago, the entire world changed for me. In an instant I realized fully how self-centered and disconnected I had been until that point. When I first held her in my arms, and she rolled her eyes at her daddy for the first of what would be many, many times, I immediately ceased caring so much about myself, and instead my concern shifted to her, and for the world that she would grow up in. The whole world looked different to me when viewed for the first time through the lens of being a parent.

Love dares us to change the way we see things. It challenges us to put others before ourselves. It is a gift that must be continuously earned, and the price we pay is placing the needs of others ahead of our own.

We don’t take a lot of curriculum queues from Ziggy Stardust or the boys from Queen.  But putting others before ourselves is a message that we try to teach every day here in the Primary School. But like so many other things, by their mere presence in our lives, our children teach this lesson to us much more than the other way around.

LYRICS © EMI MUSIC PUBLISHING, TINTORETTO MUSIC

Aircraft Carriers, Bunnies and Rock & Roll

Before becoming a teacher twenty-three years ago, I held several jobs that might be considered “off the beaten path.” These include miniature golf course and video game arcade attendant (when I was twelve), bicycle messenger in downtown Atlanta, radio disc jockey, and working on the flight deck of an U.S. Navy aircraft carrier. Perhaps the most unique job I ever held was the two summers I spent playing Bugs Bunny at Six Flags Over Georgia.

I tell you this only because I often find myself marveling at how much of these previous experiences I bring to my work as an educator.

For example, anyone who works with young children knows that you have to be able to be able to think quickly and be fast in your reaction times. I can’t think of much better training for this than dodging traffic while pedaling a bike up and down Peachtree Street, trying to deliver mail from Midtown to downtown.

Another skill needed for working with kids is the ability to improvise, entertain, and speak so people will listen. My six years as a disc jockey with 96rock radio here in Atlanta also required those skills, and the time I spent in radio serves me well to this day.

Being strong enough to make a fool of yourself every once in a while is important for anyone who wants to truly make an impression on kids. So when it comes to my job at Six Flags? Well, a six-foot bunny costume… ’nuff said.

Probably more important to my career than any other job I held was my work in the Navy. An aircraft carrier flight deck is a loud and crazy place, and one wrong step by a single person can have serious consequences for all involved. The men and women who work in these roles have to move quickly, be keenly aware of their surroundings, rely heavily on teamwork, and support each other in order to accomplish critically important work. That sounds like just about every teacher I have ever met.

As different and unique as each of my prior jobs have been, I consider myself fortunate to now work in a place where I have the opportunity to utilize the best of what my prior experiences taught me. It is my hope that, here in the Primary School, we build a foundation for children that will provide them the opportunity, and the courage, to follow their own unique paths, and to learn and grow from each experience they encounter along the way.

By the Light of a Single Star

Each year, our kindergarten students present a Nativity pageant, a tradition that stretches back more than forty years here are Holy Innocents’ Episcopal School. Every child in the kindergarten plays a role, and as the children present this quiet story of love and peace, I can’t help but reflect on how lucky I am to be a part of this.

About eight years ago, very early on the morning of the Nativity pageant, I realized that I needed to drop off some seat reservation signs in the theater before the crowds started arriving for the performance. So my daughter, Chloe, and I walked across the pre-dawn campus to our Fine Arts Building.
We found that there were no lights on in the theater, save one. While all the other lights were dark, and the theater was almost pitch black, one light burned. The Nativity star, hanging over the stage, had been left on. It lit the darkened theater with a faint, golden glow, just enough to allow me to complete my task.

And so my daughter and I worked by the light of that one little star, shining above us. It was a beautiful, peaceful moment. And even though I knew that we were in a school auditorium, in suburban Atlanta, for a moment I felt perhaps just a tiny bit of what it must have been like for those shepherds, abiding by their flocks on a hillside long ago, guided by a single star in an otherwise dark winter’s night sky. What a wondrous journey that must have been! What a joyous gift that they were given… that we were given, that night. And how thankful I am, too, for the small gift that God gave me in the theater that morning.

Flying Through the Parking Lot

Each day, quite a few of our pre-school students participate in our after-school program, which we call “HI Flyers.”   If you have ever spent anytime watching the children at HI Flyers, you know that the kids have a fantastic time there. The HI Flyers faculty is a dedicated, creative team, and they do a great job of developing a wide spectrum of activities, games and projects for the kids to participate in.

Now, as fun as all those activities are, if you ask one of our students what is the most fun activity they do each day in HI Flyers, you may get an unexpected answer. Each day, around 4:15pm, the children remaining in the after-school program in the pre-school are loaded onto a school bus and driven down to the Lower School, to join the older children there.  Many of them have told me that the bus ride from the Pre-School to the Lower School is one of the best parts of the day! Specifically, the kids love it when the bus goes over the speed bumps in our parking lot.

I’ve had the unique pleasure of driving a bus full of Pre-Schoolers on various trips before, and so I can attest first hand to the fact that the kids absolutely adore the speed bumps. You should hear their laughter as they bounce around in their seats while bus rumbles over each bump. Do you know any adults who love speed bumps? I’m sure perhaps if you live on a busy street, or in a neighborhood where people tend to drive too fast, you can appreciate the need for methods of slowing down traffic. But love them? Probably not.

I know that I look at speed bumps as a necessary hassle; nothing more than a minor inconvenience to be dealt with and then forgotten. But what we adults see as an inconvenience, the children see as an opportunity for joy; something to look forward to each day; an exciting adventure.

To us, it is just a bump in the road. To them, even if it’s just for one bouncy moment, it’s an opportunity to fly.

My Championship Season

When I was nine years old and in fourth grade, I played little league baseball for the East Gloucester Orioles in my hometown of Gloucester, Massachusetts. My friends and I had been together as a team ever since first grade, not only on the baseball field, but everywhere. We went to school together, rode our bikes together, played on the docks and snuck onto fishing boats… Gloucester was filled with all sorts of opportunities for adventure. It was a great place to be a kid.

Our baseball team was pretty good, and in that fourth grade summer we managed to go undefeated and win the league championship. But a month or so earlier, my parents had announced that dad had taken a new job in Atlanta, and that we were moving. By the time the end-of-the-year team banquet occurred, where everyone was to receive their trophies, we were already packed up and gone.

I found myself in a strange, new house, in a strange, new town, and getting ready to start fifth grade not knowing anyone. My parents did the best that they could to make the move as easy as possible, but I was lonely and missing my friends back “home” in Gloucester.

Then, one day, a small package addressed to me arrived, postmarked from Gloucester. I eagerly tore it open to discover what was inside. There, carefully wrapped in brown paper, I found my baseball trophy. My coach had packed it up and sent it to me, and on top of the trophy he had included a note. He told me how sorry he was to see me leave, and how I was missed by all of my friends. He finished by saying, “Never forget that, no matter where you go in life, and no matter what else you do, you will always be a member of the 1978 champion East Gloucester Orioles.” For a ten-year-old kid missing his friends, it was just what I needed to hear. I kept that trophy, and that note, for many years, well into adulthood. It eventually disappeared into my history, but I still find myself thinking about it every once in a while, especially now, as I watch my own son play baseball.

I think that note meant so much to me because it was the first time I could remember that any adult, other than my parents or grandparents, had said something that made me feel valued, and special, and unique. I don’t even remember that coach’s name, but I will always remember his words to me. And I try to consider them as I speak with your children, and my own, each day. Will today be the day that I do something, seemingly insignificant to me, but that makes a lasting impression on one of our kids? Will my next conversation with a child be the one that for some reason sticks with them?

There may be little that they remember about being a preschooler when they are twenty, or forty-eight (yikes!). But they will remember something. And if that is the case, I want to be sure that if it is my words that stay with them, that it is because they were meaningful, or uplifting, or words of friendship. We have all been given a tremendous responsibility as parents and as stewards of the future in which our children will live. But that future, and how they live it, may well be shaped by just a few simple kind words we say today.

A Wake Up Call from Simon & Garfunkel

Last November, my wife, Nicole, and I celebrated our thirteenth anniversary. Everyone knows how crazy mornings in a household with small children can be, and that particular morning was no exception. All four of us were running around, trying to get ready for school. My fifth grader was upset because she couldn’t find a homework assignment or something, Nicole was preparing a snack for the kids while trying to get herself ready, and I was hurriedly trying to iron a shirt. It wasn’t full blown chaos, but it was close to it.

Although I often forget, I try to take a moment each morning for a quick prayer. As the whirlwind went on around me, I paused and said thanks to God for all the ways that my life is better because of Nicole and the children. Just then, as I was finishing my prayer, from the bathroom I heard a little voice singing:

When you’re weary, feeling small,

When tears are in your eyes, I will dry them all;

I’m on your side. When times get rough

And friends just can’t be found,

Like a bridge over troubled water

I will lay me down.

Like a bridge over troubled water

I will lay me down.

It was my eight-year-old son, Ben, and he was brushing his hair. He had learned the song for our Grandparents’ Day program, and he was just absentmindedly singing it as he got ready for school. But his sweet little voice stopped me in my tracks, and I smiled as I thought to myself, “What better example is there than that?” Through all the craziness of life, Nicole is my bridge, and so are the children. I think maybe that was God’s way of letting me know that he heard me that morning.

As we begin a new year, I hope I can do a better job of talking to Him more often, and slowing down long enough to hear His response. And also, finding my way through all of the noise to appreciate the “bridges” that He has built for me. It is my New Year’s wish for you, as well.

When I Hung Up on Orson Welles

I once made a crank call to Orson Welles.

Yes, that Orson Welles. War of the Worlds. Touch of Evil. Citizen Kane. One of the greatest talents ever produced by the American theater.

When I was young, my father owned the rights to a radio production of “A Christmas Carol” which starred Welles and Lionel Barrymore. Sometime in the mid-seventies, Mr. Welles decided to perhaps rebroadcast the program, which was initially aired in December of 1938. He contacted my father, and they became partners in this endeavor.

One day, when I was maybe eight or nine years old, I was exploring my father’s home office and came across his Rolodex. In it, I found a card listing “Orson Welles” and a phone number. For reasons I couldn’t explain now, I picked up the phone and dialed the number. A deep, growly voice answered, “Hello?”

“Mr. Welles?” I said, and he replied, “Yes?”

I panicked and hung up on him.

The next day, I couldn’t wait to tell my friends at school that I had actually spoken to the guy from the wine commercials on television. You see, that was the only way I knew him. Not from his years in Hollywood or his legendary status in American film. It was from the television ads for Paul Masson wine that he did at near the end of his life.

One of the things that I like most about my work in the Alan A. Lewis Primary School is that I get to spend my days with kids who are pretty unimpressed with some of the more superficial aspects of life. Things like fame and celebrity don’t mean much to a Primary School student. What they recognize, what speaks to them, is kindness, compassion, showing interest in their world, and being able to see the world at their level.

Howard Gardener is a researcher and professor working in the field of cognition and education at the Harvard University Graduate School of Education. He is widely recognized as a leading scholar in the study of how we think and learn. Two years ago he published a fantastic book called Five Minds for the Future, in which he lays out his belief that the next generation of leaders will have to be able to think in ways that are significantly different from those who preceded them. Gardner suggests that students today will need to master a certain discipline. They will need to learn to be creative, thinking in ways that computers cannot; they will need the ability to act in an ethical manner. They will need to appreciate diversity, and to welcome knowledge that can be obtained only through the sharing of personal experiences, and finally, they will need to be able to synthesize a great deal of information, to choose what is valuable, to discard what is not, and to use that information in practical ways.

All of these skills are important, and we work together to build a foundation for each of these with our Primary School students. But I find myself returning time and again to the challenge presented by the last one in particular. How do we teach the children, and how do we ourselves learn, to be able to sift through the billions of bits of data and information we are bombarded with every day to find that which is important?

One of my favorite passages of scripture, posted over my office desk, comes from 1^st Thessalonians. It reads, “Test everything. Hold on to the good.” That is the challenge that we face, as educators and as parents. Teaching our children to constantly question… to search for the truth, to recognize it, and to use it for the betterment of themselves and others. Can we teach them to see beyond all the hype, clutter, noise, and the culture of celebrity to get to the heart of what is important?

Had I truly known who Orson Welles was, would I have picked up that phone and called him? Probably not. But at that point in my life, I was still a child, and I was still seeing the world through a child’s eyes. It is a simpler way to see things, less cluttered by the noise of the world, and in some ways perhaps it would be better if all of us, adults and children alike, were able to see things through that unique lens.

When the “Wrong” Answer is the Right One

Okay, I’ll admit it. As much as I would like to think of myself as a tough guy, it doesn’t take much to get me all emotional and red-eyed. My wife kids me, because sometimes it is something as simple as a television commercial, and I’ll start sniffling over on the couch. There’s one of those kinds of commercials that has been coming on recently. Perhaps you have seen it? It’s for a supermarket chain, I believe, and it features a little boy of four or five playing in his first soccer game, as his father nervously watches. As the boy falls down, trips over the ball, shoots into the wrong goal or gets distracted looking at clouds in the sky, the dad continually cringes and looks like he has to restrain himself from running out onto the field to help his child. When the game is over, the father kneels down and, with a resigned look on his face, asks his son, “Hey buddy, how did it go?” The little boy happily shouts out, “I was AWESOME!”

It gets me every time.

A few years ago, my wife and I were having a conversation about music with our daughter, Chloe, who at the time was four years old. I had visited her pre-kindergarten class while they were having a music lesson earlier that day, and they had been listening to a short piece from Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. At dinner that night, Chloe was asking questions, and we talked about how music is created, and what musical notes are. “Whose music did you hear in music class today?” I asked her. She smiled at me and replied, simply, “It’s God’s!”

You know, sometimes the answer we get is not the one that we are expecting, and yet it is the right one just the same.   As I’ve said before, being around preschool-aged children for any length of time will quickly teach you that they have a remarkable ability to see the world through much clearer eyes then many adults do.