Coming and Going

There is a cardinal on the deck this morning trying to figure out his mirror image in the window. From the early morning shadows, I can watch him from just a few feet away. He is magnificently red and he is indeed perplexed by this stranger in the window. He flies in, studies the intruder, and then bangs against the glass to secure his territory. He does this over and over until the light makes the image harder to see and he heads off on other business. Tomorrow – if the last week is any predictor – he will be back again banging his head against the window. I think I can relate to his predicament, if not his determination. It is a new experience for me – quite pleasant, I might add – not heading off to Parker on this first day of school and – like the cardinal – I, too, am trying to figure out the new guy in the mirror. 

These are interesting times for those of us concerned about education in Wisconsin. As this new school year begins, I hope we can find ways to keep our promises to the young people we serve and to remind everyone that an enlightened education is a key ingredient in a democratic society and a purposeful life. This retirement gig is giving me lots of time to reflect on the work educators are asked to do and I hope I can offer some insights from my forty years in the profession. We shall see.

I also am a lover of poetry because it sometimes reveals things we can’t explain. When I was a kid, the lonely moan of a train in the distance made me think of adventure and excitement. It still does.

Rails  by Scott Owens

Every child should have one, a pair, really,
a matched set, set apart just the right width
so that one foot pressed against each one
leaves you stretched out about as far
as you can go, unable to move, feeling
almost trapped, almost actually in danger.

And every child should walk them as if
that's what they were intended for,
leading out of town, around the curve,
along the river, revealing the backsides
of people's homes, clotheslines and refuse,
the yards you weren't supposed to see.

And every child should learn to balance
atop the railhead without the constant
unsightly tipping from side to side,
should be able to step exactly the distance
between the ties consistently, almost
marching without kicking up ballast.

And every child should have a bridge
they go under to hide and look
at dirty magazines and smoke cigarettes
and place coins on the rails to flatten
and see if this could be the one
to cause the train to leap the tracks.

And every child should know the lonely
distant sound of late night travel
when bad dreams have kept them awake
wondering where they come from, what
they bring or take, and where when it's all
done they might return and call home.