Another New Year's Eve

  I’m listening to Barry Manilow’s “It’s Just Another New Year’s Eve” and looking out the window at the snow falling. He sings, “It’s just another New Year’s Eve. It’s just another Auld Lang Syne. But when we’re through this New Year you’ll see… We’ll be just fine.” I like the sentiments in this song.  We need to see and admit our mistakes, but also recognize our good fortune. It makes me think of all the good people in my life who have said, “It’s gonna be ok.” 

I will leave it to you to carefully reflect on the mistakes you made last year, especially the ones you can control. Be honest with yourself, but also give yourself a break. Be sure to distinguish between – as Hamlet said- “the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to” and the true errors you made. Life can be hard. Do your best.

Reflecting on all the good things is easier. I think of all the times my friends made me laugh. In a duck blind or talking about my dog. Or sitting around a campfire. I think about the hand on my shoulder just before I fall asleep or the sweet smile when I wake up. I hear the thickening voice of my daughter reading a poem she loves. I feel the crunch of snow under my boots as I hike through the woods. The excellent food. The perfect drink at the perfect moment. All those satisfying moments. If I put myself in the right setting and the right frame of mind, I can keep the darkness at bay and see the light. 

When I was younger, I used to roll my eyes at my dad and my older relatives who lectured me about the “real” world. As I got older, I came to understand why. There are some things in life you cannot understand until you experience them. You can only hope you have trusted adults around to help you cope. As this new year arrives, I hope you can find comfort in old friends and excitement in new adventures. Happy New Year. 

Burning the Old Year

Letters swallow themselves in seconds.   

Notes friends tied to the doorknob,   

transparent scarlet paper,

sizzle like moth wings,

marry the air.

So much of any year is flammable,   

lists of vegetables, partial poems.   

Orange swirling flame of days,   

so little is a stone.

Where there was something and suddenly isn’t,   

an absence shouts, celebrates, leaves a space.   

I begin again with the smallest numbers.

Quick dance, shuffle of losses and leaves,   

only the things I didn’t do   

crackle after the blazing dies.

…. Naomi Shihab Nye

Iron John

            The writing on the paper is starting to fade and the edges are a bit ragged. It’s loosely folded and the word “Father” is printed on top. It’s a letter I gave to my Dad on Father’s Day many years ago. I didn’t realize he saved it until I found it among his things when he died. I’m holding it now. I thought of this letter when I heard that Robert Bly had died. He was a poet born and raised in rural Minnesota who helped me understand the distant relationship I had with my dad. He helped me see that artists – especially poets - sometimes observe things that others miss. I don’t think I would have written to my Dad if I hadn’t read Robert Bly.

            My Dad was the perfect illustration of the traditional American man. Strong, tough, mechanically gifted, honest, loyal, and stoic. The only emotion he would routinely express was anger. I grew up surrounded by stories and images that modeled the way “real” men were supposed to behave. You’ve all seen them, too. Old John Wayne movies, old military training footage, stories about young men “fighting” their way to success. Don’t be a “wimp”. Fight back. Don’t let them see you be “weak”. Get MAD, Baby. If you were lucky, like me, you had a Mom who would hug you when you hurt. If not, “suck it up, buttercup”. Enter Robert Bly

            I first read Bly’s poetry when I was in college, but it was several years into my teaching career when I came across his book Iron John: A Book about Men. I was fascinated by his analysis of mythology and fairy tales. I have long believed we are a “narrative species” in that we sum up our life experiences in stories. Robert Bly helped me understand how our legendary “manhood” stories applied to me. His writing made me deeply reflect on my own relationship with my father and helped me manage my own feelings. Robert Bly helped many people see the world anew. Rest in Peace.

The Sympathies of the Long Married

 Oh well, let's go on eating the grains of eternity.

 What do we care about improvements in travel?

 Angels sometimes cross the river on old turtles.

 Shall we worry about who gets left behind?

 That one bird flying through the clouds is enough. 

Your sweet face at the door of the house is enough.

 The two farm horses stubbornly pull the wagon.

 The mad crows carry away the tablecloth.

 Most of the time, we live through the night.

 Let's not drive the wild angels from our door.

 Maybe the mad fields of grain will move. 

Maybe the troubled rocks will learn to walk.

 It's all right if we're troubled by the night.

 It's all right if we can't recall our own name.

 It's all right if this rough music keeps on playing.

 I've given up worrying about men living alone.

 I do worry about the couple who live next door.

 Some words heard through the screen door are enough.

 ……..Robert Bly

A New Chapter

                The swans are back. They swept in a few days ago getting ready to head south. Just mom and pop… and the youngster. They spend their time murmuring to each other and standing on their heads to reach the bottom. I wonder what they’re talking about? They seem to be doing fine and hardly ever raise their voices to each other. The young one seems to do what he/she is asked. And when the bald eagle swings by, they seem to circle up in solidarity. Soon they will make their way to a warmer place and, if history repeats itself, they’ll stop in again next spring when the ice is gone. I find myself admiring the simplicity of purpose and rhythms in their lives. Especially now, when so many people seem to be asking “Is that all there is?” Especially our children. How did it get so complicated?

Remember the lessons we wanted our kids to learn? We told them that if they work hard and persevere, they’ll be successful. We lectured them about being responsible and honest and fair. About working as a team. About being kind and compassionate. About getting an education. We also told them that money and material things won’t make you happy. Follow your dreams. In America, you can be whatever you want to be! Then Covid came along and let us see what we had become. All our preaching. All our lectures. Maybe we were wrong.

            My own confusion about the American Dream narrative comes from my family. My parents lived through the Great Depression, and they believed in the traditional American Dream. In America, everyone is free and equal. If you are smart and you work hard, you will find success. My dad learned all about the “hard work” part growing up on a small farm in Northern Minnesota with his nine brothers and sisters. By the time I knew him, he worked full-time at a factory job and had managed to buy a small dairy farm in southern Wisconsin on a land contract. My mother was right next to him working to milk cows, tend crops, and raise six children. They had achieved the dream of owning property. Dad would spend the next 17 years working 40 hours a week at a factory job he hated and trying to run a farm. Mom would manage six children from two households along with two older relatives who lived with us. When times got hard, she would find odd jobs outside the farm to make ends meet. When Interstate 43 divided the farm and the children moved on, they stopped farming and sold the land to support themselves after dad retired from the factory. This same story was repeated in the small farms that surrounded us. Rural families working very hard to support themselves and their families. It isn’t necessary for me to describe the lifestyle we rural children experienced. Books like Heartland and Hillbilly Elegy reveal it much better than I can.  Suffice it to say, I learned firsthand what the American Dream of “work hard and sacrifice” meant. I also saw the personal consequences of a culture that made my parents believe success was simply a matter of will power and perseverance. And the “success” they were seeking? Financial security and the satisfaction – both personal and societal - of being good parents and good citizens. They struggled with the challenges this system created. Without financial security, personal and social well-being is in jeopardy. If you are convinced that financial security is mostly a product of your effort, you are in a double bind. My parents often worked 16 hours a day to make ends meet. When something went wrong – a tractor broke down or a crop failed – sacrifices were made. And after any failure, they ultimately blamed themselves. (Oh sure, my dad railed about the corrupt bankers and politicians, but everybody KNEW if you couldn’t make it, it was because you were lazy or stupid.) If we only worked harder or were more efficient, we could buy better equipment or go to the dentist or fix the sewer or roof the barn or (fill in the blank). Each day was like walking a tightrope without a safety net. They would not or could not recognize the personal cost of their “success”. Their kids did. While we all honored their perseverance, and fondly remember certain childhood experiences, none of us wished for a life like theirs. So we followed another path of the American Dream narrative and found our own way forward. We’ve all had our challenges, but we seem to be doing fine. (I truly loved being in the classroom for all those years.) So what’s going on now?

            It looks like we need to modify our American Dream narrative. The Covid pandemic has given many Americans the chanced to pause and look around. It is clear, they don’t like what they see. We need to make changes- both as individuals and as a community - to help the majority of our citizens find a more satisfying life. The old messages are still important, but the American Story needs a new chapter. What to do?

Please forgive me if I start to sound like your grandfather or your dad. Remember earlier when I suggested that maybe we were wrong? I don’t believe we were wrong. Just confused. Confused in the same way that humans are always confused when trying to figure out what it means to live a “good life”. All those conversations about hard work, determination, compassion, honesty, kindness, and creativity are all true, but much more complicated than we admit. Every parent tells their kids to be honest, and yet think of all the “half-truths” we shared to shield their childhood. How many times did you tell your own children that “everything will be alright” when you didn’t know if it would? Maybe that’s what we are confronting now – How can we give our kids hope in a time of such uncertainty? Maybe the oldest stories we tell ourselves can help, especially now. Thankfully, Jeanette, my lovely wife, and I have a tradition of watching old Christmas movies at this time of the year. Last night it was Miracle on 34^th Street – the newer one. (I know it’s “sappy”, but it’s comforting, and we love it.) We have watched this film numerous times over the years because it playfully deals with the challenge of believing in Santa Claus. (What did you tell your kids when they asked? 😊) But the film also asks a broader question that seems to apply to our confusion now. What should we as adults believe about things we can’t see? In one scene, Kriss Kringle, played memorably by Richard Attenborough says this, “I’m not just a whimsical figure who wears a charming suit and affects a jolly demeanor. You know, I’m a symbol. I’m a symbol of the human ability to be able to suppress the selfish and hateful tendencies that rule the major part of our lives. If you can’t believe, if you can’t accept anything on faith, then you are doomed for a life dominated by doubt.”

Perhaps this is the best advice we can hear right now. If we can “suppress” our selfish and hateful tendencies, if we can give ourselves a break, if we can help each other and our communities, if we can have faith in each other to do the “next right thing”, we can turn this darkness into light. When you gather for your holiday celebrations this year, please smile when your parents and relatives start sharing the same stories you’ve heard over and over. They want you to know that there is hope in this world filled with doubt.

Then be ready to write that new chapter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now More Than Ever

We spent the summer watching the loons on our lake raise their two loonlets. I was impressed. They work as a team to overcome the odds against the little ones. The surprise snowstorm in early spring, the eagles and hawks, even the swarming mosquitos can disrupt the family. Yet, they persevere. I can hear their yodeling now as I write.  In a world that daily bombards us with crisis and bad news, here is a story of hope and determination. It is a lesson I hope my educator friends – all those who make a school work - can carry into the new school year. Your health and your work have never been more important.

The foundation of our public schools has always been the notion that democracy can only survive if our citizens are just, fair, and reasonable because they know what is true and they know what is false. Your job has always been to help kids understand the age-old struggle to overcome ignorance. We want our kids to learn how to solve problems and create – as Aristotle said – “the good life”.  It is a lifelong challenge to create curriculum and relationships to achieve such a goal, and this year is more important than ever.

I applaud you for your creativity and determination in making the best of a bad situation last school year. I can only imagine the conflicts you felt when Covid 19 kept you from meeting your students in person. I hope you will have the chance this year to meet the needs of our kids once again, especially the emotional needs. I know you are concerned about the academic disruption Covid caused, but I also know you recognize the anxiety kids are feeling. I know you will do your best to help with both.

I also hope you will care for yourselves. Those of us with long experience in teaching know how valuable colleagues can be in dealing with personal stress. From the laughing banter in the hallway to the thoughtful academic discussions over coffee to the moving personal shows of support, we educators need each other.

We are often reminded to heed the lessons of history, especially after we don’t. What we must do is help our kids develop the tools to make a better world for themselves and everyone else. I know you will.

A poem:

 

Poet in Residence at a Country School

The school greets me like a series
of sentence fragments sent out to recess.
Before I hit the front door
I'm into a game of baseball soccer.
My first kick's a foul; my second sails
over the heads of the outfielders;
rounding third base, I suck in my stomach
and dodge the throw of a small blue-eyed boy.
I enter the ! school, sucking apples of wind.
In the fifth-grade section of the room
I stand in the center of an old rug and ask,
Where would you go where no one could find you,
a secret place where you'd be invisible
to everyone except yourselves;
what would you do there, what would you say?
I ask them to imagine they're there
and writing a poem. As I walk around the room,
I look at the wrists of the kids,
green and alive, careful with silence.
They're writing themselves into fallen elms,
corners of barns, washouts, and alkali flats.
I watch until a tiny boy approaches,
who says he can't think of a place,
who wonders today, at least,
if he just couldn't sit on my lap.
Tomorrow, he says, he'll write.

…..Don Welch

His Name Is Written

We were sitting around a small table outside a German pub in downtown Berlin. Since none of us spoke German very well, it came as no surprise that there was confusion about our order. As Mike Griffin and I tried to explain to the waitress, the other guy with us, Mike McKinnon, sat with a contented grin on his face. It is a grin that comes from an astute understanding of how the world works. I suspect Mike McKinnon recruited Griffin and I to take this trip to Germany because he knew this confusion would result and he knew it would be enlightening for us. As I reflect on my forty-year relationship with Mike McKinnon, I see how Mike brought his gifts as a teacher even to his friends. The best teachers put their students in learning situations even if the students don’t know it.

When I first came to Parker High School – back when the earth was just cooling – Mike McKinnon convinced me to help with some interdisciplinary lessons he was using in his social studies classes. (Did I mention that Mike help develop Integrated Social Studies (ISS) decades ago at Parker? He was practicing Small Learning Communities 20 years before it became the next new thing.) Soon, along with the other Mike, Mike Griffin, we were offering these programs to other educators across the region and, eventually, across several states. For years I thought I was helping Mike, but I realize that he was really helping me. Not just by making connections in the curriculum, but by helping me as an educator find the confidence to present my ideas to other teachers. He did what the best educators always do, he encouraged me to grow.

As Mike McKinnon moved into administration, he continued to offer me opportunities to try new things disguised as “favors to him”. (Please don’t misunderstand. I also know that Mike is famous for his absent mindedness. There were times when I did bail him out.) Experiments in summer programs, workshops in teaching, even an opportunity to write a section in a DPI curriculum guide. And while all these activities helped me learn things about my profession, it is hard to underestimate what they help me learn about myself. Mike McKinnon was a wonderful teacher.

I can’t end this tribute to Mike without mentioning a more personal moment. Many years ago, while I was recuperating from a horrific car crash, Mike came to my house to bring me a book. He knew I needed inspiration and he gave me a book filled with the personal letters and writings by important people in history. I read that book often over the next few months. One writer seemed to provide an appropriate summary for Mike’s work. In his summation of a long murder trial, the attorney Clarence Darrow, after appealing for mercy for his clients, affirmed his personal belief in mercy and forgiveness when he quoted Omar Khayyam:

“So I be written in the Book of Love

I do not care about that Book above,

Erase my name or write it as you will,

So I be written in the Book of Love”.

Mike would have been uncomfortable with the fiery emotion of Clarence Darrow, but he absolutely knows in which book his name is written. Rest in Peace, old friend. Rest in Peace.

Another Credo

The snow has finally arrived here in the Northwoods. There was some concern that this might be the first Christmas without snow since 2015. They shouldn’t have worried. I’ve been watching snowfalls for a long, long time now and they never seem to get old. They are often surprising and exciting. Sometimes frightening and threatening. For many of us, comforting and reassuring. We in snow country often use snowstorms as historical signposts. “Remember that 24 incher in ’78?” I can recall snowfalls from my childhood as clearly as if they happened yesterday. The skiers and snowmobilers are happy, and we can joyfully start our journey into this new year.

The snow also reminds me that despite the chaos of this past year, somethings remain constant. Perhaps this is one of the best parts about growing old – we seniors get to comfort our children by our very presence. We are living proof that we will not be defeated. Proof that we can rise up and recover even when terrible things happen. We can remind them that this has nothing to do with “being a hero”; it simply means doing the right thing at the right time to the best of your ability. It is also critical that we remember it does little good to directly say these things. My kids seldom heard my lectures - I know I never heard my Dad’s - but I know they were watching me. Especially when I was confronted with difficult choices. Especially when I was wrong. What did I do to make things better when I made a mistake? How did I help solve the problems I may have caused?

2021 will force us to come to terms with the same question. What can I do to make things better in 2021?

Read more.

I know this is easier for those of us with the time and temperament, but I know reading is more deliberative for me. I can engage the ideas of a writer in a more reflective manner and more easily see if they make sense. This can also work with those who enjoy hearing books because the audio book business is thriving. (The Wisconsin Public Library Consortium has a huge digital library available to all.)  I recognize the irony of advocating reading using a computer screen. I was once a hard cover book zealot who swore he would never use a Kindle to read books. That lasted until my children gave me one as a gift and I discovered I could carry an entire collection of e-books and audio books to read at my pleasure. Don’t misunderstand. The experience of holding and reading a hard cover book is still sacred for me, but reading is still reading. I can read the words of people who lived thousands of years ago or who walked on the moon. We all have much to learn. I will make more time to read.

Watch More Carefully.

We are bombarded with visuals now days. New technology makes tv and computer screens almost irresistible. It doesn’t seem to matter what content is displayed; we watch. I have witnessed the invention and creation of this new technology and I warned my own children about getting sucked into the screen. Then I got a cell phone and a Kindle, and a high-speed computer and I relished the convenience of having so much information at my disposal. Ivan Illich, way back in 1971, warned about the coming “information overload” and the danger it posed to our ability to “pay attention.” The problem, of course, is that we have created a society that is now dependent upon “getting attention”. Businesses and people invest vast amounts of energy creating a “brand” that they can use to make money. There is nothing unusual about this idea. The free market system, we are told, is designed to permit competition to create better products and services. If I make a product that’s better at a lower price, everyone benefits. But what happens when the products don’t get better, just the advertising? What happens when the high-speed information highway is cluttered with people simply trying to get attention? And willing to do almost anything to get that attention? After watching the events in Washington over the last two weeks, it is obvious we need to examine how our information systems have been corrupted by irresponsible and unethical users. In the meantime, I am going to carefully monitor my viewing habits to avoid those sources – whether online or wireless - that offer little entertainment or enlightenment. I have intentionally avoided naming specific programs because I know tastes and temperament vary. I will say that most of my favorite on air programing comes from PBS. And I am a huge movie fan, so the DVD gets lots of use.   Whatever you watch, I hope it provides enlightenment or creative distraction. We need both today.

Revisit the Theatre.

As a Theatre teacher I used to ask my students to image making a movie about their experiences from the day before. We’d have a humorous discussion about the various things they might include. Eventually I would ask them, “How many people do you think will want to watch your movie?” This generated the usual funny responses, but ultimately most concluded that their films would be boring, and no one would want to watch. “Why boring?” I’d ask. They’d say, “Nothing happens!” And we would begin the conversation about why conflict is so important in storytelling. We are fascinated by the way people overcome the conflicts in their lives, and the stories we tell help us better understand the nature of the “core” conflicts we all face. There is no better place to watch human beings struggle with conflict than in the theatre. There are few places where, behind the “aesthetic distance” of a play, an audience member can safely watch a dramatic character’s life unfold before them. Those of us who can recall moments in the theatre when we wept or shuddered at the suffering we saw onstage can attest to its power. Most of all, we get to see the nobility - and sometimes the fragility- of those heroic characters who live before our eyes. I have written about my teenage self identifying with the struggle Tom Wingfield had in The Glass Menagerie and the moral dilemma Tevye faces in Fiddler, and I know many of you can recall similar feelings. Now is the time for us to let our best dramatists help us see and reflect upon the struggles we face. Don’t forget that these same dramatists can use those human conflicts to lift our spirits, too. There is nothing more exhilarating than sitting in an audience laughing uproariously. The pandemic has paused live theatre, but their virtual performances will do for now. My plan is to watch as much as I can and find comfort in the noble people created on stage.

This is a critical time in America. Our only hope for the future is for decent, honest, and determined people to reaffirm their commitment to the basic values and principles we aspire to. Help each other. Don’t lie. Don’t cheat. Don’t cover up for those who do. Admit when you’re wrong. Be humble. Maybe the best way to end is an excerpt from Robert Fulghum’s famous Credo:

ALL I REALLY NEED TO KNOW about how to live and what to do and how to be I learned in kindergarten. Wisdom was not at the top of the graduate-school mountain, but there in the sandpile at Sunday School. These are the things I learned:
Share everything.
Play fair.
Don’t hit people.
Put things back where you found them.
Clean up your own mess.
Don’t take things that aren’t yours.
Say you’re sorry when you hurt somebody.
Wash your hands before you eat.
Flush.
Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you.
Live a balanced life—learn some and think some and draw and paint and sing and dance and play and work every day some.
Take a nap every afternoon.
When you go out into the world, watch out for traffic, hold hands, and stick together.
Wonder. Remember the little seed in the Styrofoam cup: The roots go down and the plant goes up and nobody really knows how or why, but we are all like that.
Goldfish and hamsters and white mice and even the little seed in the Styrofoam cup—they all die. So do we.
And then remember the Dick-and-Jane books and the first word you learned—the biggest word of all—LOOK.
Everything you need to know is in there somewhere. The Golden Rule and love and basic sanitation. Ecology and politics and equality and sane living.
Take any one of those items and extrapolate it into sophisticated adult terms and apply it to your family life or your work or your government or your world and it holds true and clear and firm. Think what a better world it would be if we all—the whole world—had cookies and milk about three o’clock every afternoon and then lay down with our blankies for a nap. Or if all governments had as a basic policy to always put things back where they found them and to clean up their own mess.
And it is still true, no matter how old you are—when you go out into the world, it is best to hold hands and stick together.