For me, formal education did not begin smoothly. In first grade, I skipped school. The lure of the Indiana cornfield next to my house drew me more than the obligation to catch the approaching school bus. After a few hours of playing in the muck, my Mom showed up at the house. That day I learned the importance of attendance and felt the wrath of a Principal’s disdain for 1st graders who skip school.
In High School, I was passionate about athletics, and I approached schoolwork as only a matter of obligation. During my Freshman and Sophomore years, I had not yet realized the value of books, ideas, and scholarship. I wasn’t resistant to academics; yet, the academic work did not seem relevant. Fortunately, that was about to change.
Ms. Butler stood 5’ 2” and had the steely gaze of a drill sergeant, and it was in her English classroom that I discovered my first appreciation for literature, writing, and ideas. Unfortunately, my skills were lacking because I had not taken school seriously. In class, students ran intellectual laps around me; they wrote with ease and saw things in novels I could not find. But I didn’t care. Ms. Butler had my full attention, and I couldn’t ask enough questions. In that high school English classroom, everything changed.
After being appointed to my current position as Head of Upper School, I called Ms. Butler to thank her. She asked what I was doing with my life. I told her I was a high school principal at an all girls’ school and, at the time, was preparing a talk to deliver at the Cum Laude induction ceremony. She laughed and said, “That would not have been on my radar for you, John.” Ah, dramatic irony – Ms. Butler taught me that term as well.
Throughout my time in college and graduate school, I often thought about Ms. Butler and many of the teachers and coaches I had during high school. Those teachers offered kind words, held high expectations, and expressed an unwavering belief in my potential despite my own doubts during adolescence. As a teacher, I value such memories. They remind me that our students progress at a pace that is right for them, and our most significant impact may not be known for years, if at all.
There is a favorite passage of mine from Walt Whitman‘s SONG OF MYSELF that portrays an image of the role I believe teachers play in the lives of our students:
I tramp a perpetual journey,
My signs are a rain-proof coat and good shoes and a staff
Cut from the woods;
No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair,
I have no chair, nor church nor philosophy;
I lead no man to a dinner-table or library or exchange,
But each man and each woman of you I lead upon a knoll,
My left hand hooks you round the waist,
My right hand points to landscapes of continents, and
A plain public road.
Not I, not anyone else can travel that road for you,
You must travel it for yourself.
Our students are approaching that knoll, and we hook our hand around their waist and point to the landscapes ahead – telling them, “you will not travel alone, but you must travel it for yourself.”
At this time of GPA arms races and college admissions competition, it is important that we honor each student’s journey and acknowledge that future “aha” moments might occur without fanfare, ceremony, or crowd. In fact, most will happen in private moments when our students discover something about themselves, and their world grows larger because of it. Thank you, Ms. Butler.
Cornerstone 