How Do You Carve a Turkey?

I'm 46 years old, and for the past 45 years, someone else has carved the turkey. For my first eighteen years, it was my dad, as we all celebrated either at the home I grew up in or at my Nana's house. Come to think of it, he carved it through college, and in my first years as a volunteer teacher. For the last twenty, I've spent Thanksgiving with my in-laws, and again, I didn't have to carve. Even for our Friendsgiving that we typically host, one of my dear friends carves the turkey for us. Usually, for that feast, we have a bird that is north of thirty-five pounds. It's a sight to see. 

But this year, as you all know, was different. No Friendsgiving. No dinner with my in-laws. It was a Thanksgiving at our table, where we have every dinner together. Just the four of us and a sixteen-pound turkey that had been cooking since 10:15 AM on Thanksgiving Day. So as I pulled the bird from the oven to let sit for thirty minutes, I did what everyone else does when they don't know how to do something: I googled it!

My Wife and I sat together and watched a one minute video on how to carve a turkey. Here's what you do: 

1. Start with the legs - remove them entirely. 
2. Then slice the breast meat along the ribcage. 
3. Finally, remove the wings completely. 

Once we followed these steps, we sliced the larger portions into manageable pieces for everyone's plate. And it was done. I had carved a turkey. 

I know it's not rocket science for some, and yes, I've been privileged to be at a table for the first 45 years of my life where someone else has done it. So it was new learning for me. 

Sometimes new learning is scary. I felt a little bit of pressure - cooking a turkey, and knowing I would have to carve it myself, having never done it before. I'm not always good at asking for help, nor do I always like venturing into new territories with a fair amount of risk. 

Part of the responsibility of learning something new is passing it on to others, to share your gift of knowledge. I'm no expert, and truth be told, when we have our next Friendsgiving, I'm still going to rely on my dear friend Scott Hill to carve that massive bird. It's a tradition and something to look forward to. 

But for now, I've done it once, and I'd be happy to be a wingman for anyone trying it for the first time. 

I know how to carve a turkey. 

Photo courtesy of www.industryconnect.org

Giving Thanks for Teachers

I can remember the exact semester in college when I knew I wanted to be a teacher. It was the spring of 1994, and I took one of the two education courses the College of the Holy Cross offered at that time. Denis Cleary, himself a Holy Cross graduate from the Class of 1971, was the professor while also teaching full-time at Concord-Carlisle Regional High School. Cleary was engaging and inspiring while at the same time, not sugar-coating the work it takes to be a high-quality teacher. 

As a part of the syllabus, we read Savage Inequalities by Jonathan Kozol. The entire book was stunning to me, but particularly this fact: in 1986 - 1987, the Mt. Vernon Public School System spent $6,433 on my seventh-grade education. The neighboring town of Bronxville, NY, spent $10,113 on their seventh-graders' education. That's an almost 60% difference for those who lived less than ten minutes from my home. Why was my education worth less than someone else's? This question drove me into the field of education. 

The desire to teach has led me on a varied path over the past twenty-five years. I've taught classes from first grade to high school to graduate school and many of the grades in between. The path has also led to leadership opportunities, including the last nine years serving as a superintendent. Whether in the classroom or in a leadership role, I've watched the trends in education, school safety, funding, and sports. There's always been a sense of "do more with less," and somehow, we've come to know this as a regular part of our educational landscape. There's something about the selfless nature of teaching, the "other-centeredness" of education, that has led to a tacit acceptance of this mantra. 

Perhaps is the uncertainty of this pandemic's end. Perhaps it's the frustration with the haphazard approach to slowing it nationally. Perhaps it's the violation of the public health directives displayed on social media. 

We all enter into education for different reasons. I don't know what inspired my colleague superintendents or the educators in my building. I do know this, though, I did not choose this profession to be an essential worker. And yet, here in 2020, my teachers are essential workers. 

I chose not to be a firefighter for many reasons, the main one being, I know I'm not a human who wants to run into a burning building. I want to be the person walking out. I can honestly and humbly say that I'm a helper, not a saver. 

I'm aware that my teachers are experiencing something this year that I never experienced as a teacher. I don't know what it's like to show up to a classroom full of children who may have the COVID-19 virus. I don't know what it's like to be afraid of the choices families made over the weekend. I don't know what it's like to truly have concerns about safety in the classroom - a place that is supposed to be sacred for students and teachers alike. 

And while my teachers are doing this, teaching in the most stressful year of their entire careers, they're being watched and scrutinized to a higher level than normal. And that's saying something. This is not doing more with less. This is moving mountains with less. 

While there won't be anything "normal" about this year's Thanksgiving, I owe, we all owe, a debt of gratitude for the teachers that are showing up every day to teach. I am asking that every person reach out and say thank you to a teacher this week. Find the time. Make the time. Teachers are already superheroes, and this year, more than ever, they need to feel our love and our gratitude. 

In a tweet last March, Nicholas Ferroni (@NicholasFerroni) shared that this pandemic has already revealed three things: 

1. Schools are so much more than schools.
2. Many people now realize how tough it is to be a teacher and that teachers are grossly underpaid.
3. Teachers are irreplaceable and essential to learning and education.

And that was in March. 

We are facing a second wave in Vermont, and our teachers are still showing up. Every day. Because they believe in the power of education. Every day. For someone else's children. Every day. In the midst of a global health pandemic. Every day. I promise you, with trepidation in their hearts and their heads—every day. 

Find a teacher this week. Find a way to be genuine. Find a way to be sincere. Find a way to be heartfelt. 

And say thank you. And mean it with everything that you have as a human being. 

In This Case, It is About Us

On Friday, November 13, Governor Scott enacted more guidelines and restrictions to stem the tide of the COVID-19 virus that seems intent on making its way further and further into our state. One of the hardest things for me to hear was the immediate pause on youth sports. Our Boys were heartbroken when I shared the news with them. 

Their first question was, for how long? I didn't have an answer. Their next question was, does this mean we're going fully remote? No, not yet. That seemed to bring some relief. 

Let that sink in for a minute. My Boys want to go to school. Two teenage boys want to go to school. Is it for the academics? Maybe, but probably not. Is it for the relationships? Yes. Their friends are there. Their teachers are there. Their social-emotional world is there. 

In September, as we were getting ready to get back to in-person learning, we talked as a family about how different this school year was going to be. In the course of the conversation, one of Our Boys said, "I'm looking forward to seeing my teacher again. He's my G." 

I looked at him quizzically. "Your G?" I said. 

"Yes," he said. "My guy." 

As I thought back to my own 8th-grade experience, I can confidently say that I did not think that any of my teachers were "my guys." This stunned me. I am in awe of this relationship. It also makes me understand completely one reason why My Son wants to be in school and not be fully remote. 

So to all the adults in our state, this is now up to us. Our students and our children are doing their part. It's now up to us. According to statewide statistics, 71% of COVID-19 cases are linked to private parties or social gatherings. We need to make this work to keep our children in school and keep our statewide numbers from growing exponentially higher. 

Normally, I make our work about our students. We serve our students and their families through education. We make all our students feel safe, welcome and included. We create a place where our students can grow and thrive to the best of their abilities. 

But now, we need to do our part to slow the spread of this insidious virus. Some of these restrictions are harder than before. No more trusted pods of families. No more visits to others' homes. 

We are in a fragile place as a state. We still have an opportunity to contain our numbers and slow the spread. Our students, our own children, all of us want to get back to where we were, even just a week ago. We can do this if we put the collective good of our state first. 

There's no substitute for caring about our children. It is about our children. It's about other people's children. It's about the choices we make as adults. 

In this case, it is about us. 

Photo courtesy of the Vermont Department of Health

There is Hope

As I write this blog post, the outcome of the election is still in doubt. It's helpful for my mindset to share what is most on my mind and on my heart this week. That is this: there is hope. Not just in the outcome of the election. Not just in the democratic process. Not just in the relentless pursuit of dignity for every single human being in this country. 

There is hope for the future. Here's what I saw this week. 

I was invited by one of my teachers to read to the class on Election Day. It was a second grade class, so the teacher and I selected One Vote, Two Votes, I Vote, You Vote. Classroom visits are without a doubt one of the best parts of my job. I love being in classrooms and listening to children. They have so much wisdom, so much insight, and are the sources of so much inspiration. 

While reading the book, I would often stop and ask them questions. I wanted to hear from the students, and listen to their voices while I was reading. As I listened to them throughout the exchanges, I was awed by their knowledge of our voting rights. 

One young woman responded to a question with a question, "Did you know that not all black people were always able to vote in the United States?" Fortunately, we passed the 15th amendment to the Constitution to address that. 

The young man to my right pointed out that not every eighteen year old was always able to vote either. Without saying it explicitly, this seven-year-old was referencing the 26th amendment. 

Finally, another young lady offered that women were not always afforded the right to vote. She even pointed out and credited the 19th amendment for her future right to vote. 

Did I mention that all these children were in second grade? I don't remember much about my second grade experience, but I'm confident that I was not able to cite voting amendments to the United States Constitution. I am inspired by what I heard. I am inspired by what I saw. I am inspired. 

The other children that gave me hope this week live in my house. This week, every day, my own children inquired as to the status of the election. They sat with me while I watched MSNBC. They wondered if our ballots were counted (we mailed ours in). They asked serious questions about democracy. They mused aloud about the electoral college. They worried about how long it would take to count all the ballots. 

The bottom line is this, when I was in second grade, I don't think I was discussing the amendments to our Constitution. When I was in seventh and eighth grade, I know I walked past the television set in my childhood home when the news was on. I can state unequivocally, that I was not aware of the political process, other than nominally, when I was growing up. I knew about it. I could discuss the basics but I did not have this depth of knowledge, nor, perhaps more importantly, the level of care and thought that I've seen this week. 

So to Ms. Jette's second grade class, I thank you. To My Patrick, I thank you. To My Brendan, I thank you. You've all given me a greater gift than you can ever know. 

You've given me hope. 

Photo courtesy of www.etsy.com

Be The Joy

I am a devoted fan of the television show The West Wing. I watched it when I could when it was on network TV (remember where there was "appointment viewing") but really was able to enjoy it fully when it was in reruns on Bravo, and ultimately on Netflix. The show, created by Aaron Sorkin, ran from 1999 to 2006 and features a fictional Democratic administration trying to balance meeting the country's needs with the political realities. It earned twenty-six Emmys during that time, tying it with Hill Street Blues for the most ever for a drama series. 

I cannot specifically put my finger on what makes it so compelling to me. It's not a sappy, it-all-works-out-in-the-end kind of show. In fact, there are plenty of ways the administration struggles to keep its word, falls short on campaign promises, and fails to pass important fictional legislation that would make a difference in the lives of those who need it. And still, it stirs me emotionally, recommits me to public service, and inspires me to lead.  

The original cast recently reunited for a special called When We All Vote (currently airing on HBO Max for free through the end of 2020: https://www.hbomax.com/votebecause). I devoured it. I showed it to my family. It was a staged presentation of one of the episodes from season 3, called "Hartsfield's Landing," done to support and raise awareness for the non-profit, non-partisan organization When We All Vote. 

While I absolutely loved the show and seeing my heroes again, there were other moments that really caught my attention. During the breaks in the scenes of the actual show, public service announcements, with Michelle Obama, Samuel L. Jackson, and the actors themselves encouraged everyone to vote. Each, in their own way, expressed their perspective on the importance of voting. But there was also something else during what would have been network television commercial breaks. 

There were black and white scenes of the actors rehearsing, dancing, looking at each other's phones, elbow bumping (per COVID-19 protocols), and truly enjoying each other as people. But what was really compelling to me was they were laughing. Not just "ha-ha" laughter - full, belly laughter. Bent over at the waist laughter. Broad, wide smiles. Genuine joy. It brought tears to my eyes, watching it. It stirred me. I miss it. 

Because the world feels heavy. My world feels heavy. The pandemic looms over almost every decision we are making as a family. The pandemic looms over almost every decision we are making as a leadership team. The pandemic looms...

And yet we must go on. We take one step together. Or we stand still and hope someone stands next to us. One step at a time. One decision at a time. And in those moments, we have to find joy. 

The joy in running with My Wife, holding her hand on the walk home.

The joy in receiving an unsolicited gift from a child during a classroom visit. 

The joy in snuggling with My Children, every night, before they fall asleep. 

The joy in listening to a staff member unburden themselves in my office. 

The joy in FaceTiming with My Goddaughter.

The joy in watching a teacher's eyes sparkle over their mask while talking to a student. 

The joy in having coffee with My Friend. 

The joy in childhood, still evident in our building every day. Every single day. 

There is so much in our world that is uncertain. To that begin to push back at that, we have to find the joy. If we cannot find the joy, then we have to be the joy. 

I knew the world of The West Wing was fictional when I started watching it more than twenty years ago, and I still know it's fictional now. I know Martin Sheen is not the President, Allison Janney is not the Press Secretary, and that Bradley Whitford is not the Deputy Chief of Staff. While I know in my head it is a television show, the recent special confirmed what I also knew in my heart all along. 

The joy is real. 

Photo courtesy of www.quotemaster.org