Memorial Day

I recently learned that it was not until 1971 that Memorial Day became a federal holiday. Before that, it was Decoration Day, originating in the years following the Civil War. The day is intended for us to pause and honor the men and women of our military who gave their lives for others in service to this country. I feel incredibly fortunate that the people I know personally who have served this country all came home to their loved ones. Many other families are not so fortunate and mourn specific people who they've lost. 

I was thinking about this recently when I came across a Twitter post about the power of "and." I can't credit the author, as I didn't even retweet it, so it's not in my timeline. Still, the message was one that I've been sitting with: in this ever-polarized world, why can't we be both? Why can't we see both sides? Why does it have to be one or the other? Here's how I'm grappling with this. 

I am decidedly non-violent and anti-war. If there had been a draft when I was in that age range, I would have registered as a conscious objector and not participated. I have never held a weapon in my life, and I don't plan to. This is not to say that I won't defend myself or my family, but so far, in forty-six years on this planet, I've thrown only two punches. 

While I am non-violent and anti-war, I am pro-soldier. How can this be? Aren't those ideas in conflict? Not for me, and here's why. 

My Dad served in the military. He was in Vietnam. The only way he could afford to go to college was through ROTC and the United States government. As I shared above, he came home safely, long before I was a twinkle in his eye. After his military service, with his college degree, he was able to find a job. He met my Mom, and the rest is Ricca Family History. 

We don't know the reasons why men and women enlist in the service. Some do so out of a sense of duty. Some do so to find direction. Some do so because of patriotism. Some do so because they want a college degree and cannot afford it on their own. And if we start to investigate the reasons for college affordability, I'll need to write an entirely different blog post. 

We are living in incredibly polarized times. I offer that the gift of the word "and" can help us steer closer to the grey places where true connections can be found. There are the rare instances when we can all agree there is an absolute right and an absolute wrong; for the rest, there are shades of grey. 

Those shades of grey are begging for people to engage, to listen, to learn. Those shades of grey will cause us to be uncomfortable, to grow, to find out more about others. Those shades of grey will test who we are as people, open us to other perspectives, and enhance our humanity. 

To honor those who have given their lives in service to our country, I ask us to find the shades of grey in our own lives with those closest to us. Practice using the word "and" with friends and family. With practice, we can learn to engage others in these difficult conversations. 

Thank you to Norman Watson, My Wife's grandfather. 

Thank you to Keith "Gino" Gendron, My Wife's brother. 

Thank you to Peter Ricca, My Dad. 

I am non-violent, I am anti-war. AND I am pro-soldier. Can we learn together? 

Photo courtesy of www.signalsaz.com

Your Choice

One of the joys of living with two teenage boys is seeing what they choose to watch in their free time. A favorite for a few years has been Dude Perfect. The group is made up of five former college roommates from Texas A & M University, and according to Wikipedia, they have the most-subscribed sports channel currently on YouTube. What started in 2009 with a single camera and an "I can do better than you" trick shot has exploded into an estimated net worth of more than $50 million. 

Dude Perfect's recent video, "Bucket List," shared the group's trip to South Africa, in which each member of the group was able to check off a bucket list item. Coby decided to bungee jump from Bloukran's Bridge in George, South Africa. It is the second-highest bungee bridge in the world, measuring 708 feet. It looked intense, and I was only watching over the shoulders of my children. It was an amazing sight to see and gave me butterflies. But I was struck by something Coby said after he was finished: "It was five seconds of fear or a lifetime of regret. I chose the fear." 

Five seconds of fear or a lifetime of regret. 

I have bungee jumped once in my life. I was in high school, and we were at an amusement park in New Jersey. I don't remember how I felt getting ready to do the actual jump itself; I just remember the exhilaration of the fall and the sense of accomplishment afterward. 

Would I bungee jump today? Probably not. I've already done it, so I don't feel the need to do it again. Instead, I've got my own bucket list item: fly an airplane and earn my private pilot's license. I've loved aviation and flying since I took my first flight at the age of five. Back then, you could actually go into the cockpit during flight; I did and was inspired. While I never wanted to be a professional pilot due to the hours and time away, I've never lost my love of flight. Thanks to some encouragement from My Wife, I'm making a real commitment to this. 

There certainly are plenty of things I am afraid of as I'm learning how to fly. I'm grateful I have an instructor in the seat next to me to let me "feel" how the plane should respond. And every time I pull the yoke back to lift off the runway, I feel that same sense of exhilaration that I felt when I was five years old. 

Five seconds of fear (or sometimes more honestly) or a lifetime of regret. 

I know what I'm choosing. 

How about you? 

Photo courtesy of the film "For the Love of Flight"

All the Feels

This past Friday, I took our oldest son to get his first COVID-19 vaccine. We had an appointment, and after waiting in a short line, he was seated and answering the routine questions before I even had a chance to fully understand what was happening. The nurse asked Patrick to flex his left arm and then relax it. As she injected him with the vaccine, I started to tear up. 

It has been a year, one that has been overwhelming and challenging on the one hand, with precious gifts and unexpected joys on the other. I will admit that it's been an emotional roller coaster, and I've found myself closer to tears in unexpected moments, like when My Son got his first vaccination. In other moments, the laughter has been so emphatic, as we gathered for the first time in person as a Leadership Team on Monday, May 10. 

I am a man that has always been comfortable crying, learning that lesson at a young age when my maternal grandfather passed away from cancer when I was in third grade. The message in my home growing up was everyone cries, regardless of their gender. It's the message in the home we're raising our two boys in as well. 

It's not only a personal commitment I make; it's a professional commitment as well. I promise all the students in the St. Johnsbury School District that our building is a place where everyone can feel safe, welcome, and included. No strings attached. No qualifications. No exceptions. 

As I think back on my own education, I easily recall the names and faces of my teachers. Not necessarily the content. I wrote about one teacher in particular in May of last year, when we connected almost twenty-five years after I was a student in her class. I didn't write about what Ms. Helfer taught me; I wrote about how I felt in her classroom. I'm not suggesting that we relax in any way our commitment to the Vermont Education Quality Standards. I can tell you, though, that if we ignore the importance of relationships in any year, let alone one with a global health pandemic, we are not providing our students with the fullest education possible. 

While I was interviewing a teaching candidate for an open position in our district this past week, this person asked me what I was proudest of as the Superintendent in St. Johnsbury. There were so many places I could go with that answer, and after a moment of reflection, I landed on the reality that we meet our students where they are and help them grow and learn from there. In this case, the emphasis on relationships means a greater level of expectations, not less. By knowing our students as well as our faculty and staff do, we are able to know what they are capable of, and if they're not meeting their potential, we know something is amiss. 

The emphasis on relationships makes us expect more, not less. The emphasis on relationships makes us stronger, not softer. The emphasis on relationships welcomes the whole child, not just the student. 

The gendered world we live in does not always honor the tears of boys or men. Countless derogatory names are used when men cry. And while I don't think for one second that this blog post will put a dent in that, I do want to state unequivocally that being somewhat emotionally intelligent has made me a better human, a better husband, a better daddy, and a better superintendent. I still have a ways to go, and at the same time, I'm proud to serve with people who prioritize the emotional needs of our students before the content they teach. 

When I think back to all those teachers I could name from my early years in education, there are a few things I know for certain. I know their names. I am fairly certain I could recognize their faces. Besides the grade they each taught, I don't have a strong sense of what content I learned with them. I do know Mr. B taught us a unit on Greece, but that's because there's a picture of me somewhere in a toga. And I know Ms. Sweeney taught us how to write a thesis paper when I was a junior in high school. 

But there's something I remember so much more than what they taught me. 

I remember how they made me feel. 

Photo courtesy of @HelpATeacher

Who's Got Your Back?

We were driving recently on the interstate when someone came up quickly behind us. I put on my blinker, and moved into the right lane, and watched the car disappear into the blind spot on my left-hand side. I waited, expecting to see the person pass quickly by on the left. When that didn't happen, I looked to my left to see the person honking their horn and gesturing wildly to the back of our car. When I looked in my rearview mirror, I saw that one of the two bikes we had on our bike rack was loose and dangling off, dangerously close to the road. I put up my own hand in thanks and proceeded to pull over onto the shoulder so My Wife could get out and secure our bikes again. 

It was such a kind thing for that stranger to do, and yet, in the beginning, I thought it was just some driver, driving well over the speed limit, looking to pass me. It occurs to me that sometimes important information comes to us from the strangest places, without a label saying "Read Me." How often do we miss it because it doesn't look like something we need to pay attention to?

This past year has been anything but the way we planned and hoped. There have been ups and downs, and we have had more twists and turns than a roller coaster. Often it's been two steps forward, several steps back. And, we are in May, with vaccines rolling through our state, including very promising news for twelve to fifteen-year-olds. There really seems to be a light at the end of this pandemic tunnel. 

Throughout this year, I have been surrounded by an amazing group of professionals who have helped me make the important decisions for our district. They have helped me see all the angles, the possibilities, the pros and the cons, the implications, the drawbacks. Most of all, they've helped me with my blind spots, the areas of my professional practice where I'm not strong. The places in my work that I need feedback. The moments when my own emotions cloud my thinking. 

It is lonely at the top, at times. Yes, the buck stops with me. Yes, I make the decisions ultimately. Yes, I stand in front when things go sideways. 

But more often than not, this year, I've been surrounded by selfless individuals who have helped me steer this district as safely as we could through the unchartered waters of COVID-19. They've been measured when I've been frustrated, they've seen the big picture when I get bogged down by the details, they've reminded me to stay focused on the students while keeping our adults as safe as they can be. 

I extend humble thanks to: 

Patrick Campbell
Lydia Cochrane
Louisa Driscoll
Jodie Elliott
Sharma Gencarelle
Kara Lufkin
Jody Oliver
Jeremy Ross
Carolee Stuart

This year especially, they've had my back. 

Photo courtesy of www.nischwitzgroup.com

It Really Is Rocket Science

This past week, I took a course in the Wilson Reading Program through the Stern Center. I'm very proud of the fact that in Vermont, to earn a leadership endorsement, you must have an educator's license. So besides my principal and superintendent endorsement, I have a PK - 6 educator's license. The week's reading class reminded me of the incredible effort it takes to teach students how to read. 

In the fall of 2001, I stepped into my first-grade classroom, overwhelmed, to say the least. Not only was I teaching a grade level I had never taught before, I knew how critical literacy was to the development of the minds of the twenty-four five and six-year-olds on my class list. I had just completed my Master of Science in Teaching degree and was well armed with plenty of manuals on teaching reading. And still, nothing could prepare me for how daunting this task was. Literacy is such a basic skill and a lifelong need for humans to be in the world. 

I was brought back to that very classroom at 250 Stuart Street in Boston this week by the course I took. Wilson takes a structured literacy approach, much like I learned as a graduate student and like the literacy program when I was a first-grade teacher. From long and short vowel sounds to closed consonants, high-frequency words, and the importance of word recognition and structure, it all came rushing back to me, especially how hard it was. 

The difficulty in teaching reading is never far from my awareness because of who I am in love with. My Wife is a Reading Specialist. After leaving the classroom (because of her frustration with not reaching all readers) for the past twenty years, she has had her own practice, working one-on-one with students, especially those with dyslexia, who struggle to learn how to read. Her work has been compared to that of a tutor, an aide, a crutch, or an unfair supplement. The work she does has been minimized in many subtle and some not-so-subtle ways. We were once at a party, and when she described what she did, one of those at the party (a teacher of another discipline) said, "Oh, I do that, even across the curriculum that I teach." 

The level of complexity in teaching, in general, is never far from my mind either. The work that teachers do, even pre-pandemic, is incredibly challenging. There is a reason it's called a profession. There's a reason we invest precious public tax dollars. There's a reason we are slow and deliberate in our hiring process. Education is never for the faint of heart, let alone when there are physical distancing requirements. The importance of it cannot be minimized, ever. 

I was presenting at an Informational Night in one of my first years as a superintendent, and a community member was asking some tough questions about our budget. At one point, the individual said out loud, "I don't understand why this is so hard. I went to school. I can teach." I took a deep breath and responded as humbly as I could, "Sir, saying something like that is like me saying, 'I had a haircut this weekend. Want me to cut your hair?' "

This week is Teacher Appreciation Week. Find a teacher. Thank a teacher. Whether it is a teacher who is currently teaching one of your own children or a teacher you had. Thank them for all the hours of unseen work. Thank them for the commitment to all students, not just the ones who do their homework. Thank them for turning their profession upside down this year in the face of a global health pandemic. Thank them for always creating a safe space for all students. Thank them for never giving up on a student. Thank them for choosing to see the good in every child. Thank them for crying at their desk after everyone leaves. Thank them for their undying promise to each and every child that crosses their threshold. 

It's not easy. None of it. And all our teachers ask for is our support. We can and do uphold the highest professional standards for a reason. 

After this week, I can confirm that teaching reading really is rocket science. 

Photo Courtesy of @NEAToday