This Is Lifelong Learning

I have been drawn to officiating since childhood. In November, I wrote about it in a post entitled, "You Are Who You Are." When I failed to make the varsity basketball and baseball teams in high school, I turned to officiating to stay close to the game. I continue to officiate to this day; it is something that I love to do. I am a proud member of the International Association of Approved Basketball Officials (IAABO), Board 105 in Vermont. 

On Sunday, January 23, we had our mandatory mid-season meeting via zoom due to the current surge of the omicron variant. Dan Shepardson (Shep), the interpreter for Vermont and member of the IAABO Executive Board, led us through many instructional videos. He emphasized positioning, pointed out where we should be looking, and offered us suggestions for each. He has an advantage as an educator and leans on his background in teaching. Shep rarely talks at us, offers us plenty of think time, and is generous in terms of waiting to be sure there are no questions. 

Like you would expect of a good teacher. I've known this about Shep since I started officiating in Vermont. And on this Sunday, he went even further. 

Shep is an active official, working high school varsity and collegiate level games. He talked about a call he had in a game a couple of weeks ago. It was a non-call from his perspective, although there was contact between the defender and the shooter as the shooter came down. The call, or in this case, the non-call, was still on his mind. 

The facility had videoed the game, so Shep sent it to Donnie Eppley. Eppley is a Division I Official and the Associate Executive Director of IAABO. Eppley put the video out to all of us officials in a "You Make the Call" format. I had viewed it myself and didn't even realize that Shep was on the floor in that video as one of the referees. I can't even remember how I voted, though Shep got word from Eppley that about 60% of the responses were that a foul call was warranted on a play that Shep had as a non-call. 

I have long admired Dan Shepardson, the human and the official. I know he served in our armed forces, he's been in education for his entire career, he has an encyclopedic knowledge of the rulebook, and was inducted into the Vermont Principals' Association Hall of Fame in 2017. Last year, I got to work a junior varsity game and was entirely intimidated to know I would be on the floor with him. Shep put me right at ease, reminding me that we both had whistles around our necks, and we would work as a team. 

At halftime, and when the game was over, he asked me for feedback on his work on the court. Me! A guy with a fraction of the court time as him. With that experience, I shouldn't have been surprised when he shared with all of the Vermont officials last weekend that he still wasn't sure his call was correct. From my perspective, Shep could be confident in his non-call, and yet, he remains open to the fact that he still has areas he needs to improve on. 

His openness about how he felt about that call continued to resonate with me throughout the week. So much so that I approached him at a game and told him how much I appreciated his vulnerability and honesty about his non-call. He smiled, patted me on the back, and said, "We are all still in search of the perfect game." 

Spoken like a true educator and lifelong learner!

How Long Have You Been Going to School?

This week, an educator in the St. Johnsbury School stopped by during my office hours and asked if they could close the door. I hold both virtual and in-person office hours while serving as superintendent. I got the idea several years ago to be present in buildings and schedule times for folks to meet with me if they need to. Some weeks, several people connect with me; other weeks, no one seeks me out. I've learned that when someone asks to close the door during office hours, they want to share something important. 

I've been honored and humbled by the vulnerability that people have shown me during my years in leadership. When people share life-changing events, it is often because what is happening (or has happened) will alter their employment status, and we need to have a conversation. While I was aware of the serious nature of what was about to take place, I was also cognizant that this individual was going to reveal something to me that was highly personal. 

I don't want to share the specifics of the conversation to maintain my commitment of confidentiality to this person, and something they said really resonated with me. They said, "I've been going to school since I was 4." Think about that for a moment. This individual has been in education since they were 4. 

I've been in education since I was 4 too. I started nursery school in 1978. I entered kindergarten (it was half-day in New York when I was growing up) in 1979, and in the fall of 1980, I began first grade. I've been going to school ever since. Granted, since 1996, I've been on the "other " side of the desk, and to the point of this educator, I've been going to school for forty-four years. 

Education is a deeply personal endeavor because education is about relationships, plain and simple. We simply cannot do our work well if we do not know our students. This statement transcends age, as I have found it to be true while teaching graduate students at UVM. 

Since education is about relationships, we have to invest so much more of who we are as adults, getting to know the people we are teaching. Imagine learning about the ups and downs of the lives of the people you are teaching, year in and year out. You share their joy, and you share their sorrow. You walk with them through the changes in their lives, in the lives of the people in their families, as if you are a part of their family. In a very real way, since students spend most of their waking hours with us in schools, we are their family. 

When we do this, our students feel safe. When our students feel safe, they can access their education. When students can access their education, they can learn to their fullest potential. So when this educator tells me they've been going to school since they were four, that's many, many years of building relationships. 

Now layer on the past two years of this pandemic. The trauma that it has caused in the lives of everyone. That trauma does not stay in the homes of our families. It walks right into our building every day, and it has been doing so since switched to remote to finish 2020, came back into our building for the hybrid learning of 2021, and continues to arrive daily this year. 

How our faculty and staff are still connecting with little and not-so-little human beings these days is nothing short of heroic. The fact that people are condemning teachers for being lazy when they can't come to work for a COVID-related reason is nothing short of cruel. And if you think for one second that just because you went to school, you can do the work of teachers, let me ask you this: I had a haircut last weekend. Do you want me to cut your hair? 

Maybe you stopped going to school after you earned a Master's Degree. Maybe you stopped going to school after college. Maybe you stopped going to school after high school. 

Some of us haven't stopped going to school. And these have been the most brutal two years of our lives because they've been the most brutal in the lives of our families. And when you care deeply about the little and not-so-little people you see every single day, their trauma becomes your trauma. And because relationships ground us in education, that's exactly how we want it. 

It's exactly how you want it too. I know everyone can name their favorite teacher, not because of the subject they taught, but because of the way they made us feel. That relationship with that teacher stood out because of how that teacher made a difference in your life, no matter what you were going through at the time. 

I have a building full of people who are doing just that. Trying to make a difference in the lives of every student they see. In the midst of a two-year pandemic. 

They've been going to school for a very, very long time. 

The Kindness of A Stranger

Last week, I stopped at a post office on my way to work. I needed a couple of stamps to send out some actual snail mail. It's rare to see another person besides the postal employee, but today there was a line. When I walked in, there was an older person (guessing because of the hair peeking out under their winter hat) engaged in a conversation with the postal worker. 

The customer's arms were full of mail: boxes, parcels, and envelopes, large and small. From the sounds of it, there was some confusion about a post office box and a forwarding address. The customer was struggling to understand something about the process. From what I could hear, the customer needed to close a current PO Box, fill out some paperwork and ensure that their mail would make it to the forwarding address. 

Now, I was on my way to work, and I only had two envelopes that needed two stamps. Honestly, I did not want to be standing there since my business would take less than a minute, at the most. I'm not good at waiting. 

So I did what everyone else does when they're waiting in 2022: I pulled out my phone. I distracted myself while the postal employee took the time to answer every single question the customer had. If the expression is that the customer is always right, then this postal employee exhibited this to the fullest. From the look on the face of the departing customer, everything was more than OK. 

This person had a smile on her face, and even though her arms were full of items, the expression she gave was one of relief. Whatever concerns or questions this person entered the post office with did not appear to be on her mind as she was leaving. The postal employee had addressed every worry this individual had before entering. 

I stepped up with my two envelopes, asking for my two stamps. I was right. My interaction at the counter took less than one minute. When I was done, I started to leave but turned back. I told the postal worker how kind I observed her interactions with the previous customer. I shared how patient I thought she was and how happy the person ahead of me seemed as they were leaving. The response was beautiful: 

"Honey, I could have lost my patience with her. She had a lot of questions. But at the end of the day, I need to answer them. All of them." 

I hope that I can emulate this postal employee this week. I know there will be a lot of questions. I need to answer them. All of them. 

With patience. 

Photo courtesy of www.quotefancy.com

I Moved Out

Not like that - but we had COVID in our house. Here's what it looked like. 

Our oldest son had a teammate who tested positive. We used the test kits provided to us by the school, even though we had no symptoms, to ensure that our boys were negative. And they were, on the first day. The next day though, when we tested again, Patrick was positive. For the first time since the beginning of the pandemic, one of the Riccas had COVID-19. 

So we had a decision to make. The guidance at the time indicated isolation at least through Day 5 and return to school after two negative antigen tests. What if we all isolated together? Would it be like chickenpox? I remember in the early 80s, when one of my siblings got chickenpox, we were all thrown together, and we ended up getting it around the same time. 

Unfortunately, COVID-19 is not that predictable nor logical. If we all came together, there was no guarantee that we would all get it with any expected timeline. One of us could show symptoms in a day; another could show symptoms a few days later. We might never show symptoms. This is life with COVID-19. 

I have always known My Wife to be a selfless person, but what she did next brought the concept of selflessness to a whole new level: she chose to isolate with Patrick. Even though she was symptom-free, she and Patrick went to our master bedroom and shut the door. They would stay there together over the next several days, and I would stay in our guest room. So I moved out. 

I took toiletries and clothes into another bedroom, most recently occupied by My Wife's grandmother at Christmas. Our youngest son and I wore masks in the house. We were never within six feet of either Patrick or Michal for more than fifteen minutes in a twenty-four-hour period. We were determined to do everything we could to keep COVID-19 away from Brendan and me. 

First, I must acknowledge the amount of privilege my family has. We have the space and the room to isolate. We have multiple bathrooms and bedrooms in our home. We have the flexibility to work from home. We can handle the disruption that COVID-19 brought to us. 

Second, I must also acknowledge how challenging this was. I have a brand new perspective on what it's like to parent during this time in our world. At times, it was confusing: our son tested negative at home on day 4 but tested positive in school on day 5. What did that mean? No one knew at the time. We placed phone calls to doctors' offices, nurses' offices and read the guidance. None of it made sense. We rarely got the same answer twice. 

So we did the only thing that we knew to be clear. We stayed isolated at home for the entire ten days. Patrick was finally able to get a negative antigen test on Day 9 and went to school for the first time since the Winter Holiday Break. Even still, we remained masked at home, and I stayed in the guest room until this past Saturday. So far, it's working. We are all symptom-free, and it's clear that the guidance is changing at some point this week. 

I'm left stunned by two things: one, the selflessness of My Wife of seventeen and a half years. Talk about falling on the grenade. She truly took one for the team. I definitely married up!

And two, the level of confusion and chaos that we felt was humbling. As a superintendent, I thought it was easy to follow the guidance, quarantine, and come back to school at the appointed time. As a dad, I learned how hard this really is. 

Moving out taught me a lesson in empathy. One I soon won't forget. 

Photo courtesy of www.quotesgram.com

Finding Joy in the Little Things

It's been a few years since Our Boys, now 15 and 13, believed in the magic of the Christmas season. I don't remember precisely when we shared how the inner workings of the Santa Claus tradition were really more of a behind-the-scenes parental effort, but it was bittersweet. Yes, it's commercialized, but there really is nothing better than that moment on Christmas morning when little eyes grow big, and they look around with wonder and amazement with the gifts of the season. 

That joy was present in our home again this year. No, Our Boys still know the true story, but they were part of the magic-making this time. Little cousins, five and two, awoke on December 25 with us and trekked downstairs to see what was left for them by the chimney. Eyes were bright, questions were asked, and Patrick and Brendan passed on the tradition that we passed on to them. Yes, it's real. Yes, Santa ate the cookies. Yes, he shared the carrots with the reindeer. One of them might have even embellished with a little, "I heard something on the roof last night..." 

It was an honor to host our family this holiday season, for the first time ever at our home. There was a multi-page Google Document, several checklists, and a mad scramble at one point to find the scotch tape. We read books, snuggled, and ate meals together. We laughed, hugged, and went sledding. We opened gifts, read cards, and made new memories. It was the first time we all were together for Christmas in years, not just because of COVID, but because of jobs and geography. 

There were too many moments of joy to list but they were there. In the laughter of cousins. In the holiday traditions, old and new. In the wisdom of family. In the shared meals. In the quiet together. 

There was not one "big" moment - our joy came from so many expected, and unexpected places. 

Despite how wonderful those days were, it had to come to an end. Our extended family has gone back to their own homes. The leaf has been taken out of the table and returned to the basement. The grocery list this week was for four, not eleven. We return to our normal routines of school and work. 

The hope is to find more joy in the little things as we move into 2022. In all facets of my life: home, work, friends, family. Little joys will sustain us through the uncertainty of this next phase of COVID. Little joys will buoy us when we are down. Little joys will shine a light through our winter. 

Where will you find joy in 2022?