On Unified Sports

The text came in early that morning. Typically, it's not good news when a principal texts me early in the morning. However, this was a welcomed message from Melissa Centracchio, Principal of Cole Middle Schools: "Unified basketball is playing West Warwick at 9:30. Stop by if you can." 

There was no question I was making time for this. I quickly rearranged my office hours at another school for later that morning to ensure I could get to Cole to witness this. Unified Sports brings out the best in us. It's the best way to play sports, because everyone is a winner before the games actually begin. It's the best way to play sports because the final score means nothing. It's the best way to play sports because it's not about the outcome; it's about the relationships. 

In case you're unfamiliar with Unified Sports, it's a way for students with disabilities to participate in athletics along with typically developing peers. There are uniforms, officials, scorekeepers, and fans. But honestly, the only thing that matters is having fun. 

During the game at Cole last week, there were no traveling calls, even though almost every kiddo ran with the basketball without dribbling. There were rebounds, but the rebounder often gave the ball back to the kiddo, who took the shot and missed. And the only time the referee blew a whistle was to call for substitutes to ensure that everyone got out onto the floor. 

The gym was packed. The entire student body was in attendance. The bleachers were full, faculty and staff lined the walls, because it was standing room only. And when a Cole player scored the first points of the morning, you would have thought the team won the Middle School State Championship. (Which, by the way, the Cole Boys did win on February 17 of this year). 

Players ran up and down the floor, holding hands. They helped each other up, even those on the opposing team. During the game, players smiled at each other. 

After the game, I received this message from Mrs. Centracchio, who had e-mailed the parents of one of our Cole students: 

I am writing to let you know that I am extra proud of Nina today. 

She may have told you that we hosted Warwick Vets today for a unified basketball game. Nina recognized a boy on the Vets team that she went to preschool with, and she approached him to say hi. He was so excited that when he wasn't on the court playing, he'd go right to Nina and sit with her and her friends throughout the game. 

Vets is where I was in leadership before I came to Cole, so I know the coaches well. One, who is a dear friend of mine, approached me after the game to tell me about what Nina had done and how special it was for this young man. She also shared the attached picture with me - so I thought I'd share them with you as well. 

I am always proud of our students at Cole (especially at events like this) and today I was extra proud of your daughter. Well done, Mom and Dad!

Yes, I know this is different from how all sports are played. Healthy competition is expected, even at the middle school level. We can only sometimes hold hands and give away rebounds. 

But away from the court, this is precisely what we want from our students, the little and the big humans of East Greenwich Public Schools. We want them to nurture and maintain relationships with friends they've had since preschool, regardless of their abilities. We want our students, all of our students, to feel safe, welcomed, and included when they come to school. That way, and only that way, I maintain, can they learn to the best of their ability. That way, and only that way, I maintain, they will have the courage to make mistakes. That way, and only that way, I maintain, is the true meaning of All Means All. 

We're flawed humans. That part is not in question. However, unified sports are a window into the depth and beauty of who we really are as those flawed humans. 

Lessons we, more often than not, need to be reminded of by our students. 

The Gift of Time

The NCAA Tournament, known as March Madness, is one of the best sporting events in our country. I love college basketball more than its professional counterpart, and this tournament is one of the reasons why. If it were a best-of-five or best-of-seven series, more than likely, the better team (on paper) would win. However, this is not a series. Instead, there is a different opponent in every round. If a team wins six games in a row, they are the champion!

As of Sunday morning, March 24, my bracket is busted. I picked Kentucky to play Connecticut in the final game. Inexplicably, Kentucky lost to Oakland on Thursday night. That is the joy (for Oakland—a team that few had heard of before that game) and the agony (for Kentucky—a team that hoped to contend for the title) of this tournament. By the way, Oakland lost its second game to North Carolina State and is also out of the tournament. 

There is no such thing as a perfect bracket. OK, it's not that there's no such thing. It's nearly impossible to pick all sixty-three games correctly. The odds of picking that flawless bracket are 1 in 9.2 quintillion. Essentially, it's the equivalent of me picking up one grain of sand and you guessing the exact grain of sand I picked.

This week, I listened to a podcast about the 2019 NCAA Tournament and a gentleman named Dr. Gregg Nigl, a neuropsychologist for Veterans Affairs from Columbus, Ohio. Like many of us, Nigl filled out a couple of brackets that year without any specific pattern. As a Big Ten fan, he leaned heavily on the teams he knew from that conference and ended up throwing in some upsets along the way, like we all do. 

When the tournament began, he and his family were driving to Vermont for a ski vacation. During their drive, they stopped along the way to eat and watch some basketball. It was a long drive, so by the time they arrived on Sunday, Dr. Nigl and his family were happy to be at their destination. 

When they woke up on Monday, Dr. Nigl was surprised by a voicemail that he got from a colleague. Someone from the NCAA was calling his office looking for him. It turned out that as of Monday morning, after the first four days of the tournament, Dr. Nigl had picked a perfect bracket. There were forty-eight games that were played from Thursday through Sunday. Dr. Nigl picked every single one of them correctly. Yes, you read that correctly. Every game from Thursday afternoon to Sunday night, all forty-eight games, were accurate on his bracket. 

This was his fifteen minutes of fame. Buick (a sponsor that year) wanted to fly him out to Anaheim, CA, to see his beloved Michigan Wolverines play in the Sweet Sixteen (the second weekend of the tournament). He was on CNN and Good Morning America. This perfect bracket took over his family's time in the Green Mountain State. 

In Anaheim with his son (Nigl could only take one other person with him), as he got to the arena to watch the game, he found out that the University of Virginia came back and beat Oregon, another pick he had. Forty-nine correct picks out of a possible sixty-three! But before the game started, he saw that one of his picks was in trouble. From his seat in the arena, he watched on his phone, Tennessee lost to Purdue, and his streak of accuracy was over. 

It only went downhill from there. He watched, in person, as Michigan lost to Texas Tech, and in the second game that weekend, he watched Texas Tech take out his Championship pick: Gonzaga. For the remainder of his bracket, Dr. Nigl missed on three of his eight Sweet Sixteen picks. Only one of his Final Four picks actually made it to the last weekend. All in all, he accurately picked 53/63 games in the 2019 tournament. 

This is the fifth anniversary of that fantastic string of predictions. In the podcast, Nigl shared that he and his son were talking about the trip. When his son was asked, "What was your favorite memory of the trip?" His son said, "Happy to be in a cool place with you." 

Not being at a college basketball game in Anaheim. Not his dad being on TV multiple times. Not the hotel, the rental car, the spending money from Buick. Not his dad's fifteen minutes of fame. Being with his dad was the best part of that streak of forty-nine correct NCAA game outcomes. 

As parents, from the moment our children are born, we raise them to be independent beings. We celebrate all the milestones: crawling, walking, riding a bike, and driving a car. All those events are attempts for our children to grow from us. Time slips through our fingers as consistently as the seasons change. That is the gift of parenthood: time. 

For My Wife and me, we have crested over the halfway point. This year, Our Boys will turn sixteen and eighteen and have already had the majority of time in our home that they will spend. Our weekends are often spent in different locations, watching different sports, at different times, texting each other updates from games. Vacations to us have always been precious, but even more so as Our Boys have gotten older. We crave that unscripted time with them, away from the schedules, classes, homework, and jobs. 

What we do in education is essential; it's critical work. The shaping of young minds, especially in 2024, requires preparation, care, and a growth mindset. It takes a district and community beyond who we see in the classrooms to get it done. Yet, the work of our families and the time with our families come first. 

"I picked the best bracket ever, and it was very lucky. But it might have been the second luckiest thing that happened to me that March." (Dr. Gregg Nigl) 

~Thank you to my dear friend Mike Philbrick and the team at ESPN Daily for reporting this story. 

The Kindness of Strangers

It started innocently enough. A "sorta" stomach ache. A dull headache. Nothing specific and nothing truly scary. Our youngest son was a step slower than the rest of us during our vacation. We were out of the country and about to move to another island, one substantially less populated and, thus, with less medical support. To be sure that he was OK, we reached out to our Airbnb host and asked for a recommendation. Armed with the name of the local doctor and an address, My Wife headed out with our youngest. 

As it turned out, our host did more than just share information. When My Family walked into the clinic, they were asked for our last name. When the response was "Ricca," they were shown promptly in to see the doctor. There was no "waiting" in the waiting room. Our host saw to it that our family, a little nervous about being out of the country, was well cared for. The doctor was wonderful: he listened carefully, assessed medically, and sent them on their way with three over-the-counter medications. As he gave directions to the local pharmacy, the doctor also shared his personal cell phone number. If they give you a hard time at the pharmacy, or if he gets worse, text or call. Anytime. 

That night, as we prepared to travel to the more sparsely populated island, our youngest had a low-grade fever—the first time that symptom appeared. Still, he had been checked out by a doctor, and we had the doctor's cell phone. Our youngest felt well enough to move on to the next island, so off we went. That night, though, his appetite started to fade, and he didn't even join us on the beach. I figured he needed a good night's sleep, and after a day or two on the medications, he'd bounce back to his typical teenage self. I'm not that kind of doctor, but that's the pattern I expected since that's what I've seen happen multiple times in his fifteen-plus years on this planet. 

The following day, though, he had not improved, nor had he slept well. My Wife and I took turns going to the beach with our oldest, and the other would stay in the house with our sick kiddo. All the symptoms were rolled into one miserable young man: very little appetite, low-grade fever, headache, and upset stomach. He wasn't getting better. I still expected him to turn it around in another day or so. 

The next day was more of the same, although it seemed like his fever was getting worse and his appetite had disappeared entirely. We had chatted a little bit with our "next-door" neighbors, people who owned their own place in this little corner of paradise. They were friendly and helpful, and we shared what was happening with our younger son, so they would check in on him often. 

It all came to a head that night when Brendan's fever spiked to 102.9, and he threw up. Desperate to connect with someone, we texted the original doctor, who agreed to see us in the morning, but that was a ferry ride away. I hustled to our neighbors and asked for help. They called someone local to the island, and that person put us in touch with a local nurse. Our neighbor handed me her phone and told me to keep it for the night. I must have made a half dozen calls to the nurse that night. While she reassured us medically, with his condition worsening, we made plans to leave and head home the following day. 

As the first ferry was at 8:00, I didn't expect to see our neighbors before we left, so I wrote them a quick thank you note, stuck it on their phone, and put it on their doorstep. As we were pulling out, one of them came across the way to check in on us. We expressed our sincere gratitude and then made our way to the ferry, then to the airport, and finally back home. 

As it turns out, Brendan has pneumonia. He's been seeing his pediatrician regularly since we got back. He's on antibiotics and we're pushing fluids. While he's still not well, there are small signs of improvement. We're still concerned but far less knowing that we're home and have wonderful medical care. 

Our world is full of stories of people who are awful to one another. Where our common humanity means nothing and self-interest is the guiding force. And yet, we encountered the deep kindness of four complete strangers in our vulnerable moments. An Airbnb host. A random doctor. Two "neighbors," who shared a dirt road with us. 

We are grateful to all of them, but especially our "neighbors," Phil and Laura, from Little Compton, RI. 

Photo courtesy of Jo Hudson, www.medium.com

Because of Public Schools

February 26 through March 1 was designated Public Schools Week. On the heels of the National Conference on Education, sponsored by the American Association of School Administrators (AASA), I reflected on what that meant in East Greenwich Public Schools. I was proud of the many things that came to mind. Some of the highlights: 

• Five of the six schools in EGPS are designated as five-star schools. The sixth earned a fourth star, up from the previous year. 
  
  
• We are one of the few communities in Rhode Island that are seeing both steady (if not increasing) enrollment in the schools, as well as steady (if not increasing) community growth in the town itself. 
  
  
• By an almost 70% margin, the community supported an investment of state and local dollars to breathe new life into buildings for the future of education in our community. 

An investment in public education is an investment in the infrastructure of the town itself. We work together, hand in hand. While not always perfect, it works for East Greenwich. What's good for the schools is good for the town. What's good for the town is good for the schools. 

As I thought more about it, the beauty and gift of public schools is that everyone is welcome, regardless of who you are. Regardless of how much your family earns at the end of the year. Regardless of any of the labels that we are fond of using to distinguish one person from another. 

When I graduated from the College of the Holy Cross, I was gifted a book by Marian Wright Edelman. Ms. Edelman, a graduate of Yale Law School in 1963, founded the Children's Defense Fund in 1973. Her entire life has been in advocacy of children, regardless of any of the means we have tried to use to classify them. However, as someone who was involved in the Civil Rights Movement, clearly, Ms. Edelman has a soft spot in her heart for children of color, children who live in poverty, and children with disabilities. I still have this book on my shelf. 

From the book Guide My Feet comes what I believe is the heart of and the mission of public schools in the United States and East Greenwich. This is from a prayer by Ina J. Hughes and encompasses the title of the EGPS Strategic Plan, All Means All. I have framed it for all the employees of the East Greenwich Public Schools as follows: 

As the humans who work in EGPS, we take responsibility for children: 

• Who sneak popsicles before supper, 
• Who erase holes in math workbooks, 
• Who can never find their shoes. 

And we take responsibility for children: 

• Who stare at photographers from behind barbed wire, 
  
• Who can't bound down the street in a new pair of sneakers, 
  
• Who never "counted potatoes", 
• Who were born in places we wouldn't be caught dead in, 
• Who never go to the circus, 
• Who live in an X-rated world. 

As the humans who work in EGPS, we take responsibility for children: 

• Who bring us sticky kisses and fistfuls of dandelions, 
• Who hug us in a hurry and forget their lunch money. 

And we take responsibility for children: 

• Who never get dessert, 
• Who have no safe blankets to drag behind them, 
• Who watch their parents watch them die, 
• Who can't find any bread to steal, 
• Who don't have any rooms to clean up, 
• Whose pictures are not on anybody's dresser, 
• Whose monsters are real. 

As the humans who work in EGPS, we take responsibility for children: 

• Who spend all their allowance before Tuesday, 
• Who throw tantrums at grocery stores and pick at their food, 
• Who like ghost stories, 
• Who shove dirty clothes under the bed and never rinse out the tub, 
• Who get visits from the tooth fairy, 
• Who don't like to get kissed before drop-off, 
• Who squirm in church or temple, and scream into the phone, 
• Whose tears we sometimes laugh at, and 
• Whose smiles can make us cry

And we take responsibility for children: 

• Whose nightmares come in the daytime, 
• Who will eat anything, 
• Who have never seen a dentist, 
• Who aren't spoiled by anybody, 
• Who go to bed hungry and cry themselves to sleep, 
• Who live and move but have no being, 

As the humans who work in EGPS, we take responsibility for children: 

• Who want to be carried, 
• And for those who must. 
• For those we never give up on, 
• And for those who don't get a second chance. 
• For those we smother, 
• And for those who will grab the hand of anybody kind enough to offer it. 

The Leadership Team in EGPS can point to a child (or, in some cases, multiple children) that fits every single point that Ms. Hughes raises. There are children who come to school in EGPS for whom our schools are where their only consistent meals will be. For some of our students, this is the place where they feel safe and free from the harm of physical trauma. For some of our students, one of our six schools is the only place where they feel seen. 

We have more than 2,500 students enrolled in our district, with more than 250 educators working diligently to ensure they learn to their potential and have the courage to make mistakes along the way. We turn no one away. If you live in East Greenwich, we would love to have you as a part of our PK - 12 educational community. All of our employees promise to make you feel safe, welcomed, and included in our buildings, no matter who you are. 

Because we are your public school.