Month: August 2015

“Danny is a fine student in all respects except that his social tendencies lead him to his leaving his seat to talk with others.” My first grade teacher nailed me for working the room at age 6. No wonder I turned out to be a headmaster.

My thoughts turned to report cards when Judy found hers from 4^th, 5^th and 6th grade. Her teachers’ messages were consistent; she does neat and careful work, is well-liked by her classmates; she is motivated to see problems and then fix them; she expects others to give their best effort, too. No mention of content—good with numbers, writes well, caught on to quantum mechanics quickly—just statements about form and behavior.

There was one strand of criticism of Judy in 4^th and half of 5^th grade; needs to work on penmanship. Then, when whatever issues were corrected, the next report card congratulated her for working so hard to improve her penmanship.

Teachers worried about different things in 1950s San Diego.

Your memories of grade school are, no doubt, colored by the quality of your teachers—caring or too strict, understanding or indifferent to circumstances, a good explainer or not. Did the comments written by your teacher bear any resemblance to the person you turned out to be?

The comments about Judy might have been short on evaluating content mastery but she has always been one to try to fix problems she sees, and she expects others to do their best.

I have been working the room on and off since first grade. When Mom told me about my first grade teacher’s comment, I was surprised. I have always considered myself an introvert who needs to screw up the courage and energy to wade into a crowd and be chatty. However, there is a career full of evidence to back up that teacher’s judgment.

Judy and I grew up to become teachers, charged with the responsibility of writing report cards. I’d like to think that my students and their parents benefited from the feedback I provided. But I’ll never know.

There was one comment I wished I could have written on occasion but dared not. “Johnny does a good job of compensating for his hereditary deficiencies.” There were kids we both felt would have benefited by attending a distant boarding school or, in a few circumstances, a “parent-ectomy.” Harsh judgments, perhaps unfair. Teachers are human, though, and some parents seemed a burden to the development of their children. A far cry from fretting about penmanship.

As a school head, I once asked a colleague raised in Britain to edit his comment on a report card. “Brian is something of a twit,” he wrote. I pointed out that “twit” carried different meetings on either side of the Atlantic. He chose “Brian can be fidgety in class” instead.

What we teachers wrote mattered, and what today’s teachers write (though in some school districts, they just mark canned phrases indicated by numbers) matters. Those comments imprint themselves on kids, even ones who seem to care less about school. Indeed, kids internalize comments from parents, pastors, teachers, and coaches a great deal as they strive to figure out who they are and what their purpose in the world might be.

Who said what about you once? What have you ever said about someone that you now regret?

One late afternoon at Webb School, a junior in my AP US History class came to my door. He was in the midst of what seemed to me a form of clinical depression. “Dr. White,” he began, “the psychologist said I should come to you directly as a first step to my healing. You said something on my report card about me…” I don’t remember the rest of what he said, I do remember my sadness that something I had written, probably with the best of intentions, had led to weeks of misery for him. He got better quickly after that moment I confronted my own unintended insensitivity.

In your career, if you have worked for someone else who evaluated you regularly, especially on a checklist or form, you never escaped the report card. Sharp comments can still sting even after graduation, right?

At a headmaster’s conference, sixty of us agreed that, on our evaluations over time, our strengths remained our strengths and our weaknesses remained our weaknesses. We could compensate by “hiring to our weaknesses,” a principle of good leadership.   You had to know your weaknesses, though. Honest self-evaluation is a valuable form of assessment.

If I land in Heaven, I doubt there will be a report card waiting at the Pearly Gates. I could be wrong. If so, I hope it says “Danny lived a fine life in all respects except that his social tendencies led to leaving his seat to talk with others.”

Daniel E. White

August 19, 2015

Whenever Uncle Gene, Judy and I were out in public together, he would make up fantastic short bios of passersby, based on their appearance and his imagination. We could never know if any of the data were true, but we laughed about the plausibility and picked up the habit.

Whenever Uncle Gene saw a feat of architectural or natural wonder, he would deadpan, “wasn’t easy” as though he had been in charge of design and construction. We laughed more.

Chad and Mom rediscovered each other after 70 years. Each had been married for 56 of those years and were now in their 80s, getting married. They laughed with each other incessantly, and reveled in the chance to tell their unlikely story of romance to whomever would listen. The listener always went away happier.

Sonny’s round face broke into a smile effortlessly. You could wonder if he was ever not smiling. I think his nickname was spelled with an “o” as the second letter, but if it was with a “u,” it was descriptive. He was generous in fact and in spirit.

Aunt Jane (no relation to Uncle Gene; the Whites were serial adopters of aunties and uncles well before we got to Hawaii where everybody is an auntie or uncle) would read the newspaper daily searching for stories of men or women she felt needed a word of encouragement, and she would write the person a letter. Many times, the recipient responded months or even years later with gratitude, noting that her kind words were among the few expressions of support he or she had received.

The muse of my writing about Aging, Jo, was always ready with a story, told with a puckish twinkle in her eye, from her long and interesting life, the point of which was to cheer the listener. She was so good at that, I never realized that, at the same time, she was nursing her husband through his terminal struggle with cancer.

These are the people about whom Albert Schweitzer wrote: “In everybody’s life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flames by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit.”

The folks above all were People of a Certain Age and even older. I am not alone, I suspect, in holding in high esteem people who have lived seven, eight, or nine decades and maintained a positive outlook on life.

But younger people can be rekindlers, too. I can right away think of three teenagers I see with some regularly who project an attitude of joy and demonstrate extraordinary responsibility and interest in being helpful. One cannot be with any of these kids without thinking that the future of the world and our country might not be as bleak as the daily headlines make it seem.

 

I think my examples of rekindlers might have needed an occasional freshening of their fires, too. Here’s where I might part company with Dr. Schweitzer, as bold as that might seem.

 

Implied in the quote is the assertion that there are certain people with the capacity. I think most everyone has the capacity. It is a matter of attitude and effort. And, if the term “rekindling” is correct, then there needs to be an amber to enflame.

 

Dr. Schweitzer is right about people sometimes losing the inner fire. Moods change, temperaments can be affect by circumstance, sorrow and grief are seemingly inevitable companions at some points in life. But, the ember of hope is there to be stoked.

You and I could be stokers—rekindlers—if we try. Winnie-the-Pooh is instructive here. Eeyore, the donkey, always looks on the depressing side of things. If you spend all of your time in the company of Eeyores, you might become like them. It is hard to see an ember of optimism in Eeyore.

Winnie-the-Pooh is congenitally optimistic, often recklessly so. But in his innocence and silliness (silly old bear, say Christopher Robin), there is a joy about living, the excitement of trying, and an appreciation of his friends who help him get out of scrapes.

Spend time with the Winnies around you.

One of many traits common to my rekindlers above is the gift of laughter. And smiles. Especially smiles. Smiles are so disarming.

Something else. The act of reaching out to rekindle is rekindling in itself. It is cheap therapy. Next time you feel like your inner fire is floundering, try rekindling another.

 

Daniel E. White

August 7, 2015