Thursday. I am standing in the lobby of a hotel in the Big Apple while attending a teachers convention. I have been enjoying catching up with colleagues from past school experiences: 'Hi, how are you? You look great! How are things going at school?' We go to seminars and crowded auditoriums to hear luminaries talk about the meaning of our work in schools, of community, of social cruelties and joys in the lives of middle-schoolers and their teachers; of homework, etc. The civil rights leader, the psychologist, the author, the fabulous science teacher, are arrayed in tantalizing succession. Food for thought. Intellectual and ethical stimulation. A nice change of pace from the daily walk of being a school leader.

Friday. I am standing in front of the Ed Sullivan Theater on Broadway. Wouldn't it be fun to call home from that bank of pay phones that David Letterman likes to call, hooking people off the streets into the glaring gaze of America's late-night television audience? My wife and the kids are at the dinner table. "Hey, guess where I am?" They love the scene. "I'm right outside Mujibur's store, next to Letterman's theater." It's almost like seeing a celebrity.

My wife gets on the phone. "Hon, I think you should know what happened at school today." My last instructions to the faculty before I left were, “Don’t call unless it's an emergency.” This is worth it. Something must be done, before the next school day, about little Gary's indiscretion in drama class: mooning everyone, including the teacher. Full moon. Tonight I will have to get on the phone to the drama teacher and to Gary's mom. Tonight I am also going to a Broadway show: "Bring in da noise, bring in da funk." A propos of nothing, Gary watches South Park regularly. I do not have cable television.

Monday. I am standing in the 7th grade homeroom explaining Gary's suspension from school for two days. 'This isn't a school with lots of rules written down for every potential infraction. We operate with a pretty good set of values that we expect you to know and understand; values that you'll learn to apply to any situation, familiar or unfamiliar. One of our values is forgiveness. When Gary comes back on Wednesday, his consequence is over; he's forgiven the mistake he made."

Wednesday. Gary's back. "Gary, I like you; you're a witty guy. But mooning the class was 'over the line.' Thank goodness you made that mistake in 7th grade and not later on when the results might be more damaging." He already knows what I feel I need to tell him. "I just didn't think," he offers. He knows that I know he knows. Two weeks later a classmate's mother tells me the story of being mooned by Gary and John when they were playing over at her house.

Thursday. I am standing in front of the middle school students at 8:15 in the morning to make an announcement. The day before, an hour before faculty meeting, I received an urgent call. Tragedy: Carl, one of the school's maintenance workers has been found across town, an apparent suicide. Many of the kids know him. He was a buddy to an eighth grader. We discuss this as a faculty, plan how to tell kids the next day and invite the school psychologist to be available; I send a letter home to parents explaining. This morning, before classes, I tell the kids what happened. The 6th graders ask if the flag can be lowered to half-mast. The flag is lowered. They also start a bulletin board with Carl's photo and hand written tributes.

Friday. I am standing in front of the middle school students for our weekly town meeting. We will play a game: team spelling bee. We have moved to the gym so that we can make noise, run around in controlled exuberance. I call out words and each grade sends up the students holding the required letters. Grade versus grade in good-hearted competition. 'Gnarly', 'ambidextrous', 'suite'. One of the faculty judges doesn't know that Xena does not have a 'Z' in it. We replay the point. In the five point final round, when I surprise the teams by asking them to "spell" the alphabet, the 8th grade puts Z where A should be. They blow their lead. To everyone's delight, this will require a rematch.

Later today, the school psychologist will come to meet with kids who need to talk about Carl's death. He will also console the person in the kitchen who was closest to him. It makes a difference for her to hear that she had done all she could.

Doing all we can.

A high aspiration.

A daily walk.

A texture, a tone, a heartbeat, every day a rematch with ourselves and our community.

~ Todd

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