Commencement as Guerrilla Theater - Part One

Whenever I am asked my favorite event of the school year, my answer is always the commencement ceremony. While undoubtedly there are numerous events throughout the school year of similar import and significance, for me, none can match the purpose and pageantry of the year's ending activity. Most of all, commencement and the graduating of a school's senior class, represent the culmination of everything we are about as a school. Our mission, our vision, and our purpose as an institution reach their apogee as our students march across our stage in final celebration of their achievements.

As Head of School, my particular joy at commencement as I call each student's name to come forward and receive their diploma, is to internally reflect upon the many trials, tribulations, and triumphs that brought each of them to this capstone moment. As the names still echo and the applause swells for each student crossing the stage, I recall the hard work and sacrifices made by parents and students alike. For some, these efforts are represented by the endless hours of homework, athletic practices, and field trips that have accumulated over the years; for others, I see in their nervous walks across the stage, their parents' financial struggles to keep their child on track and a member of the school community. Finally, I think of the immense time and effort put forth by faculty and staff, not only to teach and support each student, but also to serve as counselor, role model, coach, and oftentimes simply as someone who will listen. For me, all of this is what commencement is all about.

However, there is another, sometimes hidden side of the commencement ceremony that I have also had the joy, and mostly good fortune to be a part of. From my perspectives over the years as a faculty member, Dean of Students, Division Director, and certainly as Headmaster, I have observed that commencement, though carefully designed and crafted to be a serious ceremony to recognize all of the above qualities in our schools and students, can sometimes turn out to be something quite different. Whether behind the scenes or up on the stage for all to see, the best laid plans can, and often do, go humorously awry . . .

My first experience with the guerrilla theater that is commencement came at the outdoor ceremony at my first school - an all boys institution of strong repute. With the commencement stage set up on the football field facing the nearby highway, and parents facing it flanked on opposite sides by faculty and students, the ceremony each year usually ran like clockwork. One year however, as I sat in the faculty section and gazed out over the parents at the hillsides opposite the stadium, I noticed a flurry of activity in one of the neighborhood's cul-de-sacs. Straining my eyes a bit harder, I could clearly identify several of our alums - at first thought to be simply desiring a bird's eye view of the ceremony - instead, setting up an elaborate, life-sized slingshot mechanism to lob water balloons into the assembled crowd.

As a rather new faculty member and only a decade or so removed from my own adolescence, my first reaction was one of wonder, tinged with a bit of admiration. In the days before cell phones and instantaneous calls to the police, I watched in awe at the organizational skills of the squadron of young men operating together with military-like precision to secure the best target. As the first balloons barely passed over the highway, new orders were barked, coordinates adjusted, and fresh water-filled projectiles loaded and fired. Finally, as the "bombs" - some of which actually did "burst in air," - zeroed in on their unsuspecting targets, others began to notice the now rapidly arriving commencement gifts. 

Perhaps it was the noise as the balloons harmlessly hit the football field, or the actual splash and watery shrapnel barely reaching the back row of parents that finally alerted the gathered crowd. Regardless, the speaker at the time, roused from his notes by the fearful roar of the targeted parents, pointed a strong and unwavering finger directly at the combatants. This signature interruption - fixed forever in my own mind with Rushmore-esque solidity, heralded with a warning announcement over the speakers to the now panicky parents, emboldened several school officials to attempt to seize the threatening heights and enemy alums, effectively ending the bombardment. Alas, the former students were never caught, and the ceremony resumed rather quickly and certainly in a drier fashion than before.

As fate would have it, a year later at the same school, among my many duties as the new Dean of Students was the charge to make sure that the commencement ceremony ran as smoothly and uneventfully as possible. With visions of the aerial soaking still fresh in the Headmaster's mind - and my own - my first order of business was to station a few reliable faculty members on "Water Balloon Hill", to avoid another assault. With a clear view of my terrain, and with my men firmly in place, I felt as if we had the enemy under control. Never has one person been so wrong . . .

That year, the students eschewed the overt attack methods that had previously come so close to succeeding. Instead, they adopted a more covert, though no less effective means of disruption. As each of the more than one hundred seniors rose to stride across the stage and accept their diplomas, they carried with them two marbles hidden in their right palms - one to present to the Headmaster, and the other to the Board of Trustees' President, each eagerly waiting to shake their hands. Needless to say, the small staging area available at commencement had no appropriate accommodations for the post-hand shake storage of over two hundred marbles. Thank goodness the school's top award each year was the Bishop's Cup. I seriously doubt whether a commencement award has ever been put to better use . . .

Remarkably, still in possession of my job, and with a renewed determination to foresee the possible actions of adolescent boys as they attempt to make public one last anti-authoritarian statement, I faced the next year's ceremony with a grim resolve. Stung by the marble incident, I tried as hard as I could to discover this year's nefarious plans in advance. With rumors ranging from coating their hands with Vaseline, to each student throwing a frisbee to the crowd from mid-stage, I was taking no chances.

Each year, students and faculty alike wore traditional long gowns to the commencement ceremony. Following the marble incident, I redesigned the internal workings of my own robe, adding long and deep pockets. Invisible to the casual observer, I hoped that my new found storage capabilities would further my plans to surreptitiously collect as many items from the students before they walked to the stage. Attached to my belt, and also in one of the pockets, I stored a few towels - for the rumored Vaseline vigilantes - as well as assorted other items I might need to defend the dignity of the ceremony and the possible health and/or cleanliness of the Headmaster. Batman with his tool belt was never better prepared . . .

To facilitate the "capture" of this contraband, I initiated a new procedure as the students prepared to cross the stage. Under the guise of needing to establish a smoother transition from sitting as an audience to actually walking up to receive their diplomas, I stationed myself at the end of each row as the student names were about to be called. With each row rising simultaneous as one group, I solemnly, yet enthusiastically, shook each student's hand prior to their walking up the stairs to the stage. 

It is important at this point to note that I use the phrase "shook their hands" loosely. Actually, I developed a rather elaborate five second search process for each student. Beginning with a firm congratulatory grasp of the unaware student's hand with my own right, and a simultaneous clenching of their elbow with my left, I forcefully looked each potential miscreant directly in the eye. Slowly releasing my grasp, and of course, not wishing any student to trip over me or the row of chairs, I graciously assisted each student with a pat on the back or a quick grasp of the robe. Between the casual pat down and the nervous actions of the always anxious students, I struck gold. Needless to say, when my career as an educator is over, there's always a role for me as a TSA trainer - I was years ahead of the curve in terms of our current airport screeners . . .

As a result of "Operation Deep Pockets," I collected more than my fair share of frisbees, sunglasses, a few marbles - from those students who obviously missed the memo - as well as a cap pistol, three squirt guns, two soft drink cans, and a half-eaten and rapidly melting Hershey bar, to name but a few. I also wiped off enough Vaseline from my hands to lubricate a small fleet of ships or to sponsor the world's largest greased pig contest. Among the faculty circulating at the reception afterward, I was the easiest to spot - stooped over and weighted down with my "loot," and shaking hands with the smoothest digits and palms in the greater tri-state area . . .

In future years, I perfected my flowing robes as catch-all device, and the students never quite seemed to deduce my motives. They still tried to deliver their own surprises, but with my Batman-like reflexes, pre-TSA body search tactics, and the occasional spare towel, I felt as though I could handle anything.

Pomp and circumstance will always be the goal of a school's commencement, but the reality is that these ceremonies often are also opportunities for students to attempt to have their own final say or make a public statement. Some, not satisfied with Valedictorian speeches alone, choose other means of expression. As administrators, it is always our job to join in "the game" and either head off these opportunities before they happen, or channel them back to some greater good. While admiring the students' moxie and creativity, it simply would not do to allow the water ballooning of the audience or the greasing of the Headmaster. It's a dirty job, but someone's got to do it . . . and I loved every minute! 

Those Pesky Little Light Bulbs . . .

If you've had to buy a light bulb recently, you may have noticed that the old incandescent bulb we all grew up with, has been steadily replaced with the new and more energy efficient "ecobulbs". In some corners of the political spectrum, there has been a lot of hoopla over this government-mandated change and how our individual rights and lack of choice are being trampled in the process. Personally, I never felt my rights were violated over a reduced wattage light bulb, but you can cue the "slippery slope" argument here if you must . . .

Regardless of your stand on the Bill of Rights and where light bulbs fit into the picture, there is another type of government-mandate that is in fact, harming all of us and some would argue, endangering our future as well. In the rush for accountability and statistical analysis, coupled with massive cost cutting measures due to our struggling economy, the American educational system and the students themselves, are in jeopardy of losing the greatest tool for learning - the ability to understand.

More and more, our schools are turning to standardized tests as their only tool to measure their successes and avoid their failures. Large amounts of class time are being dedicated to learning a limited range of required facts and figures, with little or no time for "outside" resources or interests. In addition, huge swaths of time in the school's regular schedule may be given over to teaching students how to take "the Test", instead of allowing for real learning. When federal and state monies are at stake for positive results, there can be little or no time for deviations from a rigidly set curriculum that prizes facts over inquiry and discovery.

In addition, the pressure on teachers for their students to perform well on these tests can often force the teachers and administrators into desperate measures across the ethical spectrum. Such measures have ranged from the above-mentioned focus on test-taking over real learning, all the way to changing scores after the tests to improve an individual teacher or school's ranking. With everything from salary increases to additional government funds at risk for poor scores, it is sometimes easy to sympathize with those in the trenches.

This emphasis on a rigidly set curriculum is no longer just an issue for students in public schools. After years of conditioning to this system of performance testing, more and more parents are seeking the same rigid learning styles in private schools. There are numerous schools now catering to this market in new and innovative ways. In one increasingly familiar scenario, the arts and physical education, among other "extracurricular" offerings, are simply eliminated for more class time in the core academic subjects. All such non-essential courses have been moved to after school as "extras" often for an additional fee, or simply eliminated all together in the drive for the top scores.

Ironically, all of this focus on testing and accountability comes at time when the American workforce is increasingly asked to be more adaptable, collaborative, and innovative than ever before. These requirements are partly the result of job changes and accommodations due to the economy, but most research and studies of the needs of employers both now and in the future, point to these same needs as key requirements for success. Trained to have only one answer to a question, and provided with only minimal, yet rigid instructions, today's students and tomorrow's workers will have little or no experience with the freedom of real problem solving and possible multiple solutions and approaches to an issue or concern.

In short, we run the risk of quelling the real purpose of education for our students - cultivating in them the desire to understand. How can teachers allow questions such as Why? or How?, when it is not allowed either by time or design in the provided curriculum? Where will students learn and practice collaboration with their classmates? Be challenged to think an issue or idea through and see its connections to other ideas?

In our drive for outcome-based learning, we are sadly postponing or eliminating altogether, the true outcomes for education. While American students are becoming better at taking tests and regurgitating required information - an excellent trait for renewing driver's licenses for example - they are quickly losing the ability and more importantly, the desire to question, to explore, and to wonder . . . 

Several years ago, a screenwriter friend of mine was creating a new television series about a public school and its teachers. During his research, he once asked me what I most enjoyed about teaching. After a little thought, I told him it was the "light bulb moment" - that time immortalized in cartoons when a brilliant or creative thought pops into a character's mind, and a light bulb appears over their heads. Minus the actual light bulb appearing halo-like over my students' heads, that moment to me represents the culmination of when the facts, ideas, and calculations we have all been working with, finally come together for a student. In other words, when a student understands.

As a nation and as educators, to continue down this steadily widening path of strictly measurable outcomes for our students as our only tool of gauging their progress, is to risk forever turning off the opportunity for that all important light bulb above our heads to switch on - incandescent or not . . .

The (Traffic) Circle of Life

There are a lot of different ways you can discover the true heart of a school - what makes it tick, what its students are like, how well the learning process is played out, etc. Most would argue that the classroom itself is the best way to judge a school - how the teacher delivers the day's lesson, the attentiveness and engagement of the students, the positive atmosphere in the room - and none of these would be wrong. For others, it may be in the hallways or the playing fields, where the tone, school spirit, and lessons of sportsmanship and teamwork are played out every day.

While it would be hard to argue with any of these perspectives, I've always felt there was another place and time in the school that reveals the true nature of the school's mission, the personalities of its students and parents, and where a school's ability to cope with both the planned and unplanned all come together. For now, forget the classrooms, the assemblies, and the playing fields. Instead, concentrate on the one place where the day both begins and ends - drop-off and pick-up time in the school's parking lots . . .

Where else but at morning drop-off can you see students and parents in their purest forms? As you open the car doors and greet each student, you open the door to unseen worlds and vistas for the average faculty member and administrator. For it is here - if only for a few seconds - that you see the moods, the interactions, and the behaviors between parent and child that so often set the tone for their day, and may have a huge influence on the course of that particular child's learning.

Putting aside the always welcome and appreciated bright, chipper and ready to go child and family - there are a few, but their numbers seem to diminish a bit more each year - there are plenty of examples of families barely able to pull it together for one reason or another. These are the families whose children are still eating breakfast as they exit the car - tossing back inside half-full drink cups and barely eaten bagels as they unbuckle their seat belts and bound out. At times, I have wished I were a trained anthropologist, able to study the food debris left behind in some cars for seemingly weeks at a time - thank goodness I rarely opened doors during summer sessions . . . For others, there were daily competitions between parents and children as to who could finish dressing/make-up application first - even as the car pulled up to the curb. Many is the time the child emerged from the seemingly darkened nether regions of the back seat with only one arm in a jacket or one or fewer shoes tied . . .

Moods as well can often be picked up in an instant after the door is opened. Of course, it helps to be alerted ahead of time when you can hear raised voices from several cars away - despite the closed windows - as they line up to disgorge their riders. I will never forget the argument between child and parent that had obviously begun at home over breakfast, and was still raging in the car as I opened the door. Clearly, it made no difference that I was now privy to the entire row going on. Instead, guided instinctively and robotically to the carpool line and drop-off point, neither party seemed willing to end their side of the story. As curious as I was to listen, and despite the pleading look in the eyes of the parent - a look I took to mean "please help straighten out my unruly child" - I opted for the more forlorn look of the five year old and rapidly plucked her from the jaws of an almost certain rhetorical defeat.

Of course, where else but in a carpool line can you see the slightly aberrant behavior of the child played out for all to see by the parent? As educators, we sometimes wonder why a child habitually fails to follow directions or  allows their concentration to wander. No need to debate nature or nurture here. Time after time, the parent whose child frequently "goes their own way," is the same one dangerously passing others in the carpool lane or jumping out and opening the doors on the wrong side of the car - despite repeated instructions, pleadings, and sometimes confrontations to the contrary. One of my personal favorites is always the parent on the phone as they pull up, too busy to say goodbye to the child or even notice their departure. I frequently resisted the urge to replace the child in the car with myself and see how many miles it would take for the parent to notice - perhaps enjoying the remains of a half-eaten bagel while I waited . . .

Multi-student carpools also provide a microcosm of school life for all to observe. In most instances, everyone in the car were friends and got along well. Once in awhile however, it was obvious that the carpooling arrangements were made between parents, and without the child's input. The best way to test this theory was usually by the speed with which the "clown car" emptied. Fast and easy exits upon arrival meant everyone working together in a friendly fashion to get out and get on with the day. Slow and laborious leavings, occasionally punctuated by tussles over backpacks or lost lunches, frequently signaled forced "friendships" and temporary automobile incarcerations.

Safety is just as important in the operation of a good carpool line as efficiency. With the huge amount of traffic flowing through the school at compressed times, moving students quickly and safely from their cars to their classrooms is paramount. At a time when everyone has to pay attention to each car and student, the rogue driver failing to follow directions or errant student running back to the car after forgetting something can create real and potentially dangerous problems. Over the years we have all plucked dozens of students from potentially bad situations. Once, after grabbing a particularly active four year old only inches away from a moving bumper, I lifted him high in the air to signify to all who witnessed the incident that all was well. The child, happily oblivious to his near-death experience and obviously inspired by Disney's "Lion King," turned to me after I put him down and said "Thanks, Rafiki". From that day forward, as part of our own inside joke, I called him Simba, and he called me Mr. Rafiki. Even he knew it is a jungle out there . . .

Morning or afternoon, rain or shine - though rain can speed up the car exiting/entering process a great deal - the events each day at drop-off and pick-up help us see students and parents in a different light, understand some of the stresses and tensions each may feel, and help lead to new and stronger level of communication. Though sometimes tedious, "carpool duty" is a valuable part of the school experience for everyone - especially those whose classroom exposure to students is limited. For me, it has proven to be invaluable as an observational and participatory view of the school. Helping with the daily traffic, with all of its drama, moodiness, and safety issues - and most importantly, greeting the overwhelming numbers of smiling faces that cannot wait to start a new day - has definitely helped me see the school's entire "circle of life."

The Tao of the Hula Hoop

On December 31, 2011, the Global School of Silicon Valley closed its doors for the final time. As Head of School, one of my last official duties was not only to say goodbye to our students, parents, and faculty on the last day, it was also to make certain that everything that physically remained of the Global School was either packed up for storage or carted off. This is the story of my final walk-thru . . .


There is an ebb and flow to the life of a school. There are always times of great action and activity, punctuated by the joy and presence of children as they go about their daily tasks. From the energetic raising of hands to answer a teacher's question, the squeals and yells of great leaps and feats on the playgrounds, or the highly animated conversations so characteristic of lunchtime in a crowded cafeteria - each of these activities and more produces an energy and enthusiasm unique to schools.

At the end of the day, the ebb of these same activities is often a welcome downtime. When the last backpack is stuffed with the day's work, and the final car door is safely closed, the change in the atmosphere is palpable. Depending upon the events of the day - and the behavior of the students - the last tick of the clock can represent the end of your finest day, or just another reason to catch your breath before beginning to prep for the next. Either way, there is usually a great sense of accomplishment and feeling of a job well done that permeates the minds of those teachers left in the quiet of their classrooms.

Imagine the feeling then, of a school where students do not simply go home for the weekend or a long holiday. Instead, imagine a school where the whoops and hollers, the surges of activities and events, and the simple presence of young children eager to learn and engage, are heard and enjoyed no more. A place where for one last time, the classrooms are empty, the floors swept, and seemingly each and every piece of detritus common to school life is gone . . .

Walking around the campus for the final time, I slowly realized that while the halls and rooms may be quiet, the floors vacuumed, and the walls and tables scrubbed clean - in fact, it is virtually impossible to erase the memories of children from a place where they once laughed and learned, played and discovered, and finally, where they spent an enormous amount of time simply being children.

As if to emphasize the memories that refuse to disappear, the buildings themselves that once housed the Global School now stand as mute testimony to the baby boomer years of the 1950's and 60's. Built of cement and cinder block as if to withstand any attempted Russian nuclear attack - can you say "Duck and Cover?" - they have seen at least five iterations over of the years of various types of schools, public and private. I had only to look down at my feet for evidence of prior children's memories. There, the once wet cement encased forever the handprints and scribblings of previous students - John, Susie, and someone named Tiz (I'm thinking "Tim" with a shaky hand . . .). Just north of the handprinted cement are the dozens of lockers left over as well from another school incarnation - too heavy to move and not quite appropriate for elementary schoolers.

It is around the corner from the lockers however, where memories of the Global School students are still echoing. In one classroom, no amount of scrubbing or cleaning can remove the tape marks on the floor where students once sat for reading time. In another room, the splashes of paint near the sink - stubbornly refusing to be wiped off - speak of projects now gracing refrigerators and bedroom walls all over the valley. While pencil marks on a door jam next door signify the physical growth of numerous students - and the "stunted" growth of the teacher - whose own pencil marks never seem to move . . .

Down the hall, the art room holds more special memories. In addition to the splashes of paint and ink - here not simply confined to the sink area, but found all around what was a very active place - there are other traces of fun, experimentation, and learning to be found. Though the forest of papers and projects no longer hang from the ceiling beams and walls, the holes and pin pricks that still punctuate these surfaces by the hundreds say that great art and great fun was to be had here.

Walking through each classroom for the last time before locking the door, I see the stain on one floor of an overly active volcano project gone awry. In one corner, I have to laugh as I notice a few puffs of styrofoam beads from the reading area's bean bag chairs that have somehow escaped the dreaded vacuum cleaner. My final inspections also reveal that numerous rooms still have student names posted on their cubbies - stubbornly refusing to be removed with anything approaching an easy task. Needless to say, I decide to leave them . . .

Locking the last classroom door and turning the corner of the building one final time before I head out the gate, I hear the faint sounds of a familiar gurgling . . . It seems that even the bathrooms require my presence one last time. After all, what would my day be like without having to jiggle the handle of the third urinal from the left in the boy's bathroom one last time? I think it's the only time I've ever laughed trying to address a plumbing issue . . .

Gurgling silenced, lights turned off, and bathroom secured, I happen to glance up to the tree that shaded our playground. There, my eyes are met by the sight of my final and most significant memory of the children of Global School. For there on the middle branches of the weeping willow tree, is one of the school's hula hoops - bright red no less - gracefully swinging in the wind and blithely refusing to fall.

And that's when all of the stress and pressure of the last few weeks seemed to hit me all at once. There, on the edge of a now-silent playground, and staring up at a red hula hoop in a tree, I started to laugh and cry at the same time. For of all of the memories I will have of Global School, remembering the students determined efforts over several days this past fall to get the hula hoop down, will always remain with me. While no one admitted the original crime of spinning the hula hoop up in the tree in the first place, everyone - including myself - volunteered to solve the problem. Basketballs, ladders, volleyballs, other hula hoops, and even a human pyramid were suggested, attempted, and ultimately futilely discarded.

My laughter and tears however, were not about the fact that the hula hoop still remained in the tree. My emotions had to do with the realization that in trying to "free" the hula hoop from its capture by the tree, the students had encapsulated and practiced virtually everything we had tried to teach them. Principles such as identifying the problem, attempting to come up with a solution, and most importantly, working together to accomplish the task were utilized as almost a second nature. Though the end result was a failure - the hula hoop obviously still swayed above my head - one thing became clear above anything else - the fun and the learning was in trying and failing.

For all I know, the red hula hoop is still occupying its place of honor in the playground tree, and I hope it remains there for years to come. As for me, wherever I may land in the future, I hope that there is a tree that I can throw a red hula hoop up into. It will be with great joy and just a tinge of sadness, that I will then have the opportunity to explain to all of those interested, the meaning of the hula hoop and stories of the wonderful students who once attended the Global School of Silicon Valley . . .

For more about the school that was the Global School of Silicon Valley, please visit my former blog: 
www.notesfromaglobalperspective.blogspot.com