The Possibility Project

Happy Mother's Day!

I remember the first time a student called me Mom. The word startled me, but not my student, a Kindergartner, who continued on with her story without pause or hesitation. Looking back, every year in the classroom, no matter the grade or makeup of the class, there was always at least one instance when I was misnamed Mom. As I remember when Bennett first called me Mama, I can't help but wonder which Pike teachers he will call Mom in the years to come.

For many teachers, Mom is a student-appointed name at some point in our careers. Family and teachers are often the most steadfast presence in a young child's life. As they age, children begin to spend more time at school than at home. The village raising our children widens to include teachers, advisors, and coaches. Teachers see our students, your children, as the most important part of our work. Your children are the reason we became teachers. We delight in their firsts. I remember when my former student, Carly, wowed at a new counting strategy for adding double digit numbers and when Johnny began adding quotes with pride to support his thesis in argumentative essays. We worry alongside them amidst their challenges. I remember when Darrah agonized watching her best friend make a new best friend and when Sawyer was crushed reviewing his careless errors and missed points on a math test. Your children, our students, mean the world to us. While not their parents, we care deeply about students' journeys towards adulthood. It is a gift to join their village and watch them grow.

So, in many ways, it is fitting that this Mother's Day comes at the end of Teacher Appreciation week. We've spent a week, honoring our esteemed villagers (Pike teachers!) who spend hours each day encouraging, consoling, and inspiring our children. Walking past the decorated windows on campus, there are moving messages of gratitude from students: Thank you for helping me grow! Thank you for being there when I needed you! My teacher helped me not be scared of raising my own hand. I appreciate my teachers because they motivate me :) My teacher helped me see things in a new way. While there is family encircling each child at home, there is also a Pike family, a Pike village, here, too.

What sustains us?

"Who would like to share their poem with the class?" Recently, I was a guest teacher for two sections of seventh grade English during their poetry unit. These were my closing words. After listening to and visualizing several poems, we (myself included) wrote our own poems and ended with readings from the class. Each classroom echoed with the same rhythm of silence and snaps; rapt attention for each friend reading followed by enthusiastic snapping after the last spoken word. These seventh grade poets read verses about acceptance, perfectionism, their future selves, and peer pressure fully capturing the hopes and anxieties of being a young adolescent during a pandemic. 

Witnessing their imagination and craft, their vulnerability and camaraderie was the highlight of my week. For many educators, teaching is what sustains us. Watching children grow into themselves and stretch their learning edges fulfills and inspires us and adds purpose to our lives. Sustainability, the capacity to endure amidst change, is fueled by these moments of inspiration and meaning making. An ongoing commitment at Pike, sustainability has been ever-present during this unpredictable year of change. It's in the confidence of seventh grade poets, the creativity of every Pre-K student during recess, and the deep care and concern of our Upper School Generation Green Club. They have transformed Earth Day into a weeklong series of activities designed to minimize waste and keep Pike green. Learn more about environmental sustainability and Pike ingenuity. And, remember to participate in our upcycle challenge on Thursday!

What are our small moments of joy?

When I was a child, I wanted to be a poet when I grew up. My seventh grade teacher, Mrs. Vernon, helped me to publish my poetry in a local newspaper, and I was certain a Pulitzer Prize was all but inevitable. While my poetry career has escaped me, April (National Poetry Month!) is the perfect time to reclaim the small moments of connection and discovery made possible by poetry. Unlike prose, poetry is brief and focused in its storytelling. What better time than during a pandemic is there to highlight the brief and focused moments of joy in our lives? This week, I joined a first grade music class for their taiko lesson for the most enthusiastic, Genki-inspired (Japanese for full of life!) drumming I have ever heard. Many of us put on our fanciest Pike socks and danced together on Zoom to welcome new families to Pike. And, after challenging Lower and Middle School students to write their own haikus, a second grade classroom emailed me this illustrative poem about their class plant. Can you guess what it is?

fragile like puppies
shining just like diamond rings
and tall like giraffes

Small moments of joy are plentiful at Pike. Each day is filled with a series of brief and focused moments of happiness when we are fully present and connected to those around us. They pop up suddenly in hallways, on Zoom calls, in the dismissal line after school, and their brevity and frequency can make them easy to dismiss or forget. This month, I hope all of us can seek out and celebrate these small moments of joy. Drum, dance, or, if you're feeling inspired, write your own haiku about Pike!

How can we heal forward?

On Wednesday, more than sixty community members gathered, rectangle-to-rectangle on Zoom, to reflect on the ongoing racialized violence in our country. There were parents from every division as well as faculty and staff, alumni, and trustees. Across the pages of screens, we opened up our homes to one another. Pets, children, and partners skittered across our backgrounds or were planted firmly by our sides. In breakout groups, we opened up ourselves to one another. We shared our fears of safety and belonging and our anxiety of framing the news with our children. We listened, humbly and openly, to those we may not have even met in person. We did not ignore or escape the pain and grief of the moment. We stepped into our virtual Pike community with our whole selves and vulnerabilities and began to heal forward. 

Vietnamese-American poet/author, Ocean Vuong, describes poetry as a place where we can be our whole selves and speak our vulnerabilities - our fears and hopes - without presumption or shame. He sees poetry as a fire escape where we do not necessarily escape the complexities of life, but where we can discuss them. Pike is our fire escape. It is strong enough to hold the weight of all of us - current and past students, families, and faculty and staff. Our motto, Non Sibi Solum, is strong enough to hold the weight of all of our concerns with grace, compassion, and a sense of possibility. Pike is the place we can go - even virtually - to offer each other hope and comfort. Pike is where we can heal forward together.

How might we persevere?

It has been a long winter, hasn’t it? We have, individually and collectively, survived challenge after challenge. We found our way through the sudden closing of school last spring and worked together to reopen school this fall. And, every day between then and now, we resist loneliness and fatigue as so many of our routines of comfort and connection are still beyond reach. How do we keep going? How might we persevere? I have found three pillars to hold on to as I, too, learn new ways to persevere. First, we must find time to rest. Working and parenting can be all consuming - especially when these responsibilities collide at home. For this reason, I am so grateful for the dozens of parent volunteers who made “Parents Take Over Pike” a tremendous success this past Friday! Our faculty and staff have worked tirelessly and were overdue for rest and time away from Pike.

Second, we must find time to reflect. We should acknowledge the momentous challenges of this moment and make space to reflect on our anxieties and hopes. February 12 marked Lunar New Year, and this is the Year of the Ox. The ox signifies hard work and diligence. If there was ever a year to reflect on how we might be persistent, steadfast, and forward-facing, this is it. Finally, we must find time to be imaginative. Faced with new dilemmas, we must imagine new solutions and possibilities. This week, the Upper School student council transformed another snow storm into a schoolwide snow village challenge, and our Ninth Graders reimagined Greek myths over Zoom. Our students are incredible! If any of us are ever in doubt about how we might persevere, and rest, reflection, and imagination evade us, then let’s look to our students. They will show us the way forward. 

How do you want to be celebrated?

This week, we hosted candidates for our Director of Equity and Justice (previously titled Director of Community Life) position. One of our candidates shared this question, How do you want to be celebrated?, often posed to students. Upon reflection, I was energized by all the ways Pike teachers celebrate our students. I see this celebration in small, every day ways. When students are encouraged to build epic snow thrones or engage in sledding competitions during recess. When they decorate their windows in advisory or participate in Spirit Week - organized and sponsored by Student Council. When they move seamlessly between playing two truths and a lie with their class visitor (me!) and understanding character change across a story for a literacy lesson.

We also celebrate students in larger, more poignant moments. When students self-organize to create affinity groups - planning meetings and presentations and recording videos to advertise and engage more of their peers. When we send students to conferences to learn, advocate, and grow into their young adult selves. Just yesterday, several of our students joined the AISNE Middle School Students of Color Conference. They gathered virtually with over 300 students, faculty, and administrators from 37 schools across New England and represented what is best about Pike - our thoughtful and passionate students eager to make the world a better place. Above all, we celebrate students by giving them the space to be fully seen, discover their own voices, and explore new curiosities. We celebrate them as they become themselves. We celebrate them by believing in them and their endless capacity for possibility.

Why Pike?

In the midst of admission and hiring seasons, I frequently encounter some variation of: Why Pike? It is a necessary and worthy question. Every weekday, children, faculty, and staff spend more time at school than at home. Day in and out, we are living the experiences and writing the stories of our future. After all, school is where we become our future selves. So why become your future self at Pike? Looking back at my past week, there was a moment each day where I lived my answer to Why Pike? On Monday, I spent three hours with a group of teachers to ideate the criteria of an equitable hiring process. On Tuesday, I visited a second grade classroom and watched children stretch themselves as readers in differentiated ways. On Wednesday, I facilitated Family SEED with parents across divisions as we explored our identities and individual and collective privileges.

On Thursday, I was interviewed by the National Association of Independent Schools (NAIS) on the future of governance and the learning culture of Pike’s Board of Trustees. On Friday, I met with Stacey Aufiero, Director of our Daily Risk Mitigation Team, as I do most days, to analyze data and brainstorm new ways to keep campus healthy and open. I choose Pike because of our shared and continuous love of learning. Whether an adult or a child, every one learns, re-learns, and un-learns all the time. I choose Pike because of our future-mindedness. We study trends and research to adapt our practices and best serve our students. I choose Pike because of Non Sibi Solum and our commitment to equity and justice. We strive to create a world not only worthy of our own children but every child. These are a few of my answers; what are yours? 

How might we measure a year?  

On Wednesday, I found myself comparing the length of strips of paper with four first graders during their math lesson. With my eyes narrowed and my fingers pressed to the screen, my informal measuring attempts were quickly interrupted by their questions and suggestions. What if one of the strips is going faster? (I had not considered the sudden movement of inanimate strips of paper.) This one is wider, so it’s longer. (How did these children imagine so many possibilities to such a narrowly defined task?) Where is the other strip? (I had not considered the sudden appearance of additional inanimate strips of paper.) We need to create a start line. (Is this how we might measure all things?) 

It has been an incredible school year. Indeed, it has also been an incredible start to the new calendar year. How might we measure a year? A week? How do we take stock of all we have accomplished and all that is still left to do? Following the wisdom of our inquisitive and imaginative first graders, I encourage us to pick a start line. Pick a beginning and advance from there. Whether your start line is September 8th, January 1st, or the moment you woke up this morning, you have the opportunity to begin anew, journey forward, and measure your achievements and shortcomings from there. So let’s go. We can move onward together.

What are you most grateful for? 

My father was a creature of habit and routine. On Saturdays, he solved crossword puzzles and played untimed chess for hours. Away from work, he wore the same green wool cardigan (captured in nearly every family picture) and ordered the same chicken dish when we went out to eat - without exception. And, each evening, whether my sister and I were restless young children or angsty teenagers, my father began family dinner with a shared prayer of gratitude. Amidst this season of gratitude, I think of my father and his daily offering of thanks - for the mundane and the spectacular.

I challenge myself and all of us to consider what and whom in our lives are worthy of “Thank You.” Thank you to my mom and all parents who Facetimed or Zoomed in for Thanksgiving this year and thus helped to keep Pike healthy. Thank you to Chad and all partners who help carry families with work both beyond and within our homes. Thank you to our teachers who redefined, once again, what is possible from the corners of their living rooms to yours this past week. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 

How might we wait?

This week has felt long, hasn't it? Even as someone who is innately future-oriented, I found myself a bit listless at times. Still? was the one-word question circling through every time I refreshed a news site. Yet, even as we wait for the future, it is important to remember that we are already living it. Historian Howard Zinn once said, "we don't have to wait for some grand utopian future. The future is an infinite succession of presents, and to live now as we think human beings should live, in defiance of all that is bad around us, is itself a marvelous victory." Every day, we have the chance to live the possibilities we seek during elections. Every day, we have the chance to extend laughter, witness kindness, and offer gratitude.

Between each timely check of the news, I steadied myself in the possibility of the present. I watched Pre-K recess - a spirited game of tag mixed in with show and tell (rocks and acorns). I listened to the Kindergarten team describe how yards of yarn spun across chairs and desks represented a creative science assessment (spiders!) I zoomed with parents curious about the science of learning and how to support their children at home. I sat in absolute delight and appreciation as new parents described why they chose Pike for their family. As one act of waiting ends, another will surely begin. No matter the future we seek, the future we wait for, let's be sure to live it now. Let's live in the everyday and ordinary moments of laughter, kindness, and gratitude.

What does it mean to be a leader?

On Friday, Trisha Gordon and I were guests in Mary Machado’s Sixth Grade OCL History class. They were studying the dynasties and pharaohs of Egypt and curious about what it takes to become a leader. Their questions were direct and specific, yielding complex answers and stories from our past. What’s the best part of and the downside of being a leader? Were you popular when you were our age? Who was the leader of your friend group? It was a needed reminder about the size and scope of leadership; how being a leader is shaped by time, space, and perspective. Perhaps building pyramids, striving to keep school open in the midst of a pandemic, and having a fight with a close friend are equal in weight and challenge.

Whether in ancient Egypt or in 2020 Andover, whether a new member of the Upper School on the cusp of adolescence or the adult leading the Upper School remembering her adolescence, our hopes are the same. We want to be seen and heard and loved. We want to be connected and have friends and laughter. We want to help and heal those around us. So what do these timeless hopes require of leaders - then and now? We asked the students and these were their responses: Understanding. Listener. Courage. Modest. Honest and trustworthy. Confident. Hope. Patient. Indifference (meaning you should accept - perhaps with a shrug and nod - that you can’t fix everything).

Where will your imagination take you?

On Tuesday, I was invited to chase a dinosaur in the woods. I was outside at Kindergarten recess enjoying the sunshine and nearly effervescent laughter of five and six year olds. A group of kindergarteners suddenly approached me to share Ms. Marshall, there’s a dinosaur in the woods!! They spoke in a half-whisper, half-yell voice young children so often use to mark this occasion as both surreal and mundane. They were more excited than surprised, as if they were setting off to see a familiar friend; as if there is nothing more ordinary than dinosaurs living in the woods behind Pike. What else could I say besides Can you show me? Slowly and a bit nervously, I crept through the woods in heels made more for sitting than hiking.

The kindergartners, much more agile, arrived before I did and pointed to an outline of large boulders. I saw the shape immediately - four legs, a body, extended neck and tail. Yet what amazed me most was not our Pike dinosaur but our Pike children. How did they turn a collection of rocks into a dinosaur? Do they think anything and everything is possible? This weekend, I hope you and your children - no matter their ages - find time to imagine. Read a book. Take a walk. Daydream. Slow down, simplify, and let your imaginations run wild.

Why do we need schools?

All that I am may simply be the culmination of hundreds of interactions with teachers. My first grade teacher showed me the power of stories, and my fifth grade teacher empowered me to write my own story. My second grade teacher taught me the beauty of dreams, and my favorite graduate professor explained how to turn a dream into a vision. My fourth grade Orchestra teacher inspired ten years of cello and a lifelong appreciation of Bach and Yo Yo Ma. My third and seventh grade teachers taught me to love poetry, and my college philosophy professors challenged me to love questions.

It is not a coincidence that I almost always start our faculty/staff meetings with a question and a poem. School is where we become our future selves. This week and beyond, I hope you take a few moments to wonder in amazement in your child(ren)’s doing and creating. Look how they are wonderfully themselves and imagine how they might further become their true selves in the coming weeks or years. Live in the beautiful tension between today and tomorrow. And then, send their teachers a thank you note.

What did we learn this week?

On Tuesday, I watched a second grade class have their morning meeting. It was a familiar routine (greeting, share, activity) done anew (six feet apart, masks on, all facing forward). In perhaps the greatest miming display ever, a student hunched near the ground, arms spread wide, face in a grimace, holding a very large, heavy, and invisible boulder. With significant effort, he heaved it to the teacher who caught it with outreached arms and an exaggerated stumble; remember, this is a very large, heavy, albeit invisible boulder. I left with a smile in awe of all we are learning. In this familiar routine (school) done anew (distanced by space or screen), we are learning to reach far enough to make connections, be joyful and silly in the face of grave circumstances, and find creative ways to share and shoulder the burdens this year will offer us. This year, perhaps more than any other, will be shaped by our communal learning. We must continue to stay curious, offer help with humility, and receive it with gratitude. Let’s see what’s possible when we learn together.

Here’s to our beginning.