If You Can Read This, I’m Thanking Some Teachers

My son is a high school senior, and like many parents at this juncture, I’ve been the proud parent at numerous awards programs over the years.

The best one yet? The one where I was most proud? That would be the one where he didn’t win a thing.

We spent Sunday afternoon at the Fayette County Public Schools’ annual FAME Awards, which recognize exceptional teachers, counselors and coaches. The winners are nominated by seniors, who are invited to write an essay about the educator who has been most influential to their success.

There were 86 honorees and 104 nominators (some multiples), and the students read snippets of their essays. From my son, Alex, we heard about Beth McKenzie, the Paul Laurence Dunbar High School teacher who taught him AP US Government and nurtured his love of national politics. She was the one who encouraged him to run for student council president, and is the adviser now helping ensure that neither he nor others regret that decision. She teaches him the value of hard work through example. And most of all, she has been instrumental in helping him grow from an introverted sophomore to a self-assured senior headed to Yale in the fall.

Alex and Beth McKenzie, after the ceremony

 

As Ms. McKenzie stood on the stage to receive her accolades, I got to thinking about how at that moment she represented every good teacher – and there have been many – that Alex has had from kindergarten to 12th grade in Fayette County. I was thinking too, about how I have never regretted my decision to stick with public school despite its detractors.

 

And there were detractors. Those who said that he’d never get the personalized attention he would at a private school. That he wouldn’t be challenged. Or worse yet, that he might not survive the hallways of middle school.

Hogwash. All of it.

Alex’s passage through Fayette County Public Schools has been, well, pretty much ideal. In 13 years, I can recall only one or two school employees who didn’t exhibit knowledge, dedication, compassion and responsiveness. That goes for Julius Marks Elementary (kindergarten through 2nd grade), JR Ewan Elementary (grades 3-5), Winburn Middle School (6-8) and PL Dunbar (9-12).

Full disclosure: Alex has the one-two punch of intelligence and self-motivation, and has been in an accelerated magnet program since third grade. I’m grateful that there were such options, and that those options existed within the public school system.

I’m grateful, too, for the many educators (underappreciated and underpaid) who fueled his interest in literature, math, history and politics, or rather, for learning in general. The French writer Anatole France had it right when he said, “Nine-tenths of education is encouragement.”

So it makes sense that as Alex and I look back at the teachers in his past, the most memorable are those who did just that. Such as Betsy Biddle, the 2nd grade assistant teacher at Julius Marks Elementary who led a reading discussion group with Alex and two other advanced readers. She accomplished what I considered impossible: she got Alex to love reading even more than he already did. Her care and attention included mailing him handwritten cards of encouragement throughout that year and afterward. I don’t think it’s overstating to say that his academic success was born at that table in the back of the classroom. The year after, he broke JR Ewan’s Accelerated Reader school record with 736 points. (A record, he reminds me, will forever stand because the school no longer exists.)

Homecoming Queen Crowning Practice

In middle school, there was English with Chad Peavler, who turned him on to To Kill a Mockingbird; math with Devin Onkst, where he learned the quadratic formula song to the theme of Pop Goes the Weasel; and US History with Theresa Buczek, who took him to the national level of the National History Day competition.

At PL Dunbar, the quality of teaching is unparalleled. Among those teachers: Beverly Smith, who runs the Math, Science and Technology Center like it’s her baby (a super smart, well-cared for, baby); Paula Azzarito, who turned Alex’s favorite subject into his favorite classes: AP World History and AP US History; Kara Patterson, whose always sunny disposition is infectious even at a daily 7:25 a.m. calculus class; and Ben Zimmerman, who is so organized and so thorough that no second of AP Spanish is wasted.

Alex told me the story recently about how, in freshman English, he made an exceptionally good point and the teacher remarked, “You must have had a great teacher in the past.”

The truth is, he’s had a lot of great teachers. And we’re both very grateful.

Sometimes the Movie is Better Than the Book

I've been riveted by the tributes to Steve Jobs, dead this week at 56. Without question, the world lost a visionary who changed our lives.
But beyond all the news coverage of the tragic passing of the Apple Inc. co-founder who led the mobile computing revolution, all the pontificating on the loss of his unsurpassed intuition and innovation, I found the greatest sadness in the reason he authorized his biography.

"I wanted my kids to know me," Jobs reportedly told the biographer, Walter Isaacson.

No matter how long I live, it's unlikely that I'll do anything infinitesimally as impactful as Jobs. But I'm equally sure of something else: My son won't need to read a book to know me. I'd like to think that he could write it.

Alex is 17, and for the last seven years since I divorced his dad, we've strengthened our bond. He's responsible for his part now, but I set the stage in the early years. And it wasn't always easy.

At 10, Alex was an academically gifted kid more interested in science fiction and video games and Dragon Ball Z than spending time with his mother. And me, well, I would have had trouble feigning interest in those activities even if I hadn't been struggling with the end of a 16-year-marriage and everything that accompanied it.

So I did the one thing I could: I showed up. I was there, to set limits on the science fiction and video games and Dragon Ball Z. Then, for the basketball games (awful), the soccer games (even worse) and the piano recitals. Next came the academic team quick recall competitions, the 5th grade production of The Emperor's New Clothes, and a one-year stint in the marching band (enough fodder there for several blog posts of their own). Today, it's all about student government leadership activities, lab projects, volunteer tutoring, and college applications. Those are his interesting pursuits. Firmly in my "snooze" category: Taylor Swift, science fiction (sadly, he didn't outgrow that one), Kentucky basketball (don't stone me, and don't bother reminding me that I'm an alum), and political history. I try to show up even for those. Alex returns the favor by supporting my flavor-of-the-month self-improvement efforts (October's special: Emotional Brain Training!), and feigning a passing interest in Buddhism, meditation, Melissa Etheridge, and djembe drumming.

Lunch today, post senior portrait session.

In the end, it's true what many people say: good parenting (or really, a relationship of any kind) doesn't happen if you don't show up. Even if it's the last place you'd like to be. Because a funny thing happens when you show up regularly with anyone. You get to know something about each other. Maybe, if you're lucky, enough to fill a book.

My guess is that Alex could fill a book with my life story so far - the good, the bad, and quite a bit of the in-between. I know that I could do the same for him. Nowadays, we gather our research during hectic we-put-it-off-too-long-and-Grandma-is-coming cleanups and our efficient weeknight lunchmaking assembly line. We make runs for frozen yogurt, pad thai chicken, or palak paneer with garlic naan.  Alex monitors our DVR with the precision of an air traffic controller so that we can spend time with our friends: Jon Stewart, Alex Trebek, House, and our current fave, Dexter. (Yes, we bond over a serial killer. Don't judge.) We spoil our beloved dog, Annie. And we make fun of each other's taste in music.

And because we're human, we gather some of that research while arguing, usually over priorities and timing - when my impatience and high standards collide with an overflowing recycling bin, not-frequent-enough walks for the aforementioned Annie, or Alex's general procrastination. And because he's a teenager, and because I have my own friends and interests, when it comes to companions, we're clearly not always each other's first choice.

Europe train station, weird American tourist pose.

What comes to mind here is that overused platitude I usually avoid: "It's all good." Like people say, it's the ordinary moments that end up meaning the most.

For the sake of Steve Jobs' kids, I hope his biography contains some of those moments. We'll know soon. Publication has been moved up to Oct. 24, and the book is currently topping Amazon's pre-order bestseller list.

I also hope, even though he's not alive to savor it, that the book contains a couple of personal accolades for Jobs from his children. Parents are supposed to love and support their kids, but it's nice to get a little something back once in a while, no matter how it's delivered.

"Some of my friends hate their parents," Alex told me recently. "I don't get that."