What Really Matters about Youth Athletics

     My son. Stephen, loves sports--everything about them. Of course, he mainly loves playing them. Now a high school senior, since he could join school athletics beginning in seventh grade, he has been in a sport every trimester: volleyball in the fall; soccer in the winter; track--pole vaulting--in the spring. When not doing school sports, he may go to the driving range or the climbing gym, and in the summer goes on long hiking trips. He's very fit, and while he's unlikely to play anything on the collegiate level, he certainly will play intramurals and perhaps club sports.
     Last Wednesday Stephen came home from soccer practice in a great deal of pain, limping badly. A lingering injury seemed to have exploded into something worse. The initial diagnosis was that he might have torn the labrum in his left hip. The next day he went to the orthopedist and received the relatively good news that the problem is a badly inflamed hip flexor. He was told to use ice, take ibuprofen, and totally rest for three weeks. That's where the real pain hit. Only three weeks remained in the season, when the championship tournament would take place. Yes, the physical pain was great. But the real agony sat much deeper than that. Between punches on a pillow, Stephen kept groaning, "I've been playing with most of these guys since kindergarten. It isn't supposed to end this way."
     In that moment Stephen captured the real reason playing school sports matters. It's the relationships that come with being part of a team. The joy of being a contributor in some fashion. The camaraderie which buoys you through struggles and lifts you even higher during moments of exultation. Teammates who understand, even if they don't really know what to say. Learning how to work with others towards a common goal. A coach who talks with you about ways you can still help the team through your presence...and holds out the carrot of maybe a few minutes in the tourney if you do what you're supposed to do to heal.
     In this era of what's been called the professionalization of youth sports* in our culture, I fear we've lost sight of that, even though we still say all the right things. We ask kids to specialize at younger and younger ages; we have them play more and more intense matches; we spend increasing amounts of money; and we travel further and more often. To what end, exactly? A college scholarship? A shot at the pros? In some cases even studying the odds does not shatter the dream delusion. Whether a kid shows it outwardly or not, with all this comes increased pressure. Yes a few thrive on it. Some aren't fazed by it. But many feel tremendous anxiety. Meanwhile, we see more catastrophic injuries at younger ages. We see kids burning out, forever done with a sport they once may have loved.
     The problem is not just club sports. At games at all levels, in any sport I've observed, there's an edge, almost a nastiness, among the fans, primarily parents. Yelling at officials has always occurred, but it's become more regular and sometimes abusive. Recently I've observed parents singling out players on opposing teams and taunting them. Once all this behavior reaches a certain level, players become keenly aware. It's not exactly positive role modeling.
     As a former athlete, I wonder how I would have fared in today's environment. I don't think I would have liked it nearly as much as I did. As competitive as I am with my self, my personality and values might have led me to crumble under the external pressure. Plus I revel as much in the process as any product. And that would have been a shame, because I attribute so much of what serves me well know in all aspects of my life to what I learned through my soccer "career."
     My athletic dream for Stephen has never been more than he love sports as much as I did, that he gain the sort of timeless and boundless lessons I did. Athletics should be an essential part of a holistic education, one which helps us become more fully human. That, and fun. Especially fun.


*See "How Kids Sports Turned Pro" in the September 4, 2017, issue of Time.

Burning Out Kids' Engines

     In a recent conversation I heard about a ninth grader taking AP courses. Just a few years ago, I'd heard about more juniors taking them. Only recently had I heard about sophomores.
     What's the hurry?
      I don't know; in fact, I can't even come up with a single compelling argument. The issue is not my problems with the AP program in general. It's something much more basic, Why do we think this is good for young people?
      It's part of a disturbing trend of adults pushing things onto kids at younger and younger ages. The college counseling process starts earlier. Middle school kids take SAT prep courses. They have all sorts of intense "enrichment" programs. Club sports begin earlier and earlier. Someone told me the other day about a select baseball team on which the kids had fancy uniforms, high-grade equipment, and their own walk-up music when coming to bat. They were kindergarteners.
     We're directing young people's energies in the wrong way and at the wrong rate. Think about a car with its engine being revved too high for an extensive period. It breaks down sooner, even burning out.
     In many newer cars, if the engine is revved too high for too long, the onboard computer shuts it down. So are we more careful with our cars than with our kids?

Affirmation as ROI: Thoughts after College Family Weekend

       This past weekend my wife, son, and I visited my daughter for Family Weekend at Bryn Mawr College, where she is a first-year student. We had a wonderful time meeting her friends and their parents, attending events on campus, venturing into Philadelphia, savoring great food, and hearing her perform in her a capella group. It was, as the college hopes, a quite affirming experience. After all, like independent schools, colleges want the parents to feel pleased with their investment, perhaps even beginning to see some returns on it. Of course, I also was casting my eye on the experience as a head of school.
       Fittingly, tonight I will attend a presentation by Frank Bruni, author Where You Go Is Not Who'll You Be: An Antidote to the College Admissions Mania. I referenced this book in a post from last May, when I wrote about the process that led to Kate's opting to attend Bryn Mawr. I suspect the title gives any reader some idea of the highlights, so I won't reiterate them. Between these two experiences, I've been thinking quite a bit about this idea of affirmation. More particularly, just what is it we want affirmed?
       I've written plenty in the past about my thoughts on the entire idea of return on investment when it comes to education. For a moment, I'll set aside my idealism and acknowledge the realities of wanting your children to find jobs, make a salary that allows a certain quality of life, gain admission to quality schools. I feel them myself. But my angst increases when these become the essential measure of success, the terms often dictated by others. The educational process must be about the making of a life.
       Thus I want to twist Bruni's title a bit. The selection of a college is not who one will be. But it can have a tremendous influence, in ways good and bad. I want to focus on the best scenario. In that case where you go will determine who you will be for a simple reason: it will help a young person continue to grow into a better version of her- or himself. It won't change them, at least not their core. In fact, it will be more like a sculptor chipping away at the stone to find that beautiful statue already within. Professors won't teach students what to think, but how to think; and how to articulate their thoughts more powerfully. I find myself returning to a post I wrote over three years ago, titled "Less I, More R": 

                So how does one know? What is the measure?                Your child.                Despite our wishes that every family choose us because of our mission, I wonder what percentage do. Besides, most of our mission statements contain the same generic, albeit aspirational rhetoric that remains very open to interpretation.  Ultimately, the hopes and dreams of a family are highly individualized. Each has different wishes and wants and needs. It’s highly personal and internal. Yet so often we look towards external measures for validation.                Instead, look at your child. Ask yourself if you see her or him developing in ways that match your values. For me, this means continually asking some big questions. Do they still love learning? Does their learning lead them to engage with the world? Are they becoming more independent? Are they positive and optimistic about their potential? Are they steadily becoming better versions of their unique selves?

I don't want to embarrass Kate by detailing how we've already seen this happening with her. In general, there is increased confidence and maturity and independence. Certainly that makes us feel affirmed.
       It's why the notion of "match" and "best fit" are so crucial in deciding upon a school. And no matter how excited any first-year student may be, surely doubts about something can creep in. But one thing I've realized is Bryn Mawr is very intentional in how they treat students. And in an opening assembly on move-in day, either President Kim Cassidy  or Dean of Admissions Peaches Valdes told the new students, "In our admissions office we don't make mistakes." From that moment through Family Weekend and I'm sure beyond, my daughter has felt affirmed. I'm confident other young women feel the same. While parental pride and satisfaction is certainly important, the young women feeling so as they enter adulthood is what really matters. There's the most valuable return on investment. 

Drone Parenting? Yes, Really

     We've all heard about helicopter parents, to the point where it's become a cliche.* I read something the other day that I thought was a clever twist on this notion: that during college admission process, such parents go into full Cobra attack mode. I found myself wondering just how far could the comparisons go...and just how far would some parents go in their hovering.
     Then, this morning, I saw this Tweet:

Would you ever follow you child to school with a drone? This dad did: http://t.co/WU8p0Q17dR pic.twitter.com/p4kVEVAyOv
— Discover Magazine (@DiscoverMag) April 24, 2015

Sadly, I'm not as shocked as I probably should be. As I wish I could be. Now what's next? Constant surveillance? Tracking chips implanted? Technology that lets us know our children's every thought?
     If I were to boil down a parent's job to one point, it might be that we should aspire to prepare our children to lead autonomous lives of value. I really like what I heard another head of school say one time. When a child is in lower school, it's the parents' job to manage the child. In middle school, it's the child's job to fire the parents.And then our next career shouldn't be as pilots.

*I like another version that refers to snowplow parents who clear everything out of their child's way.

Too Much? Not Enough? Musing on Tuition

     As head of an independent school, when I hear certain types of complaints, I've come to expect some variation on a theme: this is not what we are paying for. One common twist is that parents pay "too much" for whatever the issue is. Sometimes parts are in all caps, just to drive home the point.
     As a parent with two children at a very expensive school (not the one I head), I completely understand. I readily admit I have felt the same sentiment. It's driven largely by the fact that we trust independent schools with our two more precious resources--our kids and our cash.Sometimes the parental concerns are fully justified, making the reaction even more understandable. So what follows is not really a rant against such expressions, though it may come across that way in places. I hope this gives people some more to think about in the entire value-added conversation.I also think this raises important notions for families to consider during re-enrollment season. Too often that can become an automatic action. Given how much and how quickly kids change, particularly at certain points in their development, a once-good fit may no longer be the best place for a student. Even if there are no reasons to question the fit, parents should reflect on what drew them to the school in the first place. I would hope it comes back to issues of mission, values, culture, et cetera. That's not to say parents shouldn't feel outraged when particular experiences fall short of their expectations. They should. And I share the feelings. But I also don't think of the problem in the same way.
     The truly meaningful parts of an education aren't commodities and thus cannot be monetized. Even if they could, throwing more money at something doesn't guarantee better. For example, Finland--currently the hot educational system in the world--spends much less per student than the United States, about $7800 versus $11,300. Meanwhile, another nation with very high rankings, Estonia, spends roughly the same percentage of GDP per capita as the United States. Meanwhile, their systems function in different ways in different cultures with different aims. Therefore, the stats and the finances can prove misleading and fail to provide accurate, insightful comparisons.
     That's why, to me, many of the issues which most irk parents--that is, when they are rightly upset--are matters of professionalism and shirking of responsibility. For me, they become not a failure to deliver on a business transaction but more of an ethical transgression. I see education as a truly sacred trust, especially in independent schools, which hold forth mission as the ideal to which we aspire. Not doing the work which honors that is an ethical violation.
     But for the sake of argument, let's return to the gambit cited in the opening: the notion of "paying too much for something." It's a real sentiment based on a genuine emotion, so I won't dismiss it. Plus tuition at most independent schools is high. Still, the contention of paying too much for certain behaviors can fairly be flipped. Given the relative level of the average teacher's salary* and the importance of the work, are there certain things for which people don't pay enough?
     Consider:

• Independent schools are filled with talented, quality people who could be making much more money elsewhere; but they chose to live a life of service...and your kids get to spend a great deal of time with them.
• Many of these people drain themselves during the day--imagine yourself surrounded by dozens of children all day--then give even more at night. Besides planning lessons, many of them are searching the web or engaging in Twitter chats or doing other things to improve their craft.
• They stand outside in freezing cold or driving rain, making sure kids are safe during carpool.
• A teacher may have to discipline a child one moment, then gives that child a special task to show that all is forgiven.
• They know how to comfort a child when parents are fighting or a friend is mean or a pet had died, because school is a warm blanket.
• When children are crowded into safe areas taking shelter for two hours because tornadoes are racing through the area, teachers help them pass the time while feeling secure.
• A teacher might spend well over an hour on a single letter of recommendation, determined to present that student in the best possible light.
• Teachers who are willing to share realistic but hard news about a child, doing so with empathy and reassurance, in a way that makes a parent believe it all will be okay.
• The advisor who brings a thermos of hot chocolate when his or her group has carpool duty on chilly mornings.
• The teacher who is determined to help a student understand a concept, and keeps finding news ways to explain it, until it clicks.
• Receiving a phone call or an email not when your child has done something wrong, but when he or she has been great.
• The adult who remembers what it's like when the insecurities of middle school hit and helps a student keep imagining that sense of a magnificent self, along with the confidence he or she can become just that. In fact, is already that.
• The person who gives your child someone worth emulating.

At a great school, a quality classroom experience is simply a given. An expectation which should be the norm. This list--and I've see each one of these things, often several times--are the lagniappe. More than that, they are, to play off the old MasterCard commercial, that which makes the experience priceless.

*I am not making an argument that teacher's should be paid more, although I could. I recognize supply-and-demand and other economic factors playing into this. Anyway, for my point here, the reality makes for a better argument.

Response to "The Decline and Fall of the English Major"

            Since yesterday I’ve probably seen more people tweet and retweet about this article than I’ve ever noted about any other: “The Decline and Fall of the English Major” in The New York Times Sunday Review.  As an English major and former English teacher, I am disheartened by the main points in the article. (Yet the reaction it has provoked among learned people is encouraging.) I see great value in studying, though perhaps not majoring, in English at the college level. At the same time, the article made me think about some of the ways English is taught at that level and below, down into the secondary and middle school levels.

            In some ways, without even realizing it, I use things I developed as an English major every day as a school leader. Majoring in English exposed me to multiple perspectives and cultures and personalities. I became more empathetic, more aware of the complexities of human existence, more thoughtful and nuanced in my responses to the vagaries of life. I became particularly acute to semantics and tone, to that interplay between connotation and denotation; I grasp that language is a limited and powerful tool at the same time. I learned how to take messy ideas and capture them in clear, linear communication.

            These skills and outlooks remain essential. In some ways, they have grown more so in this complex and chaotic world. But when we want to measure education by how well people fill in the right bubble, they cease to hold value in our short-term outlook. It’s that limited vision that drives—or, in the case of parents, commands—students to major in whatever leads most quickly to the safest, most high-paying job right away.

            I’m fortunate in that, from what I recall, my parents put no such pressure on me. If there were any objections to my majoring in English, they were expressed so quietly that I no longer recall them. I think more than anything they wanted me to love learning. Besides, they were both avid readers, a love passed down to me; and I could think of nothing more pleasurable than reading all sorts of books and discussing ideas. I never worried about job opportunities. Some of that was my naivete; some, blind optimism; some, belief in all I’d been told about a liberal arts education and how major companies wanted people like us. I don’t know how much the latter remains true. It should.

            Still, I have to wonder about how English often is taught. I re-read much of my second paragraph, and I suspect it rings truer of possibility than of reality. Yes, the reading exposed me to those things…but I’m not sure my classes did. We didn’t really study literature as a means of examining the human condition. Instead, it became about literature for literature’s sake. About genres and movements and writers speaking to each other across generations. It fit the tweedy stereotype. My understanding is that now this remains true to some degree, but in looking at it more about the human condition, extreme politicization in the form of canon battles can overshadow the broader learning. I’ve seen this creep into lower and lower levels of teaching.

            As for the writing, we had to do plenty of it. Except for one professor, though, I don’t recall much feedback on the quality of my writing, by which I mean the prose itself. It was all about content, organization, thesis, format—stuff that matters, for sure, but doesn’t animate the work. This shouldn’t come as a surprise. Academic prose is notoriously obtuse, with several contests each year to highlight the worst of it. Yet in the lower grades, most of our writing instruction is designed to prepare students for the writing they will do in college. Surely we can aspire for better. The overwhelming majority of people need to communicate with each other, not with academics.

            This last point captures part of the reason for the decline in English majors. For the most part, Americans are a practical people and, as the author admits, “the humanities often do a bad job of explaining why the humanities matter.” I suspect that is tied to what the author also admits, in agreement with my last two paragraphs, “the humanities often do a bad job of teaching the humanities.”

Those are distinct points, but ones which overlap greatly. Teaching the humanities well should automatically include why they matter. Too often, though, it doesn’t. Therein lies the problem not just with the humanities, but also in much of education. Just what is it for? Part of the answer should be not just resume fodder, but relevance for our humanness and humanity.

            

Reflection after Hearing Paul Tough, author of How Children Succeed, and Thinking about Failure

     This past Tuesday I was fortunate to hear Paul Tough, New York Times Magazine reporter/editor and author of How Children Succeed: Grit, Character, and the Hidden Power of Character, speak at the Independent Schools Association of the Southwest heads of school conference. (Even cooler: I got to meet and introduce him!) He is a an excellent speaker, and I appreciated how he boiled the book down into 45 packed minutes of presentations (sans PowerPoint or Prezi, a nice change) without notes before taking questions.
     Because I've read the book and had reviewed my notes, his talk didn't provide much new information--except for one great point. Of course, I find it great because it helped me figure out how to articulate an idea I have been struggling to express properly.
     For those of you who may not have read the book, here is the basic premise. We have the traditional view that success comes from intelligence and basic cognitive skills. However, research and anecdote shows that success depends more on other non-cognitive skills such as perseverance, curiosity, conscientiousness, optimism, and self-control--qualities related more to character. Tough delineates the link between childhood adversity/stress--with a particular focus on poverty--and later life success. Ideally, one would have both the necessary cognitive and non-cognitive skills.
     Tough's point which really jumped out at me is that he believes in our society we have "an adversity gap." By this he means we have too many children who suffer tremendous adversity every day of their lives--poverty, homelessness, abuse and other ills--and those who experience almost none. Extremes, yes; but I began thinking about all the talk about allowing kids to experience failure in schools that is tied to calls for innovation.
     I have no problem with the philosophy underlying this notion. However, I believe, as Tough's term "adversity gap" suggests, that we need to figure out the sweet spot. To invoke Aristotle, we have to determine the virtue that lies at the middle of two vices. As is often the case, we jump to extremes and invokes points such as Edison's about not really failing 10,000 times or Ideo's "fail fast, fail often." Yet those are adults, who have established their identities and formed their characters. So much of the educational conversation these days focuses on failure and the need for it. Yet one thought keeps nagging at me: Do we really want children to experience failure very often?
     Part of my concern comes from the word failure. It's a loaded, powerful word, full of psychological barbs. Some argue that we need to soften the word, and that strikes me as a rather quixotic notion. Plus I believe we should keep the word for true failures that deserve it.
     I keep coming back to Vygotsky's notion of the Zone of Proximal Development, which allows students to work at levels which allow them to experience the right degree of success but also struggle until an adult intercedes at right moment. It strikes me that's what we want. For students to stumble, trip, fall, then get back up. When this happens while a toddler is learning to walk, we don't call it a failure. I'm not sure why we would with any form of learning.

Post-Surgery Reminder

     On April 30 I had some extensive ENT surgery. I guess it was pretty necessary since when the doctor had examined me, within seconds of looking up my snout, he proclaimed, "My gosh, that's a mess!" It turns out that my septum was badly deviated in two places. The doctor also determined that he should remove my tonsils and trim parts of my uvula.
     The recovery has been tougher than I expected. I figured I would be out of school for a couple of days and work from home during that time. Then I'd be right back at it. After all, about ten years I'd had a hernia repaired on a Friday and been back on Monday. (Please, no comments about the aging process, especially since today's my birthday.) Little did I know, and no one had really warned me. For about two weeks I had terrible congestion and quite the aching throat. It wasn't really in pain; it was more as if I were walking around with a bad sinus infection. I lacked my usual energy, and I couldn't sleep well because of the other symptoms. Of course, I kept overdoing it and pushing at least a bit too hard each day. I probably wasn't resting enough and may have slowed things down. Meanwhile, I couldn't take anything to alleviate the congestion that exacerbated the other issues because it was part of the healing process.
     Finally I'm beginning to feel myself once again--I'd say about 80%--and I can now see why this surgery will prove beneficial. Plus it's given me another anecdote/metaphor for an important truism about children and their education. As much as we may try to force it, certain parts of the process simply have to happen organically and on a certain timetable no matter how much we may wish otherwise.

Our Great U.S. Cities Tour and Education

                A few years ago my wife and I developed a loose strategic plan for our family vacations. We decided that we would, in no particular order, show our children the great cities of the United States. They have been going to New York since they were little because of my family, and we plan to visit again this summer. We’ve visited Boston, New Orleans, San Francisco and, during the past spring break, Washington D.C.

                Recently thoughtful people have been having very serious, energizing conversations about the future of school. Without going into specifics and at the risk of oversimplifying, I’ll summarize some of the main points. Constant change, giant unknowns, increased complexity—in such a world, schools have a practical and ethical obligation to re-examine everything about education. We require new literacies to thrive in a changing, unpredictable world. Schools used to be the gateway, the access point to learning. Now learning about anything can occur anywhere, anytime. On-line delivery and MOOCs enable delivery efficiencies that call current models into question, particularly on the university level. However, I still believe that teachers and schools have a vital role to play in education, and those family trips have clarified for me a new way to think of that role.

                Before our first trip on this plan, my kids were skeptical. “Boston?” I remember them squawking. “Why would we want to go to Boston?” We did our best to explain, but they didn’t really get it. Once there, though, they fell in love with the city and the entire experience. On subsequent trips they have done quite a bit of the research up front, scoping out possible hotels and restaurants and helping to plan the itinerary. While there, they engaged fully in different activities and often did follow-up reading and research depending on what piqued their curiosity. When we told them at Christmas we would be going to D.C., they were thrilled. My son immediately began exploring places on-line, and my daughter pulled up our congressman’s website so we could plan tours through his office.

                Yes, we live in a time of amazing abundance, when we can learn all sorts of things through easy access. And not just information, but skills and concepts. It is really quite remarkable. At the same time, however, that learning can remain superficial and one-dimensional and rather directionless; both the consumption and the contributions can become rather narcissistic. Even in the best circumstances, young people need some guidance through the learning process.

                And it’s in providing such guidance that the new role can emerge. I believe one of the most influential ways we can promote the type of learning in this emerging world is to create the right sort of experiences. To immerse students in experiences that don’t tell them they have to learn something, but that make them want to learn something, to believe it’s vitally important they do so. That the learning matters to them.

                The richness of the Internet—like the tapestry of those great cities—can allow us to craft those sorts of experiences. (But we must be careful not to over-plan and thus defeat the point.) It’s why I’m so encouraged by the increase in project-based learning, various discovery models, question-centered curricula, and design-thinking. The best, most meaningful education comes when you explore and engage with the world.

Not Voting=Educational Failure

               This morning my daughter ranted with the sort of indignation only a fifteen-year-old can muster. The target of her disgust? People who do not seize the opportunity to vote. While I share her thoughts, I also asked if she would want uninformed people voting. Naturally, that made her question why anyone would remain that way given the privilege we have to live in a place with such a system.

                As I drove to my polling place early so I would be towards the front of the line, I made a mental note to look up how many people have voted in the last few presidential elections. But the radio hosts did my work for me and announced that in the last four elections, the average turnout was around 55% of all age-eligible citizens. Higher than expected, but still disappointing. The natural question arises: Why?

                Many reasons exist. One host said he doesn’t vote because in Texas the result is so clear that his vote doesn’t matter, citing the electoral college system. Others feel one vote does not really make a difference. Many have grown cynical about politics and government in general; like me, you probably heard people darkly joke that one good thing about Superstorm Sandy was the break from political campaigning. Some are simply apathetic. The natural question remains hanging: Why?

                I consider this an educational failure—not one of curriculum or pedagogy, but one of mission and philosophy. If a school has not prepared its students to engage fully in their role as citizens, that is a failure. In fact, I would argue that wise voting captures many of the fundamental skills schools should be developing, particularly in this modern era. A student must learn to slog through tons of information, much of it conflicting and even false; discern a reasoned conclusion; and then perform a relevant act with a real world connection.

                While I have felt to some degree all the reasons not to vote cited two paragraphs above, they don’t hold much weight for me. My belief is someone has no right to complain unless he or she helps to find a solution. I also see deciding not to vote as an act of ingratitude, even entitlement, that disrespects all those who have made doing so possible, from the Founding Fathers on up.

At least people feel they should vote. On Jimmy Kimmel’s show yesterday (when no polls were open) he sent a crew out on Hollywood Boulevard to ask people if they had voted that day. Everyone said either they had or they were on their way. And I just saw that #ivoted is the top trending hashtag on Twitter today. Both are scant consolation.

Ultimately, in the partnership between school and family, a primary goal—perhaps the primary goal—must be helping young people become the type of adults we need to improve the world. And as I once saw on a plaque, “It’s easier to build kids the right way than it is to repair adults.”

                I’m proud that my daughter cares so passionately about this topic. She keeps herself quite informed on the issues, and she can cite factual evidence to support her opinions. From the time our children were young, her mother and I have engaged them in political discussions. I’m grateful they have teachers who take time from the regular curriculum to study the election and that their school encourages active engagement in the larger world. It’s why studies show independent school graduates are twice more likely than students from other schools to become involved in political and civic causes. These strike me as strong markers of success.

                I hope my daughter has a chance to vote before she departs for college. I can imagine the glow of her smile.

Power of Positive Feedback

                Last week my seventh-grade son had a very exciting volleyball match, and his team won after having lost to these opponents twice previously. The two schools are fierce rivals. As I left the gym, I saw another father and his son , who was from the other team. The dad was chewing him out about a series of mistakes the boy and his teammates had made. Once he finished ripping into the boy, dad snarled, “Let’s go so that I can get you to tennis.” An important bit of background is that all these boys just took up the sport this year.

                Having coached for over thirty years and having two children who have played sports, I have seen more scenes like this than I can remember. Unfortunately, as a coach I’ve sometimes lapsed into similar behavior. I don’t think I’ve done it as a parent, at least not too badly. (Maybe that is selective memory…) Something about athletics seems to bring out some of the more unsavory aspects in people. Maybe it’s our innate competitiveness; perhaps it’s because it’s so public. Of course, simplified psychology suggests we dream of our kids fulfilling our own thwarted athletic fantasies. It suggests a value system. I don’t know. I have wondered if the same sort of thing happens in the art world. You do hear stories about the archetypal stage mom, so I expect it does. With my sophomore daughter becoming involved in theater, I guess I’ll find out.

                I started thinking about classrooms and the desire to have students take risks. Let’s consider an English class. Perhaps the teacher has encouraged students to use more sophisticated diction or to craft more elaborate sentence structures. When a student does so, he or she may make mistakes. At that moment, the feedback is crucial. Does the teacher praise the attempt and give credit for that, or does the teacher take off points because it’s wrong? Most students’ response to either approach is obvious. I wonder which one occurs more often. Both must happen to some degree, and striking the right balance for any individual is tricky.

                In the example just cited, at least the feedback often is private. In athletics and arts, students perform in public. I recall a response I once gave to someone complaining about coaches being too serious about their sports and demanding too much practice time. I asked her to imagine if her students had to take their tests in front of their peers and families, with people yelling at them, a running grade being kept on a scoreboard.

                Contrast any instance of negative feedback to the following anecdote. Last week I published a post titled “Heed the Dodo” in which I linked recent works by Howard Rheingold and Will Richardson. These men are true leaders in their fields. Rheingold, who has taught at Stanford and UC-Berkeley, explores the relationship between technology and human intelligence. Richardson is one of the most important voices in the education debate and the desperate need for reform. As usual, after putting up a post, I tweeted an announcement. Then, something inspired me to tweet Rheingold and Richardson about the post. After all, I follow both of them. I didn’t know what to expect. One time I tried replying to a tweet by Tom Peters and heard nothing. But within a couple of hours both Rheingold and Richardson replied with some very nice words. Even more, they re-tweeted my original message to their combined 70,000 or so followers.

                Now, bear in mind that I am 51 years old, and I have been fairly successful in my field. But when this happened, I did a literal and metaphorical jig while letting out a whoop of joy. I bragged about it at dinner that night. A few days later, it still makes me smile. In time the nice memory will linger, but the emotions will fade.

                Four points strike me as significant reminders from this. One, these gentlemen could have simply ignored my tweet or dismissed my reaching out. Instead, they responded with a generous spirit and simple act of kindness. Two, little things matter, particularly in how they can make one feel. Indeed, how you make someone feel may matter more than any particular action. Three, this is particularly important when working with young people, who are developing the cognitive strength to put things into perspective. Four, the closer the source, the more impactful the feedback.

                My son’s volleyball team plays that other school again soon. After the game, win or lose, as I always do, I’ll wrap my arm around my boy, give him a high five, and tell him I’m proud of him.

Why I Still Subscribe to the Newspaper

                Lately I have been wondering why I keep my subscription to The Dallas Morning News newspaper. Nothing against the newspaper—it’s not great, but it’s fine. However, my reasoning is fairly typical. I find myself reading the newspaper less and less; instead, I turn to on-line sources. Meanwhile, the cost has risen over 300% over the past few years for a skimpier version.

                So why do I keep it? Inertia and comfort, to some degree. I am an early riser, usually up before 5:00 AM. For as long as I can remember, my morning routine has included brewing some coffee, then systematically working my way through the sports pages, the comics, and the puzzles. Then I’d finally look at the real news and op-eds. Nothing there I couldn’t accomplish with a device of some sort. But I find a certain comfort in the newspaper itself, and certain things just aren’t as fun when done by tapping on a screen. But I could adjust.

                My wife also likes the newspaper. She also could adjust, but she would do so much less willingly. She believes we all—not just our family, but our culture—spends entirely too much time staring at screens. Perhaps. While that particular discussion must wait for another time, it does hint at another reason I keep renewing. I love my gadgets, and I celebrate the possibilities that modern technology has created for education. However, with everything there is an opportunity cost, in this case one of more ethereal economics. I find the slow demise of local newspapers sad for many reasons.  In some ways it represents the microwave pace of our lives. More than anything, I mourn how we are losing newspapers because each holds symbolic value as a representation of its community. As such, they also have a unifying power.

                But another larger reason, one which includes the others, leads me to keep having the newspaper delivered each day. As part of that morning routine, I enjoy making breakfast for my two children. After I’m done with the paper, I leave it on the kitchen table near the food. When they stumble out, the first thing my kids do is scan the various parts of the newspaper. I love to see them making that connection, however fleeting, to the issues of the larger world, our nation, and our city. Often they will ask questions, either then or later; and they can have some wonderful discussions about current issues.

I’m unable to trust serendipity will allow this to happen as they browse the web. In fact, I see it happening in quite the opposite fashion: those encounters with print can positively influence their on-line behavior. My daughter will explore certain political sites. My son, when he wants more information or is rightly skeptical about some facts, will say, “Search it up.” Those are some nice exhibits of 21^st-century literacy in action. It’s also meaningful engagement with the world, albeit vicariously. Both prompted by an “outdated” technology.

And that leads to my final reason for being on auto-renewal. That newspaper on the kitchen table is a daily reminder that as we hurtle into embracing the wonders of this morphing world, certain things hold timeless value.

Less I, More R

                Quick question: What is the top university in the United States?

                Harvard? Actually, the Crimson came in 11^th. I’m sure they take solace from the fact that Yale finished 41^st. Princeton was 20^th. Out of the usual suspects for top dog, Stanford was the highest at 3^rd.

                Number one? University of California-San Diego. Some other highly-ranked universities include Texas A&M, assorted branches of the University of California system, Case Western, and University of Texas-El Paso (11 slots above UT-Austin).

                The rankings are courtesy of Washington Monthly. Per the publication,

We rate schools based on their contribution to the public good in three broad categories: Social Mobility (recruiting and graduating low-income students), Research (producing cutting-edge scholarship and PhDs), and Service (encouraging students to give something back to their country).

You can access the list, along with those for liberal arts schools, and check for your alma mater here. I’m not sure how to feel about Allegheny College coming in 41^st in the liberal arts rankings.

                The initial question was, of course, a trick one to some degree. You couldn’t come up with the right answer because you didn’t know the criteria. Even if you had, you may not have because you still might not have known how the metrics were used in each area. Even then…by now you get the idea.

                Human beings love to categorize and to rank; it seems to be part of our genetic make-up.  There are also psychological elements to it. Doing so helps us to make sense of an increasingly complex and competitive world. It can provide assurance that we are making wise choices and will reap the benefits both short- and long-term. Technology and the ease with which we can accumulate, manipulate, and share data has only increased this desire. Plus we live in anxious times.

                This latest set of rankings reignited an issue I’ve been struggling with for many years—meaningful metrics for independent schools. Over time I’ve created various dashboards on AP results, college acceptance, student engagement, service hours, ERB scores…pick an area in which a school is expected to have an impact, and I’ve tried to quantify it. All in the name of trying to prove Return on Investment.

                I can articulate for you multiple reasons why this doesn’t work, why it’s a bad idea, et cetera. Let me go ahead and tick through them. We’re dealing with intangibles. It’s about the long term. What matters can’t always be measured. Some things can’t be measured. Statistics don’t tell the whole story. You need context. The assessment tools are flawed.  Many of the measures are not really in a school’s control. Certainly I’ve missed a few, but that’s okay because I’m not trying to make that argument. Instead, I’m going to encourage a change in perspective.

                Before I do, I must say understand the notion of ROI. Several times, as a tuition-paying parent, whether in frustration with one of my children or with something at their school, I’ve asked myself, “Is this really what I’m paying all that money for?” I’ve even wondered if, in the bigger picture, it’s really worth it. I think this is very human and very natural.

                Also, traditionally independent schools have not done a wonderful job of articulating why they are worth the cost. Until recently, they haven’t faced as much pressure to do so. Now they do, and we have somewhat brought this challenge upon ourselves as costs have skyrocketed. But most of us, including the top administrators, are teachers at our core. That’s why more schools are brining on marketing and communications people, and we are just starting to figure out some of this stuff.

                So how does one know? What is the measure?

                Your child.

                Despite our wishes that every family choose us because of our mission, I wonder what percentage do. Besides, most of our mission statements contain the same generic, albeit aspirational rhetoric that remains very open to interpretation.  Ultimately, the hopes and dreams of a family are highly individualized. Each has different wishes and wants and needs. It’s highly personal and internal. Yet so often we look towards external measures for validation.

                Instead, look at your child. Ask yourself if you see her or him developing in ways that match your values. For me, this means continually asking some big questions. Do they still love learning? Does their learning lead them to engage with the world? Are they becoming more independent? Are they positive and optimistic about their potential? Are they steadily becoming better versions of their unique selves?

                Not looking at it this way may even backfire, despite our best intentions. In a recent Harvard Business Review blog post, Sarah Green considers how the recent cheating scandal at Harvard may be tied to students’ lacking a love of learning because of the end-product emphasis increasingly placed on education. Near the end she writes:

While great teachers have always been able to nurture that flame in their students, education policy has focused on efficiency — getting the biggest bang for the taxpayer's or tuition-payer's buck — and focusing on results is seductively efficient, especially in the short term. But schools are not factories, and students are not inputs. Efficiency is not the only value in this conversation; quality also matters.

In talking about the "ROI" of our schools, we have focused too much on the I, and not enough on the R.

I don’t know the perfect balance in that equation. I can say unequivocally that when I focus more on the R, I feel not only a sense of having invested well, but also genuine gratitude.

Reading, Writing, Guilt, Fear

                I’m trying to decide if I should feel guilty about a recent development in my reading habits. For about the past year, I’ve noticed myself doing more of two things. I very seldom used to simply skim things, trying to pull out only the essential gist. Now I do so quite regularly. That one doesn’t trouble me too much; in fact, it’s probably a pretty essential skill in developing better filters as the information cascades over us faster and faster. The other development nags at me. If I am not enjoying a book, I find myself racing through it so I can finish. Sometimes, I am loath to admit, I don’t even bother finishing.

                Many people may see this as no big deal. I also could rationalize this in many ways. I’m busier than ever, and there is more to choose from than ever, so I need to be more selective. After all, with so many books and so little time, we have to be choosy. Plus there are now blogs and Twitter streams to follow, websites to browse, and on-line reviews to check before deciding to purchase anything. I wish I could argue that as my mind has developed, I have become much more discerning as a critic. I’m certainly quicker to say something is not very good and thus not worth my time.

                That never used to happen. I had a personal rule: if I started a book, I was going to finish it. Why? Out of respect for the author.

                Like many young people who grew up reading a great deal and later majored in English, I imagined myself becoming a writer. I would even call myself a “writer” in certain circumstances. And I was writing, sort of. Fragments of stories, even a few finished short tales. I had notebooks full of ideas and character sketches. I published a few brief reviews of things. For my classes I wrote very creative grammar tests and even a textbook. Later on I published a few longer articles through the years. Now I try mightily to keep this blog evolving in interesting ways.

                But to write a book…that strikes me as so incredibly daunting. I’ve been told that this blog has the seeds of a book, and that may be true; I can’t see it. The sustained effort, the massive combination of breadth and depth, the linear development, the stylistic fine-tuning—these things and so much more have to go into it. As legendary sportswriter Red Smith said in response to a question about the demands of producing a daily column: “Writing is easy. You just slice open a vein and bleed.”

                So that’s where my guilt comes in. I don’t feel right being overly critical, literally dismissive, of someone who does something that I can’t see myself ever accomplishing. I’ve dreamed about it, thought about it, made tentative stabs at it…but I’ve never truly gone for it. The reasons are numerous, and they share a common denominator—fear. Fear of rejection. Fear of starvation. Fear of discovering a lack of talent. All part of our lizard brain.

                As a school leader, an educator, and a parent, I think one of the most crucial things I can do is try to help people confront fear and move through it. True growth requires genuine and honest introspection, and that demands courage. The criticism—bad and good—must, to a degree, turn inward.

                One reason I like writing this blog is because I feel a twinge of fear about each post. But I have to put myself out there. It somewhat justifies my criticism of some writers.  And perhaps someday I can write that book; maybe the seeds in the blog will sprout and blossom. The idea still scares me, but I have hope.

Driving Lessons

Last week my 15-year old daughter, Kate, got her learner's permit. One of those wonderful moments, when little kid giggles of excitement merge with tangible signs of maturity and responsibility. Saturday was the big moment, the first time she would be behind the wheel of something powered by an engine since the tiny little racers at Legoland.

Kate is a superbly responsible young person, with an impeccable sense of control and enviable self-discipline. When she says she will do something, check it off the list. She is a quick study on most topics. As for driving, she has a healthy amount of fear.

I imagine you think you know where this is heading...that she had some sort of wreck. Thank goodness, no. In fact, she is doing quite well. We've stuck to parking lots at an office building on a Saturday and at a dying mall and streets in our neighborhood. Gradually we go on slightly busier streets.

Watching her learn and trying to help her, I have been struck by something that we as adults often take for granted. Driving a car, even in quiet areas, is a quite complicated task, with dozens of things to keep in mind while anticipating what could happen. (And don't forget the rather unnatural degree of trust we grant everyone else on the road.)

I have found myself wondering how much of school must often feel like driving to students, especially at those moments which really stretch them beyond a comfort zone. Students have to process an unbelievable amount of information and stimulus throughout the course of a day. When I have shadowed students, I feel exhausted by the end of the day. Actually, about three-quarters of the way through the day. And that's when I have the advantage of experience. Then they have after-school commitments, homework, chores...maybe a bit of free time. Frankly, I find it quite remarkable most do as well coping with it all as they do. They have learned to do much of it automatically, just as adults drive.

On some level, that is good. They are developing some key habits and skills. However, when learning is involved, I wonder about the long-term value when there is such a potential lack of mindfulness. Yes, we want students to be able to utilize certain skills or pull certain information automatically. But I wonder that the sheer amount of stuff means that we sacrifice real depth as students' brains motor along on auto-pilot. That's when "doing school" does become a Race to Nowhere.

And let's think about when and why many car wrecks: a driver becomes careless, perhaps over confident or less vigilant. There's the real lesson about both driving and quality learning, not just for Kate and her fellow rookie motorists but also for all of us teaching them.

Musing about "Viral Graduation Speech"

                By now many of you have probably seen what has become known as the viral graduation speech by teacher David McCullough of Wellesley, MA, High School. I hadn’t until this morning, although I certainly have read numerous commentaries on it. His basic premise is that none of the high school graduates sitting in front of him is special—empirically or experientially—and that they really haven’t done anything to earn all the accolades thrown their way. Instead, they have been led to believe through a life of everyone-getting-a-trophy and self-promotion that each is truly exceptional when in fact there can be only one best. After establishing that notion, McCullough encourages them quite forcefully to take action, to live a full life based on truly significant meaning. I’m vastly oversimplifying; so if you haven’t watched the speech, take the 13 or so minutes. Agree or disagree, you will react. I hope that here I also will add to your thinking about the speech, although I won’t offer any ultimate opinions about the speech itself.

                I have no problem with many elements of McCullough’s message; in fact, I believe it’s an essential point for people to hear. I have some concerns about the timing and the rhetorical methodology. Is high school graduation really the place for this message delivered in this fashion?

                We could debate this point ad nauseum, and people have in assorted fora ranging from YouTube comments to op-ed columns to kitchen table discussions.  It’s a fascinating topic, largely because of the multiple ways it can unfold. Rather than address each of them, I want to begin by focusing on one that I find particularly disturbing because of the flawed ad hominem approach it takes in two ways.

                First, naturally there are those who focus on McCullough and have judged him based on this speech. I’ve seen comments calling him a “truly great teacher” and others calling him “a pompous ass.” (As in many areas, the two can easily go together.) I don’t know. I do think that we have to consider the fact that someone chose him as speaker. Often the students bestow that honor on someone. Whoever made the choice, surely they had some idea what McCullough would bring to the event. Plus he made headlines for his 2006 graduation speech about the decrepit state of the world, when he told students to “carpe the heck out of every diem.”

                Second, many of those who support McCullough do so by slamming the youth of today. They are an easy target; they always have been for the older generations. Reading some of the commentary, I would believe the current generation of young people is the worst ever, so busy naval gazing that they consider “innie or outie” the most pressing question of their age…and that we all hang on the answer.

                I have to ask those people: How much time have you spent with significant numbers of young people? Granted, I encounter them primarily in the independent school world. Yet while many of these students come from a great deal of privilege, they and their families are not immune from factors and trends affecting the larger world. And the criticisms leveled at today’s youth are either explainable or not really in line with what I experience every day.

                Narcissism is a natural consequence of adolescence. Indeed, it’s an important developmental stage as young people discover their own identify and forge their independence. With the amount of change in every aspect of life, self-absorption is inevitable as one tries to figure out what is happening and what it all means. Think about how change can rock you as an adult. Now think about dealing with the realities of adolescence before your maturity, let alone your cerebral cortex, has developed fully. In less glamorous and less forgiving terms, how many of us can say we weren’t self-centered twits in high school?

                The world in which kids are growing up doesn’t make it any easier. Our media and technological tools encourage self-glorification as we measure value by number of followers and rate everyone as a key contributor to the wisdom of crowds. Hyper-competition, whether in academics or athletics or even arts, dares us to find ways to stand out as uniquely special, as precious.

                But I also see a generation that is open and generous in refreshing ways. They are accepting rather than suspicious of others, and their generation enjoys cross-cultural understanding and connectedness that is exceptionally humane. This also makes young people particularly curious, and in many ways they are more interested in the world as a whole. I also find them more interesting because they are creators rather than consumers. For those of you who want some hard data in defense of today’s teenagers, they also do mind-boggling amounts of community service, some of it incredibly far reaching. One could dismiss that as resume building or the NBA Cares type of activity (basketball stars who brag on commercials about their outreach because “it makes me feel good about myself”), but I see it more as an outlet for teens’ idealism. And they are idealistic. The cynicism comes from how often they believe those ideals have been tarnished by adult actions.

                And therein lies what for me is a key message from McCullough’s speech. When he tells the graduates, “Yes, you’ve been pampered, cossetted, doted upon, helmeted, bubble-wrapped,” the question is begged: By whom? So, to quote myself from the beginning of the post, “I have no problem with many elements of McCullough’s message; in fact, I believe it’s an essential point for people to hear.” Not just those graduating high school, but those who have reared them. Actually, anyone involved with helping kids grow up. We must keep asking difficult, often painful questions about how we are influencing the next generation. It’s part of our responsibility as adults.

                That responsibility is quite daunting, and I know that I come up short quite regularly. I cringe when I recall certain things I have said; I regret actions that smack of hypocrisy. Educating kids, whether as teacher or as parent, is incredibly difficult. As the old commercial for the U.S. Army used to say, it’s the toughest job you’ll ever love.

Curse of the Single Data Point

                Last night I almost fell victim to the Curse of the Single Data Point. It can strike any of us at any time, and we must remain ever vigilant, fighting the natural human impulse to allow our emotions to override our reason.

                My sixth-grade son had a homework assignment about which he felt quite dismayed. I’m not going to name the class or teacher or even explain the assignment; I have too much respect for fellow educators to do that, particularly ones who are former colleagues. He felt the assignment was unreasonable, overly tedious, and pointless. As he explained the assignment to me, particularly the restrictions on how to complete it, I began to feel the same frustration. It didn’t help that when I tried to figure it out on my own, I couldn’t do it. I grew angry, and I was thinking about what to say in an e-mail or phone call to the teacher. Thankfully I’d kept these feelings under cover.

                Then I caught myself and calmed down. To accomplish that, I had to switch from parent mode to educator mode. Did my son have all his information correct about how to complete the task? How did the assignment fit into the context of the class? What did it tie to and build on? Was the teacher asking the students to make some connections and thus push their analytical thinking? I still have many questions and doubts about the assignment. But I know something else: essentially I needed more information than the single data point of my child.

                I’m disappointed in myself because I should know better, having spent so many years in the classroom. Plus I am in the middle of reading The Presidents Club: Inside the World’s Most Exclusive Fraternity, about the special and complicated relationship between sitting and ex-U.S. presidents. A constant theme is how, whatever their differences, they have great respect for each other based on the incredible complexity of the job and how only those who have done it can even begin to comprehend it. Yet we generally are tremendously quick to judge our presidents, sometimes based on a limited understanding of a single pet issue.

                I’m not equating a teacher’s work to that of a U.S. president except in one sense: the complexity. Think about what a teacher is striving to accomplish in a class. I mean, really think about it. Consider how many interactions and decisions make up the course of a teacher’s day; ponder the amount of work that goes into the entire process; imagine trying to meet the assorted needs of so many people at once.

                That’s why I’m also disappointed in myself, because I know all about those things. And here I am having those feelings when this is Teacher Appreciation Week. I forgive myself, because the reaction is human. Still, I feel I should do a bit of penance. I still need to contact that teacher, but not about one assignment. I want to say thanks for being a teacher and doing so much for my Single Data Point.

Rethinking Character in Digital Era

            In my last post, I concluded, ”So as an educator, certainly I’m concerned about the implications of all this technology. Of course, like Carr, I’m worried about the adverse effects it may be having on our brains, particularly those of young people who are in key formative periods. But I want to fire another warning shot. We had better also think very hard about questions of character.” In that regard, we need to rethink the oft-repeated notion that character is how one behaves when no one is watching. Because now there seldom is a time when someone isn’t watching you in some fashion.

Recently I’ve begun reading Blown to Bits: Your Life, Liberty, and Happiness after the Digital Explosion. It does a phenomenal job of laying out some of the massive implications of increasingly pervasive technology, most of them zipping along behind our veil of blissful ignorance. In short, there is no privacy anymore—at least not if you participate in even rudimentary aspects of modern life. Early on the authors point out that the London bombings were solved because there are thousands of cameras all over the city, many more than imagined in Orwell’s 1984. Plus in the novel the two-ways monitors could be turned by those in the know. Signals from cell phones, scans of toll tags, ATM records—we leave a trail of digital footprints wherever we go.

These footprints can save our lives. The book opens with a story of a woman saved after a car wreck when a rescue crew found her by tracking cell phone signals. In another example, you may recall a case a few years ago when a Duke University lacrosse player was accused of rape. At first, he seemed to be assumed guilty. However, as the case unfolded, the digital trail of his path the night of the incident showed that he could not have been present at the time the woman said the rape happened.

Of course, all this means that we have ceded a high degree of freedom, often without realizing it. Even when we do so, a quick cost-analysis suggests to us that the potential loss is well worth the convenience that it affords us. After all, just imagine if we had to withdraw cash only when the bank was open? I’m really just getting into this part of the book, so I’m curious to see what the authors see as the potential damages.

At this point, there is no turning back that I can see…and I don’t believe we should even think of doing that if we could. Instead, we’re presented with a challenge. And I don’t mean just protecting our privacy, although that’s obviously important. Now that we all live such public lives, let’s really think about how we conduct ourselves all the time. We need to keep in mind another idea about character: that one should never do anything that would prove truly embarrassing if it ended up on the front page or the evening news. Because it very well might. Or at least on a blog or Facebook.

Working or Grinding?

            Today the Harvard Business Review blog had a post by Tony Schwartz entitled “The Magic of Doing One Thing at A Time.” It raised the usual question about work habits and made some good suggestions on increased productivity. Two paragraphs in particular jumped out at me about the deleterious effect of most people’s work habits:

The biggest cost — assuming you don't crash — is to your productivity. In part, that's a simple consequence of splitting your attention, so that you're partially engaged in multiple activities but rarely fully engaged in any one. In part, it's because when you switch away from a primary task to do something else, you're increasing the time it takes to finish that task by an average of 25 per cent.

But most insidiously, it's because if you're always doing something, you're relentlessly burning down your available reservoir of energy over the course of every day, so you have less available with every passing hour.

Schwartz is writing about adults—those who, in theory, have developed the skills and self-discipline to handle the demands of their jobs. (Read full post here.)

But in reading the post, I couldn’t help but think about the way we ask young people to go about their lives. I won’t delineate every detail here. Yet I encourage you to spend a few moments pondering a typical 24 hours in the life of a student, especially one at a school with a culture of high achievement.

A Larger Victory

     Youth sports have the ability to bring out the worst in folks. Recently I posted about a terrible incident near Pittsburgh. At plenty of games over the years I’ve seen parents berating referees, some of them just teenagers officiating for small children.

     I have plenty of theories for why this occurs, and perhaps someday I will share them in a longer post.

      But for now, I want to thank a bunch of sixth-grade boys from Covenant School in Dallas for reminding us what youth sports really should be about. Here’s the story of how they gave up a shot at a championship to help a friend.