Independence Day
July 9, 2014
The No. 1 focus of my volunteer time and charitable giving is the Refugee Development Center which exists to support in our community those who have been displaced from their native countries by bigotry, hatred and violence.
Two years ago, RDC started a soccer team – called “Newcomers” – for the elementary school aged children of one of the neighborhoods in which our refugees have settled. As I’ve written here before, it took most of a full season for this team to score its first goal, longer for it to earn a tie and still longer to win a game.
After the earliest few practices it was apparent that none on the team had much playing experience. Many of the players had only recently escaped persecution where playing games would have had no place. It was also apparent at the outset that the players had little experience with the dynamics of teamwork, and language differences added to the difficulties.
After several lopsided losses, some of the Newcomers complained that “they needed some Americans on the team.” But our patient coaches had just the right response. They said, “You are Americans.”
Indeed; these Newcomers are as American as I am. Ours is, in fact, a nation of newcomers which, in spite of some serious slights and several significant sins, has welcomed all the world’s people.
As my wife and I travel to other countries, we hear their citizens talk with admiration about the opportunity and stability of “America,” which they seem to prefer to call us rather than the “United States.”
The 20-year-old student from South Korea/Philippines/China whom we are hosting in our home for two years is amazed at the diversity of skin color and dress she sees in our town. She is amazed that she could attend a church of a different denomination in our community almost every week of the year; and she is equally amazed at the openness of government and media and the tolerance America has for different opinions on any topic.
The America that I celebrate on this Independence Day is the one that strives to be independent of tyranny, bigotry, intolerance and hatred and, because it sees its connection to humanity everywhere, remains a nation whose arms are open wide to the world.
Towns Without Schools
September 18, 2015
"I forget the names of towns without rivers" is the opening line of a poem by Richard Hugo published in 1984, and recited by my fly fisherman son as he guided me on the Muskegon River last month.
My son thinks about rivers, while I think about schools. And my mind quickly converted the poetic line to, "I forget the names of towns without schools." I do. And I don't think I'm alone in this sentiment.
As I drive the length and width of Michigan's two peninsulas, I pass through many towns where school buildings have been converted to other uses or, more often, sit idle, surrounded by under-used commercial areas and vacant housing. I tend to forget the names of those towns.
Schools have been the anchor to, and given identity to, small towns throughout Michigan, and to the neighborhoods of larger towns. As schools have consolidated during the past two generations, many of the towns that lost their schools have also lost their identity and much of their vitality. The school consolidation movement that stripped towns and neighborhoods of their "brand" was supposed to improve access to broader and deeper curriculum choices for students and reduce the financial costs of delivering world-class education to local classrooms.
That's admirable. But of course, that thinking preceded the Internet which now allows students attending schools of any size in any place to receive any subject available in any other place in our state, nation or the world, and to do so without students being bused hither and yon and at much lower overhead compared to past delivery systems.
If we want to rejuvenate our state, returning schools to the center of small towns and neighborhoods will be central to our strategy. Both the technology and the teaching are available to do so in every corner of our state. It's the money spent on transporting children that's wasted; not the money on teaching those children in neighborhood facilities.