Preparing the Whole Person
July 8, 2013
During the summer weeks, "From the Director" will bring to you some of our favorite entries from previous years. Today's blog first appeared Feb. 15, 2011.
My hope for students is that they have the opportunity to sample the broad buffet that a comprehensive education provides. That they experience both academic and non-academic programs, and both athletic and non-athletic activities. That they are a starter in one and a substitute in another – even a star in one and a scrub in another. That they perform in both team and individual sports, in solo and ensemble, onstage and backstage. And that they experience both winning and losing in generous proportions.
Any student who feasts on most of that menu will be ready for life – ready for life’s ups and downs and all the changes the future will surely bring.
In an address to Catholic school educators in England, Pope John Paul said:
“. . . the task . . . is not simply to impart information or to provide training in skills intended to deliver some economic benefit to society; education is not and must never be considered as purely utilitarian. It is about forming the human person, equipping him or her to live life to the full . . .”
High scores on standardized tests are terrific and training in vocational skills is desirable (I sincerely wish I had scored highly and could make something with my hands). But neither will save the planet.
The best hope we have for securing this planet for the generations who follow is forming the whole human person. And that is much more likely to occur through diverse and deep curricular and extracurricular programs of full-service schools, delivered by passionate educators.
In An Instant
August 4, 2015
The icebergs that enter the harbors along Newfoundland’s north shore started to form thousands of years ago. They broke from ice flows 10 times their size and then got caught in a current that carried them on a 1,000-mile, two-year journey to “Iceberg Alley.” Some of them drift into harbors and, with seven-eighths of their mass below the surface, they get grounded. Eventually they break apart and disappear.
My wife and I “discovered” one of these grounded ‘bergs near the shore of cozy little Coffee Cove. After a 15-minute hike, we got closer to this sparkling monster than third base is to home plate. We each snapped dozens of pictures.
Just as we were turning to begin our hike back to “civilization,” we heard what we thought was a loud gunshot. But what actually occurred was a portion of the iceberg breaking off and falling into the water.
What we had taken pictures of moments earlier no longer existed as it had at that time. In an instant, the iceberg had changed, without respect for the thousands of years in the making and the hundreds of miles of traveling.
A few days after we returned to Michigan, Rich Tompkins died, apparently healthy, just after waterskiing. Death came without respect for the miles Rich had traveled to serve student-athletes and coaches, and without regard to all the victories his teams had earned and MHSAA championships they had won.
I last saw Rich on Valentine’s Day at the first-ever Fremont High School Hall of Fame induction banquet where Rich and many of his athletes were honored. The pictures taken that night are of people and circumstances that can never be reassembled.
We need to more fully appreciate the miracle of such moments. They can be gone in an instant.