Rethinking Choice
August 26, 2013
I’ve never been a member of a union, refusing to join even when I was the lowest paid teacher at a suburban Milwaukee school in 1970.
Nevertheless, I find that the results of a recent poll conducted by the American Federation of Teachers correspond closely with what I am hearing and seeing. AFT reports . . .
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Parents favor strong neighborhood schools over expanding school of choice, charter schools and vouchers.
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Parents oppose reductions in art, music and physical education.
Those who are advocating that we provide parents with “choices” for their child’s education need to be reminded to offer the choices parents really want - neighborhood schools where there are more performing arts and physical activity.
Destabilization of our most fragile communities – whether they are found in our most distressed urban areas or the most rural and remote crossroads of Michigan – is worsened when community-building educational programs are cancelled and neighborhood schools are closed. Those who advance such an agenda are making bad choices for our schools, communities and state.
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.