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School Overload
January 29, 2016
I don’t know how school administrators and local boards of education do it. Every year, pressure increases on them to improve student performance in core subjects, while every year, lawmakers and government agencies try to make schools the place to solve, or at least respond to, more of society’s problems.
Expanding definitions of disabilities have required expanding public school responses. School employees now must be trained to respond to a myriad of student allergies. Schools have been made the place to address drug abuse, bullying, sexting, drunk driving, sudden cardiac arrest, seat belt use and much more.
This would be okay – in fact, it would be really good because it would solidify that the local school is the center of each and every community. But if schools are not given the resources to both improve student academic performance and address every threat to student health and safety, then no more should be asked of schools.
Right now our Michigan Legislature has dozens of bills that would make new demands on local schools. Most of these bills, on their own and in a vacuum, would be good – like the requirement that schools provide curriculum and professional development in warning signs for suicide and depression, and the requirement that students be certified in CPR before they graduate high school.
But until schools are given more time and money to perform current mandates, it’s time for legislators to put new bills in their back pockets and for government agencies to back off.
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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.