I See All Their Shine

It was explained that his friend would read his speech for him during the 8th grade graduation because he was anxious about it. They stood together in front of the podium as she read his poignant words. 

One phrase in particular struck me. She read, "I finally found myself, my shine, my person."

Blessings to him for even standing up on that stage. I remember my own anxiety at that age, how crippling it became late in high school, and how I didn't really overcome it until my 30's. Mostly overcame it; I finally found my shine. I felt blessed to witness this young man's accomplishment at his age, and it reminded me all over again how we can overcome.

I attended three different graduations as a school board member -- one elementary, one middle school, and one high school -- and listening to what the student speakers had to say about making it through the pandemic and the isolation of distance learning and ultimately thriving due to family, friend, and of course, teacher support. 

Every student has a story and their stories are exponentially important to all of us today about resiliency, support, and love. I talked to my wife Amy about this recently as it related to our own two teens, one in middle school and one in high school now. With all the love and support we've given our children over the years, it's hard to watch them struggle with their own anxieties at times. Amy reminded me that they are teens; it's normal developmentally. That they struggled with isolation throughout the pandemic. That even though they have healthy friendships, their brains and bodies are developing rapidly, and the stress of feeling liked and included is excruciating at times (duh, I do remember). That they are more aware than ever of the world's volatility around us and how social media scrolling demons can haunt them day after day.

We always talk about all these things with our kids, and it's like Amy and me are living it all again, but this time we feel like we're giving them more grounded guidance, love, and support than we got growing up. Our oldest Beatrice will graduate high school in three years and our youngest Bryce will graduate 8th grade next year.

Sigh. And even though our kids weren't graduating this year, I relived the bittersweet moments of each grade as I witnessed the elementary, middle school, and high school graduation ceremonies as a school board member (all schools where our kids have attended and currently attend). 

The last graduation I went to was the Santa Cruz High School ceremony, and one by one the seniors were called up to receive their diplomas. I shook their hands, said congratulations, handed them their diploma case, and reveled in the diverse supernova of potential lighting up each face. When the last diploma case was handed out, I got to speak to the students and state that they were now certified high school graduates -- congratulations to the class of 2024! They cheered and clapped and I was just as proud of all of them as their families and friends were. 

I thought about the 8th grade graduate from the day before and the speech he wrote about finding himself and thought: I see all their shine, burning bright with hope, empathy, and love. And for that, I am grateful. 

The Most Grateful Gift Of All

She stood with some of her classmates at the foot of the stage stairs waiting for her turn. That's when I asked the other school board member on stage to switch with me. This was a proud moment for our family and I wasn't going to miss the opportunity to hand our oldest child her promotion certificate.

No, it wasn't college or high school yet, but it was an important transitional milestone: the 8th grade. After three years of middle school, the first of which was distance learning during the heart of the pandemic, Beatrice finished strong.

We never doubted she would; she worked hard to finish strong and we supported her along the way. It does take a little more hard work for her than her sister Bryce, but regardless, she thrived. She thrived academically and socially. However, emotionally she's now a teen, so there's been some drama the past year that we've all managed to get through. 

Out of everything she experienced during middle school, leadership was and is her thing. She's getting ready to be a junior leader again for a summer day camp; she loves working with kids. She was also her favorite 6th grade teacher's teaching assistant this last semester, which sometimes gave her extra study time when he didn't have anything for her to do. She's always needed a little more support since preschool and we are so grateful for all the classroom support she's received -- from preschool to 8th grade and what will continue through her high school years to come. 

And because of all these experiences and the support she received, she's told us she may just be a teacher someday. That would be fantastic! In fact, she's told us she wants to be a teacher and an artist. 

Public schools get a bad wrap these days about the education they deliver, and funding shortfalls always make it harder for school districts to recruit and retain quality teachers. We've been fortunate to have had some amazing and supportive teachers who have delivered the highest quality education throughout the years for both our daughters. 

Being on our local school board has given me an insight into public education realities, its struggles and successes, for all the students in our district. Which is why I was so grateful and proud to be onstage during Beatrice's 8th grade promotion to congratulate all the students.

Of course, hugging my own daughter and handing her the promotion certificate was the most grateful gift of all. 

The Teacher Parade

Everything changed for our kids on March 13. That's when the principal of our school sent the email out to all the parents stating: 

The health and safety of our community is always our highest priority.  Today we demonstrated that clearly by dismissing students from school for the next week.  All public schools in our county will be closed from March 16-20, 2020.

This due to the impact of coronavirus (COVID-19) on our lives. He ended the email with I look forward to seeing the Wildcats back on campus soon. Looking back, we obviously never went back, participating in nearly three months of distance learning from our public school. After every new day of working from home and schooling from home, my wife Amy and I got a little bit better with our cadence and working with our two daughters. Amy did most of the heavy lifting as she's always done, and thankfully since there's been no business travel for me since early March, I invested nearly every morning in our daughters' school work.

The girls' teachers also finally found their rhythm after the first few weeks of trying to figure out what the heck to do, how to teach online and how to ensure they were giving as much support per kid that they could. At first, they sent each family a sample checklist of work to do and a sample schedule of when to do it, and soon found that each family had their own unique situations and schedules. Soon after they moved to assigning work to the kids -- core reading, writing, math, science and more. I can't imagine what that transition was like for teachers, kids and parents not used to working this way, since I've worked virtually for nearly the past decade and run a virtual organization for the past five years. Of course, the reality for most parents was that school was/is a place of learning, of socializing, and also for child daycare. Add to that an after school program for kids whose parents and/or guardians worked all day. 

Then take it all away all at once. For those parents who remained employed, it became a juggling act of managing their jobs and managing their children at home. Plus, there were those families who didn't have internet at home and/or computer resources for their kids. Our school district, like many others, provided Chromebooks for families to use and tech companies donated WiFi hotspots for connectivity. We moved to virtual Zoom calls for the classes and leveraged Google Classroom for assigning work and completing it. Other outside resources were utilized as well, like Khan Academy, YouTube and others. 

Add to that families who lost their incomes and struggled to provide food and shelter for their kids. Thankfully our district provided breakfast and lunch for any children under 18 who it and will do so through the summer. 

Also, not all families got the resources or support they needed, and then there were those who just couldn't (or didn't) help their kids complete their schoolwork. Even with the support of our school district and school, and the teachers continuing to teach as best they could, it was a lot of work even for us. Their work totaled about 2-3 hours each day, being in 3rd and 5th grade, and we ensured our girls got the guidance and support they needed from us to get it all done. 

There's also a big difference between 2-3 hours of virtual learning and 6-7 hours of at-school learning, because there's been a whole bunch of time to fill in between and after. Especially when the parents are working. We also know it would've been exponentially harder if our girls were any younger. 

We did it, though. It was far from ideal and a lot of change all at once, and we still did it. We did it because we've always been invested in our girls' education. Regardless of our circumstance, it's an all-in investment for us, and we require the same from our girls. This was not what they signed up for either -- going from a pandemic to now social unrest in ever-changing world (we hope for the better). The girls have struggled with missing being at school and missing seeing their friends in person. 

The silver lining has been that, while our youngest Bryce is more autonomous with her schoolwork, her older sister Beatrice has benefited with more one-on-one attention from us helping her. That in turn prompted Bryce to want more individualized attention, which we also gave her. This hybrid world of virtual classroom instruction, virtual office hours with their teachers and our overall support definitely paid off for both girls. Again, not ideal, and we'll see what happens when we get to the next school year starting in August, knowing that our state will take a big hit in public school funding, equivalent to losing over $1,200 per student, probably even more than that. If there are in-person classes on campus again, they will be most likely smaller groups that will alternate days. 

We love our school, the teachers and the staff. The girls have been going there since preschool and we've been involved since the very beginning, especially Amy. She's also served as PTA president and vice-president for the past three years. However, because we couldn't do anything in person, the end-of-school activities and ceremonies were bittersweet. Beatrice finished 5th grade and will be going to middle school in the fall. She had a virtual "graduation" ceremony and then we drove through the school parking lot to get her leadership award certificate, club participation certificates, and her 5th grade completion certificate. Bryce will continue at the same school going into 4th grade, and her 3rd grade teacher put together a sweet awards ceremony, dubbing Bryce "Brilliant Bryce". Both their teachers worked hard at helping our kids finish as strong as possible considering the circumstances. Beatrice's band teacher also struggled to keep all the band kids engaged until the end of the year, and yet she still pulled together a wonderful virtual concert, with Bea being one fo the flute players. 

Out of all the end-of-year activities, the simultaneously most wonderful and heart-wrenching part was the teacher parade. Led by a police motorcycle escort and ending with a fire truck (one of the parents is a fireman), our principal, teachers and staff drove decorated cars from the school parking lot and down through many our school district neighborhoods. They waved at us cheering them on, and we held our signs of love and thanks proudly. In that moment, all the teachers I ever loved and cared about growing up, those who truly cared about me and who wanted me to learn and be a better human, I imagined were also riding in the cars with our girls' teachers. Tears streamed down my face and hope filled my heart for what's to come. 

Other "Days of Coronavirus" posts:

All These Things Can Lead To Grace

Our Freedom Is Always Welcome

A Well of Strength

This Bad History

No Shirts, No Shoes, No Problem

The Iceberg Underneath

The Healing Hope We Can Give

Donate Your Date Nights and Help Feed Families

About All The Things

Dad, Our Family's Computer Guy

The Newest Normal

Where Our Troubles Are All The Same

This Is The Life

When There's Nowhere to Go

Jenny, Jenny, Who Can I Turn To

Daddy K says Happy Father’s Day

During my niece's graduation, the school honored those family and friends who have served in the armed forces. My father was in the Air Force, so we smiled proudly as he stood while the song played on, "Off we go, into the wild blue yonder…"

Then, at the end of the graduation, Dad said, "Well, now we've got another graduation in two years." (My nephew)

"And another one in 18," I said. (Baby B)

He laughed and shook his head. "I don't know about that one, son. Don't know if I'll make it that far."

I squeezed his shoulder. "You never know, Pop. You beat the devil three times already, and God hasn't called you home yet."

Not yet.

Special Agent "Papa" Grossman was the nurturing father my sister and I never had, and a good and devoted husband to my mother. He came into our lives in the late 70s and his bachelor pad showed it – revealing black velvet paintings and a faux leopard skin bean bag chair are what I remember the most.

Hard-working and the strong, silent type, Dad was direct when needed (or pressed!) and one of the nuttiest men you could ever meet.

Crazy nutty. Lovable goofball silly crazy nutty. And the teller of bad, off-color jokes (that still make you laugh). And the longest story teller of all time. Snoozer.

Old-time favorite Mom saying, "Dick, get to the point."

And he was sensitive. Most men of his generation who were also police officers don't do the emotive thing. Dad also has three daughters from a previous marriage, so the estrogen sea seeped into his brain as it did mine.

For better or for worse. Definitely for the better since he adopted us and we took his name. Many, many good years and memories with that man. I moved away to college and missed being around him.

In 1994 Dad had a stroke that was supposed to have completely debilitated him. It didn't.

In 2002 Dad got very ill with pneumonia and was sick with a lung infection for months. It was supposed to kill him. It didn't.

In 2007 Dad's gall bladder turned poisonous and he was sick for weeks. It was supposed to kill him. It didn't.

You beat the devil three times already, and God hasn't called you home yet.

I can't wait for you to hold Baby B, Pop. Just hold off on the bad jokes. You may make it to that graduation yet.

Happy Father's Day. I love you.

As If We Were One

Copyright 2008 Kevin W. Grossman

The smell of sage and oak is strong and the mountain peaks look like the heads of buried dinosaurs dipped in white ash.

It's Father's Day. I'm up at the lake on my father's boat for a lazy day of fishing, but we're not catching anything except sunburns. I'm drinking cold beer and my father's drinking bourbon and water on the rocks. We share bologna sandwiches and greasy potato chips, and when he says something funny, I laugh too hard, spitting up half-chewed food soaked in beer. The scar above his lip glints like glass in sunlight. He tells me dirty jokes, cop stories, anecdotal life lessons—as if these are the male incantations I must remember moving forward; words passed from father to son in an effort to survive a chaotic world without reason, ruled by a benevolent god.

We're all strangers dying at each other's feet, he says suddenly.

I nod and open another beer, but I'm not sure what he's talking about.

But it's as if we were one, and we don't even know it, he adds.

A thunderstorm hits the lake, backslapping the boat like an angry woman. The sky turns from blue to gray to black. Thunder booms overhead. The air smells of antiseptic. A lightning bolt strikes the bow. I drop the fishing pole in the water. It sinks quickly—like a dart shooting towards some abysmal target. There's no time to count—no in between; the storm is upon us—swallowing us whole. The lake's surface thrashes with seizures. My father screams at me—something about life jackets. I scan the deck of the boat. I see nothing but churning froth spilling over the sides like a pot of boiling water. He tries to throw me a rope. I miss it, losing my balance. I fall overboard—sinking fast like a lead weight at the end of fragile, ten-pound test.

I'm drifting downward. I can't move my arms or legs. Cold water fills my lungs. I convulse. I see my father's feet floating before my eyes—then darkness.

I wake up gasping for air. The nurse asks if I'm all right. I shake my head because I can't catch my breath. I'm sitting in a gray chair at the foot of a gray hospital bed in a gray room. Plastic tubes connect bags of clear liquid to my father's arms. Oxygen flows through the tubes in his nose. The monitor glows green and beeps erratically. His pneumonia is worse. His fever won't go down. His breathing treatments are every hour.

He coughs violently. The force causes his legs and upper body to jump. He cries out and grips the side of his ribcage as if he's being stabbed repeatedly. His face changes from red to blue to black. His arms thrash about, grabbing at the sheets as if he's about to fall.

I double over in my chair, heart imploding.