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Friday, June 09, 2006
Something Different
Forgive me tonight, Gentle Reader.
Sure, I know, this is supposed to be a blog about the mental, physical, and emotional trevails of a slightly overweight, past-middle-age, former marketing-type-turned-English-teacher as he prepares for a ludicrously long row from Troy, NY, to Baltimore over a two-to-three week period and finds that he is now additionally incented by the prospect of raising money -possibly a lot of money- for financial aid at his school.
(And that, dear students, is an unwieldy - but nonetheless workable - run-on sentence. If I had the loathesome red pen in my hand, I'd mark it so.)
But not tonight. No, tonight I'd like to wax nostalgic for a bit. You see, today we graduated said students - all sixty six of them - and even though this is my fourth graduation ceremony and I kind of knew what was coming, I'm struck by the wave of emotion(s) I felt as I saw those young men walk out for the last time.
Sure, they're "only" eighth graders, but eighth graders present themselves in ways that are, I think, unique. They are, in many ways, still kids. This is part of the charm of working with them, and the most exciting aspect of the challenge. They're wrestling with ideas like accountability and responsibility, they feel the tugs between adolesence and emerging adulthood, they have to consciously address what is truly right and what's just "acceptable" (or at least not "wrong"), and they are still in the process of learning how to be kind to one another without 'conditions' or 'cool-ness' muddying things up.
But the fact is that over these past few months where current events and the contemporary culture give me little grounds for optimism, I see in these kids a real sense of renewal and hope. The other side of the "kids" I said goodbye to today is their capacity to be accountable and responsible...to know "right" in a secular or spiritual way, and to be kind to one another because of an emerging intuition that communities just work better for all of us when we are.
Today I had the good fortune of being able to address them and their parents as we sent them off. I employed some lame metaphor about snowflakes and snowballs (text available upon request...but really, why would you?)...and since this is a rowing blog and I'm on a metaphorical roll, another comes to mind. These guys are in the relatively early days of their own "big row." While they have a sense of the progress that they can make and maybe even an idea of a (however temporarily identified) destination, the early days of their row are teaching them that it doesn't come effortlessly, or without some discomfort, or even without real risk. They're also discovering that it's something they have to do on their own, even if they do have a support team, and yet the journey can have its magical moments every bit as fulfillng as the prospect of arriving at a destination.
So we rowed out of the gym today together, me looking back at how much I enjoyed my year with them, already missing them and the delightfully unpredictable and varigated routine they presented to me each day, and they looking forward to summer and beyond.
Sheeesh. I'm welling up - I really kinda am - but it's a gratifying kind of welling up. More like a good meat loaf than take-out Chinese.
Ready to get back to The Big Row? I bet you are. Just be grateful that you didn't have to sit through snowflakes and snowballs this morning.
Tomorrow Peg and I begin a weekend at Cape May, NJ., a strategically important
port-of-call on my trip, should I get that far. It's at the extreme southern end of the Jersey Shore, better than 2/3 of the way home. I know people there. They have showers and soft beds and maybe the addresses of legitimate massage parlours. Cape May is also at the mouth of the Delaware River, 70 mile south of (and usually downwind and definitely downstream from) the C&D Canal, my portal to the Upper Chesapeake and home. I'll be needing the curative effects of sleep, food, a soak, and maybe a rub if I'm to make the turn. In no small measure, Cape May represents the beginning of the end of my voyage. It will be an interesting reconnaisance.
Let's move that Pledge Paddle to $10k, 'K?
Latah!!
Mr. Frei
Sure, I know, this is supposed to be a blog about the mental, physical, and emotional trevails of a slightly overweight, past-middle-age, former marketing-type-turned-English-teacher as he prepares for a ludicrously long row from Troy, NY, to Baltimore over a two-to-three week period and finds that he is now additionally incented by the prospect of raising money -possibly a lot of money- for financial aid at his school.
(And that, dear students, is an unwieldy - but nonetheless workable - run-on sentence. If I had the loathesome red pen in my hand, I'd mark it so.)
But not tonight. No, tonight I'd like to wax nostalgic for a bit. You see, today we graduated said students - all sixty six of them - and even though this is my fourth graduation ceremony and I kind of knew what was coming, I'm struck by the wave of emotion(s) I felt as I saw those young men walk out for the last time.
Sure, they're "only" eighth graders, but eighth graders present themselves in ways that are, I think, unique. They are, in many ways, still kids. This is part of the charm of working with them, and the most exciting aspect of the challenge. They're wrestling with ideas like accountability and responsibility, they feel the tugs between adolesence and emerging adulthood, they have to consciously address what is truly right and what's just "acceptable" (or at least not "wrong"), and they are still in the process of learning how to be kind to one another without 'conditions' or 'cool-ness' muddying things up.
But the fact is that over these past few months where current events and the contemporary culture give me little grounds for optimism, I see in these kids a real sense of renewal and hope. The other side of the "kids" I said goodbye to today is their capacity to be accountable and responsible...to know "right" in a secular or spiritual way, and to be kind to one another because of an emerging intuition that communities just work better for all of us when we are.
Today I had the good fortune of being able to address them and their parents as we sent them off. I employed some lame metaphor about snowflakes and snowballs (text available upon request...but really, why would you?)...and since this is a rowing blog and I'm on a metaphorical roll, another comes to mind. These guys are in the relatively early days of their own "big row." While they have a sense of the progress that they can make and maybe even an idea of a (however temporarily identified) destination, the early days of their row are teaching them that it doesn't come effortlessly, or without some discomfort, or even without real risk. They're also discovering that it's something they have to do on their own, even if they do have a support team, and yet the journey can have its magical moments every bit as fulfillng as the prospect of arriving at a destination.
So we rowed out of the gym today together, me looking back at how much I enjoyed my year with them, already missing them and the delightfully unpredictable and varigated routine they presented to me each day, and they looking forward to summer and beyond.
Sheeesh. I'm welling up - I really kinda am - but it's a gratifying kind of welling up. More like a good meat loaf than take-out Chinese.
Ready to get back to The Big Row? I bet you are. Just be grateful that you didn't have to sit through snowflakes and snowballs this morning.
Tomorrow Peg and I begin a weekend at Cape May, NJ., a strategically important
port-of-call on my trip, should I get that far. It's at the extreme southern end of the Jersey Shore, better than 2/3 of the way home. I know people there. They have showers and soft beds and maybe the addresses of legitimate massage parlours. Cape May is also at the mouth of the Delaware River, 70 mile south of (and usually downwind and definitely downstream from) the C&D Canal, my portal to the Upper Chesapeake and home. I'll be needing the curative effects of sleep, food, a soak, and maybe a rub if I'm to make the turn. In no small measure, Cape May represents the beginning of the end of my voyage. It will be an interesting reconnaisance.
Let's move that Pledge Paddle to $10k, 'K?
Latah!!
Mr. Frei
