This is the first time I’ve done an inbox double header, but this keeps tapping on my shoulder to share with you.
Our boys attend a fantastic public school here in small-town Massachusetts. The teachers are great. The staff is great. The administration is terrific. They care about the students, and they have excellent expertise.
And it’s become clearer and clearer to us over the last couple of years that our boys are not thriving in the public school environment.
We’ve had the meetings, we’ve had the conferences, we’ve consulted the helpers, and after a lot of thought and prayer and harmonizing gut feelings, we decided to bring our boys home for school.
When you tell folks this, the reactions are legion.
They span from “Congratulations, this is going to be terrific!” to “Wow, that’s a bold move.” And if you’ve had any time in theatre circles, you know that’s the equivalent of someone saying, “You sure made some strong choices on that stage.”
Totally fine. When you share such a big change with people and they haven’t had the privilege of seeing your process, of course things come as a surprise.
But, what I wasn’t prepared for was the deep sadness and even grief that I would feel as we actually submitted the application to the superintendent, as we communicated with the classroom teachers about our choice. We wanted the system to work out. We wanted this excellent school to be the thing that was best for the boys.
But it was clear, especially in one of them, that the light was getting snuffed out. When you look at your kid and you see the spark is just hanging on by the tiniest Tinkerbell in need of a lot of belief-applause, you know you’ve got to make a change.
And there’s grief.
When the boys brought their workbooks and composition books and daily journals home from school, along with sweet cards and a goodbye booklet compiled by the teacher, I felt this deep well of sadness. There’s love and goodness in this community, and at the same time, it’s not the right fit.
I know in the deep cells of my guts we’re making the right call. And I know there’s challenge and figuring it out ahead, but I’m very excited to see what unfolds.
A couple of weeks ago, our older boy was going with me into the bank. He started skipping and galloping (I, of course, joined him 🐴); I hadn’t seen him be playful like that in a few months. We stood in line, and I said, “Hey buddy, correct me if I’m wrong. I’m not trying to project here, but it seems to me that since you knew you were going to start learning at home, there’s been a lot more sunshine in you. Am I seeing that right?”
He grinned and agreed.
It’s a new chapter unfolding, and we’re here for all the unknowns. I will say my inner nerd is gleaming with delight, looking at all of the curriculum options and digging out 19th-century arithmetic books and drilling them on
It’s amazing how excited they get about learning over breakfast or saying “I don’t want to read” but then getting curious about what you might be discussing about the Mayans with the other brother 😊 .
All this to say that I think maybe you’re making a choice that you know is right, that you know in the depth of you is what’s most true and wholesome and good in the season you find yourself in.
At the same time, you’re feeling grief, and I want you to know that that’s being a human. You’re walking through changes that many people might not understand, but as long as you know in the depth of you that it’s the step forward you need to take, let me be the cheerleader who tells you: 📢 Well done, way to access your courage, and I’m excited to see what the next chapter holds for you.
If this was for you today, I hope it helps.
And please do remember there is only one you. Somebody would love to hear the story only you can sing.
Love much,
Dan