My office window is ground level and a mere 15 feet from the parking lot. As such it gives me a clear view of arrivals and departures, especially in the summer when I forego the AC preferring fresh air early in the morning. This morning while working at the computer, I noticed two sets of arrivals which both illustrate the impact of our work here at the Stern Center. First, a young mother arrived and as she helped her son out of his car seat they were talking excitedly about the fun he was going to have with his teacher. Before they were fully assembled out of the car his instructor greeted them, and the little guy clapped his hands in reply. An hour or so later another vehicle arrived, this one driven by a woman appearing to be in her 80s who had a front seat passenger also in her 80s and a back seat passenger of about 6 or 7. As the grandmother (?) and her grandson made their way to the building, his primary colored backpack bounced on his shoulders as he skipped to the door. Pretty cool. It’s summer. This is not the beach or the playground, and yet both kids and their adults showed excitement and enthusiasm for being here. That’s what personal, genuine, effective instruction will do!

How best celebrate a woman’s 95th birthday? You start, as with all birthday parties regardless of age, with cake and ice cream (in our case mini-designer cupcakes), add balloons (in our case at least one nearly large enough for the guest of honor to hide behind), stir in three ridiculously handsome young men to offer greetings and kisses (in our case our board chair and two former students of the Stern Center), fold in staff and board members from across the nearly 30 years of the Stern Center, sprinkle liberally with current students and families as well as staff; bring all this together and gently warm with love and affection. Mrs. Stern had a blast! As the founding benefactress of the Stern Center, Bernice (as she is known) has been a constant cheerleader, an inspirational force, and a source of hope for all learners. As one of those young men said yesterday, it is practice to give gifts at a birthday party, but Bernice herself has been a gift to us all! Happy Birthday, Mrs. Stern, and thank you!

I recently attended an event which featured David Lawrence of Miami, FL. Mr. Lawrence is the visionary and guiding force behind the successful Children’s Movement of Florida working toward ensuring that children are at the heart of all policy and budget decisions in their state. During his presentation he described how he evolved from a highly successful career in newspaper publishing to, as he described, a late in life epiphany about how vital it is to society that we care for our youngest. The purpose of the Movement is “to educate political, business and civic leaders -- and all parents of the state -- about the urgent need to substantially improve the way we care for our children.” His is a compellingly simple, clear, emotional invitation to put children first. I was taken back in time to more than 30 years ago when I had accepted my first principalship and was eagerly preparing for my new role. Full of enthusiasm unfettered by the rigors of politics or policy, I recall the most powerful advice I was given at the time: “Ed, no matter what, always keep the kids first.” It seemed too basic, too broad, too bumper stickery at the time, especially on a scale of dreams of making a huge difference. I eventually discovered, however, that making a huge difference really did mean always keeping the kids first. That veteran administrator so many years ago and David Lawrence last week both had the right idea.

Last week the Stern Center hosted the 9th Annual Charles M. Poser, M.D. Lecture bringing together educators, medical professionals, and parents to learn more about learning and the brain. Dr. Poser, a former chief of Neurology at the University of Vermont, valued and promoted collaborations between educators and the medical profession. This year’s lecture was the first since his death last November, and the private dinner the evening prior was a poignant but lively opportunity for dear friends, colleagues, and family to share the power of their mutual affection and respect. As a member of the Stern Center’s leadership team, I am honored to be part of this annual reunion, but as such I have come far too late to the party to fully grasp what Dr. Poser created among his wide ranging assembly of colleagues/friends. I am able, however, to feel the palpable power of his intellect, appreciate the impressive range of his social interests and talents, and envy the personal passion of the many and enduring friendships he nurtured. The Poser Lecture brings new learning to all those attending, provokes new thinking, and instills an increased sense of hope for the work shared by medical professionals, educators, and parents. The Poser Dinner allows a window into an intimate community drawn together by Dr. Poser and now sustained by the private memories of how he touched their lives.

Opening Day of trout season in Vermont is as fickle as any other notion of spring in our glorious state. Eliot was correct; April is indeed the cruelest month! On this year’s opening Saturday, after nearly 15 years of hiatus from the vagaries of the day, I was with three friends dragging two canoes across knee deep snow down a logging road to a pond. Dragging in was at least down hill; for the way out we chose to drag across level, snow-covered swampland portaging by sections of the outlet brook. Drag, sink to above boots, drag, drag, drag, sink. And so it went. Bookends to our day, a day which yielded only two fish to one guy. Nice brookies, but still; we all worked pretty hard!

Even so, at the end of the day, cold, a bit wet, no fish for supper, and snow in my boots, I realized I’d had fun. Lots of laughs. Exercising the muscle memory of tying tackle, casting line, packing the canoe. The familiarity of rituals and friendships. Opening Day means all that, even with the snow. Next time out there’ll be less snow and more fish, but the same friends.

One month. Thirty-one days. Mom died March 5. Since then, Dad has given me her art supplies, paints, brushes, knives, and palettes. Since then, I’ve completed one new painting using some of her things. Since then, I’ve collected a number of her books and read one. Since then, a few times I’ve forgotten that she has died, especially while working at my easel, thinking I need her feedback before moving on with the piece. Since then, Dad and I have met for dinner and chess each week; although “dinner” is a bit fancy for what is most typically burgers and fries at Als. Since then, I’ve read and re-read the cards from friends and colleagues. Since then, I still get to work each day at 7:30, attend meetings, complete projects, joke with team members. Since then, I realize I left too much unsaid and undone and have resolved not to let that continue. Since then, I’m more tired but at the same time calmer. Since then, the snow has melted, the robins have returned, and the crocuses have bloomed. One month.

Plungers and perspective. Late yesterday I was approached by a group of four 11 year olds and their Social Understanding coach. The guys are members of the Stern Center’s Social Understanding and Communication program (the second largest such program in the nation) and participate in weekly small group activities designed to help develop, among other things, greater capacity for “perspective taking.” Perspective taking is an essential social tool that not everyone acquires without explicit, contextual instruction, modeling, and coaching.

In any case, these guys came to report that one side of the double sink in their group area was plugged, standing water, food particles, and so forth. Lacking a facilities person, and with my years of experience as a school principal, I not only know how to use a plunger but I know where we keep one for emergencies like this. Thus armed, I attacked the problem to the delight of the group members whom their coach was trying to keep focused and engaged with their intended activity, not four feet from my slurping, slopping efforts. Sound effects aside, there is not much more entertaining to a group of 11 year old boys than to watch a grown man all dressed up in shirt and tie, wield a plunger only to have one massive geyser erupt from the adjacent sink directly into his face.

Of course they laughed. Their coach was hysterical. Even I was laughing as I spun away a millisecond too late and shook my face like a golden retriever. The kids were beside themselves. Even in the midst of this impromptu entertainment, the coach kept enough of their attention to turn this into a teachable moment about perspective taking. “We’re all laughing right now. Something disgusting happened to Sink Boss Ed, but we’re laughing. How do we know it’s OK to laugh? How would we know if it isn’t OK to laugh?” They all got the point that since I was laughing as quickly and as much as they, it was OK to laugh with me, but if I’d been angry or crying, they should not laugh. One never knows when real life offers plungers and perspective, but we should be ready just in case!