When is a stalemate as good as a win? In my case, after six months of weekly chess matches with my father when my typical performance is met with, “That was a great game…you had me on the ropes for a while, but then things turned around.” Or something like that. A couple of weeks ago Dad and I altered our weekly ritual of Als for burgers and fries followed by chess and instead we played at the Friends of the Stern Center Annual Card Party. This was the first year they chose to add chess to the festivities. And we replace fast food with delectable desserts. Early on into our match I became aware that I was controlling the action, and as things progressed and the board thinned out, I could actually feel my heart beating a bit faster recognizing, “I’m actually going to win this, and with an audience no less.” Alas, you know from my opening sentence that I did not. At the moment when he successfully dodged the loss, I was so disappointed that I left my chair and clapped my hands, much to the dismay of the ladies still quietly bidding at nearby tables. In short order, however, I rationalized that finally I hadn’t lost. Maybe I just need dessert and an audience!

My morning commute was nearly 10 minutes longer today thanks to all the yellow busses stopping every 200 yards or so. I’d gotten very frustrated by the time I approached a gentle hill and saw yet another set of red flashing lights just on the other side. I was sure my distance promised that I wouldn’t have to stop AGAIN, but as I down-shifted the MG I realized the driver was still waiting patiently for the family vignette on my left to unfold. A little blonde girl with a pink backpack was just then kissing each of two golden retrievers on the tops of their heads, high-fiving Dad and waving broadly to Mom who stood back a bit with her hands clenched at her chest. The girl finally nearly pranced across the road to board the bus and the row behind me finally got back into commute mode, but I at least was no longer irritated, frustrated, or fed up. I was warmed nearly to the point of tears. Happy New Year!

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.