Two wonderful events. One personal, one professional. A year’s planning for each. Guest list content and chemistry important. Invitations elegant, expressive, artful. Celebration, family, friends, joy. Umbrellas for everyone. My older daughter, Marissa, was married 3 weeks ago on the only rainy Saturday out of the last 7. Not just rain, but 36 hours of incessant rain, wind, mist, fog. For what was to have been an outside wedding with grand views of Vermont hillsides, mountains, and a lake. Instead, we had romantic vistas with swirling mist and fog gathering in soft chignons around the valley, slipping and curling along the lakeshore, and whispering at the feet of the wedding party in photo poses. Black umbrellas and white umbrellas (Marissa and Jackson shared a black and white one, of course) dotted the lawn against the pearl gray of the fog. Despite the rains, we enjoyed a spectacular festival of family, friends, and love. The party stretched over 3 days with a crescendo on Saturday and gentle rising and falling on either side. Marissa and Jackson are perfect for each other and perfect for the rest of us who know and love them; being around them for the weekend, everyone felt the magic of romance and commitment. Even the weather could not contain our collective and personal joy. Last week Tuesday, on the only rainy day in the last 7 we at the Stern Center held our Building Dedication ceremony for the Cynthia K. Hoehl Building, our new Williston facility. Not just rain, but nearly horizontal downpours and wind gusts at nearly 30 mph. The tent had been set up the day before in brilliant sun under azure skies, the quintessential Vermont summer day. But the next day, by one hour before the ceremony began in the tent, we’d been following the Weather Channel for 15 minute updates hoping to avoid electrical storms. We did that, but I sat with Rube Goldberg bungee cords strapped to my hands holding down the north wall, and we turned up the PA system so it could compete successfully with the drumming of the tent fabric. The speakers were brief but personal, touching, and inspirational. We rearranged pedestrian traffic to make the shortest trip under umbrella runners back to the building for tours and refreshments. It was a successful event, celebrating the past, present, and future of the Stern Center. Even the weather could not contain our collective spirit. So, while several people who realized my two major weather challenges wondered aloud if I should step aside from helping plan any major special events the rest of the summer, we all were reminded that it’s not the weather or the venue, or even the food or music that makes events special; it’s the people. “Come rain or come shine!”

Having spent most of my adult life in public schools (in that time, 19 years as a principal), I’ve always appreciated the line from Marian Wright Edelman’s book The Measure of Our Success where she writes in part, “…Remember….that many fruits of your labor won’t become manifest for many, many years.” This past year I’ve seen yet another example of that important perspective. I first met Teddy Kusiak when he was a junior in high school having spent the previous year investing many hours of hard work and discipline to get himself back on track academically, emotionally, and athletically. Ted was one of those student/athletes who’d succeeded initially by his charm and achievements only to hit the academic wall as a high school freshman. Those struggles hamstrung him first in the classroom and then in terms of sports eligibility. That year all but dashed his and his parents’ dreams of athletic scholarship supporting a college career. Upon advice of his school counselor, they sought the Stern Center, and Ted reclaimed his dreams over the next year. I have continued to connect with Ted and his father since that year, and was not surprised therefore to read the lead article in a recent Sunday issue of the Burlington Free Press highlighting Ted’s impressive achievements as an NCAA Division 1 track star at the University of Rhode Island. As startling as his track performances continued to be (with the National NCAA’s in the near future), his academic accomplishments are more so. Since drawing himself up out of the ashes of failure and discouragement, Ted gained honor roll status for the balance of high school and went on to his current status as a Dean’s List Senior at URI. For Ted, the “many fruits of his labor” continue to manifest, and we are proud to call him a Stern Center alum.

At half-time I couldn’t wait to stand up, stretch my back and relieve my knees. Seconds after I stood I realized I was still watching fifteen athletes who couldn’t leave their wheel chairs half-time or not. No standing, no stretching, no relief. And yet they were all smiling and laughing while I grimaced to the left and then to the right. I sat back down. My cousin Scott, his teammates and his opponents are all Power Soccer players participating in a rapidly growing international competitive sport. During the game I was struck by how similar it is to the NCAA basketball tournaments which that day were in the semi-final round. In both cases there were startling offensive plays, brilliant passes, occasional defensive genius, and periodic lapses in the game plans. There were also differences. Wheelchairs don’t move as fast or as instinctively as basketball players. When one or more of your hands is not available you choose to “chair bump” instead of “chest bump” after a great play. The New Orleans Superdome holds 70,000+ and only the Neilsons know how many watched on TV, while approximately 120 friends and family gathered without the glare of klieg lights to watch power soccer. As I remained seated and watched the game unfold, I wondered how long it will be before Scott has an agent, a chair contract, sports drink endorsements, and air time on ESPN.

“Hey, Ed; how old are you, anyway?” Soon after we were introduced as Reading Buddies in the Boys and Girls Club’s new mentoring program through Mobius, Richard asked me that question. At least that day at the Club I was clearly an outlier demographic, and I didn’t need Richard’s reminder! Especially after he pointed out that I’m “two of my friend Tom’s mentor.” Generations aside, we’ve dug in to Charlotte’s Web after he informed me that I was “looking at a boy who’s been to a farm and really likes animals.” Richard is 10, attends the local Integrated Arts Academy Elementary School, and prefers to take notes by drawing creative and expressive sketches rather than writing words. He struggles a bit with reading, but is an enthusiastic and engaged listener with an impressive auditory memory, able to recount nearly every detail of what we read last week. We’ve had only two sessions, but this is clearly fun for both of us. So far the pattern is read, play a game or draw together, read. He enjoys taking me around the Club as he greets the staff and others with a first name familiarity that left me asking him, “Are you the mayor here?” We’re working out the details of our buddy system, but I can see why people have encouraged me to be a mentor.

Have you noticed how many “blueprints” are sprouting out there recently? As soon as I wrote that I realized readers might accuse me of opening like Andy Rooney, but, really, there are a lot of blueprints lately. The president refers to his blueprint for America. There’s a blueprint for improving health care. And the Stern Center and collaborators recently crafted the Vermont Blueprint to Close the Achievement Gap for Vermont learners. The appeal of the metaphor, and it is a metaphor since none includes digital schematics of any kind, seems to be the confidence imbued in the word. Blueprints make dreams and visions practical. Blueprints define and specify what goes where. Blueprints convey a professional language and imagery that confronts “What we want” with “What will it take?”
In the case of the Blueprint to Close the Achievement Gap, the blueprint is based on decades of ever evolving research about the brain, language, learning, and how best to ensure that all learners learn. What we all (a wide range of collaborators across education, business, public policy makers, legislators, the governor) want is a Vermont where all learners achieve, where the present gaps framed by poverty, disability, and learning differences disappear in the wake of effective instruction and intervention. What it will take is sustained focus, intentional momentum, mutual and collective accountability, and financial support for the essential training, tooling, and restructuring needed to do what we know how to do. The trick is to make sure that this Blueprint doesn’t end up simply one of those charming artifacts someone dusts off when exploring the attic of reform. This time, we’ll make sure that doesn’t happen!

When is the last time you moved into a new house, condo or apartment? Even if it was years ago, I bet that question caused some involuntary reflex about the stresses, challenges, and ultimate pleasures that the process brought you. It’s not for nothing that psychologists include moving to a new home on lists of most stressful events. We at the Stern Center have just completed a move to a new building, consolidating from two into one which will save us in operating expenses and bring all local programs and services under one roof. Six years ago Jill and I moved to a new home after 30 years in the first one, so I’m familiar with the dynamics of planning, implementing, celebrating, and boxes, boxes, boxes. This move for the Stern Center was similar in all dimensions. Thanks to excellent leadership for the move, we had a great system of communication, packing, mapping, labeling, and working together to make it all successful. After one full week in our new home, we’re fully engaged, working on small adjustments such as “which way to turn once I step out of my office to visit colleague X?”, or “which still unpacked box contains that set of reports from the archives?” or “where did I put my new scan-card key?” We still have boxes, and I’m still not able to get from room A to room X every time without a sidetrack, but we’re here, and it’s fabulous! The Stern Center for Language and Learning, 183 Talcott Road, Suite 101, Williston, Vermont.

Motivation sneaks up us sometimes. Today’s my workout rotation for the elliptical, and I’ve been negotiating with myself that I might just skip tonight. Jill’s out until 9:30 for Parent Conferences at school. The cat won’t tell. No one but me will know if I miss a workout tonight. And then I was walking through our Waiting Room and greeted a lady with a simply, “Hi; how are you?” Unlike most folks, she replied that she was fine except for her allergies. I wished her well with that, and she further explained that her swimming always bothered her. Meaning to show interest, I suggested she simply stop swimming. “Oh, I can’t do that! I’m always in training for my next Iron Man.” At first I thought she was jesting, but no, she’s done three and is preparing for the fourth. As I left the building I decided that after all, I can handle 30 minutes on the elliptical.