E... S... A...

Whenever tragedy reenters our lives, someone nearby always laments that "it took this to remind us how fragile we are."

Fewer people, it seems, would choose to ponder solemn thoughts on a sunny day versus a rainy day. And since death and sickness are widely considered "solemn" topics... they usually take a back seat when you're in a park or at a beach.

It may seem odd, but I find these the perfect times to consider our frailty-- not to bring down my happiness but, on the contrary, to maximize my appreciation for what we have.

It is in that spirit (of taking stock in everything we have while the weather's fine) that I recommend a movie to you, my 2nd favorite movie of all time: The Diving Bell & the Butterfly.

It's a real-life story of a man who loses everything but his mind--and one eye--and still squeezes every ounce he can out of life.

Like the other movies on my proverbial top shelf, The Diving Bell challenges you to look inside yourself and decide if you could do what he did. If the only ability you had left was the ability to dream, could you? Would you? And why?

I suggest you stake out some time to experience this film. Usually, if we feel like a movie-night, it's because we want to unplug our reality; we'd rather someone else do the thinking (make me laugh, make me cry, etc.) You'll get more out of this film if you engage with it, so I'd set aside a movie-night, rather than save this film for one.

I left the theater on my own two feet, re-inspired to do/feel/taste/see as much as I can while I can. And it hit me shortly after: Jean-Dominique Bauby just touched someone else from across an ocean, 10 years apart, and with a blink of an eye. 

Your story, Mr. Bauby, no matter how close to "real life," has breathed new life into me.

A School with a Promise

"...indivisible 

with Liberty 

and Justice

for all."

Each word rang clear through the PA. Each phrase, a stanza. Each pause, a silent declaration that everything we say and do here at University Park Campus School, we do for a reason. 

From the outside, UPCS seems the norm for a poor neighborhood in Worcester, Massachusetts; a 20-room schoolhouse built in 1885. Of the 231 students who enter, 61% are minorities, 67% speak English as a second language, and 73% qualify for free or reduced-price lunch (an accepted gauge of children in poverty).

Yet every student who enters graduates. The dropout rate at UPCS since it opened in 1997 is zero. 0.0%

The number of students who have failed the state's high school exit exam in English: zero. Science? Zero. Math? One... who passed the second time. And that's not last year's stats... that's since the test was required for graduation in 2002.

How do some of Worcester's poorest pull this off? How do 95% of them go onto college (many becoming the first in their family to do so)? Those are some of the first answers I read upon entering JFF in September. Document after document reinforces ideas like constant group work, teachers as facilitators, writing across content areas, peer reading.

It's one thing to read about UPCS. But Monday and Tuesday, I finally went there. And it's downright magical to see these proven practices in action. In my 12 hours at the school, I don't think I heard a teacher utter a single answer or even say "that's correct." They simply moved to the next step in the problem, or the next paragraph in the reading so seamlessly, I felt like it was solely the students moving the class along. And more importantly, the students sense that as well. I jumped into their groups and every student, loud or shy, was happy to explain to me how to figure out this math problem, or what that author is trying to tell us. Except for initial instruction, I only remember teachers asking questions:

"Miss Bird, I'm stuck on this."

"Class, can anyone help Chris?"

"Mr. Glick, I think maybe the old man was trying to embarrass the thief."

"Hmm... anyone agree or disagree with Sarah?"

When teachers constantly throw material back on the class to work out as a team, the message, albeit subconscious at times, is clear: The answer lies in you. You and your classmates have the tools to succeed.

And they are constantly driven to do so, taking all honors classes from 9th grade on. Many of them take college courses down the street at Clark University (free of charge) during their junior and senior years. I ate lunch with a group of seniors yesterday who couldn't stop talking about the colleges they're about to attend. One is heading to Union in Albany, NY on a full-ride scholarship she beat out 2500 kids for nationwide.

The logos of colleges this year's seniors are heading to are proudly displayed on the 2nd floor bulletin board. What's better than a poster that reads: "You can succeed." How about a bulletin board that says: "You already are."

I made it a point to greet each student I passed. And every darn one of them looked me in the eye and said "Hello." You won't hear a single curse word in the halls of UPCS. Respect is so deeply embedded, PA announcements begin with: "Please pardon the interruption..."

The UPCS philosophy and mission is quickly spreading around this country. It's example has helped shape 159 early college high schools from coast to coast and up to Fairbanks, Alaska. Our goal at JFF is to help start up 100 more.

After witnessing these shining up-and-comers who statistics believe should be scrapping the barrel of American society... I hope we don't stop there.

The Sun Also Rises

Even if I could find the words... they probably wouldn't be this good.
I give you James Palmer Hallock:

* * * * *

Not really sure what to say, or what to do. All I know is that the
Giants played at another level last night, and the Patriots weren't
prepared to compete at that level. In a sense, we got out-Belichicked
by Tom Coughlin and that Defensive Line. The offensive line was
completely overmatched, and weren't focused. Justin Tuck dominated
Logan Mankins, who is probably one of the top 2 left guards in the
game. From the start, you could see it happening - the chips were
falling into place for the Giants. Four 3rd down conversions on the
opening, 10-minute drive. The back of the endzone interception that
Hobbs just missed. The fumble that Bradshaw somehow stole away from
Pierre Woods. The Thomas sack, followed by the Bradshaw penalty that
somehow kept the ball away from the Pats. Randall Gay's injury.
Kevin Faulk's injury. Tom Brady clearly not at 100%. The sacks. The
errant passes. The overwhelming arrogance that we could just send Tom
into 5 and 7-step drops and that he'd find the open receiver. The
poor use of the run. Going for it on 4th and 13 from the 31-yard
line, when you just tried to hit a deep pass on 3rd down instead of
trying to get a small chunk of yards to make it either A) a better
field goal chance or B) a better 4th down opportunity. The trash
talking, inviting the Giants to our postgame parties and telling them
that they should get ready to go home. Asante's near miss
interception. Meriweather's near miss interception. The ALMOST sack.
Tyree's catch (how did he hold on to that ball?). Burress wide open
in the end zone - why was he in single coverage on an OBVIOUS slant &
go? There it is. It's all there. Read it. Digest it. Be pissed.
Be disappointed. Be upset. You've tasted it. It was right
there...dripping from the bottle onto your tongue for a 6th time in 6
years. And it was snatched away.

Now, get up and pull yourself together. Because we will be back. And
we might not ever see 18-0 again and you know what? I don't want to.
I want to see 11-5. I want to see adversity, fear, losing. I want to
see playoff games that are up for grabs. I want to come from behind
and kick Peyton's ass. Watching his face, torn & broken as he and the
heavily favored Colts throw that final interception to seal their
fate.

I want to see 100 wins. I want to see tight games with the Yankees in
the regular season, fans hanging on every pitch. I want to see the
new generation of our great rivalry - Ellsbury, Hughes, Buchholz,
Chamberlain, Lester. I want to see the ALCS in Boston & New York. I
want to piss my pants when Rivera comes out of the bullpen and we need
to score a run to send it to extras to keep us alive.

I want to see Banner # 17. I want to see KG lift this basketball town
to heights it hasn't known since the mid-80s. I want to see the
Pistons take us to the wire, night in and night out. Emotionally
drained. Leaving it all out on the floor. For Red. For DJ. I want
to face the Spurs in the finals. I want to go down 2-0 and come back
to Boston weary, but hungry. I want to shock the World - Worst to
First.

I want to be scared again. Not of losing, but of never reaching the
plateau of greatness. All this arrogance. All this "Titletown" crap.
There's no room for it. It doesn't taste as sweet as it does when
you leave it all out there. When you fight for respect. When you
fight for what is yours. Like the Giants did.

I for one am spent after this season and I'm glad it's over. Pitchers
and catchers in 10 days. I just hope we don't start the season on a
winning streak.