Building Cathedrals

O-O-O-rientation…

We are nearing the end of the death march that is Student Orientation! The pace of activity is a bit frenzied, so that it makes a regular school day, which begins tomorrow, seem like a relaxed cakewalk (I never have really gotten that whole “cakewalk” thing—I have never done a cakewalk, seen anyone else do a cakewalk, but it is such a nice archaic expression to bring back…anyhoo…)

Our Dean of Student Life created a wonderful student orientation. Her most brilliant stroke involved bringing back our 110 returning students on Friday, enjoying a day unto themselves before welcoming the new students. I have never run a student orientation, but if I had been charged with the task, I imagine I would have just had the new people come first, and then squeeze the veterans in at the end. Instead, Wendy had the foresight to understand that it is actually a little hard for our pioneering students to relinquish the campus to more people. All morning on Friday the old students returned—there was such a cacophony of “I missed you Habibi!” and hugs and kisses to beat the band (somehow tonight I am excited to resurrect many archaic phrases). You remember that in Jordan men greet each other with a kiss on the cheek—to be more accurate it is a “single double.” There is one kiss on the left cheek as you face your friend, and then a double kiss on the right. But, there are exceptions—when you have not seen a mate for some time, there can be extended kisses on the right cheek. So with the swells of the 110 students returning, such happiness to be back at school the kisses and the wishes continued all morning. Indeed these remarkable students many of whom truly transformed deserved a day to bask in the friendships forged in our opening year before embracing the new students.

We met as a school one last time in the Lecture Hall, a place that holds about 125 people. We will never be able to meet there again since the number of students increases so much this year. We will meet in the large auditorium from now on. Our headmaster recounted some of the triumphs of the year. The faculty acted as waiters and table heads at lunch, serving our students, and enjoying the reversals of roles. The old students got their marching orders for the following day, so that they understood their significant role in preparing the school for Year #2.

I was tempted to re-read the blog entries from last August and early September, those days of semi-horror as we ventured into Scratch. No need. It was just a joy to welcome them back, eager to see how they would handle the next day and carry on the mission of the school.

Saturday dawned—wait, it is Jordan, we don’t need the weather report. It is sunny and hot and blue skies. The old students all had t-shirts to wear with “King’s Academy Moving Company” on them to help greet and move in the new students. Around 8:30 a.m. the new students began arriving—looking nervous and unsure about what a boarding experience really means. Our students grabbed hands to shake, and bags to carry, and led them to dorm rooms, took them on tours, waited on them in the dining hall, and served as exemplary role models. Wow. Even though we had loved our small intimate school of last year, they were ready to pass on the meaning of what KA meant to them.

After the parents departed about 7:00 everyone rushed in line for a BBQ dinner. All of a sudden we saw how much the school had grown overnight. There were now 267 students, and sadly, there was only one line for all these people. Somehow I must have had a little sign on me that said, “Why not cut in line here??” because I had a group of returning guys that cut in front of me—I suggested they go to the end of the line. A minute or two later, I saw them with plates in hand. So effective in my discipline! Then a group of returning girls cut in front of me. This time I played the heavy and walked them back in line. As soon as I was back in my place, would you believe it, the crown prince and his posse cuts right in front of me. I looked to my colleague and whispered, “We should say something, shouldn’t we? We’re supposed to treat him like everyone else.” She just smiled at me, so I put my arm around the prince and a buddy of his and said, “You know this is a pretty bold move on your first day at your new school to cut in front of a teacher. I mean we never forget things like this. Are you sure you really want to do this?” It didn’t seem to cultivate the kind of guilt I hoped, but they did offer to let me cut in front of them! I declined, and said, “all right just know I will be watching you, and if this happens again, we’ll be spending some time together at the back of lines.” I know I caved a little—but in my brain I thought, I didn’t make the first boys go back, I did make the group of girls, so it seemed sort of fair. Well, fair-ish.

This morning at breakfast I came up to a small group of the posse and I told them I appreciated that they were now waiting in line, doing the decent thing. The prince (he has a name I just want to protect him a little here—and we definitely don’t call him prince, we just call him by his name) turned and said, “Mr. John, it wasn’t this guy, just us two from last night. We’ll wait in line. Sorry about last night.”

So there.

Last night we continued a tradition from last year (does doing something twice make it a tradition?? My sister would vigorously agree!!) where the school comes together and each person takes a few seconds to introduce him/herself. Where you are from, your grade, your name, first/second year at the school. All 267 students. All 47 full-time faculty. All 15 Teaching Interns. All 18 Junior Fellows. It did take a little time.

Most of them are not terribly memorable introductions, of course, but you do get everyone speaking in front of people right off the bat. But there was one interesting—for lack of a better word—moment when a student introduced himself: “I am from a country that has been destroyed by that monkey named George Bush.” Oh. Little Awkward. A colleague and I turned to each other—we both had been on the Admissions Committee—and wondered, “is that a guy from Iraq or Afghanistan??” We have some students from both. Well, personal expression is a good thing, but there are better places of more appropriate discourse.

All the while during Orientation I have been preparing my opening packet for class tomorrow. I am teaching AP World History, and since it is a totally new course for me I started from that proverbial s-c-r-a-t-c-h. I always want to open an AP course dealing with a mixture of emotions, aiming to scare/intrigue/excite/caution/support/inspire them since it is such an undertaking. I wrote a little about the importance of trust in this course. Here is a little quotation from my opening packet:

Trust calms the fear that uncertainty breeds. In times of high uncertainty, we need to pay more attention to the source of trust—human connections and how we do what we do. Trust becomes, more vitally than ever, the currency of human exchange. And of course, trust begats trust. Trust brings groups together. I once read in a book about successful businesses a great acronym: TRIP.
Trust
Risk
Innovation
Progress

Trust is a heady concept. When I trust you, I am giving you the power to let me down or do right by me. I am taking a risk with this trust. But more importantly, trust is empowering to both parties. Trust is the engine that powers this TRIP. When trust is there, it enables risk, to leap higher. In a trusting environment everyone feels emboldened to take more risks, to venture into new territory, to solve problems. Innovation flows from this creative spirit. And of course, innovation leads to progress.

I had no idea last year at this time what to expect of the school year, let alone the first day of class. I have a pretty good idea that tomorrow we will begin pretty smoothly, and over the course of the year, I have an expectation of what these students can achieve. Last year their learning curve was steep. This weekend they proved that their transformation last year was not a fluke, but the beginning of a lifetime commitment to excellence. Our old students were punctual, dressed appropriately, and calm in the dorm. Last year we built this trust—one interaction at a time. It has changed us all.

Of course it is difficult to sum up what this experience has meant over the last 13 months. I mean there are almost 100 blog entries chronicling the ups and downs! But this whole experience reminds me of that old story of two guys doing masonry work on a building. The first one, when asked what he was doing, says, “Laying bricks.” The second one replies, “Building a Cathedral.” Some people see themselves merely as bricklayers, but we need to define ourselves less narrowly. Why not always aim higher and higher—to the sky even, concerning ourselves not just with what we are doing, but how we make it happen. We came here—to start a school from Scratch, and look at what we’ve got. We have the makings of a cathedral. I can see the skeletal structure. I wonder how high it will soar this year.

That image of a cathedral summons up visions of light and beauty, and also a Russian proverb: Education is light—lack of it darkness.

Almost midnight here, and time to rest before the first classes tomorrow.