Reset

A week ago at this time I was on a plane leaving the United States returning to Jordan for a little blip of time—just two weeks—before flying again over the thousands of miles that lie between Jordan and the United States. I spent my six days in New York doing what I do best—eating, visiting, and people-watching. I people-watched in one of the great people-watching capitals of the world (this spring I spent time in Jerusalem, another of the great people-watching capitals of the world). I rested from my eating and visiting and teaching and preaching. I was on a break. I people-watched on the Metro North train up to Irvington to see dear friends Anne and Peter. I people-watched as I cruised through the art exhibits at the Met, “American Stories,” and “Art of the Samurai.” I people-watched at the tourist-friendly revival of Ragtime, I people-watched at the no-tourists-at-this-play-without-a-star, Superior Donuts. I people-watched at the New York Philharmonic concert on Thursday, where I enjoyed the talents of young pianist star David Fray. And I people-watched on the long subway ride out to JFK airport to fly back to Jordan. Really no two crowds were alike. And each crowd was essentially a New York crowd of peacocks doing their thing. It is a joyous thing to take in the many flavors/colors/textures of New York.

It was a needed break—somewhere, anywhere. As you can guess from the blogisodes (sorry, Sue, it did take me awhile to steal the time to pen another entry) it was a stressful November here in our social experiment known as KA. Although, let’s be honest, if you are a faithful, curious or even casual reader of this blog, has it ever been an easy month?

It felt harder what with the tensions rising over deteriorating behavior, the stakes high over college applications, and certainly with the demands of the side-job as being a class dean with the office of student life. It has just been the most consuming school job I have ever encountered. Not that that is all a bad thing—I have been consumed by all my schools—Gaston Day, Charlotte Latin, and Hackley—and I am never bored here! But it has just been hard doing the job seven days a week. We are also in a school where we have grown so much, we have never gotten the chance to get it right yet. We jumped from 108 students the first year, and we almost started to get it right in June of 2008, to 270 students last year, and we came close to getting it right last June, and now we are at 400. I wish we could just hold tight and get it right!

Before this break for Eid (which dovetailed nicely with the American Thanksgiving) there were several episodes of students asked to withdraw themselves from the school. Each was justified in my mind, and some of us wish we could clean house even more. But each of these episodes causes a little tear in the delicate fabric that is this school, and some colleagues feel that we should never abandon a student, even one who has repeatedly broken rules and squandered opportunities.

The break came at a good time. We needed to breathe. And hit the reset button.

Julianne came back with a bundle of energy. She spoke to the seniors last Sunday in a beautiful, extemporaneous, honest tone about the difficulties in facing the challenges at the school. As a good historian she shared how so often this autumn she had thought of the gathering of 54 men over the course of the summer of 1787 in Philadelphia. These men from the 13 disparate states—years after the victory against Britain—met to figure what in the world to do with their bundle of differences. Their two-year old government wasn’t working. What do you do? How do you scrap it? How do you save something? How do you hit the reset button? How do you move forward? Of course, eventually they would compromise and crank out what would be the United States Constitution, hoping to form that “more perfect union.” We too rarely look back on how scary, how tenuous it all looked then in 1787—all the goodwill and back-slapping excitement after the 1781 defeat of the Brits had evaporated—and we instead call it “The Miracle at Philadelphia.”

Julianne spoke movingly about joining the venture at KA, about how things were moving in a seemingly haphazard, herky-jerky way, and how she knew they didn’t like how she was trying to steer this ship in a different direction. She reminded them that Amman was, in ancient times, called, Philadelphia. She said, “And I already know the title of my book, when we make it work here at KA: The Second Miracle of Philadelphia. Reset button activated.

She offered to meet in groups of a dozen students, and go out to coffee, each school night for these two weeks, and get to know the seniors better. She encouraged the seniors to sign up, but didn’t force them to come along. By the following morning, 50 seniors had signed up, and after the first evening, her gaggle of senior boys came back with a renewed desire to make it work.

It has become too customary here to look at our glass as half empty—so many things are difficult not only in starting a school, but dealing with the meltdowns of adolescence, the powerlessness of ex-pats, the fears of the hosts, the vulnerabilities of the college process, and the erosion of economic confidence. We need that reset button. We need to take a break. Hit the button.

Julianne had a great week reinvigorating our seniors. I came back from my people-watching and surprise visit to Cincinnati with a renewed passion as well. One of my students said, “You always look younger when you come back from the United States!” Of course, one of my former colleagues at Hackley said to me just 10 days ago, “You look so much younger ever since you moved to Jordan.” Maybe we have all just forgotten there are other topics of conversation. Do I look that haggard on a daily basis??? Whoops. Maybe I better just run down to the Dead Sea and hit the reset button again.

Of course one of the problems with the class dean job is that so much of what I must face is the underbelly of the school—the issues of cutting and smoking and lying and cheating and disrespect—that I can forget how marvelous much of this experiment is. I just concluded 12 hours of meetings over our two “off” days, our Friday and Saturday, doing what other people at the school have not been doing in their jobs. You get a little cranky. You need to hit the reset button!

But maybe the best reset button came last night. A senior student asked me during lunch if I would be up at midnight. I didn’t know, I answered. He asked if he could come to my apartment and use my computer since he would find out at midnight exactly whether he had earned admission to Columbia University. The internet is cut off for students at that time, and he wanted to check, and he was nervous and wanted me there.

The student came by at 11:45 and we talked about the pros and cons of attending Columbia in New York City. He was prepared to face rejection and he also had several other schools he liked beside Columbia.

At midnight we went to log on. The dear guy started to hyperventilate, but we got the username and password punched in. Of course it was slow since thousands of other eager seniors around the world were logging in at the same time to check on this admission status. (Let’s be real—is there any stranger way to feel the passage of time??? Checking on line for whether you go into college? No stalking of the mailman or spying the size of the envelope or tearing it open??? It is so long past the 1980s!).

My friend, for whom I had written what I thought was a well-deserved enthusiastic letter of recommendation, was too nervous once we saw that the screen was unfolding with the answer. He looked away, hyperventilating. I saw something blocking the beginning of the email message, but I saw the words, “you will want to share the good news with your family…” at the bottom. I told him, “I think you have the news you want! Who would write that suggestion at the end of a tragic letter??!”

He checked and he had gained admission! This guy who lived on my hallway last year, whom I have known since the beginning of this experiment in Jordan, a guy who has not had an easy time, but last year triumphed in my AP World History class, earned a 5 on his AP exam, got the news he had hardly expected. He became our first student to be accepted to an Ivy League school.

Now, I will be the first to say that the ivy league hoopla is just a load of hoopla—but it is hoopla that has currency. This means something by the standards most people understand.

It was one of the most joyous experiences watching him shout, hug, pray, and cry over the next few minutes. This is a chance for him to hit a major reset button in his life. This was extraordinary.

Yes, it is a difficult place and the hours are endless. I feel like a medical resident most of the time, on call for whomever and whenever there is a mess or a crisis.

But then we hit a reset button, and it all feels a little, well, re-set.

A week from right now I will be waking up in the United States for another chance to eat, visit, and people-watch. And enjoy the reset button.