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Several years prior, when I was still an undergrad, I was dating this really attractive, really cute, really interesting girl.  She stayed at school all summer, so, naturally, I decided to stay back, too.  I had an apartment, after all, and the lease I signed was for twelve months.  Why not stay for the summer?  I had a car.  I had a crib.  I had a lady.  What else is there when you’re twenty one years old?

Let’s try money.  Discretionary cash.  Spending money.  For the lady.

I got a job.  I worked at Best Buy.  I worked in the music department.  When I was in middle school, I had a column in the school newspaper: Rockin’ Ricky’s Turntable Times.  Seriously, that’s what I called it.  I did music reviews.  I wrote exactly two of them.  The paper only came out twice the year I had the column.  I used to save up my money all year long for our trips back to the US; we were living in Mexico at the time.  I think all my friend knew that I would come home with a stack of LP’s and 45’s after every trip back, so I sort of became known as the music guy.  I remember once in high school, when “She Drives Me Crazy” by Fine Young Cannibals came out, I stayed up until 2:00 in the morning just so I could record the song on some obscure radio show.  Tony wanted it, so I went above and beyond to deliver.  He didn’t ask; I just did it.  I loved music THAT much.  Working in the music department at Best Buy was a big deal to me.

To recap, I had a car, a crib, and a lady.  I had a job listening to music at Best Buy.  My parents were financing my living arrangements.  Life was good.  So as to not be a total mooch, I decided to show my parents that I was REALLY responsible and take a class during the summer.  MY summer.  I was THAT magnanimous.

That summer, I took a 200-level class that wound up changing my life.  It turned out to be the most important business class I’ve ever taken, bar none.  Well, there was a technology-related class that I took during my MBA in which I was able to convince the professor that seeing “Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace” had to do with business and technology because the extensive use of computer graphics would change the movie industry forever.  I was right.  I should have demanded extra credit to off-set that “B” in Finance.  Anyway, that summer I took a Psych class.  Specifically, I took “Child Psychology and Development.”  It changed my life forever.  I still use the things I learned in that class and the list of other classes that I took as a result.  The one Psych class introduced me to the Department of Human Development and Family Studies.  I racked up enough hours in HDFS to get a minor…too bad they didn’t offer one.  Regardless, those classes opened my eyes to fields of studies I’d never known existed.  Those classes became the foundation for my adult outlook on life, the Universe, and all the stuff in between.  That includes leadership.

Anyone who knows my wife shouldn’t be surprised that she graduated from our MBA program with honors.  Anyone who knows me shouldn’t be surprised that I didn’t.  The point of the story, though, isn’t to confirm what some people already know about my wife’s and my personality.  One of the points of the story is that a grade isn’t going to tell you shit about what you’ve learned.  I didn’t get an “A” in the Child Psych class, but I learned more in that summer session that I could have ever dreamed possible.  The other point of the story is that you’ll never know how one simple choice, like the choice to hang out with that cute girl on campus that summer, might have lasting reverberations for the rest of your life.  You see, not only did that class change my life,  I married that cute girl.  

This is why leaving and never coming to terms with the cause will ultimately lead to repeated failures.  Failure, after all, is never learning from mistakes of the past.  If you remain purposely blind to the mistakes and do not embrace them, then you are not giving them the opportunity to teach their lessons.

So, if you can accept that running is not an option, that you are, indeed, who you are and not who you wish that you were, then you can begin to transform who you are into who you believe you can be.  Circular?  Not at all.  Once again, we find ourselves confronted with choices.  

The other day on TV, I heard Kenny Rogers say, “We are all three people: who I believe I am, who you believe I am, and who I really am.”  Then he went on to say, “The closer together those three are, the more successful you will be.”

Amen, Kenny.  Amen.

Over 40 years ago, 7 families dreamed about opening a school in order to provide a different kind of education for their children.  It was a crazy, crazy dream.  They went for it anyway.  They went for it, and they made it happen.  Their did what they had to in order to translate dream into reality.  And they were successful.  Today, my kids attend that school.  Tonight, we celebrated the organic evolution of that dream as the school opened a second building on campus.  

“Tonight, I can see that the torch has been passed,” she said.  She was a member of one of those 7 founding families.  There were others present from that original group.  What a legacy.  Imagine being able to pass a torch over 40 years from now.  Just imagine.

The difference between those 7 families and the majority of us is that they had the courage to do more than just imagine.  They had the courage to pursue that crazy dream.  How many times have you dreamed an impossible dream only to brush it off?  Impossible dreams are just that: impossible.  They are flights of fancy.  They are childish.  They are irresponsible.  They are pointless.  Impossible dreams…why bother?

Bother…because 40 years from now hundreds of kids could benefit from your dream.  Hundreds of lives could be changed for the better.  Changed?  How about transformed?  How about elevated beyond what they could have only dreamed of prior to you and your dream?  Or maybe the mere fact that you had the courage to try might be enough to inspire another generation of dreamers…

Now, go.  Start.  Light that torch.   It’s not too late.  I don’t care how old you are.  40 years from now, something you ignited could be burning brightly…

I don’t know how long she was a teacher, but she’s been a teacher ever since I’ve known her.  English was her specialty.  When I wrote a letter announcing to the world that I’d met the woman of my dreams and had asked her to marry me, my wife read over it and frowned.  “You have to correct some grammar mistakes.  My mom’s an English teacher.”

Apparently, you have to put your best grammatical foot forward when you’ve become engaged to an English teacher’s daughter.

I thought the whole thing was cute.  Over the years that followed, teaching has consumed her life.  And teaching isn’t one of those easy professions.  You know, the kind that leave allow room for goofing around if you’re feeling a little lazy one day.  Or the kind that let you shift gears as you please just so long as you deliver on time and under budget.  No, teaching is pretty unforgiving.  And, as my mother-in-law puts it, a teacher gets “9 months to do 12 months of work.”  I never thought about it that way, but it makes sense.  For much of the time I’ve known her, life is defined by short periods of no papers to grade over the weekend.  That’s a teacher’s definition of vacation.

Tonight we celebrated her retirement.  Tonight I thought about Mr. Lapadat and Ms. Dominguez, my two favorite language teachers.  I thought about Mrs. Juliano and Mrs. Goldschmeid, two of the women who taught me to love my own art.  I thought about Dr. B (the Mrs.) and Mr. McCabe, two English teachers who helped me understand the power of the written (and read) word.  I thought about Mark Kelty who opened my eyes to all kinds of crazy political and historical shit, sparking a love of the human social sciences that led to my major in college.  I thought about other teachers, too: Mrs. French, Mrs. Del Valle, Ms. Portuondo…so many others.  There are faces I recall but names I don’t, and the names I do recall may not be spelled correctly.  Regardless, tonight I think about and thank all of the teachers who touched my life and made me a richer human being all because they cared enough to expend energy towards my education.  I was a royal pain in the ass to so many of you.  My children will honor their teachers.  My children will understand the value of educators and mentors, and they will love and respect them and their great profession.

I celebrated one very specific teacher tonight.  But, left with the echoes of that celebration, I think about and send much compassionate love to every teacher out there.  If you are doing your best to educate our children, then I humbly offer you my deepest respect and my most heartfelt thanks.

So long, teacher!

I find a good deal of wisdom in the insights that Maria Montessori gained during her time on Earth through the work she did with special needs children first, then in general education.  I once told my wise and compassionate friends John and Kim that “everything I learned about leadership I learned from my kids.”  OK, maybe not everything, but the statement still holds water.

These are two of my favorite Maria Montessori quotes.  I think I’ve shared each before in one venue or another, but I think they look particularly brilliant together.  At least that’s what I think.