Never Done: I participated in a Facebook meme
Band I was given (in an act of mercy, by Mickey): Bruce Springsteen and the E Street band
Song I love: Growin' Up (make sure to watch all the way to the end of Part 2 as well)
Song I like: Incident on 57th Street
Song I hate (although that is a strong word): Walk Like a Man
And then the part that was hardest to do and pass along, but I did it anyway. I wrote, "Like this post, and I'll give you a band."
I mean, I like to have fun as much as the next guy, but sometimes I get a little embarrassed about playing these games publicly. Well, more than a little embarrassed. Embarrassed enough so I don't do it. I think it's the part that feels like it's imposing on other people -- the part that feels like a chain letter -- the part that cajoles friends into playing. That's the embarrassing part. But the truth is, nobody's forcing anyone to play. Instead, we're just giving opportunities. And actually, the fact that I block every game link on my wall (so I don't see any Farmville or Mafia Wars) should help me see that there's no imposition if people can just choose not to look.
And really, what was most fun about the game is that I got to go through a bunch of Springsteen music I hadn't listened to in ages -- and think back to the 70s and 80s when I went to see him play as often as possible, including with my cousin Kenny to see Bruce open the Meadowlands. And I got to honor the memory of Clarence Clemens, z"l -- not only one of the finest sax players ever to play, but someone who, along with Bruce, got to model deep public love between two men. So if a little Facebook meme can get me thinking about that, and to find Bruce's eulogy for Clarence, which somehow I missed when it first got printed, then more power to it. Thanks Facebook. Thanks Mickey. (Thanks Bruce. Thanks Clarence.)
Showing posts with label Facebook. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Facebook. Show all posts
Monday, July 18, 2011
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Never Done: I became Facebook friends with my high school Vice Principal
Never Done: I became Facebook friends with Mr. Stanley (my high school Vice Principal)
I have written before about the wonderful school I went to all the way from kindergarten through 12th grade. Well, I guess it was the school system I went to that whole time -- the Harvard public school system. What made it great? For starters, it was small; my class had just 72 people, and there were only 900 students in all of K-12. Also, the teachers cared about us. A lot. I imagine that teachers all over care about their students a lot, but our teachers were given certain liberties to show us. Maybe part of that is that it was the 1970s (plus one year in the 60s and one year in the 80s) and in some circles, inter-generational relationships were generally encouraged. My second grade class was an experimental class -- mixed grade, second and third -- and we called our teacher by her first name (Debbie.)
By the time I got to middle school, the opposition to the Vietnam War was in full force, and the high school kids who had their lockers right above mine were among the hippie protesters. They were also my babysitters and neighbors, and instead of feeling alienated from them or scared of them, I was filled with admiration and aspiration. In fact, I did eventually become like them, but it took leaving high school and entering college to get my hippie on. But let's go back to that little thing I passed over: I was in 5th grade -- 10 years old -- and my locker was under the lockers of the 17 and 18-year-olds. That is a cool decision that some school administrator made. The big kids looked out for us; we looked up to them, and we had continuity. Recently I've reconnected with a lot of these "big kids" on Facebook, and it's been great to notice that for the most part, age difference is almost no barrier when put in context of our common experiences of coming from Harvard, MA.
Recently one of these "big kids" recommended that I become friends with Tom Stanley, who was the vice principal when I was in school. Tom and I (except then I called him Mr. Stanley) had a special relationship. He was my math teacher, and he had my back as I went through that awful math transition that so many girls go through -- thriving to struggling. He believed in my innate math talent, and told me, and my parents, so. It was such a simple thing -- to say something positive and affirming to a young person (and particularly in my family, which had its share of math geniuses, and I wasn't considered to be among them) -- and it still encourages me today, 35 years later, when I encounter a tough calculation.
But there's a certain story that characterizes my relationship with Mr. Stanley, and the kind of leaders that he and Mr. Horgan (the Principal) were. I was a big college basketball fan, and in particular I was a Notre Dame fan, back when Kelly Tripucka and Orlando Woolridge were college stars. Mr. Stanley and Mr. Horgan were Notre Dame fans too. (I grew up around a lot of Irish people.) In 1980, Notre Dame made it into the NCAA finals, and some of the games were played in Providence, RI. The only way to get tickets (remember, this was way before the internet) was to go to the Providence Civic Center, and the only time to go was in the middle of the school day. So Claire and I went into Mr. Stanley's office, and I asked him for permission to skip school to go get tickets. (Yes, that's the kind of kids we were. We asked permission to skip.) And what did he say? He said yes we could go, but only if we got him and Mr. Horgan tickets as well. Because after all, it was more important that the Principal and Vice Principal to be in school than a couple of seniors.
I haven't been in touch with Mr. Stanley for probably 25 years, but I think of him often, and when I was prompted to send him a Facebook friend request, I did it right away. He in turn wrote back to me right away, calling my high school years "magical times in a magical place." They were. They truly were. Maybe that's why, as I am on the cusp of bringing a teenager into my life, I have such high standards about the home and school environment I want to provide.
I have written before about the wonderful school I went to all the way from kindergarten through 12th grade. Well, I guess it was the school system I went to that whole time -- the Harvard public school system. What made it great? For starters, it was small; my class had just 72 people, and there were only 900 students in all of K-12. Also, the teachers cared about us. A lot. I imagine that teachers all over care about their students a lot, but our teachers were given certain liberties to show us. Maybe part of that is that it was the 1970s (plus one year in the 60s and one year in the 80s) and in some circles, inter-generational relationships were generally encouraged. My second grade class was an experimental class -- mixed grade, second and third -- and we called our teacher by her first name (Debbie.)
By the time I got to middle school, the opposition to the Vietnam War was in full force, and the high school kids who had their lockers right above mine were among the hippie protesters. They were also my babysitters and neighbors, and instead of feeling alienated from them or scared of them, I was filled with admiration and aspiration. In fact, I did eventually become like them, but it took leaving high school and entering college to get my hippie on. But let's go back to that little thing I passed over: I was in 5th grade -- 10 years old -- and my locker was under the lockers of the 17 and 18-year-olds. That is a cool decision that some school administrator made. The big kids looked out for us; we looked up to them, and we had continuity. Recently I've reconnected with a lot of these "big kids" on Facebook, and it's been great to notice that for the most part, age difference is almost no barrier when put in context of our common experiences of coming from Harvard, MA.
Recently one of these "big kids" recommended that I become friends with Tom Stanley, who was the vice principal when I was in school. Tom and I (except then I called him Mr. Stanley) had a special relationship. He was my math teacher, and he had my back as I went through that awful math transition that so many girls go through -- thriving to struggling. He believed in my innate math talent, and told me, and my parents, so. It was such a simple thing -- to say something positive and affirming to a young person (and particularly in my family, which had its share of math geniuses, and I wasn't considered to be among them) -- and it still encourages me today, 35 years later, when I encounter a tough calculation.
But there's a certain story that characterizes my relationship with Mr. Stanley, and the kind of leaders that he and Mr. Horgan (the Principal) were. I was a big college basketball fan, and in particular I was a Notre Dame fan, back when Kelly Tripucka and Orlando Woolridge were college stars. Mr. Stanley and Mr. Horgan were Notre Dame fans too. (I grew up around a lot of Irish people.) In 1980, Notre Dame made it into the NCAA finals, and some of the games were played in Providence, RI. The only way to get tickets (remember, this was way before the internet) was to go to the Providence Civic Center, and the only time to go was in the middle of the school day. So Claire and I went into Mr. Stanley's office, and I asked him for permission to skip school to go get tickets. (Yes, that's the kind of kids we were. We asked permission to skip.) And what did he say? He said yes we could go, but only if we got him and Mr. Horgan tickets as well. Because after all, it was more important that the Principal and Vice Principal to be in school than a couple of seniors.
I haven't been in touch with Mr. Stanley for probably 25 years, but I think of him often, and when I was prompted to send him a Facebook friend request, I did it right away. He in turn wrote back to me right away, calling my high school years "magical times in a magical place." They were. They truly were. Maybe that's why, as I am on the cusp of bringing a teenager into my life, I have such high standards about the home and school environment I want to provide.
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