Twenty years ago, I was elected to serve on the Board of Education. It was an experiment meant to push me completely out of my comfort zone. In running, I was forced to, 1. Speak in public, 2. Ask people for help, and 3. Allow myself to become a target for those disagreeing with my stance.
For those of you who know me, you might be surprised by the first, but not so much the second and third. During the campaign, I stood outside of retail stores (remember those?) and handed out flyers and pamphlets and asked people for their support. I walked neighborhoods introducing myself to strangers and asked for their vote and whether they’d allow a sign on their lawns. It was a glorious experience (looking back).
But my greatest lesson and learning came at the first high school graduation I attended as a Board member. Our job was to hand out diplomas and congratulate the graduates as they came up to the platform.
The ceremony was solemn but joyful. The band pumped out Pomp and Circumstance and the requisite speeches were made by the Superintendent, Principal, Board President, Student Council president and Valedictorian (there were two). The speeches were inspirational and kept relatively brief.
Then came the diploma ceremony and the audience was asked to hold applause and curtail from making any undue displays so that a rousing cheer and applause could be for the entire class.
The decorum held for a short while, until the name of a young African-American student’s name was called and a group in the arena let loose with air horns, shouts and the most emotional display possible. This happened several times throughout the ceremony and by the end, I was, admittedly, aggravated that a small group of parents would “demean” the solemnity of the occasion.
That evening, was Project Graduation, where the grads were housed at a local funplex for a night of eating, partying (no alcohol), yearbook signing and generally hanging out. As Board members, we were expected to chaperone a shift along with volunteer parents.
I found the Superintendent among a group of students. He was busily signing books and laughing with the kids. I asked for a moment of his time and then complained about the disruptive group. He smiled and looked at me and said, “Michael, for some of these parents, these are the first children to graduate high school in their families. Can you really blame them for showing their joy?”
I was stunned. I couldn’t grasp what he was saying. Until it did. I thanked him for helping me see that MY reality isn’t the ONLY reality and until I open my eyes to that likelihood, I will forever be blind. It’s called learning.
Thank you, Jerry Tarnoff.
Cheers,
Michael
