An Incomplete Analogy: The Road to Authenticity

    As I’ve been “stuck” with my own thoughts these past weeks, just “chillaxing” with not much else to do save watch the tide roll in, my ruminations have turned philosophical. The passage of time and the inevitability of mortality (COVID serves as a constant reminder) have also contributed to my retrospection, although I haven’t just been looking backward. An optimist (a realistic optimist, I think, but an optimist nonetheless), I firmly believe there’s a road ahead that stretches farther than I can see. But….

Here’s the secret (and it’s not really a secret because certainly I’m not the first to reach this conclusion). There is no road – at least no single road. And it’s also no secret that your road won’t look much, if anything, like mine. Some roads are narrow with clearly defined borders, while others are broad and expansive, like the Amazon River, constantly changing its channels, requiring endless updates for its pilots. I doubt that we share some predetermined and recognizable destination. At least that is my (non-conformist) hope.

Some paths appear smooth, well paved with a clear beginning and end, others filled with obstacles, potholes, hidden traps. Be warned, however; both may be illusory. Your perception of another’s road can often be, probably is, deceiving. That smooth road may be far more daunting than you can realize and that hardscrabble path an inspiration to its traveler. There is no manual, no road map; only with work and introspection can we discover our own road, the only road we can truly hope to know. And even that hard-earned knowledge, like the best of our highways, needs constant maintenance as we adapt to our lives.

Here’s another sort of secret. You don’t have complete control of your road and almost zero control of anyone else’s. Multiple factors, when, where, how, and to whom you are born place you on your road, provide you with your starting point. None of those factors, however, define your road’s final destination. In fact, few of us will ever quite reach the end of our road of self-discovery, of authenticity. It may become clearer in the distance, but, if we’re doing it right, our road will always be in flux, because there will be events on that road that force us to concentrate on moving from Point A to Point B without distraction. Those events may even require us, like a maps app, to “recalculate.” 

None of that changes our ultimate goal, however, if that goal is unearthing our authentic selves, living our authentic lives, true to our values and beliefs.

You might ask: What about those who travel with us, share our journey? I confess the analogy sort of breaks down a bit here. But those loved ones, while perhaps even sharing the same mode of transportation, have their own awareness of the road ahead. My wife and I have discovered we perceive colors very differently (just one reason I pretty much let her decide on my wardrobe components), but if we are both/all on the road to authenticity, we’ll notice different landmarks in different ways and be impacted differently. Not that that’s a bad thing. Sharing those differing perceptions makes the journey richer, more joyous, in fact, for all the travelers.

I offer this because I have been, and imagine always will be, in some way, a teacher, a teacher who needs to share life lessons, with the full knowledge that my audience may not be interested or ready to learn, and that’s okay, because if that describes you, then you have your own road to travel and you’re free to ignore the billboards, no matter how valuable and enlightening, along the route.

I may no longer have a classroom (and under current circumstances I guess I’m kind of happy about that), nor even a playing field, from which to disseminate my random thoughts. So, in today’s world I choose to use social media to share my journey, my path, sometimes forcing personal reveals because I believe that the only way we can truly achieve authenticity is openly and honestly, prepared to accept that others may not understand, may not agree, may not even accept. And all that’s okay, because, in the end, I’m the only one who needs to fully see, and accept, what my authenticity really looks like, although having a travel partner who accepts my journey is definitely a plus.

I’m thankful that, after fits and starts based on fears that were more imaginary than real, I’m truly beginning to see, not the finish line, of course, because that’s a moving target, but a clearer, if still kind of uncharted, path to that destination. My hope is that by sharing these and other thoughts you can start on your path sooner than I.*

Best wishes to all on your respective journeys. May you find as much of the same peace as I have, although ideally with an earlier start!

* If you don’t know where you’re going, you'll end up someplace else. – Yogi Berra

The Stuff of Memories

Patience, please, as I sort this out. I’m also digitizing slides from 35-40 years ago, so memories have been bubbling to the surface. But the primary motivation was....

As the Webster Groves softball girls reveled in their victory a couple weeks ago, securing our program’s first ever trip to Final Four of the state tournament, my friend, and the head coach, Bryan Gibson, handed me the game ball. Seventeen of the 19 girls on the team had played for me, and they graciously applauded the honor. It was a touching moment, one I appreciated, one that will stay with me for as long as I have my memory.

Shortly thereafter I passed the ball to the de facto team captain and tearily tasked her with collecting the girls’ signatures and returning the ball to its rightful place, in the home of the head coach who has committed himself to building an enviable program and is reaping his well-deserved reward, because teams don’t win championships so much as programs do, the trophy holders standing at the finish line on the shoulders of those who paved the path in previous seasons.

Don’t misunderstand, the last thing I want is to seem ungrateful or unappreciative. His gesture (and our friendship) made my heart happy, brought me to tears, especially when combined with missing our irreplaceable Tim Cerutti* and the heartfelt post-game hug (we’ve joyfully shared several hugs recently!), plus the many kind words from individual players and their parents as we celebrate this historic journey of our Statesmen winning the school’s first ever state championship in softball, only the second WG girls’ sport to accomplish such a feat. 

It would be silly to try to deny my sentimentality; it’s been on full display too many times in front of too many people. My WG softball girls know they can pretty much count on me choking up at least once or twice every season. Because I knew fairly early on that this year would likely be my last, the 2020 season had perhaps a few more leaky-eye moments than others. And if you ever given me a note, picture, or card, you can be sure I still have it. I’m on my second tote bag of storage.

But I don’t need stuff to keep my memories alive, although I’ve saved all of that, too. Over the years I’ve accumulated numerous mementos from appreciative students, players, and parents. Most sit in a crate in the attic. I have plaques galore, balls, gavels, pictures, a framed newspaper, and more, plus, of course, all the yearbooks I sponsored. Those, along with the cards, pictures and notes, can perhaps be repurposed by my daughter as decorations at my (not imminent) funeral party. While all are capable of stimulating joyful memories, those memories live on in my soul without any need for physical, tangible clues. 

The medal is great, but it's the people
I shall remember and cherish.

Bottom line, it will always be the people I remember, and almost all those memories are connected with specific individuals and/or groups. My fellow teachers and coaches with whom I’ve had the privilege to work at four different schools, all the students, the young men and women, several who are now personal friends, some who are no longer young, and too many who are no longer alive, endure almost immutably in my brain, an immortality which I hope I have been able to pass on to the those I have encountered on my life marathon.

The brilliant Isaac Asimov said human immortality is about the mark we leave on life, through our progeny and through those whose lives we have touched. That is a core component of my belief system, but it’s a two-way street. Because if I somehow touched you, you can be fairly certain that you touched me, changed me, as well. The interconnectedness of people and of this earth also lives in me as a core value. We are bound together, for better and worse. We cannot isolate or separate ourselves, we cannot afford to compete in a “Winner Take All” life. If my winning comes at your expense, I believe, in my soul of souls, that it’s a zero sum equation in Life’s Big Picture, and, therefore, no real victory at all.

I cannot, will not try to predict what new memories await, but my cup runneth over (a mess in which I reside happily) from those with which I’ve already been blessed. While I’m not yet ready to live in the past, as we age our minds naturally tend to wander backward more frequently (and, really, Facebook, you’re not helping having all those “Your Memory on this Day,” uh – stuff pop up multiple times a week). 

I know, and express frequently, that I’ve lived a blessed life, and while I don’t need “stuff” to remind me of that, the abundance of so many joyous memories keeps the awareness of my bounty alive.

Many thanks and much love to all with whom I’ve been so lucky to share this journey.

*We have confided among ourselves, and the feeling has been reinforced, unsolicited, by several players, the comforting belief that, somehow, Tim was able to share this joyous journey with us.

Another Chapter Ends

All good things must come to an end. If you’re lucky, you can choose your own ending. I chose my exit time when I left my classroom behind and now I’m choosing my time to exit the field. And that time is now.

Part of life is leaving it behind, and endings are always bittersweet. I will undoubtedly miss working with my friends and players. I have yet to address the nagging worry that with nothing to do that is exactly what I will get done. I’ll save the “inside softball” thinking about the decision and its timing for the end if you’re interested, but, if you know me at all, you know I espouse multiple causation and reject simplistic answers in favor of simply complicated. So it will not be a short section.

What I want to share today is simply a reflection on another aspect of my life where I have been blessed beyond what I deserve. I’ve detailed elsewhere the accidental/serendipitous path I took to becoming a coach, a path I’ve traveled for 35 years now, a path that has afforded me true, lifelong friendships, joy and purpose. 

And hope for the future of my community and nation. I’ve been touched by so many remarkable young women, been privileged to share a segment of their lives that reinforces my faith in humanity and the future. No matter what was happening in the world around me, I always had “my girls.” As politically incorrect as it may be, they will always be “my girls” no matter how successful and accomplished they have, or will, become.

Thank you ladies (and your parents), for allowing me to share with you this small part of your life journey. I love you all.

Why now? 

• Although not identical, the reasoning behind my departure from a regular classroom is parallel to my decision to give up my own classroom. (Click here to read that analogous piece.) 

• 2020 – For better and (maybe) worse, my style, such as it is, was up close and personal. I like to think my most effective coaching (softball and otherwise) came on the bus rides and conversations from the games. My girls tolerated sharing a seat as we talked about their game that day, and anything else that surfaced. Obviously, 2020 precluded that; we didn’t TAKE even a single bus. Close-in conversations were rare to non-existent. (I would be remiss if I didn’t offer a special note of thanks to my last squad for their compliance with masking; I took their care and concern personally and appreciated it accordingly.) While the thought of retiring had been percolating for some time, 2020 was certainly a disincentive to continuing.

• I was blessed to have been befriended by Tim Cerutti and to spend five years working together. Being in the same (age) cohort and sharing a philosophy of life and temperament made the relationship special. His death this spring created an unfillable void. Tim was actually the third coach/friend/mentor to die during my career, but I’m following his (and our shared) mantra of “Choose Happy” – my Rule #1: “You don’t get a discount on the Happy Meal just because you’re not.” But it just wasn’t as much fun without him. That was no surprise.

• Thanks to the leadership of our head coach, Bryan Gibson, and the commitment of many community leaders, Webster has built a softball program that expanded to 3 full teams even as other communities were and are struggling to field even a JV team. 2020 also shelved the WGBSL rec league this spring and the “Feeder” team that funneled girls into the program. I feel safe in predicting we won’t have sufficient numbers for three teams next year (I’d love to be wrong about that). We’ve recently added some new, young, female coaches who may represent the future of the program. It’s time for me to get out of the way and not block their development and connection with the program.

• My wife and I have things we want to do and places we want to go that are best done either during the Fall softball season or the Summer pre-season. Not that we didn’t know it before, but 2020 has reinforced doing what you can while you are still physically able. 

• We’ve been making a conscious effort to de-junk, even before the inspiration of the COVID-quarantine. I’ll be passing along most of my coaching wardrobe, thus freeing up significant closet/storage space, because Bryan Gibson and WG always reinforced the belief that looking good was part of good performance). 

• But mostly I’m tired, struggling to summon the energy the prepare for games and practices. To be clear, it was never the kids, never the parents, never the administration, never the varsity or JV coaching staff that wore me out; on the contrary, it was those groups that energized me to continue as long as I did. In many ways this was the longest short season, but even last year Tim and I both were forced to admit that our energies were not always sufficient to meet the demands to do the job in a way that would live up to our standards. As those who know me can attest, modesty is not a dominant quality for me. I know what I can bring to the party on any given day. While I might fool some people with my 80%, it’s not good enough, not good enough for me to be satisfied and continue. Even if I still have (or ever had) an “A Game,” I can’t always bring it. Time to move aside.

I may not have been all that mindful when I started the job, but the least I can do is make a mindful decision about when it’s time to go. So it’s time to say good-bye, and thank you, thank you for 35 years and close to 50 different teams in two school districts, Hancock Place and Webster Groves.

Apropos of nothing, as I typed this I realized that every school with which I have been regularly associated had at least two names.

#Blessed.

                                                          -30-

The Mind Body Connection

Working out at the WG Rec Center this afternoon, we were joined by one of the firehouse crews who arrived in their ladder truck and ambulance, so obviously still on their shift. As I was circling the room waiting for Carolyn, who had been interrupted by a phone call, to finish, I thanked some of them. I jokingly noted to one that on TV, responder houses all have cool tricked out weight rooms. Apparently the WG house has a small one, but not enough for the whole crew to get in a workout. I realized that maintaining physical conditioning is really a job requirement for first responders. 

My mind drifted, as it is wont to do these days, back to a dispute that roiled the high school for a few weeks over the issue of teachers working out (by walking the track) during their conference period. The principal at the time, in what I think was more about power than principle, insisted that teachers needed to be in their rooms or the workroom during their conference hour. Granted, this was before cell phones, but it was also before classroom telephones. I can’t imagine it would have been any more difficult to get a teacher from the track than his/her classroom. That was one of the arguments we made, but this was a fight we were destined to lose; the price of winning would have been too high.

While I would never try to argue that the physical demands of teaching (only those who have never taught can believe that it’s a sedentary profession) are equivalent to those of first responders, I would maintain they are significant enough that physical activity, and its mental by-products, would have been more beneficial than sitting in a classroom, waiting for an unscheduled summons or phone call. I know that when I walk my mind is as busy as my body. And while I wasn’t much (okay, even that’s an exaggeration) into exercise then, I tried serve as an advocate for those who believed they would benefit. It is why forward-thinking companies today recognize the need for the mind-body connections that exercise brings.

Random Thoughts from an Accidental Leader

I’ve written before how much a role serendipity has played in my life (Accidental Teacher, Accidental Coach, Accidental Counselor). My life has not been planned, at least not in the big picture. In fact, I’m still not sure what that picture will look like when it’s finished.

Oh, sure, once I (accidentally) became a teacher or a coach (softball, journalism, drama, etc.) or counselor, I tried to control as much as I could, perhaps often to the point of even over-planning (as I’ve also noted previously, I will never get a Staples or Nice ‘n Easy commercial because I tend to overcomplicate things). My father’s son, long-range planning, within those specific corridors, is in my blood.

I also became an accidental leader. Accidental in that I am not a particularly ambitious person, unwilling to pay the price exacted by ambition. My first brush with leadership came at the end of my first year of teaching when I was asked to get involved in Hancock’s nascent teacher union, locked in conflict with an intransigent school board and the incompetent superintendent who was their puppet. I declined. “I’m not interested in that stuff,” I said. Within two years I became the president-elect and (he says, immodestly) and (essentially) the “union boss” for about the next two decades, with power roles locally and regionally, along with two terms (n.b., term limits) on the state board of directors.

So, add leadership to the accidents that shaped me. I eventually recognized that I tended to be a power magnet, accumulating it effortlessly and certainly without any real desire for personal gain. I never really analyzed the why or the how of leadership, I just accepted that leadership was a key piece of my identity and it was easier to just go with the flow than deal with the frustration of resistance. Yes, I suppose that probably sounds, and may be, kind of arrogant and/or egotistical, but my ongoing road to authenticity requires that kind of self-examination.

Interestingly, if you’re still reading, the intersection (collision?) of all four of those accidents has led to what I hope will become a new regular feature on my Facebook feed (joining Wednesday Wisdom & Good News Friday), starting next week, the first Monday of the new year (Happy New Year, btw), the Monday Leadership Memo, because I’m still teaching, or at least trying to, for those who care to keep an open mind and listen (never close to 100%, even in my prime). The four accidental components of teaching, counseling, coaching and leading, mindfully combined. 

“Why?” you may ask (or not, but I’m going to tell you, just like any number of classroom lessons). At the end of this season, my assistant coach and I received a thank you gift from one of our players — the book Legacy, about the All Blacks, the NZ rugby team, and how that team’s leadership values have allowed it to achieve a status that far surpasses what a team from a small nation should be able to achieve, year after year, and how that leadership culture can be applied in so many ways to life as we know it. (Her father is a well-known coach, at least in area soccer circles.)

I started reading, part of the ritual as I prepared for the fitful sleep that defines my nights now (#joysofaging) and at a chapter per evening, finished it fairly quickly. I was immediately struck by the leadership lessons that seem so obvious but which I had never really analyzed (even if I, again immodestly, unconsciously incorporated many of them into my developing character). 

As our nation approaches what may be one of its most historically important elections, a potential turning point to which chapters and undoubtedly books will be devoted, each week (or so) in the months leading up to that pivotal day, I will attempt to get my friends and formers to think (and that was always my only goal) on the fundamental question, “What characterizes true leadership?” While this isn’t a multiple choice question, and, being a “Shades of Grey” kind of guy (Billy Joel, not E. L. James), I’m pretty sure that there are multiple answers, all colored by the lenses through which we variously view life.

The Why Not The What

The why is more important than the what, motivation > outcome, process > result. When teaching history, what happened interested me far less than the why and how; in English, reasoning always eclipsed the actual conclusion.

As the tribes dig their trenches ever deeper and their siege mentality fossilizes, I struggle mightily, with ever increasing fatigue, to listen to, if not agree with, those who see politics (and society) as what more and more seems to resemble a war. I get that people view life through different lenses. So I don’t really care what people think nearly as much as I care why they think as they do.

I know good people who voted for the current president; I respect, even I don’t completely understand, their reasons. That I could never have come to that same conclusion does not negate their process or value as fellow inhabitants on this planet. I have been clear from long before the election that I had no respect for Donald Trump as a person, that I found him a despicable being, based on his own words and actions, not on what others said about him. 

I do have to give him credit for subsequently pushing his stock lower than even I could have imagined during his tenure; he has revealed himself to be an even worse being than I could have possibly anticipated. Understand, I’m talking personal traits (the word qualities seems so inappropriate), not political positions. Again, based on his own words and actions, not the opinions of others. 

Still, I get that at least many, if not most, of his supporters don’t think character matters; as long as that remains a consistent metric for future candidates with opposing POVs, I won’t argue. Some are so invested in the Republican Party (which is no longer resembles anything like the party of Eisenhower or Reagan or even Bush (43), but never mind) that their support is unwavering. Others are so anti-Democrat, frightened or disgusted by their vision of that party, that nothing else matters. Okay, I get that, too. I may view those positions as mistaken or wrong, but valid at least through their own lenses. The why, not the what.

Believe me, it takes a lot of effort for me to ignore everything to arrive at that point, but I can generally, grudgingly, manage. For so many people committed to their tribe, whichever tribe it is, it’s a black and white world.

But what truly frustrates me is that as hard as I work to give/find credit, to respect those who hold opposing views, to understand the why if not the what, I find little evidence that there is any attempt to understand MY why. Instead, I see memes and snarky reposts that too frequently border on personal (if not specifically addressed to me) attacks. For those defending the current president, if I can try to understand the why of your position, is reciprocity, the respect for one who disagrees with you, too much to ask? 

That is what is wearing me out and down. That is what makes me want to completely disengage. But my gift this holiday season is to persist. If you would like to reciprocate, may I suggest resisting the temptation to share that meme or post which demonizes, denigrates, or discounts those who don’t see the world through your lens, but their own, a lens they value. Think about their why.

No matter the tribe to which you pledge allegiance, mindlessly posting memes about the other just expands and mines a “No Man’s Land,” shredding the fabric of our nation, building a wall that keeps our country apart — and weak. 

Genesis of a Libtard

Unlike Lady GaGa, I wasn’t born this way. I was a disaffected Republican long before I became what I am today, a disaffected Democrat. What follows is obviously incomplete, despite its length. My apologies because the point probably gets made well before the piece more stops than ends; perhaps this will eventually become a chapter in my autobiographical memoir.

Although my (moderately) conservative/Republican roots run deep, I am the outlier in my family. My father probably never voted for a Democrat in his life. In his later years at Friendship Village, he was a regular at meetings of the Concerned Conservative Citizens (aka Cranky Old White Boys Club). My brothers probably tilt farther right than I do left. But my final paper in my senior year of high school (1966) was an earnest assessment of the Republican Party and who in it could best return the country to their leadership. The first group I tried to join at the prep-school dominated Hamilton (named for Alex while he was still alive – old ivy on those walls) College was the Young Republicans.

So how did a white bread suburban boy (from the originally solid Republican Webster Groves) end up inhabiting the left side of the political spectrum? Because I reject simple and simplistic explanations and solutions, you may not be surprised to learn that I believe there are multiple reasons for my evolution and leftward shift.

• Child of the ‘60s: Civil Rights Movement, Vietnam, Bob Dylan. Conservatives who now control the Republican Party have been consistent opponents to the expansion of civil rights for minorities and women since the ‘60s; Nixon’s “southern strategy” politically solidified that stance. Karl Rove put it in concrete with rebar reinforcements.

• First Job: Orderly on the men’s ward of old St. Luke’s on Delmar, lots of black patients and co-workers. Spare time reading the St. Louis American. God forbid I actually do any of the assigned reading required by UM-St. Louis!

• Marriage to an intelligent woman (met and worked with at the aforementioned St. Luke’s); father to an intelligent daughter, who has since given birth to an intelligent granddaughter. The goals of the women’s movement were/are obviously important – and personal. (My mother was born too soon and frustrated by the limited roles available to her. That added to the movement’s appeal.)

• Public school teacher in a district that served a population that did not share many of the advantages of their more affluent neighbors, including those in schools I had attended (Webster Groves and Ladue). This changed me on at least three different levels.

      ° I found myself almost immediately thrust into the nascent teacher union movement. Let’s just say that conservatives were not supportive of teachers having any power to advocate for themselves or their students. That being said, it was not always a Republican/Democrat dichotomy, and I voted for several Republican state representatives and state senators. Union endorsements tilted Blue, but were not exclusive by any means, at least not at first. In fact, as I set out in 1976 to find a candidate to support for state representative, Republicans were my first choice because the WG then was reliably Republican and I wanted to back a winner; WG, too, has shifted away from the new Republican Party; those denizens who remain are often derisively referred to as RINOs. As union power grew within the Democrat party, the Republican party countered by moving the right and becoming even less friendly, sometimes seemingly antagonistic, to the concerns of public education and educators (where it remains), as well as unions and workers in general.

      ° The word “underprivileged” rubs many of my formers the wrong way; one reason may be that “privilege” has taken on a different, more politically charged, meaning in the modern lexicon. Maybe they perceive the term as some kind of condescension that discounts what they’ve accomplished in life. Perhaps a preferable term is “disadvantaged.” Those students didn’t understand (and some still don’t, it seems to me) how badly the system is rigged, stacked against them. That many manage to beat the rigged game and still overcome those disadvantages speaks loudly to their resilience, but does not negate the existence of those obstacles they had to conquer to do so.

      ° While it is not a job requirement, per se, most teachers, or at least most of the best I know, are empathetic; we know that no one is solely responsible for either success or failure. Most of us have no trouble with the expression, “There, but for the grace of God, go I.” Empathy has become a dirty word to modern day Republicans; and Trumpists, well, that’s a rant for another day, leading to....

• A growing belief that just because something is not MY problem does not keep it from being A problem. I find the left more accommodating of that POV than the right. In my dotage I have greatly narrowed the focus of the problems on which I concentrate, but that does NOT mean I can’t recognize the importance of the oh so many others faced by my fellow citizens. I have used the analogy before, but conservatives’ version of a social safety net is a leftover rope and the admonition to “Pull yourself up.” While liberals seemingly want to solve every problem, no matter how few people it affects, often devising overly complex (and often ineffective) systems that validate the Law of Unintended Consequences, they at least generally recognize that complex problems require more than simplistic solutions.

Finally, or at least my final point, is conservative resistance to the concept that health care is, or should be, a right of all citizens, and not limited by jobs or economic status. I have a daughter and granddaughter afflicted, through no fault of their own, with auto-immune diseases that could block them from affordable access to the health care system without the current protections for those with pre-existing conditions that conservatives want to strip from current law, so this is obviously extremely personal.

As the parties themselves become increasingly tribal, polar and partisan, I am disaffected, and often disgusted, by both. That’s my story and so here I stand, with clowns to left of me and jokers to the right; I certainly lean left now, but really see myself as stuck in the middle (hopefully with you).

Disclaimer: This deliberately provocative title to grab attention does NOT constitute permission to aim such an offensive insult at any other person or group; that would include me.

Incompatible

When I was a college freshman I took a vocational test (Strong Interest Inventory) that offered a score of 0-60 or 70 on your compatibility for certain professions. Although it turns out that teaching was a perfect fit for me (maybe not you, my student, but me, at least), I don’t recall that career score as being spectacularly high. What I do recall is that I was the only one of my friends with a NEGATIVE (below 0!) score on not one, but three potential careers. Notably leading the pack: police officer. (The other two were, not surprisingly to those who know me, minister and industrial arts teacher.)

One of the reasons I have so much respect for police officers is that I know full well it is a job I could never do, even poorly, much less at all. We may not share many personality traits, but what teachers and police do share is an under-appreciated, under-compensated, highly demanding job (that too many critics think they can do). Policing and protection take a certain personality type (and skills). And while there is no such thing as a typical teacher (or police officer, for that matter), I would suggest that in general the people best suited for teaching are poorly suited for policing, and vice versa. When I think back on the many teachers I have known, both as a professional and a student, the ones who seemed most focused on crowd, sorry, classroom, control often were the least inspiring in the classroom.

Which brings me to my main point, if you haven’t already guessed: you generally don’t want men and women best suited for policing teaching your children – it’s a poor fit. It may be well-intentioned, but “training” and arming teachers is a spectacularly bad idea; it has gained traction only out of a desperate sense of “We have to do something (but not anything that might interfere with our ability to arm ourselves with high capacity magazine weapons)!”

We all like to think we’d respond like a hero under fire, but the Parkland shooting shows that isn’t true, even for those armed and trained to respond. There’s a lot of macho bravado in this country (we’re not alone there, of course), and I enjoy those books and movies as much as the next person, but Stephen Crane (Red Badge of Courage) gave a more realistic portrayal. I'm guessing that most military veterans who have come under fire on our behalf (thank you for that) can provide examples of fellow soldiers who, shall we say, "blinked" under that kind of pressure.

And I am not criticizing them, not even the armed deputies who stayed outside the school while the shooter went on his rampage – disappointing, yes, but they wanted to go home to their families, too. I’d like to think I’d be like the teachers in school shootings who shielded their students and forfeited their lives in the process, but what I’d like to think and what I would really do is a scenario I hope I never have to encounter. However, as I head back for one more sub gig at Lindbergh HS in May, what I really hope is that as a country we have started to move toward actions that make such a life or death decision less likely. But pretending that training and arming teachers will do that is nothing more than a convenient fiction.

Remember the Law of Unintended Consequences as you ask yourself, “What could possibly go wrong?” Feel free to start the list below.