MESSAGE F R O M
Seeing Berwick anew As always, falling asleep on the evening of Labor Day was a challenge for me once again this year. While the respite and opportunity for reflection afforded by summer is always enriching, school just isn’t school without kids. Every year on the eve of the first day, I find myself whirring with the unknown possibilities of a new year. However, this particular year came with a whole new range of emotions for me, as the day after Labor Day was my first day of school as a Berwick parent as well. My wife Amy needed to escort our youngest daughter Avery to her toddler program on Berwick’s first day. So I was charged with bringing Kenna to our new Pre-Kindergarten, with the able assistance of my incredible mother-inlaw, Judy. Tuesday morning brought forth a weeping mist that bemoaned the passing of summer, so I was out in full rain slicker regalia before sunrise. As usual, I was walking our dog, Lucy, around the Fogg quad at about 5:15 a.m. I can tell that fall is here when these walks suddenly take place under the moonlight. Regardless of my new parent role and committed as ever to my routine and schedule, I was in my office just a few minutes before 7:00 a.m., having exercised, read the paper, and had some breakfast. In hindsight, I think I was trying to prove to myself that this day was going to be just like any other first day of school I had experienced in the past. When I emerged from Upper School assembly at about 8:20 a.m., having welcomed our largest group of 2
Greg Schneider
Head of School
students ever in that division, I found Judy and Kenna meandering down the path towards Burleigh Davidson, following the plan we had made the night before. Kenna was bundled in her purple bunny rabbit rain slicker, spiffy new rain boots, and a bright bumble bee umbrella that enveloped half of her body - making sure that she was fully protected from the elements on her first daily commute. Suddenly the butterflies began to flutter in this Head of School’s belly just a bit more than normal. As she grabbed my hand with a smile and a squeal, I flashed back to the prior week. I had attended the PreKindergarten/Kindergarten potluck for the first time in my dual role as parent and as Head of School. As the evening hour approached after that dinner, my girls did what they always do: they got tired and accordingly started to struggle. One of them bumped their lip on the playground, and another wiped out on a particular kind of slide. And so the meltdowns began. To be honest, I am around such events regularly in my role as Dad, that I rarely give them a second thought. But suddenly I felt myself wondering what the other parents were thinking. Was I supposed to know the way to avoid such things based on my role of Head of School? Were the other parents in the class watching to see how I would react to the tears of my children -- with empathy? With a clear sense of boundaries? With a magical problem-solving response? Snapping back to our journey to Kenna’s first day at Berwick, I reminded myself that I shouldn’t linger when I dropped her off for the first day. 1791 Letter ~ September 2011
I knew this from my former days as a Director of Admissions in New York, where I was keenly schooled in the arena of child separation from parent. To be honest, I had been witness to some rather painful scenes. Within moments of entering the classroom, Kenna settled into her cubby and was drawn to the amazing new “light and shade” table that Ms. Sullivan had created for the kids. I found myself easing into conversations with other parents, convincing myself that I had to do a bit of the Head of School thing as well. But I was really watching making conversations but proving to myself that she was going to be OK. Suddenly, I looked over at Judy and came to the realization that everyone else seemed to get before me: I think I need to get out of here. My catharsis on the page this month is nothing more than my way of expressing a new level of empathy for parents and parenting. While I have been through a million first days of schools and their surrounding issues for children, I had never had one quite like this. I had never experienced it truly as a Dad. What had always been intellectual for me at Berwick suddenly became entirely emotional: will she like it? Will she talk to the other kids? Will she do something outrageous? It is probably not until I have had the chance to sit down and write this piece that I can articulate the true beauty of children; that we need to remind ourselves never to squelch - they can never be fully controlled, and their spontaneity and unpredictability is why we love them so much. They learn more from their failures than their successes in most cases. I guess this is