HGSE Graduate Student Commencement Address 2009

Hey somebody! Don't you want to hear the story of my life? One of them movie companies, TV documentaries, won't you come and ask me? Please? And pay me a million dollars, to tell you what I do at the store, 'cause if you pay me a million dollars, I wouldn't have to go and do it no more.

I think it's unlikely that today's graduates feel this way. Few of us consider this a job, as does the character above. The passage is from Working, a musical based on the Studs Terkel book. Some of us consider education a profession, some a service, some almost a religion. But something inside of us seems to tell us it's not a job. It's more than that. It's part of who we are; part of why we are.

Unfortunately, that passion is necessary, but it's not sufficient. Many passionate people have dedicated their lives to education, but problems persist. Many of us aspire to promote justice, yet we often choose not to live it. Our struggle with that tension was made evident this winter:

Some of you may have heard that we had a Presidential election last fall. While it is not my role here to be partisan, I want to use an example from the campaign of our current leader.

When he first used those now famous words, people began to chant, "yes we can. "

In fact, it seems that between "yes we can," "Obama," and even "drill baby drill," much of the last campaign season was about groups chanting loudly, in unison.

On a cold January morning, I sat on the lawn of the National Mall in Washington DC for eight hours so I could feel a part of history. All morning, chants rose from the silence. U-S-A. O-ba-ma. Yes-We-Did.

Then, with frozen toes, we listened intently as our new president made his inaugural address. He provided us with a new and necessary slogan: get to work.

And no one chanted.

We all know that it is not in the larger vision, but in the daily battles, that justice occurs. What do we do when the decisions get tough? What will you do?

We have now the opportunity to create change. This year was, in many ways, a selfish act. We came here to improve our own skill set. To better understand our thinking. To define our purpose. For those that feel they came to be able to better serve children, it's time to prove it. You may now have the skills, but it is from this point forward that matters. It's through actions, not words, that change is created.

This work is extremely difficult. We must relish that. We must build ourselves from those daily battles. We must take pride in the pain we experience in making this world better than we found it. We should feel exhausted, we should feel demoralized, and we should feel angry. We have failed many children, and doing better by the rest is no simple task. If it's not exhausting, then we've simply created a distance between us and our work. This distance that serves us, not the kids.

We will have the opportunity to make choices in our work. Not choices that occur once a career, but important decisions that we must make each day.

When in a room of policy wonks and politicians, what role will you play? When they set unrealistic goals and propose ill-defined accountability systems, will you be silent?

As a school principal, will you suspend and expel students rather than finding ways to engage them in the educational process? Will you give up on some of our children?

As a college administrator, will you create colleges and universities that are accessible and relevant? Will you design admissions programs that continue to use criteria that we know are biased?

As a new teacher, what will you do when the conversation in the lounge turns to those kids. The ones that some think can't learn, don't care, and cause trouble. Will you simply stew in your discomfort? Or will you speak?

And family, friends, parents, and partners: what's your role? I see hundreds of your children here today whose bedrooms now sit empty. Foster care is an issue close to my heart, and there are currently thousands and thousands of children in need of that room. Will you fill it?

These are the decisions we will face every day. It is the seriousness with which we take these decisions that will determine the future for our children. Our willingness to embrace the struggle is extremely important. This will hurt, but we must win. And if we commit to this fight, sometimes we will.

I'd like to tell a story from my work experience as a social worker in Washington DC. The story is not at all atypical. This child, Jay, is representative of many of the children that baffle school systems every year.

Jay was one of four children from four different fathers. When his mother's addiction spiraled out of control, all four were taken into foster care. Jay's three siblings were claimed by paternal relatives, but no one ever came for Jay.

Fifteen years later, Jay was still in foster care. He had attended eight schools in his eleven years of schooling. When facing another new school, he gave up. He attended sometimes. Fought in class. Got suspended. Then, trying to find accepting peers in a new place, Jay made some very bad decisions. Arrested for armed robbery and charged as an adult, Jay ended up in an adult jail at sixteen years old.

After five days, we were able to get a court order to move Jay to a locked psychiatric facility for his protection. When I picked him up from DC Jail, we had to wait for a police escort to the facility. While waiting, he asked what would happen next. I told him that it was possible they would try to close his foster care case if he was found guilty (and, he was guilty). His question: Then who will come visit me?

We walked out through three separate gates to my waiting car. After fighting insomnia for his five day stay, Jay wanted nothing more than to fall asleep, so I let him.

We traveled through DC to the psychiatric facility, then went through the standard admission procedure. As Jay was walked to his room, I surprised him immensely with my final statement to his new counselor. "Here's his homework from the last week, please keep it at the station so he can do it when he has free time. "

You should have seen the look on his face. Homework? I'm probably going to jail and you want me to do homework? My reply: it's not what I want. It's what you need. Today could have been the first time you leave jail, or the last time. You choose.

It was June. Jay only had a couple more weeks of school, so quitting was not an option.

Weeks later, his report card came. Mostly Fs. He had earned them. The ultimate irony was that this young man, sitting in a psychiatric facility awaiting a trial for armed robbery, was given a single A. In citizenship. Through the kindness, or low standards, of a couple of teachers, Jay received a few credits. As Jay's court battle began, he had officially earned the credits necessary to be considered a senior; however, he faced the possibility of an extended prison sentence.

Months later, Jay pled guilty. He owned his mistakes. He made great strides in two psychological facilities, one in DC and one in Minnesota. He avoided jail time, receiving a suspended sentence so he could receive psychological treatment. During the trial, we were able to find his family who he'd lost touch with long before. Jay now lives with his aunt. He sees his sister often. It's the first time since his second birthday that he has lived with family. He has never failed a drug test. He has paid his restitution. He has never violated probation. And, he is a high school graduate.

Keeping Jay out of prison was a monumental task orchestrated by many people. But that really doesn't matter today. What matters is that, when given the opportunity, he succeeded. Most of our kids can do this. Many more than we currently provide
with the opportunity. There are so many Jays. What opportunities will we provide?

My father lived by a simple quote that I think is appropriate as we leave this place (though, I found out recently, that he attributed it to the wrong person his entire life). Stephen Grellet said, "I shall pass through this world just once. Any good I can do or any kindness I can show, therefore, to any human being, let me do it now. Let me not defer it nor neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again. "

What will we do with this one opportunity?

So, I implore you to take that Gandhi quote off your Facebook page. If you become the change you wish to see in this world, every one of us will know.

It's time to stop waiting, waiting, waiting for the world to change. It's hard to beat the system, when you're standing at a distance, so we keep waiting, waiting, waiting for the world to change.

Let's get to work.