Believe It Or Not!

One of the great joys of my career in education is having a few weeks off in the summer for vacations and other pursuits.  I love spending some of that time directing high school students in theater productions.  Each summer I find myself back at the theater program I founded ten years ago, working with a talented and motivated group of kids, putting on a play.  We have developed a tradition of creating fictional biographies of each other – cast and crew – for the program.

Our most recent play, this July, was No Crime Like The Present. These are some of my favorite bios – some were written by me, some by the kids.  Great creativity and silliness.

(I’ve removed names to protect the innocent.  You know who you are!)

Steve de Beer was originally born under a dark cloud in the mountains of Afghanistan, but at age 17, he dug a tunnel under the Indian and Pacific oceans to the United States with a plastic spoon. He surfaced at Broadway, breaking through the stage during a performance of Les Miserables, and thus his love of theater was born. He began touring New York City, discovering his love for theatre at every turn. Once atop the Empire State Building an oversized bird snatched him up and dropped him in Denver where he found his passion for fire breathing. 

EB was born in New Orleans, but was separated from her family during a rowdy Mardi Gras parade when a dancer tripped over her. The man who found her, Enrique “Big John” Sanchez, owned a Tex-Mex restaurant and raised her as a worker. He renamed her Emilia Tocino, after his favorite slaughtered pig on a childhood TV show. One day, a casting director came for a breakfast burrito and was astounded by EB’s raw talent for entertainment. He whisked her away to New Zealand, where she played a flatulent princess in a sci-fi film that never showed in theaters and was instantly catapulted to stardom. After years of movie roles and worldwide fame, EB sought normalcy while visiting her aunt in Denver. While she was hiding from paparazzi in Aunt Lucille’s cellar, EB found a flyer for Stanley’s Theater Camp. She bribed Steve to allow her to participate by offering him unlimited access to her professional makeup stylist, as his deepest desire has always been to be a clown.

JB first uncovered his love for the arts as a professional ballet dancer in northern British Columbia. Once he realized he was sick of tights, JB twirled his way all the way to Denver, where he was discovered, years later, living under a rock in Cheesman Park. It was his time coexisting with moss that made JB find his passion for the performing arts again, but this time, wearing tights while acting.  JB is the only male cast member in this show and appreciates all the backstage chatter about whether he should perform the whole show in just his boxers.  When asked about the lack of boys in the cast, JB was heard uttering, in a high-pitched voice, “Uh, OMG, that’s a lie!” and running out of the room.  He would like to point out that his feet are bigger than everyone’s, even Steve’s.

ZN is an Olympic bronze medal winning synchronized swimmer.  She thinks she looks particularly hot in a tight plastic swimcap and noseplugs.  After auditioning for and getting the part of the sealion in Cirque du Soleil’s aquatic extravaganza, “O”, ZN lived the high life in Vegas until she was way into her 30s.  There she developed an unfortunate addiction to playing nickel slot machines and, on her therapist’s insistence, was transferred to Theater Camp in Denver.  Bending to pressure from ZN’s agent, Steve regularly floods the ballroom so she can perform her best roles. ZN has won the acclaim of the critics, starring in several underwater roles at Theater Camp, including Ursula in The Little Mermaid, Bruce in Finding Nemo, and the pregnant reporter in The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou.

JP was born in Tennessee to a very happily married couple – a rusty trailer and an antique guitar. She spent her youth raising cows, eventually learning to chase them with a bubble machine if they acted up. This fed JP’s naturally bubbly personality, and she soon sang and danced her way across the country as a famous bubbleologist. After years of blowing bubbles, she got tired. She stumbled upon Theater Camp and fell asleep in the costume rack in the library. She was discovered after she screamed because she saw a moth in the clothing.  Steve held her prisoner as a theater slave.  One late afternoon, he heard her muttering to herself, pretending to be the Sorting Hat. Steve was so entranced by her performance that he begged her to join a Theater Camp cast.

CS No one will ever forget CS’s stunning Theater Camp debut as an eight year old when she starred in the role of Neville Longbottom in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.  She has been grateful to Steve for this casting decision ever since. It was nearly as good as the time she was cast as the lady who got locked up in a coffin or the fat guy with the mustache. As Sarah Palin’s 3rd daughter, CS did her first eleven Theater Camp plays in Alaska, right across the street from Russia. She rarely likes to indulge in politics, so she focuses more on her artistic life, most notably knitting. As a notorious communist, she always takes hair ties from the rich and gives them to the poor. She is Robin Hood in her spare time. CS’s most notable achievements are her numerous awards in interpretive dance, spelling, and Brazilian cooking.

OT was born on a miniature giraffe farm in the middle of Kansas. Her first sounds were those of a giraffe, as that was the only life she knew. After departing from her giraffe family, she backpacked across America to Nebraska. There she became a hippie where she learned the art of braiding armpit hair. From there she was adopted to a traveling circus, where she was the lead clown. After touring the world, the circus came to Denver, Colorado, where OT discovered Theater Camp. She left the circus and decided to pursue a life of theatre. OT currently resides in the little bookshelves of the library at Stanley. Look for a book and maybe you’ll see her.

CH never thought she would be in theater production.  She began her career at a pet store in Ogallala, Nebraska, counting dry food pellets for Chihuahuas but was soon fired for getting kibbles confused with bits.  After bussing tables on trains, training tables on planes, and planing tables on buses, CH tried her hand at performing acrobatics for Barnum and Bailey circus, doing rocket science for NASA, and acting as Mitt Romney’s face double.  She drives a different Honda each day of the week.

GH migrated from Bruges to Denver on Dumbo, the flying elephant. His ginger curls and obsession with Disney whisked him away under the sea to Ariel. When she washed up onto the beach, Ariel dumped GH for a brown haired beach boy. While heartbroken, he walked hundreds of miles until he reached the home of Steve de Beer. Steve, feeling sorry for GH, welcomed him into his home and employed him as a technical lackey. GH has been serving Steve as a live-in slave for seven years now and he could not be happier.

AW cannot believe she still has to hang out with her fourth grade teacher, Steve.  It sucks.  While living in Southern California, AW was a bodyguard and stand-in double for Lady Ga-Ga.  However AW became disillusioned with Ga-Ga’s conservative fashion sense and overall lack of creativity and she moved back to Colorado to pursue her dream of raising baby dragons and pitching alternative dance shows weekly to 9News.  After 9News turned her down for the 57^th time, AW finally got her big break on Fox News, where she stars as Attila the Hun’s 4^th wife in the show Designing Cupcakes with Rush Limbaugh.

WS was once the size of Stan Van the Weatherman’s marble and was plucked from a berry bush and planted in a box where he grew into a small boy.  With careful watering and force feeding of Miracle Grow, he is now a bigger boy.  He has been a translator for both William Penn and William ‘the  Refrigerator’ Perry.  WS’s hobbies include gilded picture framing, scrapbooking in pastel colors, and free running. Run free, WS, run free.

EH enjoys performing magic tricks, riding donkeys, and winning hotdog eating contests. On one of her longer donkey rides, the donkey veered out of control, panicked and sprinted all the way from EH’s home in coastal Uruguay to Denver, Colorado.  It was the fastest ass in South America. She took the donkey to a feed store in search of hay. There a family of dormice took pity on her and offered her a home in exchange for nightly magic shows. Her love of performing was born.  EH loves to manage props for the high school shows because she gets to play with wine bottles, cigars, and cigarettes.

Gratitude from the Third Grade

Last day of school today.  The third graders at Friends’ School sent me home with a collection of thank you notes they had written after I helped them with their end-of-year play, Roald Dahl’s James and the Giant Peach.

As a head of school, I don’t have as much contact with students as I once did during my twenty years in the classroom, so I cherished my time in rehearsals with the third grade.  They did an outstanding job and the play turned out wonderfully.  The thank you notes contained some great lines:

“Thank you for helping me with the play.  I learned a lot about being loud!”

“Steve, you really can direct.  You showed me how to change in my costume really fast.”

“Thank you so much for hepping me with all my lines and were to stand and when to talk. You heped make me a akter.”  (We’re still working on spelling in 3^rd grade.)

“Thank you for helping me with my accent.”

“I learned what stage left and stage right is.”

“Dear Steve, Hey Steve, Thank you for making me the best silkworm ever.”

“What I learned is that you don’t want to talk too fast because the audience won’t understand you.”

“Thank you soooo much.  It was my favorite play ever.”

And my two favorites:

“Thank you for being a good person.” (Wow!)

And this one from a girl who was at a different school last year:


“Dear Steve, you rock.  Sorry I just HAD to say that.  Thank you so so much for helping us with the play!  You the best directer and your way nicer than my old princable Mr Neil.  He’s all gloomy but your all nice and chill.”

So now you know - I’m one chill princable.  Happy summer, kids!

Speech to the Graduating Class of Stanley British Primary School

(to listen to a recording of this speech, click here)

May 27, 2011

Good morning ladies and gentlemen, a particularly great morning to the graduating class of 2011 and good morning to an enormous sea of former students and parents who are here today.

Before I start I was thinking last night how eloquently David Marais thanked all of us as 8th grade parents for helping so much with all the graduation festivities and I thought I would take the opportunity, from all of us as 8th grade parents, a round of applause, to thank David Marais and all he’s done for our 8th grade class.

Thank you for giving me this podium on this important day. A couple of years ago, when David asked me to give this speech today, there were mixed emotions in my household. I felt some joy and pride that for the first time we were going to hear from a graduation speaker who represented a section of the school other than the middle school, and who was also the parent of a graduating student. My daughter Emma, on the other hand, was mortified that I might take this opportunity to embarrass her publicly. As if I’ve ever done that before! You need not worry, Em. You have my word. And even though David knew that this would be the last day as Stanley students for Emma and her 8th grade friends, what none of us could have possibly known then was that this was the day that I would also be saying goodbye to this school.

So here we all are, at a day that perhaps many of us thought would never come. For some of you graduating, it’s only been a couple of years or so, since you started middle school at Stanley. For others, who began their Stanley careers in 345, it’s been maybe 4 or 5 years that you’ve been at the school. We learned at the Rose Ceremony on Wednesday, that for twenty of these graduating students, you’ve had nine full and happy years on our campus. And for some of us graduating from Stanley today, it’s been twenty-one years.

We’ve all seen many changes in our time here at Stanley. In the last month, we’ve broken ground on a new entrance to the school. In the last couple of years, we’ve seen Matt and Kathy’s and Katie Boston’s classes move into their own building. We’ve got a new elevator in the middle school and a bell system so that Alexandra will get you to your next class on time. We’ve started Family Groups and we’ve finally got cool new uniforms for the sports teams.

For many of us, in the last five or six years, we’ve said goodbye to a founding head of school and welcomed a new one. He’s taller and plays the banjo better than the old one. And when I say ‘old’, even though you seem to have carelessly left Carolyn behind at the Little White House in Brockenhurst, I mean ‘old’ with only affection and gratitude. We’ve got to know wonderful new teachers and we’ve said goodbye to others. Today, we say goodbye to a few more.

Back in 2002, when this class began their illustrious careers in kindergarten, important events were shaping our world. The Winter Olympics were held in Salt Lake City. The US invaded Afghanistan. The body of Hall of Fame baseball player Ted Williams was frozen cryogenically in two separate pieces and a little TV show called American Idol debuted, leading Kelly Clarkson to break a record held for 38 years by the Beatles when her smash hit A Moment Like This leapt 51 places to #1 on the Billboard Hot 100.

Here at Stanley in 2002, Sara Stern graduated from the intern program and was hired to teach 345, the school broke ground on the construction of the gym, Rick Reilly of Sports Illustrated and ESPN fame was coaching our basketball teams, and at the Holiday Program, Ted’s class performed The Grinch Who Stole Christmas - again.

Before that, in a time we used to call the nineties, some of you started at Paddington Station as two year olds here on an abandoned air force base at Lowry in what are now our K12 classrooms – when they were much smaller and not connected by a hallway. To get to the classroom at the end, you had to go through all the preceding classrooms, probably tripping over great piles of asbestos as you went.

I distinctly remember meeting several of you, kids, parents and even grandparents, at that first ice cream social for our two year old class. That was the time I distinguished myself in my naivete as a parent who clearly only had girls. The two year olds had taken a trip to the local fire station and everyone was excited to dress up and act like firefighters. I took it upon myself to provide a little realism to the make-believe, cutting up an old garden hose into four foot long strips, knowing that Addie and Jade and Lily and others would love putting out pretend fires with the mini-hoses. I hadn’t taken into account two year old boys, kids like Niall and Cole and Jack Longenecker, who proceeded to snatch the hoses and beat the living daylights out of each other. The teacher had to remove the weapons forthwith.

Those of you who are graduating your second or third child from Stanley today, and you’ve been here a decade or more, will remember the days when we had a split campus and all the challenges that that represented. Staggered start and finish times to the school day. For many staff members, much driving between the two sites. Two phone numbers, two receptionists, two places where we could lose your information, your tuition checks, and quite possibly even your children. I’m kidding, we never lost your tuition checks.

Before that, we were dealing with getting onto our Lowry campus through barbed wire fences, over parts of runways, and through plenty of mud. Tim remembers those days, sixteen years ago, when we spent a few years developing a middle school curriculum and taking out all kinds of debris that the US Air Force left behind – red velvet bar stools that we removed from the room we still call the pub, cast iron desks that weighed more than a small car, and plenty of bedroom furniture from the duplex houses that are now these classrooms.

For those of us who taught in the old building up the street at 1301 Quebec, we got excited when we built an addition which housed, three new classrooms, an extended day room and a giant multi-purpose room. That thing was massive. Compared to the gym today, that room was like, as big, as a small part of it, maybe the size of the music room if you pull Jill and all the instruments out of there. We played basketball in there. I directed my first ever play Black Ships Before Troy. Heck, we had the whole Holiday Program in that room. We were crammed in, we were hot, but we were happy. Hm, I guess some things don’t change.

Before that addition, we were four little classrooms and a basement. I taught down there, in the basement, for 2 years and mastered completely the art of pipe-dodging. The pipes down there in that basement are five feet eleven inches off the ground and I’m six feet one By the end of those two years, all my head wounds healed and I was able to teach math and give spelling tests, wandering around my classroom looking like someone out of Monty Python’s Ministry of Silly Walks.

Back then, in 1990, when I began teaching at Stanley, fresh out of college, fresh off the plane from England, when my accent sounded more like Prince William’s and I still knew how to spell properly, leaving the “u” in words like “colour” and “flavour”, we were a tiny school. We had about 85 students, K-3, and a staff of less than 20. Everyone knew everyone else. We were just thinking about offering health insurance to full-time staff members, we offered French and a writing class we called language lab, and a third of everyone’s day was spent on choice time. Some of our current teaching staff were students back in those days. Some of them hadn’t even started kindergarten then.

And of those twenty staff members or so who were at the school when I began, half of them are still here today. I think that’s remarkable. And I’d like us to acknowledge them: Carolyn Hambidge, Chris Lewis, Betsy Lewis, Leneta Jones, Ida Daniel, Joanna Hambidge, Barbara Guynn, Mary Aandahl, and Debbie Montgomery; and several other current colleagues had already been involved in the school in significant ways: Kim Hartsen, Lynne Forstot, Mary Ammons, Jane Hile, Martha Markson, and Lloyd Slevc.

We have to acknowledge them and give them our deepest gratitude and here’s why. You see, when teachers and staff members leave, they get a canvas bag with the Stanley BPS logo, the Stanley bag. You know how many people I’ve watched over the years get that darned bag? Twenty years I’ve watched friends and colleagues score with that bag, and I never got one. Not until this year. This is mine! And here are these folks giving their blood sweat and tears to this school for a quarter of a century or more, and no bag. They deserve our thanks and our appreciation.

Because when you have people who have been around an organization for two or even three decades, you get something that you can’t buy anywhere. You get institutional memory. And that’s important. You get deep-rooted knowledge of the values and principles on which a school is founded.

It’s why these 8th graders who’ve been at the school all these years make such terrific tour guides to prospective families. You remember choice time. You remember taking apart motorbikes with Chris and building giant, potentially dangerous, playground structures out of junk. You remember singing your way around Star K Ranch with Mary Jo, (and please allow me to take a moment here to thank Mary Jo who has been a wonderful, creative, amazing teacher for my own children for six years – thank you, Mary Jo) or learning about yourselves by building life-size body dolls with Lynne. You remember fully integrated days, when in 345 we didn’t clean-up from one period to the next because we were just so absorbed in everything we were studying. Days when math and science, reading and writing, social studies and the arts, all collided and the result was giant, occasionally messy, projects, that sometimes went on for weeks because that’s what we were into and we wanted to know more. You remember getting dressed up for Colonial Day and having to pay taxes to King George in order to use a pencil or go to lunch and you remember leaping on the RTD bus with no idea where we were going and ending up across town on some grand writing adventure or scientific exploration.

And now, here we all are at the end of the road. What have we learned? So much. So much we didn’t know before. For me, in all my roles here at Stanley, as intern, teacher, mentor, theater director, scheduler, parent, division head, director of programs and of operations, and, as I was once referred to, “that gal who runs the Coffeehouse”, what have I not learned? It’s been twenty-one years. That’s the length of a childhood and more. We’ve all done a lot of growing up in that time. Especially me. I started out in a traditional English family, sent away to traditional English boarding schools. About as different from Stanley as you can imagine.

This school, and the people here, have taught us all well. It has taught us how to watch and listen to children. It has taught us what a joyful place school can be. It has shown us that the process is more important than the product. It has taught us the importance of play. It has helped us understand what it means to be a lifelong learner. It has surrounded us with color and creativity, laughter and friendships.

And I’ve got to know one other thing here.

You remember the Jack Palance character in the movie City Slickers? The grizzled wise old cowboy, Curly, who asks Billy Crystal: “Do you know what the secret of life is?” and he holds up his finger and says “This”. Billy Crystal says “Your finger?” and Curly says “One thing. Just one thing. You stick to that and the rest don't mean sh…”. And Billy Crystal asks him, “But what is that one thing?” and Curly just smiles and says “That’s what you have to figure out.”

Twenty one years at Stanley, and I think I’ve finally got that one thing figured out. It’s something Carolyn told me when I first got here as a cherubic-faced twenty three year old. She recites it often, her favorite quotation from the inscription in the forecourt of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi in Greece, the Oracle at Delphi. I didn’t fully understand it back then, but I do now. It’s this. “Know thyself”. That’s the one thing. “Know thyself” Twenty one years at this school and I’ve got to know that one thing here.

I know myself. This school does an amazing, sensational, inspirational job of helping people know who they are. It’s worked for me and it’s worked for my students over the years and it’s worked for my own children. And I think it’s worked for you, graduates of the class of 2011. The schools I attended when I was a kid did a lousy job of helping me figure out who I was. They taught me what to think, where to stand, how to fit into the crowd. I’m thrilled that you have been given this opportunity to know yourself and take your own place in your world.

We are all scattering to different schools– you to high schools in Denver, Aurora, Highlands Ranch, Englewood, Erie, Santa Barbara, me to an elementary and pre-school in Boulder.

As we head away from Stanley, I challenge all of us to keep with us everything we’ve learned at this school. We hope that we’ve not only educated you as kids, we have helped to develop you into amazing people. I hope you’ve learned what you need to help yourselves succeed. I challenge you, when you leave this place, to be kind and stand up for yourselves and others. I challenge you to self-advocate and be great team-builders. I challenge you to be outstanding contributors to your community. I challenge you to see the beauty in our world and to use your talents and skills to add to it. Whatever your passion, whether it’s music or computers, sports or photography, theatre or painting or advanced calculus, or anything else, I challenge you to pursue it with energy and spirit and enthusiasm. Go out there and be the best that you can be. And do it with love.

So, it’s the last day. You’ve got your diplomas. And I’ve got my bag. One colleague, Joan, wrote something on it from Dr Seuss, himself a wise grizzled old cowboy in his own way. It says:

“Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.”

Thank you, graduating class of 2011 for all of your gifts you’ve shared with us at Stanley. Thank you for allowing me to be part of the journey. Be well, do good, and keep in touch.

Thank you very much.

(photo credit: Jim Thomas)

What do a head of school and a theater director have in common?

This summer, as I prepare to take on a new role as a head of school, I realize that I must take a hiatus from one of my great loves – directing theater. For many years, I have loved working with groups of kids, from age 8-18, bringing plays to life. I’ll be too busy this summer getting to know my new school community and preparing for the new school year. I’ll miss my theater camps – all the amazing people and the breathtaking creativity. And, as I was contemplating this change, a question emerged:

What do a head of school and
a theater director have in common?

I wonder if the two roles are so very different, because I believe that a theater director and a head of school both:

➢ ensure everyone feels good about their role

➢ bring together a vision and a script

➢ rely on the diverse strengths of others

➢ pay attention to casting

➢ challenge people to stretch beyond their comfort zone

➢ allow everyone’s voice to be heard

➢ juggle many balls in the air at the same time successfully

➢ manage their resources and budget

➢ keep a sense of humor

➢ share expectations with parents that the kids will be stars

➢ listen to the opinions of others

➢ honor everyone involved in the production

➢ wear lots of different hats

➢ do frequent sound checks

➢ work together on a unified goal with the cast

➢ take care of the details

➢ make the best of the inevitable slip-ups

➢ spend lots of time preparing

➢ appreciate those working behind the scenes

➢ know when to step out of the limelight

At Friends' School, I’m looking forward to getting to know all the amazing people and being part of the breathtaking creativity.

Break a leg!

Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic

I’m one of those people who feels flummoxed when a button pops off. I have no idea what to do. I know the theory behind the needle and thread, but my hands barely fit in men’s extra large gloves and my fingers certainly aren’t up to the task of threading a flimsy piece of cotton through the eye of a needle. Even as an agnostic, I probably have a better shot at entering the kingdom of heaven on the hump of a camel than getting a thread through that absurdly tiny hole. And even if I could, once threaded, I have no idea about how to sew the button or tie the knot at the end, limited again by gargantuan fingers.

Such is the handicap for my vocation as a director of children’s theater. Unlike the well-paid professionals on either coast, my lot is to be in charge of the whole kit and caboodle – set design, set building, lighting, sound, special effects, music and yes, I’m sorry to say, costumes.

For the first three productions I ever directed, my assistant director and I tried to coordinate costumes ourselves. The result was a mismatched collection of ill-fitting clothes: suits too long, shirts too wide, dresses too big. The costumes were a mess.

For production number four – Charlie and the Chocolate Factory – I began to learn from experience. I fired myself from costumes, fired my assistant director entirely and hired my friend Jane.

Jane sees the world differently from me. She’s lived with dyslexia for more than fifty years. She sees the world in pictures and gets muddled when she’s tired. It’s easy for her to mix up the names of cast members, especially those with similar names. Jack and Jake confuse her. She would never be a big money winner on Jeopardy where the kings of quick-fire rule.

She has raised three children, almost exclusively on her own, and all three are excelling in the creative arts – Lisa in dance, Reed in theatrical lighting design, Mark in the culinary arts. Jane understands children with learning differences better than any teacher I know. On an instructional level, she simply gets what they need. Yet she drives certain colleagues batty because she communicates erratically and wanders in late to staff meetings, often dragging a large messy bag along with her.

And she has transformed my stage. She has hand-made fat costumes out of hula- hoops for Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dee. She has dressed a full cast of nearly forty kids in historically accurate period costumes. She handcrafted both the Tin Man and the Cowardly Lion, breaking a few sewing machine needles along the way. Over the last five years, she has been responsible for over one thousand costumes, each one exceptional and coordinated with its stage mates.

But more importantly than how each costume looks, Jane has made a personal connection with each young actor and made sure that each and every cast member feels good in their attire, is comfortable, and knows the character he is portraying. Jane knows that a child who has had a say in her costume, who has been heard, who feels at ease, will be a better more confident performer. That child will feel successful and will raise the levels of children around her. He will be proud of his work and will naturally go on to greater and better things. Confidence and success are powerful tools in the education of young minds.

With needle and thread, hot glue guns, machines that attach beading and sequins, buttons and zippers, Jane has brought my stage to life. More traditional minds don’t always understand her value and don’t always speak her language. But if they take the time to look past the baggage and the mess, they will get her. Jane has made an enormous difference in the lives of hundreds of children. She is a master educator and a gift.

Announcing a change...

After teaching third, fourth, and fifth graders for twenty years, I have decided to leave the classroom. On the one hand, I am very sad about this because I love teaching and I love being around children every day. On the other hand, I'm excited to be staying at Stanley in a different capacity and I am looking forward to new challenges. What follows is the letter I sent out to the parents in my class. I've also included excerpts from a letter that Tim Barrier, Head of School, sent to the parents. The most frequent question I got from the children after I told them was, of course, "Why?" I hope this helps to answer their question:

Dear Parents,

It is with very mixed feelings that I announce to you that I will not be teaching this class next year.

After twenty years as a classroom teacher, the time has come for me to turn the reins of this class over to someone new. I want you to know that I have not taken this decision lightly and it is a decision born out of a desire to take on new challenges on behalf of the school.

For two decades, I have come to school every day filled with excitement and passion for what I do. The energy of the children, the parents and my colleagues feed me daily. There has not been a day when I have not learned something new and not retired at the end of the day grateful for what I am able to do every day. I have been blessed with an incredible community of families over the years and this current class is especially dear to me.

I wrote an essay recently, titled Seven Thousand Miles which some of you may have read, in which I outlined how important teaching at this school has been not only for my professional development, but also for my personal growth. I could not imagine a better place to teach, and a more loving supportive group of children and families with which to work.

I am excited to move to a new role within the school, one that Tim discusses in his attached letter. Among other things, I will be combining two of my great loves – theater and writing – in a new position which will help support the school, particularly the arts, in a way which I hope will benefit all children, families and staff here at Stanley.

I am excited to keep my connection to the 3-4-5 team and students through weekly drama and spelling classes and by continuing to co-direct the 3-4-5 musical.

Part of me cannot believe that, once fall arrives, for the first time in a very long time, I will not be running a class, laughing with students, building with math manipulatives, putting on bandaids, helping kids navigate the choppy waters of friendship, sharing my love of writing and reading, dressing up as historical characters, planning field trips, telling jokes, meeting with parents, training an intern, giving hugs. There is a huge part of me that is sad to no longer be enjoying the daily interactions with an amazing close-knit classroom community. There is also another part of me that is anticipating the new challenges that await, knowing that I will be making a difference to the life of the school, and all our students, in another way.

We will continue this semester in the way we always have – filled with excitement for learning, great ideas and projects, and making sure this classroom is the best it can be. Now is not the time for thank yous or goodbyes. I’m sure you will be hearing a lot of those from me in the future. I am sharing this news with the children today as well.

With great love, appreciation and respect,

Steve


and this from Tim:

I am writing to add my thoughts to the letter Steve shared with you. On behalf of Stanley BPS and the many families Steve has touched, I am grateful for all that he has given to our school in twenty years of teaching.

As you certainly know, Steve is a person of many talents, and he will continue to serve Stanley BPS in a number of teaching and administrative roles. Steve will continue his role in 3,4,5 Afternoon of the Arts, including directing the spring musical, and also will continue leading a spelling group. His administrative work will add to what he currently does with scheduling, assemblies, programs, and family groups. Some of his new responsibilities will include coordinating the Performing Arts department and managing program and space needs, overseeing school Safety procedures- including carpool routines and emergency drills, coordinating and communicating the master school calendar of events, providing staff support to campus parent jobs- including the Auction, and coordinating the administrative sections of our ACIS Self- Study. Steve will also apply his writing skills in capturing some elements of our program for use in Development/PR communications for internal and external community audiences.

We have begun the process of finding a replacement for Steve. Literally and figuratively, his will be big shoes to fill. The teacher we hire won’t be just like Steve, and he or she will bring unique ideas and talents. But we will be looking for someone who shares Steve’s passion for bringing out the best in all his students, his ability to implement a dynamic curriculum, and someone who at least approaches Steve’s creative energy and good humor.

Later this spring, we will find suitable ways to recognize Steve for his service to your family. In the meantime, I know this change will be a significant one in the lives of your children. I know you join me in expressing appreciation for what Steve has done for your children and for what he will continue to contribute to our school.

Tim Barrier,
Head of School

Seven Thousand Miles

April 1975. Summer term at a traditional English boarding school. A former mansion, tucked away into the thick woodlands of the southeast. The greystone edifice perched atop a hill casting a foreboding eye on all it sees. A small and sensitive seven year old is left for the first time at the grand front portal as his parents, young and unknowing in the ways of child development, drive away. He would see them every other weekend while school was in session - for the next eleven years. He is trying hard not to let others see the fear and hurt in his eyes.

It is a school where rote learning is standard; where good study habits mean copying pages off the board verbatim; where the art teacher gets angry if the boy doesn’t do it her way; where he is told to stand facing the wall for two hours after getting caught talking after lights out; where he must wear shorts even on the most biting of winter days; where no one knows his first name, only his last; where bullying is regarded as an acceptable form of character building; where missing chapel results in a beating; where untrained teachers rely on the pedagogy of their own post-war school experiences. The small and sensitive seven year old has no opportunity to find out who he is. He simply hides himself away.

That same April 1975. Seven thousand miles away, at a small school attached to Montview Church in Denver, Colorado. A teacher, trained in that same post-war England, is watching and listening to children. They are just returning from spring break. The sun warms their faces. All around her there is joy and laughter. A few of the children are seven, small, and sensitive.

These children, however, are painting glorious pictures; they are pouring water and digging in the sand; they are reading and writing - anything they want; they are sewing, building and gluing; they are playing dress-up and make-believe; they are learning math with blocks and color; they are learning how to give and take and share; they are celebrating each other’s successes; they are hugging and being hugged. The English woman does everything in her power to help these seven year olds find out who they are. And they sparkle.

The teacher’s name is Carolyn. She has recently arrived in Colorado, from England, with a young family of her own. She is in the process, although she doesn’t know it at present, of founding a school that would later grow into a beloved institution, educating thousands of children. All of them touched personally by her strong principles, her guiding hand, and her love.

The boy’s first name is Steve. Me.

Everyone calls me that now, even my students.

Fifteen years after those humble beginnings, I stumbled upon Carolyn’s school. She hired me and I have learned. I have been a teacher and theatre director here for almost twenty years, the length of a childhood. Her school, now known as the Stanley British Primary School, has taught me well.

I invite you to walk into my classroom. I am proud of the joy to be found. Children feel safe, knowing there are clearly defined limits and high expectations. They are free to be themselves, to explore while learning, and to find success. They are encouraged to take risks and they are guided as they learn from their mistakes. We work together to find out more each day about what kind of learners they are. They learn to articulate their strengths and they work to strengthen their weaknesses. They know they can make a positive difference in numerous ways. They are supported, trusted and loved. They are on the pathway to discover who they are.

I think of John, a third grader who has been diagnosed with a severe form of dyslexia. Reading is an immense struggle, as he meets familiar words for the first time again and again and again. His writing is almost impossible to read. Letters are misshapen or reversed. He occasionally forms entire sentences in mirror image from right to left. Expressing himself on paper is the hardest thing anyone has ever asked him to do.

The class is studying pre-Revolutionary War America. One group decides to make a dramatic presentation of the events surrounding the Boston Tea Party. John is one of the kids volunteering to play the part of Sam Adams. This needs to be improvised. They have been given ten minutes to produce a skit. There is no time for further study. To my surprise, his peers pick John for the role. I am unsure of what he knows. The kids know better.

With barely any practice, John gives a fluent and knowledgeable oration, recounting all the reasons that taxation without representation is unjust, why the tea on the ships floating out in Boston Harbor represents all that the colonists found so wrong with British rule, and what steps the American militia should take to unseat the occupational forces. It is an extraordinary moment. John has since gone on to star in theater in high school. Learning lines is still hard for him, but he has figured out that if he records his part and plays it back, he can memorize without too much trouble. He knows who he is as a learner.

My classroom is a place where parents feel welcome, included and appreciated, where they are free to give opinions, ask questions and participate fully in the education of their child. Their questions are answered honestly. Knowledge about child development is dispensed freely and without judgment.

I think of Lisa, the parent of an only child, a librarian by training. She grew up in San Francisco with a deep-seated phobia of math and no confidence in her mathematic ability. She mentions to me that she is struggling to help her daughter with her homework on subtraction and borrowing. She knows how to do it, just not how to explain it. She and I spend a delightful hour, one afternoon after school, playing with base ten blocks, looking at subtraction from various conceptual angles, and talking about the differences in experience and learning style between herself and her daughter. Homework now breathes more easily in Lisa’s house.

I invite you to come to a play rehearsal or to see children performing in one of my productions. Anywhere from thirty to one hundred and thirty kids working in harmony towards a common goal. As in the classroom, I am proud of the joy dancing through the theatre. Children are encouraged to reach outside their comfort zone, to strive for something they did not know they had inside them. Humour and delight abound.

I think of Katie who, a few short years ago, squeaked out a couple of barely audible lines in Peter Pan. She later starred in a major role as Alice in Wonderland, to rave reviews. I think of Will, who in the past has lacked confidence and brought a slight awkwardness to social situations. He recently played the lead, all 400 lines of it, as Sheridan Whiteside, the outlandish curmudgeon, in The Man Who Came To Dinner, and emerged as a true leader among the cast.

There is a unique spirit at Carolyn’s school. It recently hosted a statewide meeting of independent schools heads. Administrators from some of the finest schools in Colorado entered the front lobby of the school and the reaction was universal: “There is such a feeling of warmth.” Later, they toured our campus. More comments were heard: “What a delightful place this is; how happy the children are; look how the children’s work is everywhere; there is such a relaxed atmosphere; the campus is beautiful; the students are so comfortable in their environment; there is a spirit here I haven’t experienced elsewhere.”

I am overjoyed to have been a part of growing that spirit. Yet, more importantly, I am overjoyed at how the school has been part of my growing spirit.

It has taught me how to watch and listen to children. It has taught me what a joyful place school can be. It has shown me that the process is more important than the product. It has helped me understand what it means to be a lifelong learner. It has surrounded me with color and creativity, laughter and friendships.

While my formal schooling in England taught me dates and facts, Latin and Greek, competition and one-upmanship, there was so much I did not learn. I never learned about support, justice, cooperation or trust. I never learned joy, gratitude or love. I never learned the importance of play. I have learned these things at the Stanley British Primary School. I have learned them from Carolyn, from colleagues, and from parents. But most of all, I have learned them from the children. I watch them and listen to them and they teach me. Every one of them. My first class of five year olds as an intern twenty years ago, my current class of third, fourth and fifth graders, and the middle and high schoolers, many of them former students, whom I direct in theatrical productions at the school each summer.

I now know that I did not stumble upon Carolyn’s school. I was guided here for a reason. Within this safe, warm and inviting space, I have at last experienced everything that Carolyn’s kids were participating in, and that I was missing out on, all those years ago. This school has quite simply allowed me to experience my childhood.

It has brought me out of hiding.

I have finally discovered who I am.

Theatre On My Mind

It's been a while since I've put anything new up here. I've got a few new essays in the works, but I have been working principally on my upcoming theatre productions. My mind is full of dialogue. Some scripts are complete, others are in progress.

I'm directing four plays over the summer months. All are held in the ballroom at the Stanley British Primary School in Denver. Admission is free, however participation in all the plays is sold out, with the exception of Happy Daze, the production for high schoolers. For more information on registering for the high school theater camp, please visit http://sbps.schoolfusion.us/

Alice in Wonderland Jr. for grades 3-5 Tuesday May 19 and Thursday May 21 at 9:00 a.m. and 7:00 p.m. (musical, co-directed with Jill Teas)

Funny Money for grades 4-9 Friday June 26 at 10:00 a.m. and 7:00 p.m.

Happy Daze, Or The Short Happy Madness of Julian Thaddeus Springer for grades 9-12 Friday July 17 at 10:00 a.m. and 7:00 p.m.

Beauty and the Beast for grades 3-9 Friday August 7 at 10:00 a.m. and 7:00 p.m.

In addition, I will be performing at Stanley's 17th Annual Deadbeat Coffeehouse on Saturday April 25th at 7:30 p.m.

I hope you can come! Please check back here again soon for more musings on life, teaching, parenting, and finding the good in this crazy world.

Past Present Future

If you’re on Facebook, you know all about “25 Random Things About Me”. It’s become such a phenomenon that the New York Times recently wrote a feature about it. If you’re not, allow me to explain. Someone, anyone, writes 25 statements about him or herself: childhood memories, current beliefs, high school crushes, favorite books or movies, quirky information. He or she posts it on their Facebook profile for all their friends to see.

When I first saw one, I was amazed at the openness. I loved learning about a small slice of my friend’s background. It was fun, thought-provoking, and enlightening. Over the last few weeks, more and more friends have bared their souls. Never feeling like I was reading TMI, too much information, I have been pleasantly surprised at how carefully I’ve been taking them in. Windows have been opened and wonderful discussions have followed. I have learned things that I would never have discovered over coffee.

Inspired by my friends, I have just finished writing my own. It has been a fascinating process. What information would people want to read? How can I narrow it down to 25 things? Is this supposed to be a summary of my life or of my current thinking about the world? Should I be sincere, humorous, vulnerable? What would people think? What I discovered in the course of writing is that one ‘fact' flowed into the next. It doesn’t matter what people think and it’s not a résumé. It is simply an exercise in taking a little time, going inside for a short while, checking in with me, and seeing how I am doing.

I also discovered that looking backwards and looking inside isn’t enough. My random things are about my past and my present. As I wrote, I realized that where I really want to go is my future. So I have also generated some thoughts about where I’m headed. I have spent some time dwelling on where I want my life to go, and creating a vision for myself. I’ve called it Living My Vision.

Both my 25 Random Things About Me and Living My Vision are posted here. I have written them for me. But I post them here because I hope someone, maybe you, will enjoy them enough to be inspired. Perhaps inspired enough to go inside for a moment or to create a vision of your own. It has been a wonderful pause in my journey. Enjoy.

25 Random Things About Me

1. Being sent away to a traditional English boarding school at the age of seven has affected my adult life in more ways than I have previously cared to admit….

2. Negative impact: child abuse is never ever ever okay under any circumstance. Intimacy and trust are damn hard. But I’m working assiduously on both.

3. Positive impact: it has become very clear that my entire life has been and will always be about creating safe, happy spaces in which kids are free to grow.

4. Emma and Leah are the essential elements in my life. When I watch them sleep, I understand what is meant by ‘love hurts’.

5. Laughing with them brings me my single greatest joy.

6. I’ve never taken a class in theater in my life. I’ve acted in three plays, one in elementary school, two in college. All three were terrible. I was the only native English speaker in one – The Importance of Being Earnest – it was hilarious, but still terrible.

7. I am passionate about directing. Bringing a story from script to production is an awesome experience.

8. But not as awesome as seeing the light go on for one child.

9. I’m directing four plays this summer, bringing my total to 27 full-scale productions in the last ten years. My theater colleagues are among the most creative people I know.

10. I am an artist. I think I’ve always been one but nobody told me until a couple of years ago. I see the world in pictures. Books on tape are really hard for me.

11. I am grateful for those who see my artistry. You know who you are.

12. Writing is my thing. When the newspaper published my first essay, I wept. I plan on getting out there more. I know more about blogging than I ever thought I would. When I sit down to write an essay, I rarely know where I’m going. I believe that the Creative Spirit works through those who let her in.

13. I believe in Spirit. I am beginning to trust. I am learning to get out of the way. I’ve been here before and I know I’ll be back.

14. I believe religion is the root of much that is wrong with this world.

15. I love water – drinking it, listening to it, floating on it, walking through it, watching it, crossing it, standing under it, swimming in it. My best ideas come in the pool.

16. I am not a fan of movies or TV. I’ll go see live theater as many times as the budget will allow. Though I watch and know more about sports than anyone thinks.

17. I fantasize that one day I’ll still be teaching but earning the salary of a profession I value less.

18. Every year, I take the stage in Stanley’s Annual Deadbeat Coffeehouse. It is an amazing event involving the most incredible people. Every organization deserves such a night, a boost to the community spirit. I feel like an amateur compared to other performers. I am in awe of my musician friends. I wish I could sing like that.

19. I’ve played a lot of rugby, squash and water polo in my time, but I find it almost impossible to button the cuff on the right arm of my shirts.

20. At one point I was fluent in French and reasonably useful in Russian, Italian, Greek, Swahili and Latin. I have discovered that Colorado is not the place for honing those skills.

21. When I was small, my father owned the toy shop in our village. It was heaven for a little boy. I still feel guilty for stealing a plastic miniature Greek soldier. Sorry, Dad.

22. Some likes: Newcastle Brown, Brussel sprouts, Cadbury’s Dairy Milk, beach vacations, kind people, Wings Seminars in Eugene, baseball.

23. Some dislikes: celery, beets, peanut butter, traffic, thoughtless and/or mean people, crowded places, shopping malls.

24. I don’t consider myself a material person, but I know that one day I will be the proud owner of a Mini Cooper S, a red one with a sunroof.

25. I didn’t plan on writing these, but I’ve been pleasantly surprised at how wonderful it’s been reading those of my friends. However writing what’s been before will never be as relevant as creating a vision of what’s to come. See below.

26. I’m not very good with rules (see #1), so I just had to write a 26th random fact – just to be difficult.

Living My Vision

I know who I am. I am grateful for the past and I know where I am going. I trust that I have everything I need for the journey. I am energetic, playful, humorous and kind. I am fully present and I dream big. I am courageous and adventurous and I take action, even when I am fearful, creating the results I want.

I am abundantly healthy, exercising at least twice a week and choosing a nutritious and balanced diet. I feel great in mind body and spirit. I always have choice and I am living a life of integrity. I am honest and joyous, celebrating my openness and vulnerability. I am emotionally connected to those I love. I am in a loving, supportive, mutually respectful relationship and I enjoy a close caring relationship with my girls, at all ages.

I work in a creative environment where I feel valued. I celebrate the artist in myself. I am writing and publishing, with positive reviews and strong sales. I am passionately involved in theater. I am assisting others to know and trust themselves, and I support them in pursuing their dreams. I am growing my wealth, investing in myself, my family, and for the good of the planet. I have enough money. I live in a warm and cozy house, where simplicity and comfort reign. I drive a car I love. I enjoy relaxing and exciting vacations at least twice a year.

I am a lifelong learner, seizing and embracing opportunities to grow. I trust the process of intention. I recognize the uniqueness and sacred in everyone. I know in my heart that each of us is capable, lovable, whole, and magnificent. I am building a culture which celebrates and honors children. I embrace service to my world and the people in it. I live in gratitude and bring joy and passion into my life and the lives of others.

I celebrate the happy carefree child and the wise guiding adult.

History starts now….

Confessions Of A Reluctant Artist

A few summers ago, I was strolling through the Cherry Creek Arts Festival in Denver admiring the incredible talent on display. Artists from around the country exhibited the most wonderful creations. In particular I remember a painter who created a giant likeness of Bob Marley with his hands, in sync with Marley’s music. That same summer, I heard my friends Barbara and Paul play violin with the Colorado Chamber Players and saw my buddy and mentor, Jamie Horton, portray Uncle Vanya on the professional stage. Artists, all of them; and I was envious.

How were these people so talented and I was not? I have vivid memories of sitting in art class, at age eight or nine, and being told that my drawings were below par. I struggled through clarinet lessons and found it hard to tell whether the next note was higher or lower than the previous one. I couldn’t dance. My stories were boring. I was so shy I never dreamt of trying out for the school play. I was asked to be the prompter once but I fell asleep halfway through the show. Yet I knew which of my friends were artists - the singers, the painters, the actors, the piano players, the poets - and I admired them. There were a few things I was good at – I played fullback on the rugby team and I could conjugate French verbs with the best of them – but an artist I was not.

And then a funny thing happened. I moved 7,000 miles away from my home in England and found a place called the Stanley British Primary School. I watched the children. They painted pictures, glorious pictures. They sang and danced, all of them, every week. They played dress-up in their classrooms and put on plays for each other. They wrote amazing stories. They sewed and built and glued. And most importantly, they were celebrated.

Teachers created safe, warm and inviting spaces where art could flourish. Everybody’s work was up on the wall. Everybody’s. All students, kindergartners through fifth graders, got up on stage for the musicals. And if more than a few people wanted to be Peter Pan, or Annie, or Dorothy, then there were more than a few. Nobody was told they couldn’t do it, so everybody did. “Be yourself; take risks; explore; learn from your mistakes; create; turn it into something else; play; go for it!” These are the messages the children heard all those years ago and they are the same messages my own daughters hear at the school today. And my children create. They know they have the freedom to make art and music and dance, wonderfully.

And here’s the thing: I don’t even know if they have more or less talent than I did at their age. It doesn’t matter because they believe they have. That’s what matters. Sure, they have days when the painting or the building is not going to plan, days when they are their own worst critics. But I still believe in them. So does their mother and so do their teachers. My seven-year old has informed me that, when she grows up, she is going to be a book illustrator and author, a concert pianist, a horse trainer, a teacher, and an artist – all at the same time. And I say, “Why not?”


As for me, I once got to help out in one of those plays with seven Dorothys. The next year, I got to help out some more and I soon found myself directing short sketches. A passion for the theater was born. Now I adapt and direct plays for children and I have learned something about myself. I may still have two left feet, I still don’t know which note is higher, I still draw stick figures, but I am an artist. And I will never again fall asleep during the show.

Photo: yes, that's me - Halloween 2008. Photo by Ann Sartori.