One hundred and ninety-seven years of NYA’s history precede my arrival here and as I was writing this talk, I thought about the fact that in 1814 the Constitution was only 28 years old and Lewis and Clark’s adventure through the West had occurred only eight years earlier. What an honor it is to serve a school that can draw on such rich tradition. As I look at you this morning, I am keenly aware that we at NYA are part of a living, continuously unfolding history. Nothing could please me more than to be connected with you in this endeavor: new students, returning students, parents, teachers, staff, trustees, members of the community, all of you invested in and involved with this school. All of you eager to make this year ahead and the history we are creating as sustaining and enriching as they can be.
But before we launch ourselves into what’s next, that flurry of learning and activity we call the Academic Year, I’d like to ask you to take a moment and try to imagine an early fall morning in 1814. Where we stand now was probably a field, cows and other livestock were milling about, and most certainly, everyone was standing in a lot more mud. The dress code was most likely a little different, too. If they were lucky, people had two sets of clothes, one for work and the other for everything else from going to school to getting married. Their dresses and suits kept them well covered, a feature not only in keeping with those modest times, but one that had pragmatic reasons, too. In the original school house, only one stove burned, warming only that first, fortunate row of students. Others had to learn Latin and do sums in spite of cold fingers and toes.
Just beyond us, there was an unpaved Main Street rattling with wagons that ran down to a harbor. From there, the sound of saws and hammers rang as schooners were built to sail the world. It is safe to say that America was a raw land, without conveniences, ease of communication or many luxuries at all. Our school was founded in a country and during a time with a terrifically uncertain future. Two decades later, Alexis deTocqueville wrote, “In a revolution, as in a novel, the most difficult part to invent is the end.” While pavement now predominates and the cows have long since forsaken Main Street, that experiment in democracy is still unfolding, still unwritten, still being spoken and legislated and lived into existence by its citizens. And we are still the inventors, those invested with that responsibility.
Our school has also had to make judgments about future needs and modify itself as time has passed. The founders of NYA and those first parents perhaps wanted to move away from an apprenticeship model of education toward one that put a premium on the classics and college preparation. We are of course still concerned about that aspect of our program, but honor and value education that also supports artistic and athletic strength, education that takes place outside of the classroom, and education that supports the social and emotional growth of young people in terms that would be very unfamiliar to the original sea captains and merchants who sent their children here. But certain elements from those years have probably remained quite a lot the same. I’d argue that those parents worried about their children in many of the same ways that we do today. Those parents, too, probably wondered precisely what skills and knowledge young people would need to thrive in an uncertain time. They, too, were probably eager to learn about both the curriculum and the moral development that would most benefit the next generation.
As both an educator and a current NYA parent, these concerns matter to me at a deeply personal level. It’s this very challenge–honoring tradition and history while integrating productive, useful, meaningful change– that I’d like to talk about today. I see us in this rough circle here–students who are new to NYA–students in the class of 2012 who in less than a year will join the ranks of our alumni. Teachers with decades of experience; teachers who are fresh to us and to the profession. Parents, trustees, staff, all of us with thoughts, opinions, ideas about the state and nature of the school that we share openly or nurse privately, a polyphonic collection of voices. That, of course, is what convocation means at its root, a weaving of voices, a bringing together of people committed to a place, an idea. And in our case a school, a wonderful school, that prides itself on its high standards, its attention to individual students, its ability to serve as a bridge to higher education, and its commitment to fostering community through an emphasis on respect, honesty, compassion, perseverance, and responsibility.
This year, I invite you to bring your voices and your questions into the open in as many forums as we choose to create. Classrooms, rehearsals, athletic fields. Exhibition openings and recitals. Parent evenings. Trustee events and reunions. Faculty and staff meetings.
I’ve started my summer at NYA with meetings that have, I hope, featured as much listening as talking, and I plan to continue that process throughout the year with as many of you as would like to engage in it. I sincerely want to know what you see, hear, think and feel about the school, about education, about your hopes and dreams for yourself and for NYA. Transition is challenging; our way through the concerns it engenders is, I feel, made smoother with honest engagement, candid feedback, and a thorough and evolving conversation over many themes and many months.
I invite this exchange for several reasons. First, I believe that true sharing of ideas, based in open and respectful listening, is at the heart of the richest sort of learning, which takes place when students and teachers express uncertainties, try out tentative thoughts, are willing to risk not knowing before arriving at a surer outcome. As a classroom teacher, I always valued the provocative question over the right answer, and it is in this spirit, that this invitation is given.
Honest dialogue also creates a sense of hope. Of possibility. Of feeling encouraged to find new ways to solve old problems. I want especially to hear from students, teachers and parents about ways to invigorate and enrich our programs. I can’t of course promise that each idea or proposal will be enacted and implemented. But I can promise that it will be heard and seriously listened to. That listening, the pause before judgment at the end of conversation, is probably the most critical part of trying to live in balance in a learning community.
The other reason this kind of exchange is so important is that change for most of us is frightening at worst, disorienting at best. When we first came to Yarmouth this summer, my wife encouraged our daughter, who is five and attending her first day of Kindergarten today, to say hello to people she passed on Main Street. Thea looked confused and said, “If you did that in New York, people would think you were crazy.” The next day a neighbor came over to Charlotte and said he’d just met daughter. Thea had introduced herself and said, “My mom says it’s OK to talk to strangers now.” It takes time to figure out the customs of a new place and it takes time for the nuances of how people feel and think to become apparent. My wife and I still have some holes to fill in for Thea about communication in her new community. And I promise you that I will admit to the holes in my own knowledge of NYA as we move forward, relying on you to help me as we assess the pace and nature of adjustments here. What I have already heard from many of you is that the way we make change is most likely just as important as the changes themselves.
Let us commit, then, in this year of transition to taking NYA to its next evolutionary stage in a spirit of compassionate honesty. To fruitful discussion. To real listening, both to what’s said and unsaid. To being willing to undergo and support clear, meaningful, mission-driven adjustments to our program and to fostering relations that support this process. Let us preserve what is truly working and assess and shift what is not, both in our own minds and spirits as well as in the practice of our school. Learning is not just facts and skills tumbling on top of more facts and skills. Learning is being willing to alter perspective, include new ideas, admit to the holes in what one knows and discover fresh ways to see, create, move, think, play, teach, be. Learning requires adaptation and change. And adaptation and change requires us to learn.
One hundred and ninety-seven years ago, Yarmouth was sending its young people into a world powered by horses, wind, and water. Even though much of that world is now gone, we still possess both the spirit of adventure and the gift of entrepreneurial thinking that brought this village renown. We have a history of success and stamina as our foundation and it is that we can lean on in the year to come. Thank you in advance for your energy and optimism. Thank you for your strong voices. Thank you for being willing to listen, speak, and learn. Here’s not to finding an end to the revolution, but to finding ways to make what we do enact and experience this year at NYA count individually and collectively. Now, let’s get that conversation and this year started.
