The Show Goes On

I started a blog post about ISTE-ASCD annual conference. I will come back to it.

Today, I have to write something different. Some of you may know that my good friend, Sean Gaillard, and I love the show, “The Bear.” Not sure if love or obsessed is a better word. So much so that you may see us refer to each other as “Chef.” I had a friend ask me the other day about my friend who is a chef. That’s Sean, haha. We are not literal chefs. Maybe educational ones although on any given day I feel like I’m burning Spaghetti-O’s in the microwave. Regardless, Sean has been patiently waiting for me to finish Season 4 which we did last night.

Without spoiling anything for anyone, my favorite thing about the show is how unlike other story arcs, there is no “villain” per se. Everyone is instead their own worst enemy. They are all deeply flawed with painful pasts and present demons and yet they keep showing up. They keep trying and evolve in their own time. Amidst their self-created chaos, they are deeply lovable and love each other deeply, flaws and all, and you can’t help but find yourself rooting not for one of them but for all of them.

And if that isn’t a metaphor for what it’s like working in schools, I don’t know what is. People are messy and beautiful and trying and evolving on their timeline. And man, I both love that about us and find it simultaneously hard.

There is this meaningful scene in season 4 where the “The Show Goes On” by Bruce Hornsby and The Range advances the plot with that signature keyboard interlude.

I sat with those musical notes for a bit. I couldn’t place why I was feeling something or even what I was feeling. By that point, it wasn’t the plot of the show, it was something personal.

And it dawned on me, that suddenly, I was four years old again, driving around at night with my dad, music turned up, windows rolled down, my long blonde hair smacking me in the face as my dad quizzed me, “Who sings this?”

I found myself going down a rabbit hole. What were other songs by Bruce Hornsby and The Range? I found “The Way it Is” a song that I know my dad loved. And then Spotify led me to Don Henley, “The End of Innocence.” Did my dad love Don Henley? I remembered my dad’s love of The Eagles, so yes, he did.

Then, I found myself looking at the lyrics more closely. The premise of “The End of Innocence” according to Google AI Overview:

“The End of Innocence” refers to a literary and thematic concept that explores the loss of naiveté, purity, and idealism as one transitions from childhood to adulthood or experiences significant, often traumatic, events

The irony of losing my dad to Leukemia at six years old…this song reminding me of my dad and the meaning of this particular song is not lost on me.

In such a complicated, complex time in our world, I found myself wondering what he would think of all of it. He always loved the latest and greatest technology, so I’m certain he would be interested in that aspect of our modern world. But sadness overcame me thinking about how I will never really know. We will never share this. Then, I found myself realizing that while that is deeply painful and unfair, he will get to remain wholesome in my memories. All I know of him is what my six year old self knew.

Like the characters in “The Bear,” he was lovably imperfect. He would sometimes stay out too late. Maybe drink a little too much. Get a perm without telling my mom and show up with curly hair -that irritated her to no end. But he was also the life of the party. He could make others laugh until they cried. And he loved me in a protective and fun way. The way every little girl hopes to be loved.

And when I think about situations at work that are stressing me out to no end, I find myself longing for people who feel overly harsh to see me as a human being too. Just a person who is trying. A person who was once a little girl and who often still feels like one.

It dawned on me today that if I want this in our school district, the best way to get it is to see the little kid inside of others. When they are yelling, unreasonable, seemingly unfair, they are afraid of something or longing for something too. Picturing their little self allows me to approach them with more compassion. It’s not that I will “treat them like a kid” but I will love them in the ways I needed love then and need it now.

Because just like those characters in “The Bear,” we are all struggling and often struggle to see the role we play in our own miseries.

But we too can evolve. Together.

It’s just going to take time. Something my dad deserved more of. Time. And I’m not going to waste this one precious beautiful life judging others. I choose love instead. And I’m going to have to practicing, but I can think of no cause more worthy.