Reaching back

I stumbled upon a sixth-grade English class a few weeks ago that moved me. The lesson was about storytelling, and the guest speaker, Mr. Allard, introduced his tale by encouraging the students to imagine what their grandparents learned from their own grandparents. “Four generations!” he exclaimed with his arms spread wide. Over the next 15 minutes, Mr. Allard told a story about his childhood on a Texas military base during the Cuban Missile Crisis. He embraced all of the techniques of an accomplished storyteller, using his eyes, in particular, to punctuate each phrase and dare the audience to look away. The students were mesmerized — don’t let anyone ever tell you that this generation can’t sit still. They can, but perhaps they have higher standards than we realize!

Celebrating the 60th year of Poly’s Upper School also gives us a chance to listen to the voices of the past. The remembrances about the decisions we made and the sense of community that drew that generation here are profound. To be sure, reaching across Cornell Road to expand our campus was not met with universal glee. Some feared that the culture of the school would be diminished by what older students would bring. I am sure others worried whether we would be able to protect the uniqueness of our Lower and Middle Schools with an older sibling taking up space and resources. Poly did change, and the culture flexed and emerged just as vibrant as it had been before. Of course, some things were lost, and we would be remiss if we didn’t acknowledge that nostalgia brings vital nuance to how our past is portrayed and remembered. We — and I include myself here — have stumbled when our efforts to imagine the future for our current students have made it seem that we have no time for the wisdom and the totems of those who proceeded us.

My great-grandparents settled in the Midwest after arriving from Northern Europe. My father’s grandfather had emigrated from Germany or Denmark (depending on where the boundary was at the time), and my mother’s relatives came from Sweden in the late 1800s, along with many of their countrymen. My grandfather, orphaned at a young age, said very little about his father or grandfather. Like many Midwesterners of that generation, hardship was a fact of life — no need to burden others with it. When he did speak, it was about the hardware company that kept him employed during the depression. This act of grace allowed him to raise his four sons without the fear of being cast aside. His gratefulness for this generous act of loyalty has always stuck with me. Later, as the years unfolded, his gaze would move to my father, who made him proud. I am sure he didn’t willingly approve of all of the decisions my father made, but the man my father would become was enough. The lessons of hard work, loyalty, and honor flowed from generation to generation.

As Mr. Allard finished his tale, there was a wonderful moment when the world seemed to stop while his words nestled into our imagination. After a brief pause, all of us returned from the Texas town that we had just visited with him. We learned something about him and a time in our history that will stay with us forever.

JWB