Make Way For Ducklings

 

When our kids were young, we made a pilgrimage to Boston’s Public Garden to see the bronze Make Way for Ducklings statues. If you haven’t read the book, do. As a child, I was spellbound by the tale of a mother and her ducklings navigating the streets of Boston, the park, the swan boats on the lagoon. The names of the ducklings—Jack, Kack, Lack, Mack, Nack, Ouack, Pack, and Quack—repeated throughout the story still bring a smile to my face. 

Children’s books are often symbolic, and, unbeknownst to me as a young reader, Make Way for Ducklings was no different. Through a simple story of a family of ducks looking for just the right spot to rest, we learn about the power of persistence, parents’ formidable protective instincts, and the importance of being open-minded. These are not particularly complicated lessons, but we often lose sight of the elegance of simple truths because of trivial distractions stealing our attention. While we can wax poetic about educational fads and speak for days about the myriad strategies of raising our young, we must not lose sight of what shapes our world view and the things that truly matter to us.

A few weeks ago, at a lunch I hosted in Durham, North Carolina, I met a former faculty member who was the original architect of our innovative math curriculum. When one of his former students walked in, the look on her face communicated exactly what I mean by what matters. The world fell away, and the poignant connection between a student and a teacher materialized before us. Her eyes sparked with the confidence and the belief of infinite possibility that he had nourished in her years ago. Over lunch, they told stories of classmates and colleagues, but that moment of recognition reminded all of us of how students flourish and why teachers teach—lessons of persistence, protective instincts, and a willingness to have one’s mind changed.

Last week when I was in Boston for a couple of alumni events, I took another excursion to find the ducklings cast in bronze. In the Public Garden, there they stood, just as I had remembered them, Mrs. Mallard and Jack, Kack, Lack, Mack, Nack, Ouack, Pack, and Quack.

JWB
 
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