St. Michael's Country Day School

The way something turns out is an outcome. I have been thinking a lot about outcomes recently, as I have been busy in past weeks writing secondary school recommendations for our soon-to-be graduates of the class of 2010. All of them will be in high school next year. What will they think of the “outcome” of their St. Michael’s Country Day School education? While I believe that what the school sees as the outcome of their time here and how the student sees a different conclusion, at the core they are similar.

So what do the typical St. Michael’s eighth-graders see as the outcome of their experience here? Do they know how very well prepared they are? The school knows. Do they know they will be able to handle the volume of work? History tells us they will be more than capable of dealing with any freshman curriculum. Do they possess the requisite study and time-management skills that will enable them to cope with the greater independence of high school? Once again, our graduates return and report quite favorably in this regard. Will they continue to exhibit the ability to wrestle with abstractions and be articulate in both written and verbal form? Our answer is they were taught to do this at St. Michael’s so we know they will be able to continue this evolution at the next level. The larger, more unknown query is this: are they equipped with the necessary ethical toolbox to face the challenges of high school? Have we prepared them adequately for this outcome? As part of the secondary school application process, I write a letter for each student. For the most part the academic profile is easy to quantify. There is the transcript for grades, the standardized test scores that reveal whether or not they are able test takers; but the bulk of my comments in this letter deal with character. The checklist on most recommendation forms has words such as integrity, honesty, perseverance, concern for others, willingness to take risks, and responsibility. What is the outcome, for our graduates, when it comes to the less quantifiable affective qualities? Based on the recent batch of letters I have just written, I would say these kids are in fine shape to confront the moral landscape that is about to unfold in front of them. I say this with great confidence again, because of history. Time and again we hear about our graduates “doing the right thing.”

One of the most important outcomes of a St. Michael’s education is teaching our children to confront moral ambiguity, to use their thinking skills and ethics toolbox to sort through complex social situations. While our soon-to-be graduates may not have a complete handle of what the future brings, they have been equipped with all the proper “outcomes.”

—Whitney C. Slade

I recently had a conversation with a colleague in the faculty room (a great place, by the way, for conversations of all sorts—some deep, some trivial, but all with purpose). We were reflecting back on our own educations, but those reflections took sharply divergent paths. One of us commented on not being afforded the same opportunities that our students at St. Michael’s are privileged to receive. The other looked back and lamented that the opportunities were there for the taking—but regrettably not taken. Both of these reflections deserve our attention as we contemplate the increasing expense of an independent school education.

On opportunities not afforded: The education landscape, both public and private, has been profoundly affected by last year’s economic downturn and the slow recovery. Tax rolls and shifting demographics have caused public schools to reallocate resources, and in some cases to make cuts to the core curriculum. Independent schools across the country have steadfastly refused to follow suit and have compensated by freezing salaries and slowing down—or abandoning—plans for expansion, while simultaneously trying to slow down rising tuitions and remain committed to funding financial aid that fosters and supports a diverse student body. At St. Michael’s we continue to maintain our commitment to the arts, to foreign languages, technology, athletics, a low teacher-student ratio, strong faculty, individualized attention; and to financial aid. We believe that these are essential hallmarks of a top-notch elementary education, and will remain committed to keeping them on the check list of what parents and students can and should expect.

On opportunities not taken: It is our job as educators and as parents ensure that our students take advantage of the opportunities that surround them each and every day. These children are being given the opportunity to learn to play an instrument, to develop athletic skills; to perform on stage, to engage both physically and intellectually in the creative process, to learn to be advocates for their own learning—the list can go on. One thing we do not want to happen is to have them look back on their St. Michael’s experience with regret that they did not stretch themselves academically, creatively and physically. It is our job as teachers and caregivers to make sure that this backward-glance epiphany does not happen.

We cannot afford to do otherwise. With the tremendous opportunities that an independent school education offers, the road not taken should not be an issue. With the vigilance of teachers and parents our students, when confronted with new ideas will always be encouraged to stretch, challenge, embrace, and to continue broadening their horizons.

—Whitney C. Slade

How do we make learning tangible and practical? That is a question teachers often ask themselves. Why do we have to learn algebra when we are never going to have to use it? Is a question frequently posed by the emerging adolescent. In the last two weeks, I have witnessed compelling proof—maybe not the definitive answer, but certainly strong evidence—that the education received at St. Michael’s can bring us to something quite tangible.

At two recent Middle School meetings two adults stood up and shared with our students something about which they are passionate. Jacquelyn Stoeckle (shown here), a member of the SMS class of 1998, talked about her efforts to teach young Tanzanian children. She spoke of how the simple act of sharpening a pencil, instead of having to mix together clay and water to create a writing medium, can achieve excitement of dramatic proportions. Our students sat riveted by Jacquelyn’s presentation. Questions attached to levitated hands flashed around the room. One student asked near the end, “Do the students there want to learn?” Jacquelyn’s response was an overwhelmingly emphatic yes. These children are as thirsty for education as can be.

Two weeks later another adult in our student’s life, Claire Stieff, spoke to the all-school assembly about her experience last summer as an apprentice to a rug maker. Claire showed slides of the creative process, and the actual rug, a result of her creativity. Audible ohs and ahs sprouted from the audience. The students were very interested in their teacher who had gone off and immersed herself in a creative endeavor. I could hear the Middle School brains sputtering, asking themselves, But Mrs. Stieff teaches fifth grade—what is she doing making a rug—and a beautiful one at that? Claire’s creative endeavor was out of context for her current and former students.

What did our students learn from a St. Michael’s alumna and their fifth-grade teacher? They learned a host of lessons that are not obvious at first blush. The common denominator between these two people is passion: passion for learning and for giving back. What is the charitable nature and the creative psyche if nothing but a desire to improve our world? Jacquelyn, by devoting a year of her young life helping others, is making a difference. Claire, by doing something she had always wanted to do, shared her creativity, which prompts our students to realize their own artistic abilities. These are tangible examples of learning; just as practical as the conjugation of a French verb or the mastery of Bernoulli’s principle—maybe even more so—at least to our middle school students.

—Whitney C. Slade

In this case, “lost art” has two meanings. This week I was invited by our august theatre faculty (Christy Johnston and Ellyn Eaves-Hileman) to join them in performing the witches’ scene from Macbeth for the eighth-graders currently reading the Bard’s great masterpiece. As a theatre major in college, I knew the drill, but it had been a long time since I had dusted off the old acting shoes. The anticipation conjured memories of big butterflies in the pit of my stomach before going on stage, and the intensity of immersing oneself in a role, albeit a small one. So besides reviving my lost art, I was taking a risk. What will the students think of their sometimes coach and advisor and full-time leader of their school as a grizzled witch? I stopped short of being terrified, but the risk was there for all to see.

The second lost art is risk-taking itself. I speak here as an educator and as a parent. We have programmed our children to believe failure is not an option and that dire consequences always accompany a failed effort. Thus, risk-taking has become a lost art. I see this in our school and I see it in the way my children have been raised. It is not that parents have failed, but more that they have capitulated to the forces of nature and society that have us believing there is no room to fail. The mantra is, take the safe road. There is no doubt the stakes are often perceived to be higher today than in past generations, but is that really true? Real or imagined, our children have been bombarded from an early age with the notion that getting into one of the US News and World Report’s top 50 colleges is the goal and anything less than that is a failure. As a school that teaches young children in the first ten years of their academic career, it is incumbent on us to teach our students how to accept and adapt to failure. We are doing them a huge disservice if the first time they encounter failure is sometime in their mid-twenties.

I was a theater major, but I did not end up making a living through that craft. Was I a failure? Yes and no. After college I did make an attempt to audition for several theatre companies (alas, no takers). While difficult to accept, I marshaled on and ultimately ended up doing something for which I have a passion of equal intensity—the education of children. So I write to you today, having survived my witchy scene in front of the ultimate critics—scrupulously picky eighth-grade students—to implore you to support your child’s desire to take risks. If he or she fails, he or she will be better for it. At St. Michael’s we need to teach coping with failure by providing healthy risk-taking opportunities for all our kids.

“Double, double toil and trouble; fire burn and cauldron bubble.”

--Whitney C. Slade