Principally Yours

Good Morning Students and Staff,

On November 11th, citizens across this nation will stop what they are doing and take a moment to pause and remember. We too, would like to take an opportunity to gather together and engage in an act of remembrance, but as November 11th falls on Sunday, we have decided to gather this morning to stop, be silent and remember.

Of course, it is our great fortune as a nation that you, as children who are so far removed from our nation’s large-scale involvement in war in the twentieth century, have no true memories of fallen soldiers. If I had been a principal in the 1920s or the 1950s and were to ask how many of you remember someone who had fallen in battle, practically every child would raise their hand.

Thus, for you, it is especially important that you listen to the words of those who have lived close to the reality of war and who can guide us in the act of remembrance. Today is a day for you to reflect on both the sacrifice made by men and women who have taken great risks, and to reflect on Canada’s role in the world. You must learn of war and of those who have acted on behalf of our nation in the act of war if you are to empathize with those who have suffered loss on your behalf and if you are to consider, as participating citizens, what role Canada will take in the future.

We often talk in this school of risk takers. Soldiers are often called upon to risk everything. They leave their families and put themselves in harm’s way on a daily basis.

We are privileged this morning to be joined by one such soldier, Lieutenant Carrie Pluck. Lieutenant Pluck heralds from Windsor where her first brush with the military was through, of all things, music, as she played in the military band. She has had a career in assisting the military in technological support, and spent time in 2002 in the Golan Heights on a United Nations peace-keeping mission there.

Lieutenant Pluck will speak to you about that risk taking aspect of the soldier’s life, and the courage that must accompany it.

Please join me in welcoming Lieutenant Pluck to The York School.

Delivered by David Hamilton, Principal of the Upper School
June 14th, 2012

Now, before we launch into our achievements, I should let you know that I have been given an assignment.  Yes, many weeks ago, when I was young and the buds still hung on their branches, Mr. Jones came to me with an assignment.

As we two lounged on a lime green couch, surrounded by the silence of white-washed walls, he turned to me and said – for he often spoke first:

“David, I have an assignment for you to do”

And of course I asked:

“When is it due”

“At the closing”, he replied.

And then, as though the dams had burst, a hundred questions flowed down from the top of my cranium making their way into the frontal lobes, where I was able to throw out the anxious questions such as: would there be late marks? would I receive a rubric ahead of time? and what criteria would I be assessed on? – and I then focused on the most important question – what exactly is my assignment?

And he smiled, as Mr. Jones is want to smile, that Cheshire smile that tells me he enjoys the very thought he holds there in suspension betwixt his ears.

“I want you to provide a history of the previous year”

What!, I gasped, a complete history of the world.  The lives of 7 billion inhabitants of the earth and 195 countries coursed through my mind – sadly, too quickly for me to write down any details.

“Yes, tell us about what happened in the Upper School” he added.

Whew!  Now that was a homework assignment I could relate to.  It put me, the principal, at the centre of my learning.

I sprang from the couch and rushed to find my sources and compile my bibliography.

But wait.   I was missing one thing.  What was my guiding question to be?

I brainstormed.  The activity in my brain was electrifying.  How about:

“To what extent was the Upper School an absolute monarchy?  Discuss.”

Or:

“Analyse the causes of the grad prank and hypothesize as to why the prank did not lead to a school-wide revolt.”

These questions were far too high in the taxonomy of thinking for me to handle, so I settled on a much simpler question:  “What exactly did we do this year?”

Like any good York School student I did my research, I used authoritative sources, I used a Google doc, I organized my notes, and I came up with the following findings:

I found that:

We raced Pinewood derby cars, engineered robots, fashioned lanterns for charity, constructed sandwiches, and danced at a Masquerade Ball.

We slept in winter tents, hunted gargoyles, mushed dogs, busted myths, swung from high ropes, and pretended to be John A. MacDonald, Stephen Lewis, Bono, Romeo and Juliet, Benedict and Beatrice, the countries of Europe and the President of Swaziland.

We raced around this amazing city, descended into Brick Works, climbed mountains in British Columbia, saw the sun rise in Newfoundland, painted sunsets in Killarney, made friends in Quebec, debated in Australia, watched lions devour their prey in Tanzania, played Kabaddi in India, made music in England and France, and took the trip of a lifetime.

We dropped eggs, dissected frogs, embalmed chickens, captured flags, investigated crime scenes, battled artists, acted in the park, and designed and built chairs that were environmentally friendly and physically stable.

We busked on the street, painted graffiti on walls, wrote for the Stand, wielded a Viking burial sword and proved that we are more talented than some other nearby independent schools.

We put on TEDx for IB, put out PSAs, formed a GSA, watched YorkTV, followed DP and MYP, prepared for SATs, and even made an appearance on the CBC.

We raced for dignity, ran for Terry, gathered dresses for proms, collected food for the hungry, wrestled one another for United Way, washed cars for India, made art for aids, ran obstacles for Ooch, and baked lots and lots of yummy treats.

We got to know Donald MacDonald, Carolyn Bennett, Monsieur Lacharite, Craig and Mark Kielberger, the men of Colgate, the Good Person of Schezchuan, a bad person in Macbeth, and an interesting person in Picasso.

We won big at Kiwanis, in Mandarin, debating, public speaking, volleyball, soccer, staff-student basketball games, and ultimately, Ultimate.

So, that constitutes my findings.  Now you ask, “But Mr. Hamilton, you have to have a thesis; you have to do some analysis and come up with a conclusion.  How else will you get marks for Thinking and Inquiry”

Okay, then… here is my analysis:

Some say “You are what you eat”.  I think that is ridiculous, none of you look anything like our cafeteria food.  But I think I can say “You are what you do.”  Because what you are to the world, is what you do in the world.  Above all, the world will remember your actions.
So if you are what you do, and you did all of that, I can conclude that you must be pretty amazing.  In fact, I think I have proved that you are:

caring, principled, balanced, open-minded, knowledgeable, and reflective

You must be inquirers, thinkers, Risk takers, and communicators.

And as you have all of those attributes, you are among the best IB students in the world.

And even if my assignment doesn’t get me an IB 7, I know that all of you deserve an IB 7.

I want to congratulate you and thank you for an incredible year.  I am proud of all of your accomplishments.

And where there are accomplishments, there must be awards.

…So let the awards begin

To blog or not to blog. That was the question raised soon after our new Technology Teaching and Learning Specialist, Justin Medved, arrived on our school’s doorstep this August. A blogger – go see his blog – and general web enthusiast, Justin had just come from the International School of Bangkok, where he had successfully turned that school on fire with all things technological. Moreover, he had convinced two of the key administrators there to begin to blog. I was to be his next subject. As it would turn out, Justin found in me a receptive audience. Having just returned from a leadership conference given by Independent School Management (ISM) in Philadelphia, I had been persuaded that ‘reflection’ needed to become an essential part of my job. That being said, by the time Justin and I sat down in September, I was already slipping into a familiar pattern of endless meetings and emails, putting out fires, and biking home as fast as I could so that I could get a start on the tasks that didn’t get completed during the daylight hours. Where was the reflection?

As a school principal overseeing the delivery of two of the International Baccalaureate (IB) programmes (MYP and Diploma), I am constantly reminded that reflection is a key educational value. The IB has developed a list of ten key attributes that make up the ‘Learner Profile’ – number ten is “reflective”. Reflection turns up in so many of the things that our students do, from research in the humanities and the design cycle in technology to assessment criteria in math, science and the arts, from the personal project to reflections on Creativity, Action and Service (CAS), an obligatory requirement for all students. And then there is the mandatory Diploma course that I am privileged to teach, Theory of Knowledge (TOK), in which students continually have to reflect on everything they do as students. Beyond the requirements of the IB, I am daily faced with our school’s motto “Experientia Docet” or “Experience Teaches”. And as anyone knows, experience doesn’t teach much of anything without reflection.

Which brings me back to the blog. A blog appears, at first blush, to be a preposterous undertaking. Who, in their right mind, and in all humility, could believe that their thoughts are worthy fodder for the consumption of the entire world? Only an ego of colossal proportions, or someone much more famous, clever, or humourous than I, could consider such a thing. And yet, I thought, isn’t that the sort of response I receive from some of my students when I ask them to share their thoughts with their class, or write out their reflections? “Why me,” they seem to say, “my reflections aren’t good enough to share”. And then I had my first inkling as to what reflection was and why it might be important. And I began to reflect.

And I continued to reflect. And reflections turned to readings, and readings turned to further reflections, and I suddenly became aware that the blog had done its trick. I was reflecting for I had to blog. I blog; therefore I reflect. I reflect; therefore I am.

So what is reflection, why is it so hard for so many of us to do, and why do we insist upon it as an educational value?

Much has been written on the role of reflection in education. I happened upon the “encyclopedia of informal education”, a web project, in which author Mark K. Smith has conveniently summarized the major literature regarding reflection in education from John Dewey to the present. Suffice it to say, I have a great deal of reading to do before I can pretend to be anything of an authority on this subject. But in the interim, I am able to point to a number of themes that are important to a consideration of reflection’s role in education. In the first place, reflection is not a pleasant dreamy state that we would set to romantic music with a sunset as our backdrop. As Dewey writes, reflective thought is an “active, persistent, and careful consideration of any belief or supposed form of knowledge in the light of the grounds that support it and the further conclusions to which it tends.” (Dewey 1933: 118) It is a rational, deliberate and purposeful activity that involves critical analysis and synthesis. It is hard work. More recent thinkers have tended to emphasize the role of reflection in responding to experience and make more of the emotions that lie at the core of experience. As Donald SchÖn has written, “The practitioner allows himself to experience surprise, puzzlement, or confusion in a situation which he finds uncertain or unique. He reflects on the phenomenon before him, and on the prior understandings which have been implicit in his behaviour.” (SchÖn 1983: 68) In fact, it is often the emotion – whether it takes the form of doubt, puzzlement, or distress – that drives people to engage in reflection.

It is precisely the emotional basis for reflection – not to mention the hard work – that makes reflection so tricky in the field of education. Asking a room full of 14 year olds to reflect on their experience tends to summon up the same response as some of my worst puns. That is why ‘experiential learning’ is becoming so important to the education of young adolescents. Unless you engage such students in authentic tasks leading to emotional responses, you can’t expect real reflection to take place. That’s one of the reasons why at our school we introduced an integrated experiential education programme in grade 9. As a result, we have seen many of our Grade 9 students successfully reflect, for in putting pen to paper they draw together heart and mind.

As our students move into the Diploma programme at grade 11, we witness the transformation that seemed impossible at grade 9 - students want to reflect, as Dewey suggested, on their beliefs and the basis of their knowledge. Suddenly, students are excited to find answers to such questions as “why do I have these beliefs?”, and “how do I know?” Emotional responses are no longer limited to what has been experienced directly, but extends beyond their world of friends and family, TV personalities and popular music icons, to the adult concerns of media manipulation, political machinations, and environmental degradation. The world is suddenly their oyster, and their reflections become vital and profound.

But lest we forget, reflection is hard work. Whether we are sorting out our emotions and discerning personal values and attitudes, or discovering the shaky underpinnings of contemporary truths, reflection takes work, and, I would suggest, it takes practice. As I prepared to write this blog, I was amazed at how difficult it is to keep focused on a single abstract topic for stretches of time over several days. At the same time, the longer I kept at it, the clearer my thinking became. And the more organized my thoughts became, the stronger was my vision.

As a leader of a school whose mission is as lofty as one could possibly imagine – “to develop inquiring, knowledgeable, and caring young people who are engaged citizens of the world” – I have to summon up a vision that is capable of making that mission come to life: for me, for my teachers, for my students, and for their parents, all of whom look to me to breathe life into those precious 15 words. I can’t do that on a diet of meetings and emails. I need to reflect. For in reflection, the barely audible stirrings of the heart come to the surface and infuse the mind with a sense of purpose, of order, and, yes, a clearer vision. And that is when I finally came to have a fuller understanding of why we need to have our students reflect.

If I need purpose, order and vision to run a school, how desperately do our youth need these three? In a time when their brains are changing as dramatically as they did in the first two months of their life, when eight subjects fly by in two days, and friends are made and lost in a hallway gathering or flurry of typed messages, when the world seems doomed by global warming, the crash of Wall Street, and rogue dictators in countries that no longer seem so far away, a little bit of purpose, order and vision could go a long way. Reflection may be hard work, but giving students the opportunity to practice this vital thinking skill on an ongoing basis can only benefit them now and in the future.

For in the practice of reflection lies our hope for tomorrow. Reflection will give our children the ability to rise above fashions and fads, to resist evil masquerading as comfort, and find lasting meaning in their lives. Reflection will enable our children to have clear visions of what is good and what is right, regardless of the confusion of media sources that clutter their world.

And that, I suggest, is worth more than a moment’s reflection!

Dewey, J. (1933) How We Think, New York: D.C. Heath.

SchÖn, D. (1983) The Reflective Practitioner. How professionals think in action, London: Temple Smith.

Updated with photos of two landscapes created by our Lower School art teacher, Bart Snow.