The Journey Toward Growing Up

As we emerge from winter I am vulnerable. I am a teenager, sitting by the phone, waiting for a text message that says “Hey, it’s Spring. Wanna hang out?” I look at the students and think to myself “Over the last few months you’ve grown up, a little taller, a little more capable. Who are you today? Who will you be next?” Growth never ceases to amaze and inspire awe.  

At some point in your life you may be asked,  “What do you want to be when you grow up?” This may come from a fuchsia-lipstick-wearing-smoochie-kissing aunt trying to start a conversation. Somehow, eventually, we all realize we will both "grow up" and never actually arrive. How do you know when you’ve grown up? What is essential to arrive at this destination? Generally we view it as a set of skills, dispositions, behaviors, physical and mental developments that allow you to cross the threshold from childhood to adulthood. Every day at Dana Hall we are trying to scaffold, encourage, and build the necessary skills to do what you want to do when you grow up. More importantly, to be grown up. 

When I was a teenager, I loved commercials as much as the television shows (a very old fashioned sentence). I wanted to go into advertising, be a caterer, own a gift shop in a seasonal town, or be a standup comedian. I ended up being a career administrator in schools — a group of adults I never did particularly like when I was a student. I got noticed regularly. I was told to sit still, not talk to my friends during assembly or class, and to turn in my homework, which was inevitably late. Administrators seemed to be poorly dressed, slightly to severely nerdy, and always a little bit foreboding in demeanor; waiting to give you detention or have a conversation with you to reflect on your choices. I confess, most of my colleagues loved school and therefore stayed in them professionally. I was the opposite. I didn’t love school. I found the sheer lack of delayed purpose or outcome so baffling that I was compelled to make improvements, to see what school could be. 

The one aspect of school that I thrived in and did love was community. I loved ungraded activities, where real life interaction and consequences were the primary outcome and result.  I valued the type of assessments that would stay with me my entire life. The assessments were  “Is this worth my time? Is this valuable? Am I contributing to something bigger than myself?” What we want to do with our lives is something that many of us never resolve. There are countless books and advice. “Follow your passion.” “Follow your ability and success will follow.” “Make money.” “Marry well.” I learn from my community everyday and in giving to our community, in turn, has brought me my own advice:  Be intentional and spontaneous when building community. 

Community building happens in the hallways, at lunch, walking from building to building. This year, I noticed an 8th grader reading a book I had read. I was impressed with her and others overheard our conversation. Within 10 minutes we had determined that we should have a book club. I had low expectations. People are always making promises they can’t keep, just to be polite or social. But never underestimate the power of 8th grade girls when they get choice and nothing attached to a task but their own fulfillment. This was what I always wanted school to be when I was their age. We read all kinds of books, five in total by June. We made a proclamation to keep it going in the Upper School and stay together like a friendship bracelet you refuse to cut despite its age. I don’t know if they will still want to maintain this activity as they grow-up, move on, and change when they arrive in the Upper School, but the sentiment and intention is so beyond endearing. I am both prepared for it to end and secretly hoping it never does.

Each day we set out to prepare our students for the rest of their lives. We demonstrate values and mindsets, through intentional skill building and community practices, programs, classes, arts and athletics.

Today, all of a sudden, the students I began my time at Dana Hall with, once ninth graders, are now about to move onto the next chapter and become more of themselves. Right when I think I have them figured out,  when I think I begin to know them, they change again, setting their sights on what they want to do and who they want to be next. I have an overwhelming feeling of tenderness towards them. They will face the obvious challenges of college life at this particular time in history. They will also face becoming adults: taxes, down payments, maintenance, doctors appointments, relationships swiped right and left, jobs gained and lost, heartbreaks, breakups, reunions, hobbies, deaths and births. How will they choose car insurance and what to have for dinner? They will have the full human experience. They cannot remain in our Dana Hall cocoon of thoughtful community, intentionality, and care. They will have to face deadlines and long lines, disappointments, lasting consequences, challenging decisions, wait times, and networking. They will sit in traffic and do dishes and maybe have kids of their own and wonder how they got to where they are.

I want our students to learn boundaries, leadership, gain skills, tools and knowledge. I also want them to stay just as they are. That’s the strange thing about what you will one day do or become as an adult. I have rarely if ever asked students “Where are you going to college?” They will tell me when they want me to know. I ask, “Who are you right now? What do you want to do today? What would you like to make happen?” and we just go from there. One day all the days will add up and there will be more behind you than in front of you and there is a deep satisfaction in that. A sense of earned grownupness, of experience translated into meaningful adulthood. I have all the confidence that because of this community, the planned and unforeseen, we have given our students all that they need to be themselves while they are here and beyond. 

Photo: Ms. Nagler and a meeting of the 8th grade book club