Pretty in Pink: Greg Hardy vs Ken Taylor

October 19, 2015

Let me start this morning by offering the truism that there is a world of difference between substance and show. As an example of the latter, I offer you the National Football League, a league apparently so concerned about women and women’s health, (and I want to stress the word “apparently”), that they have put a pink ribbon on their iconic shield, while also supporting the cause of breast cancer awareness by having players wear an assortment of stylishly pink socks, gloves, hats and other accoutrements throughout the month of October.

I am sure the NFL does believe in this good cause, but because the League has had 6 players arrested already this year for domestic violence, and one for sexual battery, I suggest Roger Goodell’s guys consider adopting a less flamboyant approach to advocacy in the future. Perhaps they could do something more subdued — like quietly supporting research and/or funding domestic abuse shelters.

The 7 violations, by the say, don’t even include Greg Hardy, who didn’t play last year because he was initially convicted of assaulting his girlfriend. She testified that the 279-pound defensive end dragged her by the hair, hurled her on to a futon covered with weapons, and then tried to strangle her with his bare hands. Hardy conveniently reached an “out of court settlement,” and as a result, his conviction was dropped just in time for him to suit up with his new team, America’s team by golly, the Dallas Cowboys.

Jerry Jones, the Cowboys owner who went out of his way to sign Hardy as a free agent, must have been channeling his inner Mother Theresa when he claimed, “He’s alright. He’s a good boy. We’re going to get him all straightened out over here and bring him in.” Isn’t it amazing how much compassion NFL owners can muster, especially when they need a good pass rusher? Only the good Lord himself knows just how much the cup of Jones’ empathy might overflow if some day someone like Aaron Rogers were in need of forgiveness and perhaps a new team. Why, I can almost hear Jerry now, waxing eloquently about the parable of the prodigal passer…

But before I get too dark on a Monday morning, let me point out that there is reason for hope because there is substance as well as show in the world today. As a case in point, you may remember “Argo,” Ben Affleck’s 2012 award-winning film about the dramatic rescue of American hostages from Tehran, shortly after the Iranian Revolution. The hero of the story was the understated (of course!) Canadian Ambassador, Ken Taylor, who put himself and his family at great risk by hiding 6 Americans, before later helping them escape from Iran.

Ken Taylor died this week in New York at 81.

According to newspaper reports, “Mr. Taylor always insisted that he had done nothing extraordinary; he instead preferred to characterize the episode as simply a triumph of Canadian diplomacy.”

Two lines from his obituary caught my attention: “When revolutionaries stormed the embassy on November 4, 1979, taking more than 60 hostages, nothing in Mr. Taylor’s background suggested that he was prepared for the potentially dangerous mix of espionage and intrigue that would follow. For much of his career he had acted as a trade commissioner, spending time at the Canadian consulate in Detroit.”

Taylor’s unassuming life reads like something out of a Graham Greene novel. But his passing presents an opportunity for us to ask, “Was he simply a government bureaucrat, or was Ken Taylor a quiet hero all along, just waiting for his moment?”

It’s easy enough to fall prey to youthful notions of the heroic. Whether it’s Clint Eastwood or Kobe Bryant, we can mistake celebrity for character. But a quick glance at Mr. Taylor’s photograph reveals an apparently oh-so-ordinary guy.Ken Taylor appears to be a 1980’s everyman, someone who would have been inconspicuous at Young and Bloor; nobody would have contacted TMZ about him, and odds are, he would not have been invited to hang out with the lovely Kardashians.

That is actually good news because it suggests that we all have within us that same noble possibility, however remote, however unrecognized. While Mr. Taylor may not have had a 40-inch vertical leap, what he did possess was something that can lift all of us: a simple and profound and wonderfully old-fashioned sense of duty.

Ken Taylor never wore pink bling, and he never thought of himself as anything special, but he was hailed as a hero in both Canada and the United States, where he was awarded both the Congressional Gold Medal and the Order of Canada.

On a day like today, when a long and sometimes bitter political campaign finally comes to an end, it might be tempting for some of us to be a bit cynical; we might smirk at quaint notions like “peace, order, and good government.” But Ken Taylor’s courage, his grace under pressure, his willingness to risk himself for imperfect strangers, bares witness to a timeless value, to a higher good. It is a good we can all aspire to, too, even if there is nothing in our background that would suggest we were prepared for “a potentially dangerous mix of espionage and intrigue.”


Lessons from New Orleans

September 11, 2015

Last month marked the 10th anniversary of “Katrina,” a hurricane that wreaked death and devastation on the citizens of New Orleans. But the Crescent City has always been a tough, edgy, “hit first and ask questions later” kind of town. NOLA has never been confused with Forrest Hill.

A century ago, a young boy, a boy with no parents, a boy who was being raised by his grandmother, went out to celebrate New Year’s Eve. Because New Orleans was even then a dangerous city, he took his grandmother’s boyfriend’s gun, so that he could join his friends, who were also going to fire their pistols in celebration of New Year 1913.

He and his friends were walking towards the centre of town, when a stranger fired a blank in the direction of the young boy. The youngster did not hit his personal pause button. He impulsively returned fire, and after his subsequent arrest and trial, he was sent to an institution for what was then called “wayward boys.”

Unlike most of the other reform schools of its time, this group home was founded by an African American man named Joseph Jones, who tried, as best he could, to give his “non traditional students” a well rounded education. Like our own Dr. Kinnear, Jones promoted taking a “whole boy” approach to learning. Part of this involved twice-weekly band activities.

A teacher named Peter Davis ran the band, and despite his best efforts, he didn’t click with the newest member of the band class. The new student didn’t seem all that interested in trying to play any of the instruments, and he seemed lethargic in class. But Peter Davis kept trying.

Then one day, the new boy picked up the tambourine, then the drum, and then the horn. Something clicked as he began to play. It didn’t take long for him to discover – and for everyone else to recognize – that he had an unusual aptitude for the alto horn. And he began to throw himself into playing as he had never done before.

Years later, the no longer young man went from entertaining people on the streets, then to dance halls, then to recording studios. The rest, as they say, is history.

The story of young Louis Armstrong sticks with me for 3 reasons:

First, there is a sort of serendipity to life, a serendipity we often fail to recognize. It’s important not just to be lucky, but to recognize our good fortune. If Louis hadn’t brought the gun, if he hadn’t been right there when that stranger fired the blank, if he hadn’t been arrested and then sent into exactly the right place, where he would bump into exactly the right teacher, the world would be a poorer place.

My questions for you on this are: Can we recognize our own good luck? Are we doing anything with that luck? And have we ever expressed gratitude for our good fortune?

Second, everybody needs a Peter Davis. Without him, Louis could have been just another fatherless boy, just another statistic. It would have been easy for Peter Davis to write off young Louis. Who needs one more knucklehead kid? Why wait on a boy who won’t meet me half way? And why should I care about a kid whose own parents have given up on him?

It would be sensational, by the way, if every student had 6 teachers with whom he forged a Davis-like connection, but my experience tells me that what you really need is at least one. We all need one other adult whom we can turn to in that dark moment of the soul because we all hit the wall from time to time, and as Michael Thompson points out, every boy needs a third parent once in a while.

Third, we all need to find an alto horn. Not literally, of course. But Louis found his aptitude. Our challenge is to find ours. A strength of UCC is that you are exposed to so many different options; you can test drive math, science, film, rugby, service, and cricket – to name just a few.

We talk about “igniting” in our mission statement, and that’s really what I’m talking about. Many of you already throw yourselves into arts or sports or technology. It almost doesn’t matter what the activity is. What’s important is that it is YOUR interest, not your mother’s, your father’s, or your advisor’s, and that you care so much about it that you are able to stay with it, to practice endlessly, so that you feel you can achieve some degree of mastery. Because it is that sense of accomplishment, that belief that you can solve a problem or do something really well, that can help give you the confidence to tackle other, bigger challenges in the future.

Let me end with a question I sometimes struggle with myself: I think it is great that you have so much on your plate. It is wonderful that you have so many academic, artistic, athletic, and service options. It is also terrific that at UCC we tend to attack all of these with great energy, and that our expectations are very high. We don’t just play rugby, we expect to get to OFSAA’s. We don’t just fiddle with the Jazz Band, we want the audience’s ears to feel like they are in the French Quarter.

The downside to these universally high expectations, of course, is that we can sometimes feel inadequate if we aren’t good at everything. And I want to challenge that sense of inadequacy. Very few adults are good at all things. (You should see me dance or do taxes or dance while I’m doing taxes!) And I sometimes ask myself, “Would the world have been a better place if Beethoven had been a better math student? (Mr. Tong might argue the other side of this.) But I will leave that question unanswered, at least for the time being. I just hope, though, that you aren’t always measuring yourself against some impossible standard.

So my 3 “takeaways” from this morning are these:

1, You and I are lucky. Let’s recognize our good fortune and do something with it.

  1. Find your Peter Davis. He or she may be in Laidlaw Hall right now. Don’t wait for him or her to find you. Start shaking that tambourine!
  2. Search for your own version of Louis’ alto horn. You may be fiddling with flute or banging the drums right now. That’s ok. Keep exploring and practicing until you get to your horn.

And the next time you hear Louis’ classic, “What a Wonderful World,” I hope you’ll remember the story of a parentless boy on New Year’s Eve. Remember Peter Davis’ persistence. Remember that we can never give up on one another. If you can keep all of this in mind, you’ll hear in that song Louis’ recognizing and rejoicing in the great serendipity of life.

“Oh, yeah…”


On Humility

April 27, 2015

Last week a politician made a mistake when she talked about UCC’s Ontario Model Parliament and our use of Queens Park; the government official got her facts wrong, branded us as elitist, and as of yet, has refused to apologize for her error. (We’ve all had bad days!)

When Mr. Kawasoe discussed this with the Prep boys on Friday, he stressed some familiar themes: “Do your research. Find the facts, and be knowledgeable. When you make a mistake, apologize and make it right.”

As usual, Mr. Kawasoe was dead on, but with an older audience here this morning, I’d like to add one more variable to the mix, and I apologize if my argument sounds shallow. I want to talk about impressions and perceptions.

We know that there are people out there — good people by the way –who don’t like the notion of private schools in general, and have a dislike for schools like UCC in particular.  These folks see us as the sons of Bertie Wooster, entitled toffs, who hold our smug noses in the air, as we lap our lattes and gaze disapprovingly down on all the “littles” who approach but never quite feel comfortable enough to enter through our wrought iron gates. Even our geographic location suggests privilege: Avenue Road, the main North South thoroughfare in the biggest city in the country, literally bends to our collective will. There is, after all, no “welcome” sign outside our version of Downton Abbey!

Throw in the fact that we also happen to be a single gender school, and a boys school at that, and you can almost understand why the very thought of UCC’s blue blooded, blue blazered. “Pass me the Grey Poupon,” old boy connected culture has some folks racing for the Pepto Bismol. God bless us, everyone!

We may see UCC in a different light, and while privately we might find solace in our socio-economic diversity and our commitment to service, we have to acknowledge that those things don’t make headlines. As a student once told me, “No matter what we do, we will always be seen through the shadow of the clock-tower.”

If that student is right, and I think there is some truth in what he said, I want to offer 4 simple suggestions this morning.

Simple Suggestion One: If entitlement is our original sin, then we should do everything we can to counter any sense of collective arrogance. I suggest we start small. If you see a stranger in the foyer who looks a little lost, stop and ask him if he needs some help. If he doesn’t know where he is going, don’t just point to an office; take the time to walk him there. Little things mean a lot. Forgive me for a utilitarian bent even with this, but university representatives, for example, are often influenced, not just by the boys they interview but also by the student body they observe during their time on campus.

Simple Suggestion Two: One of my favourite quotes from one of my favourite books is the description of Tom and Daisy Buchanan from “The Great Gatsby.”

“They were careless people, Tom and Daisy- they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made.”

I confess that carelessness is a big issue for me, in part because when I was a kid, my grandfather worked in the maintenance department at Ardmore Avenue Public School.  My first introduction to the world of schools was through his eyes. I was sensitive to how the Ardmore Avenue kids treated him and “his” school.

I know that adolescence can be a sloppy stage of life, but can I ask you to do me a favour:  at least when you are at school, I’d like you to go out of your way to pick up after yourselves. For example, when lunch is ending in the Student Centre, remember to throw your trash away. It says all the wrong things if you go Tom and Daisy on us and let other people, especially those considered lower on the ladder, clean up the mess. That sort of blind carelessness reinforces all the wrong things.

Simple Suggestion Three: A few years ago, I had a conversation with a UCC boy, as he was heading off to a particularly exclusive university. The boy was somewhat introverted, and as someone with the same disposition myself, I readily admit there is nothing at all wrong with intensely enjoying your own company. But my advice to the old boy was this: If you don’t greet people a little more warmly, if you don’t extend yourself just a little bit more socially, you run the risk of being perceived as aloof. Because he’d been at UCC for years, people knew and accepted him for what he was. But when you go to a new environment, where people don’t know you and all they perceive is that you are part of an exclusive club, your reticence might be misinterpreted. If that resonates with you, you might consider pushing yourself just a bit to connect with others.

Simple Suggestion Four: Let’s admit that the most effective antidote to arrogance is a sense of humility.  You may not have experienced this yet, but eventually life teaches every one of us the centrality of this virtue. We all age, and fail, and fall apart, and lose friends and games and jobs and teeth and hair and so much more. The best people I know are those who learned humility early in life. In the process, they came to know themselves, and they avoided what Walker Percy once called, the “great suck of self.” They grasped the truth that life isn’t about my hair, my face, my transcript, my future,  my recommendations, my university applications, or even my IB score — as impressive as all of these might be! Remember, as David Brooks points out in “The Road to Character” that Alice had to be small to enter Wonderland. We’ve got to make ourselves small in order to really appreciate the grand landscape of humanity that’s all around us – that we are a small part of.

And finally, don’t forget to say thank you. As an example, last Thursday night we had our annual reunion for Old Boys in NYC, and one of those in attendance was Devin Hart. Devin was on the football and rugby teams, and he was head steward. But he was an especially good musician, and an even better guy. When I asked him what advice he’d offer today’s students, here’s what he said:

So my handy dandy “kids DO try this at home” take-aways for today are:

1.  Say hello to and perhaps even help a stranger
2. Remember Tom and Daisy and don’t go “Lord Grantham” on me
3. Extend yourself, even if you are shy.
4. The most interesting man in the world used to say “Stay thirsty, my friends”. Today he’s saying, “Stay humble, my friend.” Be your best down to earth self every day.
5. Remember to say thank you.

None of this will radically alter the fate of western civilization. The Leafs still may not make the playoffs next year. But remember Coach Wooden’s advice: ”It’s the little details that are vital. Little things make big things happen.”








The Lost Keys and Resumes and Eulogies

April 13, 2015

You may have heard the story about Joe, the guy who lost his keys in the middle of the night. After spending hours looking under a lamppost, a friend happens by who asks, “Where did you actually lose your keys?” Joe responds by saying, “I lost them a mile or so down the road, but I’m looking for them here because the light is so much better.”

Ok. I didn’t say it was a good story, but it does reveal an important truth: We seldom like to look in the dark.

I thought of that story recently after a meeting with a group of very conscientious parents. (An aside: I meet with parents, by grade level, every other Friday for an “agenda free, whatever’s on your mind, shoot from the hip, don’t quote me on this”, informal gathering. I’ve been doing this for a decade, and the sessions are usually a lot of fun. Over the last couple of years, though, the meetings have grown more serious, in part because we seem to devote more and more time to one particular topic, assessment. It comes up every single meeting. Last Friday, for instance, almost every parent question had something to do with our grading system; how we determine academic honours; why we include art, music, and physical education in our calculations; how Canadian and American university admissions offices view transcripts; and whether or not we should continue to post academic awards. Last Friday’s parents had boys in Grade 5).

I don’t want to sound critical of these folks. In fact, I can’t blame them for being anxious, (in many ways we are responsible for this state of affairs) and I applaud their interest in their sons’ academic well being. But let’s face it: academic scores are clearly an “under the lamppost” issue. Grades are completely visible; we can see how you are doing in math, French, and English. What we can’t accurately determine, though, are the more important questions, questions such as: How do you deal with adversity? Do you demonstrate courage in the clutch? And what’s most important: What kind of guy are you becoming?

The author, David Brooks, takes the light versus darkness image one step farther by suggesting that we might think of our lives in terms of “resumes” and “eulogies.” The resume virtues are what those conscientious Grade 5 parents were asking about; they are the qualities that will get you into Queens or Cornell. The eulogy virtues are, by contrast, the ones that might get you into heaven. “These are the qualities that will be talked about at your funeral – whether you were kind, brave, honest, or faithful.” These are all related to character.

How do you teach character? Boston University’s Kevin Ryan tries to shed a little light on this dark and often mysterious area by saying that we should think about character development in terms of “The 4 E’s.”

The first “E” is expectations. Adults need to make it clear what we want from you in terms of your behaviour, and this goes far beyond dress code. It has to do with how you act when nobody is looking. It assumes that you are the same guy Friday night at the Palais Royale that you are Monday morning in Laidlaw Hall.

The second “E” is exhortation; it’s a thoroughly old fashion word that might conjure up images of Teddy Roosevelt, but it means grabbing the bully pulpit in order to encourage others to aim high. When IB2 boys offer their “This I Believe” speeches, they are often doing exactly this, as they encourage and inspire all of us to do more and to be more.

The third “E” is experience. You won’t live in a desert or a monastery. You are a part of a busy, connected, adrenalin soaked and saturated world. Character isn’t emoted in isolation. It doesn’t spring from a test tube. It’s your engagement with others in these fluid experiences – it’s your thousand interactions and conversations a week – which actually forge your character.

The fourth and final “E” is by far the most daunting: It’s example. Values are caught more than they are taught. I don’t care what his IB score looks like, but the kid with the shakiest transcript can smell it when an adult is insincere. High school boys, in particular, seem to have a gift for this sort of thing; they have an antenna for almost any sort of posturing. If an adult acts one way to someone in a blue shirt downstairs in the basement and another way with someone in a white shirt in an administrative corner office, kids immediately pick up on this double standard. But this hypocrisy test cuts both ways. It’s one of the reasons why so often just a handful of boys in Grade 12 can have a profound impact on a school year. It’s because those guys have such a significant influence on the younger boys.

By the way, I spend a lot of time with Old Boys, and almost every one of them can rattle off from memory the names of a dozen guys who were a year or two ahead of them in high school half a century ago. Almost no one, though, remembers boys who were so much as a year younger; it’s as if adolescent males go through high school with their chins tilted up, always looking at those who are slightly and yet so impressively ahead of them. Nobody seems to use the rear view mirror at 16. So for those of you in Grades 11 and 12, know that the youthful eyes of Blues Nation are forever upon you, and like it or not, this actually presents a great leadership opportunity for all of you.

It is a truism that what gets measured, gets valued, and in the case of schools, especially IB schools like UCC, that means grades are extraordinarily well illuminated. By the way, I don’t want to minimize your academic accomplishments, but I have to tell you that, when I talk to old boys who struggle in university and beyond, it’s almost never because their French accent isn’t good enough, or a result of their inability to solve equations with 3 or more variables. I can’t remember the last time I heard about an alumnus whose struggles were purely academic in nature. Most of our old boys do very, very well, but when they do hit an occasional wall, it’s almost always something related to social emotional development, maturity, decision-making, or mental health.

Let me end this morning by going back to the beginning, to the story about Joe. If we really want to help you find and become your best selves, we have to figure out a way to help you move beyond the light of a lamppost and out into the darkness. Because –as Joe knew all along — that’s actually where the keys are.

A Dangerous Space

March 23, 2015

Yesterday’s paper contained an article, “In College and Hiding from Scary Ideas,” which describes how some universities now offer a “safe space” for students who are offended by outside speakers. If, for example, a student finds a speaker’s comments “troubling,” he or she can now go to a room where they might enjoy coloring books, cookies, Play-Doh, and calming music. (I’m not making this up!)

In response to the safe space movement, Adam Shapiro, a junior at Columbia, created what he called “dangerous space” because he believes, “Kindness alone won’t allow us to gain more insight into truth.” I hope you’ll indulge me this morning as I tell you about a couple of truths I learned in a “dangerous space” I once stumbled into during Grade 9.

It was my last fistfight, and it actually took place during an art class. We had a very progressive teacher who was new to the school, and she liked to flick the overhead lights on and off furiously, whenever the spirit moved her. I think this was her way of “igniting curiosity, imagination, and passion” in her students.

My erstwhile opponent was a guy known as “Wawa.” A quick aside: I have to explain that nickname. Those of you fluent in the language of Native Americans, or for the less erudite — if you are fortunate enough to be familiar with the quicki-marts that abound in Southeastern Pennsylvania, you know that “Wawa” means “wild goose,” but that’s not how young Tony Waters earned his moniker.

During the first month of school that year, we were shown “The Miracle Worker,” a wonderfully inspiring black and white film about Annie Sullivan, the woman who figures out how to communicate with and eventually teach Helen Keller, a girl who, as a result of a childhood illness, did not have the ability to hear, see, or speak.

Annie Sullivan achieves a breakthrough when she uses her fingers to spell the word “water” into Helen’s hand. As Annie pumps water from a well, Helen makes the connection; she grasps that the letters w-a-t-e-r have meaning, and because she is deaf, she can only blurt out the sound “Wawa” in recognition. At that cinematic moment, in front of 200 Grade 9 boys in a darkened assembly hall, a somewhat sullen Tony Waters instantly became “Wawa.” We meant no disrespect to Helen, Annie, or even Tony for that matter. (Ok, perhaps there was a smidgeon of disrespect for Tony.) Because Tony took an instant dislike to it, of course, the name stuck.

At the risk of sounding like a bad sociologist, it seems to me that there were a lot more nicknames a generation ago, and I’m not quite sure what their absence means. Just don’t ask me to tell you what mine was. Ok. Would you believe it was “Supreme Leader?” Well, it was worth a try…

Anyway, I don’t want to embellish or glamorize things, and I won’t tell you if I won my last fight. I will only sheepishly admit that I ended up being thrown through the art room’s window, thus gaining instant access to a less than scenic view of North Philadelphia.  But my lack of pugilistic prowess is not what I want to dwell on today. (I will leave that for Wawa!) No, what I remember much more vividly was the dry-mouth dread I experienced as I walked into the Dean of Students’ office – along with Wawa – to have a face-to-face meeting with Fr. Kearney, the Dean of Discipline, a man known as “The Shadow” at our all boys Catholic school. Talk about experiencing a dangerous space!

Fr. Kearney would not have been nominated for any sort of peer counselling award. I’m not sure he could spell Carl Rogers’ last name if you had spotted him the R-o-g-e-r, and I don’t recall his ever nodding his head in quiet affirmation or starting a sentence with, “I think I hear your saying that…” Had “Ellen” or “Dr. Phil” been around during the less enlightened 70’s, I’m betting Fr. Kearney would not have tuned in on a regular basis. He was a hardened somewhat cynical cop, one who had spent too many years on the beat. A thousand boys a day can do that to you, I guess.

As a result, I shouldn’t have been surprised to discover that a somewhat jaded Fr. Kearney was not at all interested in hearing MY side of the story. He didn’t care that Wawa had stolen my red Crayola crayon. He didn’t understand that I would have lost face in front of my grade 9 peers, had I let such a transgression pass. And he wasn’t even minutely interested in the racial overtones that lurked, I was sure, deep in the background of this conflict.

Instead, Fr. Kearney made 3 points, which still remain remarkably vivid today:

First, he made Wawa and me split the cost of the window — a double window I might add — despite my protesting that it was hardly my intention to break two panes of glass with my cranium. “I am not interested in your intentions, Power. I am interested only in your decisions.”

Second, when I apologized for fighting (and even now, I’m not sure if going air-born after a discreet and somewhat gentlemanly push actually qualifies as fisticuffs), he said, “I don’t care that you were fighting. You and Mr. Waters (Fr. Kearney had evidently missed “The Miracle Worker”) can go over to Broad Street and pound the “stuffing” (I’m not exactly sure if “stuffing” was the cleric’s word of choice on this occasion) out of one another. I am punishing you only because you fought here at school.”
And third, Fr. Kearney gave us “jug.” I’m not sure if j-u-g comes from “justice under God” or if it is from the Latin derivative “jugo-jugari – to punish,” but whatever the source, jug entailed standing silent and still in a hallway for an hour. When I modestly suggested that perhaps this time might be better used for study, Fr. Kearney cut me off in mid-sentence. “The purpose of this exercise is not academic in nature, Power. It is designed to make you never want to return to my office again.”


Like a hardened criminal, I can say that I did my time. And perhaps in a way Fr. Kearney became my Annie Sullivan. It may be something less than miraculous, but after serving my sentence, I think I got his message. I patched things up with Wawa, who raised a very good question, one that I had failed to consider: “What was I supposed to do? Ask ‘Mother may I’ for that stupid crayon?”

Group suffering can be good for the soul, even when one party is almost completely and utterly innocent and never should have had to pay for that window or served that jug in the first place. But I digresss… Who knows? Had this event occurred years later, Wawa and I could have starred in “Prison Break” together.  I might have even called him “Tony.” Well, maybe. All I know is that I never did get another jug, and I never got in another fight.

Don’t get me wrong. We all may need a “safe space” every once in a while, and I like Play-Doh as much as the next guy. But life’s lessons seem clearer to me in the dangerous spaces. That’s why, when a UCC lad tells me about an issue that strikes my middle age mind as something less than cosmic in significance, I stop and remember what I learned from spending time in a particularly dangerous space with Wawa, The Shadow, and that far too precious red Crayola crayon.

The Mask and The Man Box

February 23, 2015

“Youtube” celebrates its 10th birthday this month, and for those who fear that your life will be determined by the brand of your university, you may find some consolation in knowing that the 3 young, now fabulously wealthy founders of this billion dollar venture are graduates of Indiana University of Pennsylvania, and the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, neither of which is in the Ivy League. So there is hope for all of us, regardless of our standardized test scores!

One of my favourite Youtube talks is Tony Porter’s lecture on “the Man Box.” (I think Mr. Sturino has shown this to some of you in health class.) For those of you who haven’t seen it, it’s about the danger of having a narrow understanding of masculinity. Tony Porter tells some stories that I couldn’t repeat here in Laidlaw Hall, but if you are interested, I hope you’ll go to your Google machine and take in his TED talk.

I have spent a good chunk of my adult life in boys schools, and while I enthusiastically support single gender institutions as an option for some students, not everyone is all that keen when it comes to boys schools. Some see institutions like UCC as semi-misogynistic bastions of boys will be boys, “Please pass me the Grey Poupon” privilege. While we may not be everyone’s cup of tea, being a boys schools does give us a special opportunity, and I’d argue, a special responsibility to focus on developing a healthy understanding of what it means to be a man.

We believe there are many roads to manhood, many paths to success. We think it’s important for you to feel a sense of belonging, to be a part of an open, affirming and challenging brotherhood, and we hope that this culture of camaraderie will give you the grace to find your voice, find your passions, and ultimately find yourself.

But that’s where Terry Porter’s “man box” comes in.

The Man Box

There are all kinds of cultural obstacles we have to overcome, and what makes this task extraordinarily difficult is that we may not even see these limitations for what they are. What’s in the box are the invisible assumptions that limit our vision, our relationships, and ourselves. If we fail to recognize these myths of masculinity, we can end up paying too great a price to “man up.”

One of my favourite books about boys is Michael Thompson’s “Raising Cain”. We’ve had Dr. Thompson speak many times at UCC, and he believes that the tale of Cain and Abel is the original story of male adolescence. Both boys want to please their father. One succeeds. One fails. And because of Cain’s frustration, because of his lack of affirmation, and because of his impulsive nature, he kills his brother Abel. Thompson argues that boys who experience failure have a choice: they can either act out or “process” out.

Acting out is easy. It’s what we do naturally and impulsively. Thompson believes, though, that boys can and need to be taught how to process things. We have to learn how and when to hit the pause button. We need to learn how and when to look at things from another person’s point of view, how to consider options, and how to think through the ramifications of our decisions. And we also need to figure out how to express what’s in our heart, as well as what’s in our head.

Let me give you one quick example of someone who has learned how to “process” a setback. Last week was a tough one for some of the boys who ran for leadership positions. I happened to be in the hallway last Friday, when I bumped into a Grade 11 student the day after he learned that he would not be wearing a white jacket next year. I didn’t know the boy all that well, and I didn’t want to be intrusive, but I wanted to make sure he was alright. As our brief conversation was coming to an end, I wasn’t aware of the fact that I had made a fist with my hand, when I asked, “Are you going to be ok?” At that moment the Grade 11 boy, who seemed be the very model of resilience, saw my gesture, laughed and gave me a fist pump as he said, “Strength and Honour!”

His action completely caught me off-guard; it took me a few seconds before I began to understand what this was all about. And then it dawned on me. Last fall the psychologist Adam Cox had talked to us in Laidlaw Hall about positive notions of masculinity, and he finished his lecture by fist pumping his way around Laidlaw Hall, as he promoted the virtues “strength and honour.”

So the processing of obstacles, challenges, and frustrations can be done — it just may take some of us old guys a little longer to understand when it’s completed!

I’ll end this morning with the trailer from Jennifer Sibel Newsom’s new documentary about the cultural challenges of masculinity. There are a lot of factors that can affect mental health, and when your inner state does not match the external demands of “The Manbox,” that dissonance can create stress. It seems appropriate then that, as we begin our “Mental Health Awareness Week,” we should also be aware of some of the social pressures we all face, as we try to figure out what it means to be a man, about what it means to be a good man.





3 Angry (but good!) Letters

February 9, 2015

This month we are using some of our school meeting time to focus on a range of challenging social issues. Last Monday, for example, Alex Duffy, an individual who identifies as “gender queer,” spoke to us about broadening our understanding of gender and masculinity. Later that same day, we heard the world’s most famous fugitive, Edward Snowden warn us about the danger of government’s over-reaching use of surveillance. This morning we will look at Black History and consider some of the continuing challenges of race and racism. And later in February, we will look at what we might do to de-stigmatize mental health issues, as part of Mental Health Week.

I believe it is important for schools to provide opportunities for us to examine important issues, and we hope to do this without turning Monday morning assemblies into a scholastic version of “The Jerry Springer Show.” (I don’t want to hear your shouting, “Jimmy! Jimmy!” as black-shirted bouncers scamper to separate combatants on stage –- not that I’ve ever watched “The Jerry Springer Show” myself for so much as a moment, mind you!) We aim to give you a chance to look at and think about some of the issues that are shaping the world beyond Lonsdale Road.

But here’s where it gets tricky. While it is important for the school to present issues, it is not always our job to “take sides” or advance a particular point of view. At times this may appear cowardly on our part, and not everyone agrees with this approach. Last week, for instance, a number of Old Boys sent me very critical and very worthwhile letters. This morning I’d like to highlight issues raised in three of them.

Letter I. “I have a big problem with Snowden’s line of argument. He claims that he acted in defense of democratic freedoms, yet he flees to Communist China and lives la dolce vita in Putin’s Russia. I thought his line about having more chance to be killed by lightening than a terrorist was puerile. And I believe that that he should, like Daniel Ellsberg, have stayed and made his case in the United States, instead of fleeing to totalitarians who have no doubt reaped a windfall of intelligence from him.”

Letter 2. “Knowing that he is a fugitive from US Justice, an accused thief and traitor to his country, and now a resident in Russia, I am absolutely appalled that you as the senior leader at UCC would allow such an individual to address your students. This appears to be a complete shift in values in the school at which I was educated.”

Letter 3. “Would UCC invite someone on the run, a white-collar criminal accused of a Ponzi scheme, bilking thousands of people out of their savings? Would UCC invite Bill Cosby, a man accused of drugging and raping over 20 women? What about a person accused of killing for religious reasons and hiding in Iran? The issue comes down to who at UCC …decides what crimes are “acceptable” and which are not?

A very disappointed loyal UCC alumnus.”

I happen to agree with our old boys on a number of points. Like the writer of letter one, I hope that Snowden will return to the US and face the courts. Heroes don’t hide. I may be naïve about this – I don’t know what it’s like to experience death threats — but I would like to think the US justice system would go out of its way to avoid making him a martyr. The final chapter on Edward Snowden has not yet been written. I hope that in the end history will see him as being more like Daniel Ellsberg and less like Jane Fonda.

The author of letter two asks why we should allow a criminal to speak to our boys. That is an important question because it cuts to the heart of the civil disobedience issue. I hope that somewhere during your high school career, you will study Antigone, Thoreau, Gandhi, and especially this month, Dr. Martin Luther King in order to understand what happens when a just man or woman confronts an unjust law. King’s “Letter from a Birmingham Jail” is a primer on the importance of nonviolent resistance. It is a reminder that acts of conscience always have consequences.

The last letter writer raises what are for me the most difficult questions. Whom should we invite to speak at Laidlaw Hall? And upon what basis do we make such invitations? Last year Bill Cosby would have been a coup. This year he is a pariah. We wouldn’t invite Stalin or Hitler or Holocaust deniers. But would we invite Richard Nixon or Mao Zedong? This is where things get interesting. Would we offer speaking time to a scientist who doesn’t believe in global warming? (I tend to be a bit more libertarian about issues like this, but I also know that some of my colleagues disagree, some quite passionately — on what they would see as our promoting “bad science”.) At the same time I worry about double standards and wonder why we often hear about the “hard right” but never about the “hard left.” Is there an implicit orthodoxy to which we all adhere?

I was initially opposed to Columbia University’s inviting Iran’s then president, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, who was the leader of an oppressive regime, but in hindsight, I was wrong. When in front of a packed press conference in NYC, Ahmadinejad announced that there were no gay people in Iran, the audience erupted in laughter, and he appeared visibly shaken by the response. (I guess not many people chuckled in Tehran when he made those kinds of statements!) So there may be value in inviting people with whom you disagree, and the value can cut both ways.

I should also mention that, in this spirit of openness and balance, we do want to have someone speak to us from the other side of the Snowden argument, someone who will talk about the importance of comprehensive governmental surveillance.

We are extraordinarily lucky to live in a country where people with different viewpoints, backgrounds, and perspectives are accepted and affirmed. Just last Friday, for example, I was struck by even the linguistic diversity of our students; among those running for the 6 stewards’ positions were individuals whose first language was French, Italian, Russian, and Mandarin.

Our job, though, is to do more than just try the chopsticks, nibble on the croissants, pass the pasta, and sample the stroganoff; celebrating cultural richness goes far beyond lauding culinary delights. We should try to promote discussion and understanding and provide time and space for reflection and debate on a whole host of issues from a great variety of perspectives. That is one way for us to live up to our aspirational mission of “igniting curiosity, imaginations, and passion.”

There are other places where such an approach would be unthinkable. There are parts of the world where those who disagree are intentionally marginalized or imprisoned or killed. But if democracy means anything, it means we willingly give others– even those with whom we have profound disagreements — the freedom to think and speak for themselves. The rest, of course, the hard part, is up to you. We trust you’ll think things through and come to your own conclusions, even on some of the more difficult topics.

From a distance, we may appear guilty of institutional inconsistency in giving air-time to someone with whom we have serious disagreements. While there may be some moral ambiguity in the air, I’ll end this morning with F. Scott Fitzgerald’s observation that, “The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function.”

I believe you are first rate.

I believe you are up for the challenge.

The Fugitive

February 3, 2015

Like a lot of the folks who walked into Laidlaw Hall last night, I had mixed feelings about Edward Snowden.  (And if emails from a few angry Old Boys are any indication, “mixed” might be the most pleasant way of describing how some alumni viewed UCC’s hosting the world’s most famous fugitive!)

Snowden’s argument is simple and straightforward: while surveillance is necessary (Remember he did work for the NSA), it needs to be limited because the unchecked accumulation of “mega-data” can undermine our democratic values. “If these (surveillance) agencies aren’t accountable to the public, then to whom are they accountable?”

The larger issue Snowden presents is as old as Antigone. What does an individual do when he believes the government’s laws are unjust? Snowden reminded us that Mandela went to jail for breaking the laws of South African apartheid.

As bright and cheerful as Snowden was – despite the fact that it was 4:30 am Moscow time—I found myself wondering about the price he has paid, and the price he may still need to pay for following his conscience. As clear as his thesis was last night, Snowden’s message might be more convincing if he were willing to meet the full cost that civil disobedience demands.

Ernie’s Attitude

January 26, 2015

In honour of “International Languages Week” this morning the weatherman said, “Today’s cold blast of air is a result of El Nino, which for those of you who don’t speak Spanish means ‘The Nino’.” (Forgive me.)

Ernie Banks died this week. You may not recognize the name, but for baseball aficionados, Banks belongs on the Mount Rushmore of all time greats. The best power hitting shortstop of the 20th century, the 11-time all-star is remembered and celebrated, not so much his many athletic accomplishments – as impressive as they are — as he is for his infectious, unconquerable optimism.

One opening day, after the Cubs had just come back from beautiful spring training weather in Arizona, they were facing the Cardinal’s intimidating ace Bob Gibson on cold, gray Chicago day. When it started snowing in the 6th inning, a teammate remembers Ernie’s saying, “Isn’t this a great day. We’ll keep nice and cool, so we don’t get overheated.”

Some fortunate folks are apparently born with an optimistic inclination; sunshine is in their DNA. But for most of us, disposition is a more of a deliberate matter. We have to make a conscious decision about our mindset, and my point this morning is that attitude, mindset, approach — call it what you will — is actually something we can control. We are not a “victim of the fates”.

If you’ve studied “Hamlet,” you may remember the young prince’s telling his friends, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, “…there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.” (Act 2, Scene 2) For all his dithering, Hamlet was no dope. He was on to something there. Remember, too, that Rosa Parks didn’t sit down because she got tired. She thought about it. Her decision to change was intentional. You can take that same approach with your own attitude.

Scientists believe that one of the ways you can adjust your thinking is by consciously trying to cultivate a sense of gratitude, and they have identified an “attitude of gratitude” as one of the keys to cultivating an optimistic spirit, one of the most powerful antidotes to depression. If you can get into the habit of noting things for which you are grateful, even simple things, you can actually adjust your disposition’s “factory setting.” For example, if you are presently thinking, “Golly, I love listening to the principal talk at assemblies. I sure hope he goes long this morning!” you’ve probably got a positive, if somewhat dubious mindset!

In the course of your life, you may bump into a handful of people, who like Ernie Banks, remain optimistic despite unfortunate circumstances. (The Cubs were almost always abysmal throughout Banks’ career, yet “Mr. Cub” predicted a pennant each and every spring.) Chris Taylor, an Old Boy from the class of ’71 and former UCC colleague, is the most upbeat man I know, despite the fact that he’s had to deal with some daunting health challenges. He has taken what he has learned and is now helping others who are facing their own health crises. He is “making a difference” in a profoundly positive way. If you are lucky, you may have a friend like Chris, someone who has climbed off the emotional roller coaster of life, and despite “the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,” made the conscious decision to be positive.

This decision is not always easy; it’s requires more than just jumping on the “Up with People” bandwagon. An extreme example comes to us from Auschwitz, where next week survivors of the death camp will gather on the 70th anniversary of their liberation. These men and women have been gathering every decade since 1955, and now that they are all in their 90’s (some are over 100), they have decided that this will be their final reunion.

Victor Frankl, after Elie Wiesel, perhaps the most famous of the Auschwitz survivors, wrote “Man’s Search for Meaning,” a gripping book in which he details his experiences in the death camp. Frankl comes to the conclusion that, even under the worst possible experiences imaginable, there is still what he called ultimate freedom. “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms – to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.”

The wisdom of a Holocaust survivor might be a lot to take in on a Monday morning in late January, but you have a choice right now. You can look out the windows of Laidlaw Hall this morning and see nothing but a cold, gray, inhospitable sky. Or you might choose to see something entirely different. When friends from my hometown of Philadelphia ask about how I cope with the Canadian winter, I like to tell them that, at the risk of imitating a cheesy sitcom, “It’s Always Sunny in Toronto” – regardless of the weather.

A Conversation, a Movie, and an Obituary

January 6, 2015

This morning I’d like to talk about a conversation, a movie, and an obituary, all of which were a part of my day last Friday.

First, the conversation: I happened to bump into a UCC dad Friday morning at a coffee shop downtown, and as I nursed a Grande Pike, he talked quite openly about his son. Perhaps it was because it was an impromptu chat, or maybe it was because we were off campus, but for whatever reason, he spoke freely about his son’s experiences: the good, the bad, and the ugly of high school life. One thing seemed particularly important to him, and he ended our conversation by saying, “I’d be lying if I said my son and his friends were always perfect. They’re not. But the one thing I do know is that they are there for each other.  If they are out socially and someone is doing something stupid, someone will confront him. They really do look out for one another.”

Later that day I saw the film “Unbroken.” Some of you may have seen the movie or read Laura Hillenbrand’s best-selling novel. For those of you who haven’t, it’s the story of an extraordinary man, Louis Zamperini, an Olympic runner, (he competed in the 1936 Olympics) who becomes a soldier and eventually a prisoner of war during World War 2. As the title suggests, Louis has an incredible capacity for endurance. Whether he is floating in a dingy for a mind-numbing, spirit-sapping 47 days of sharks and storms, or being brutally beaten by an almost demonic prison guard, Louis remains a paragon of resiliency. He is the man who will not break.

After watching Angelina Jolie’s movie, you can’t help but wonder about the source of Zamperini’s remarkable inner strength.  There are some hints. Louis had, for one thing, a strong religious faith that sustained him during his time of trials. But there was something else that kept him going, too.

Early in the film, we see that Louis was no angel; as an early adolescent, he was caught drinking and stealing. (Were he a UCC student today, he might well be spending some time with Mr. Williams!) One day, though, his older brother, Pete, steps in and changes the course of Louis’ life. Pete sees something in Louis that Louis does not recognize in himself. Louis has a gift. He can run.

Pete not only affirms his younger brother’s athletic promise, but he also becomes his de facto trainer, and he is there to cheer him on, as Louis becomes a track star in high school, in university, and eventually at the Berlin Olympic Games.

Friday, I also happened to come across the obituary of Mario Cuomo, the former governor of the state of New York, the man who could have been — and some might argue should have been — president. Cuomo had the Democratic nomination for the asking in 1992, but he decided not to pursue the position because he wrongly believed the incumbent, George H. W. Bush, was unbeatable after liberating Kuwait. I say “wrongly” because a brash upstart from Arkansas upended Bush ‘41 in the general election that year, and Mario Cuomo, the so-called “Hamlet on the Hudson” because of his tendency to deliberate, had to spend the rest of his life wondering “What if?”

In 1984, I heard Mario Cuomo deliver a graduation speech at my alma mater, and his words still resonate 30 years later. At the time it felt like he was talking directly to me when he said,

“…This world of ours … is a threatened place, bleeding and broken, in pain. Not for all, however. For some inscrutable reason there are those of us who always seem in this great game of life to fall on the safe squares. To escape the real tragedies. And many of you, I’m sure, will be among the lucky players.

You’ve been given an education that says it’s not enough to have a skill; not enough to have read all the good books, even all the great books; not enough to know all the important facts or mouth all the nice humanitarian sentiments that liberal arts graduates are supposed to memorize…. This place (college) was justified because it had something special to say, and what it had to say was that you are supposed to love openly, freely, absolutely with all of your heart and all of your will, not because it’s a nice thing to do and it will help you to keep your sanity, but because your souls are at stake, because without that love we will perish…”

This is pretty lofty stuff, even for a politician, but on Friday I found myself thinking about Cuomo’s words, and about UCC boys’ standing up for one another, and about Pete Zamperini’s looking out for his kid brother.

The common thread is a fundamental question: What do we owe one another? What are our mutual obligations? For instance, when a classmate starts to go over the edge at a party, what are we supposed to do? When a not yet charming lad stumbles socially in front of his peers, how do we help him out? If there is someone whose name we don’t know, and he or she seems to be in vulnerable situation on a Saturday night, what are we called to do?

And what are our obligations to the Louis Zamperini’s  who are hidden in plain sight among us right here in Laidlaw Hall this Tuesday morning? Their gifts may not involve athletic potential, but there are boys in this room who roll through these halls for the most part unseen and unrecognized; the real pity is that they don’t see or recognize their own goodness, their own talents.  What do we owe these guys? What role might we play in helping them through the sharks and storms of high school life?

As we start this New Year together, let’s heed Mario Cuomo’s advice.  Let’s be there for one another. Let’s affirm the goodness and talents – not just for those on Lonsdale Road –but for others, and especially for those who have landed on life’s less than lucky squares.