"All of humanity's problems stem from man's inability to sit quietly in a room alone." Now way back in my day - seven years ago - when a baby got restless you woke up, went into his room, picked him up, swaddled him, rocked him, slowly and methodically put him back down, crossing your fingers for a couple straight hours of sleep .

Every fall, my dad and I head north for our annual fly-fishing trip. It's a chance to reconnect with each other and with nature, and to feed my soul with sustenance for the long Michigan winter. I have this trip circled for 364 days, and yet every year, a few days before I leave, I'm beset with uncharacteristic anxiety.

"So, what's next? What are you going to do with your life?" How are you going to earn money?" As our seniors conclude their 12th year of formal schooling, they are being bombarded with the same questions we fielded years ago.

For the impossible task of choosing a film for movie night with my kids, I've resorted to Googling "Best kids movies of 1984" so I can force them to watch what I watched as a six-year-old. They give it twenty minutes before they can turn it off.

A few weeks ago, my 6-year-old yanked out his loose front tooth, leaving a trail of blood droplets on the floor. That night, the tooth fairy did her thing and I went to bed smiling, excited to see the joy on Sam's face when he woke up the next morning.

When I started my daily old man walks a few years ago, I looked forward to them because I could listen to a podcast while getting exercise. It felt like I was cheating; I was getting smarter and more fit at the same time.

I've always been a New Year's Resolution guy. And by that I mean I've always made them. Each year, I sit down with a notebook and sketch out the habits I'd like to break and to form, and all the goals I'd like to reach. I've consumed countless books, articles, and podcasts on the topic.

Something I've always loved about working in education is the school schedule. The start of the year always brings about a sense of hope, followed by the seemingly endless October-November stretch. Just when it feels like I'm at my wit's end, Thanksgiving hits and I exhale.

What does "smart" mean, really? Within the context of formal education, it seems to indicate some variation on the phrase "good at school." But when we break it down, does that mean you're a good reader? A good writer? A Math whiz? A test-taking machine? Oxford's etymology: "...

"Extraordinary benefits accrue to the tiny minority of people who are able to push just a tiny bit longer than most." -Seth Godin When I asked my son Sam about his first day of kindergarten a few weeks ago, his response literally made me gasp: "That was boring.

I took my four-year-old to the tennis court the other day to teach him the game I fell in love with as a kid. I was a 4-time city champion in Flint (granted, there were only four teams but who's counting) and have spent my career teaching kids.

I hope you're spending a lot of time off the screen and that you don't see this email for a while! Still, I wanted to share some summer resources. I also recommend that you check out the Redford Library to find some fun summer reading. GoodReads is another great resource to find good books.

Links only work if you have a LinkedIn account; if not, see the pics below*** One of the reasons I love my job is I get to see the long-term growth of students.

With the May 1st college decision deadline quickly approaching, I've been talking to seniors a lot about plans for next year. Consider this familiar scenario: A student has been accepted to their dream school out of state, but will have to pay $20,000/year.

I've had several conversations in recent weeks with students and parents about the dreaded acronym: G.P.A. Many students are below the 3.0 requirement for the program and several others, while above 3.0, are not where they would like to be to get into their dream college.

I'm not really not one for ceremony or even national tradition. I don't talk to my kids enough about what goes on in the government and I may regret it someday. But on January 20th around 11:45 am, I yelled to my boys who were upstairs building a fort: "Sam!

One hope I have for 2021 is to better myself as an overall person and focus on my goals in life. To put more time into my education, to work better on my mental health, to be more understanding towards people, to not make the same mistakes I've made in the past few years, to save money better, and to not be such a homebody.

Last Sunday, my son Sam went up to his elementary school for a socially-distanced meetup with his Kindergarten classmates, who to that point had only been iPad avatars. While I usually jump at the chance for his little brother to experience the super-combo of socialization and outdoor activity, I suggested Andrea take Sam on his own so I could take James, with whom I'd been having a tough time connecting.

"Simplicity, patience, compassion. These three are your greatest treasures. Simple in actions and thoughts, you return to the source of being. Patient* with both friends and enemies, you accord with the way things are. Compassionate toward yourself, you reconcile all beings in the world."

A month ago, my boys thought iPads only worked on airplanes. In light of the growing body of research about the dangers of kids and mobile devices, I was in the Anti-Tech-for-Young-Kids-Except-For-TV-Because-Hey-I-Gotta-Stay-Sane camp. So when my son's school informed us he'd be receiving an iPad for Pre-Kindergarten, I was apoplectic.

Last week, I attended a virtual funeral for the mother of one of our 8th graders. It was surreal, heartbreaking, and uplifting all at once. Everyone was masked, including babies. Family and friends maintained social distance as they paid respects at the casket.