Teach Your Children

A Reason To Smile

Dear Steady readers,

For this week’s A Reason to Smile, my coauthor, Elliot Kirschner, is sharing a reminiscence that I think will resonate with anyone who has watched children grow up. Please enjoy.

Best wishes, 

Dan

-------

Children can certainly be a reason to smile, but often in that complicated mixture of unbridled joy and a sense of the fleeting, precarious nature of life. Nostalgia and pride. Love and concern. A yearning to hold onto a precious moment for a little longer, even as you’re excited about the future. 

This past Wednesday morning was in many ways unremarkable. “Wake up, wake up.” “Did you brush your teeth?” A scramble to pack the lunch and out the door with only a few moments to spare. 

But of course this Wednesday was also completely different. It was our daughter Helena’s graduation from fifth grade, and it carried a finality amidst the routine for which my wife and I were not fully prepared. 

We had been told that the ceremony taking place in the school auditorium at 1 p.m. was technically not a “graduation.” That’s for high school and college, when you earn a diploma recognized by governments and the law. We would be celebrating a “promotion” from elementary school to middle school. 

But isn’t a chapter of life ending? Won’t they need us less? It sure felt like they were graduating. Or maybe we were. 

Ever since we moved from New York back to my childhood hometown of San Francisco, Miraloma Elementary School has been the center of our lives. In a quirk of fate, I too went to Miraloma, as did my younger brothers. Now as I walk its halls, I have two generations of memories. This is where my daughters grew into readers, lost their teeth, and figured out friendships. There have been field trips and school plays, fun runs, and parent gatherings. My wife was the PTA president during COVID.

The exuberance and endless possibility that accompanied the first day of kindergarten has now reached its preordained conclusion. She will continue to grow. There will be many more chapters ahead. But none of them will start like this one did, walking hand in hand (hers tiny and tentative) onto a schoolyard. 

By 12:30, the auditorium was filling up. I remembered sitting here as a child and the old projector in the back where we would load film from canisters on rainy days. We never thought our technology would become old fashioned. 

The world my children now know is almost exclusively digital. But thankfully not entirely. The ceremony started with the principal and two teachers playing acoustic guitars for a sing-a-long of “Teach Your Children” by Crosby, Stills & Nash. 

Don't you ever ask them, “Why?”
If they told you, you would cry
So just look at them and sigh
And know they love you

I could tell Helena was nervous as the children filed into their seats. She had surprised us with her determination to give one of the student speeches. I offered to help with the writing, but she wanted to make it all hers. She started with a joke at my expense. “My father went to Miraloma a long time ago,” she said, and then after a perfectly timed dramatic pause, dropped into a whisper: “I think it was during the Gold Rush.” There was an eruption of laughter, and many turned their heads to look at me and smile. I smiled back, particularly at her. 

Helena then turned to her main theme: community. She talked about all the people who came together to form this special place, from the teachers and principal, to the office staff, to the janitors and cafeteria workers. She ended with a quote from someone who, as she noted, shared her initials — HK, Helen Keller: “Alone we can do so little; together we can do so much.” So true, Helena. 

As she stood behind that lectern, I thought of how shy I had been at her age. Her poise spoke more to where she was going than from where she had come. She had announced to me the previous weekend, as I dropped her off at a movie theater to join friends for “The Little Mermaid,” that she was on her way to becoming grown up as well. She said it with pride but also a little trepidation. It matched my own feelings. 

In a world of such divisive ugliness, Helena and her classmates exuded warmth, happiness, and yes, community. I wanted all those sneering on TV and social media about San Francisco values to have to sit through this ceremony. I wanted them to see that the parents clapped for every name, including the child who was too intimidated by the crowd to come in from the hallway. I wanted them to hear the speeches from the students about respecting others, caring for those who could use assistance, recognizing the value of our diversity. 

For all who worry about the future in a world that faces many deep challenges, the energy and empathy of this younger generation are inspiring. They will inherit much that is broken, but you have a sense that they will find ways to fix it that are beyond our ability to imagine. 

Smiles that day seemed to be in abundance. There were hugs and the sharing of happy memories, questions about summer plans, and vows to keep in touch. Life is a cycle of beginnings and endings. Heartbreak is inevitable; joy is not. So when you have a moment to savor something special, even if it is fleeting, even if it is ending, it is a reason to smile. 

Thank you, Steady community, for your support and kindness — especially the subscribers, who make this possible. 

Finally, that wonderful song. Let’s all teach our children well, and let us learn from them: