There is still love, still beauty, still memory

Dear Families,

With the "numbers" climbing in our state, I could write about that. But I don't want to. I want to be uplifting today. I want the story to be about something else. But can it ever be?

My dad would be 95 tomorrow. I think about him all the time. His humor, his eccentricities (like carrying a little tiny teddy bear named Todd in his pocket and talking to Todd in public, mostly at the races, when he needed some luck on a long shot), his creativity. My dad was a newspaper editor. So, as you can imagine, I find myself thinking these days about what he'd be making of all this. What would his headlines say? There's little doubt in my mind he'd have been fully gripped, ever chasing the next lead, and always pushing for the human angle; whose story isn't being told? He'd be all about amplifying the brave, beleaguered front line workers' voices and the best, most compelling stories of those we've lost.

Dad loved that I was a teacher and he was beyond proud and delighted when I took this job in 2009. He would always say when we were wrapping up one of our ever-amusing phone calls, "Charlie, you should be writing this down, damn it! These are great stories!" That's how our wonderfully detailed, story and picture- loaded version of the Center School Bulletin was born. So, please devour the pieces herein!

So much of what comforts me during this relentless pandemic is knowing that there is still love, still beauty, still memory. Yes, my memories right now are full of my dad. Remembering those we have lost is all part of life during a pandemic, and not during a pandemic. But with everything feeling so heightened, don't your memories seem particularly vivid and full? That fullness is so bittersweet, right? That feeling made me also remember this, one of my very favorite interviews by Terry Gross. Please watch, listen, and, if you are like me, have a good cry. It's a favorite pandemic pastime of mine.

In memory,

Charlie Spencer

Head of School