Leave Room for Wonder

To hear this blog from the Walkers themselves, just click play.

They say you should never bury the lead. I don’t know if I follow that wisdom on these blogs. Some of the wisest, most meaningful advice comes at the end. I let you get to know the person I walk with. Let them find their way into your heart and then allow their wisdom to land in a way that might stay with you.

I’m breaking that mold this time. Actually, this walk breaks many molds. It is my first walk with a child. Allow me to introduce 10-year-old Parker. He has this to say at the end of our walk.

Parker: That’s one thing adults are terrible at, is leaving room for wonder.

They are a lot more worried about getting stuff done.

But wonder, there’s just… Yeah.

You can hear the exasperation. He is in a state of disbelief that we have lost it. It felt like we were disappointing him. He admits we are still creative – especially his mom – but wonder, that’s another story altogether… another level deeper than creativity or curiosity. And we’ve left it behind.

For you to understand, I need to start at the beginning. The thing is when is the beginning? Should I start chronologically with the day six years ago that Parker sidled up next to me while I was preparing to shoot a Headspace for Wheeling Country Day School? We wanted him to attend to the camera. He wanted to investigate a buckeye. So we did. We wondered about its layers, its outer skin. I’ll be honest I remember well how terribly hard it was to slow my world down to his speed. I had a schedule. Luke and I had to get this video recorded. Had Parker known that, he would have been disappointed in me.

Perhaps the story starts in November 2020 when I sat by my friend and mentor, Bill Hogan, as he transitioned from this life. He had asked me to come see him. He had some wisdom to leave me with. Truthfully, it was the first seed of these walks, but I didn’t know it yet. That is the way it was with Bill. He suggested something and then let it germinate with you until you were/are ready to embrace it. I guess I was a slow learner. In addition to a few other personal guideposts, Bill told me, “Keep doing it for the children. Yes, you’re smart but that’s not what your gift is. You are doing the work God intends for you to do when you do it for the children. Love them, that’s really all there is.” I kept that as my north star in my final years as Head of School and certainly in the best work we did to scale the CML. The children were the driving mission.

When I started these walks, I focused on leaders… I lost my way a little bit until I found myself sitting on the same bed in the same room with Bill’s wife, Susan. I was holding her hand wondering … no not wondering, considering… wonder has a different meaning in this walk… considering what stories I should share. As I talked about Ella and Grace, she rolled and hugged my arm tighter. Her action stopped me. I could hear Bill’s voice telling me “Keep doing it for the children.” I told Susan all about Bill’s wisdom charting the course for my life.  As I got in the car that night, I was resolute about one thing, I needed to start walking with children too. They have something to say and too often no one is listening.

Later that week I asked Parker’s parents if he could be my first. I chose him not just because of the buckeye he introduced me to, but because his eyes light up when he sees me almost as much as mine do. As you can tell by his sage warning, he is wise beyond his years. Perhaps all children are wise until the years begin to silence them. Regardless, this was a voice I needed to amplify.

Ironically, the microphone wouldn’t pick up his voice. You could hear mine but it was as if I was alone. We traded mics and traded back. No luck. I observed the synchronicity of wanting to amplify a voice that the microphone could not pick up. I had to be persistent and patient and curious to find a solution. No schedule this time. We walked for almost an hour and I could sense our conversation had taken its full course, but I knew to keep listening. I have to exude patience. I could have easily ended our walk, but I didn’t. I kept recording… that’s a lesson that I’ve learned in over 20 walks, I cannot be in a rush to push stop. Some of the best nuggets of wisdom come at the end when you think you’re already past the end. That’s one thing adults are terrible at, is leaving room for wonder.

I totally botched the beginning of our walk. I picked Parker up at school and made the typical, yet fatal error.

Liz: I asked you, How was school today? And you said-

Parker: Good.

Right. Then I immediately was like, Wow, that is the wrong question.

Liz: What did you learn at school today that you now know that you didn’t know when you woke up this morning?

Parker: I learned that a division problem is the exact same thing as a fraction. The first number, just say we were doing 37 divided by 2. The 37 would be on the top. It would be the numerator, 2 would be the denominator. That would be called an improper fraction because the top The total number is bigger than the bottom number.

Parents, take heed. How was you day? is such a throw away question that we should do just that. Throw it away.

Liz: Does something start out hard, like learning fractions in third grade, and then get easier later?

Parker: Yes.

Liz: Can you give me an example?

Parker: It’s like… At the start, you’ve never heard of this, so you’re like, How am I going to figure this out? Then as you start doing it, it starts making sense. Then it gets into a habit of, Oh, this is what I have to do when this comes up or this comes up. So yes, it’s hard when you start, but when you get the hang of it, it’s a lot easier.

We talk about the fact that you have to make a lot of mistakes in the process of getting the habit of it. You don’t need to feel foolish when you make a mistake. It is part of the learning process.

Liz: What’s it like to make a mistake?

Parker: For me, I like being on point, but now that I’m older, I realize that making mistakes help you a lot more because you think more. If I got this wrong, what’s another way I can do it. It just helps you think a lot more, and that’s what gets you smarter. Because when you’re a kid, or if I was in third grade, I thought multiplication. I had no clue what it was. But then when I started getting taught about it, it was just so much easier. If I got it wrong, I would wonder, how do I fix it? That just made me learn a lot harder and think about a lot more stuff, and that’s what got me that smart.

Liz: What’s it like when you raise your hand and you get it wrong? Can you talk to me about that? I assume when you say that, you mean you raise your hand to answer a question?

Parker: Yeah. Okay. What’s it like to get it wrong? In second grade or fifth grade. Anytime. Anytime. When I was a kid, I would have thought like, Oh, my gosh, these kids are going to make fun of me if I get it wrong. But now that I’m older, they won’t do that. Even if I’m wrong, it’s not like it’s the end of the world because Like I said, when I get it wrong, I always find a new way to get a different answer and hopefully get it right. I learned that even if I get it wrong, my brain will help me find a different solution to get the right problem.

Liz: Did you see kids make fun of you, or did you just worry that they would?

Parker: I worried.

Liz: Do you see kids making fun of other kids?

Parker: No, I don’t. That’s how I realized that even if I get the problem wrong, I won’t get made fun of.

He is ten. He already has a voice in his head telling him that people will make fun of him if he gets it wrong. He is working on it. I can imagine that voice rearing up and Parker telling it to take a seat. What is allowing that to happen? What is giving him the muscle memory to push out that voice? I think it’s sports. Not sports alone, but sports with a coach who cares more about development than winning.

Liz: So what do you do when you make an error on the baseball field?

Parker: My coaches and my dad say, move on to the next play. If you miss a ground ball, move on to the next play. They say, if you hit a home run, move on to the next play. Be happy, but I just stay neutral.

Liz: I like that. It’s the same thing, whether it’s a home run or an error.

Parker: Just move on to the next play because now that I’m just eager I want this next play to make up for my error. But younger me, I’d probably pout the whole game. But yeah, if I make an error, I would want to make up for that play and say, in my head, I want this next ball. I want this next ball, just so I can make up for the next play.

Liz: That mental narrative of I want this next play is probably what’s going to make you a better player than the kid next to you.

Parker: Yeah.

He has a refrain that he repeats like a mantra while he waits for the next play. Maybe that tempers any negative voice in his head. The mantra alone won’t make him better though. He makes it clear to me that it will also take a lot of dedication to be the best he can be – maybe even make it to the major league.

Parker: [Dad] makes me work as well as my mom. Actually, no. Let me rephrase that. They don’t tell me to go work outside, go hit off the tee. They want me to go do that by myself. My dad wants me to ask him if he can come out and help me and fix some stuff. It’s really up to me on whether or not I want to be the best I can.

He unlocks the magic to his mindset – you need to know you are loved and then you can build on that. As Bill said, “Love them, that’s really all there is.”

Parker: It all starts as a kid. Your parents love you. They want you to be the best you can. That just makes you want to be more of a leader. My coaches said, be a leader. Being a leader isn’t just telling people what to do. It’s giving them a high five or telling them they’re good at something. And then that just makes them want to hang around you more. So like my dad says, “Don’t change who you are. Just be yourself.”

Because other people might just walk out on the field, right? And they see you hustling. Coaches are telling. You want to lead them, to listen to their coaches. You want to help your friends. If they end up being better than me, that’ll make me even more happy because that just proves that me being a good leader brought them there.

Liz: I love that.

In the eyes of this 10 year old there are two goals: be happy and be your best. It doesn’t have to be THE best, just be YOUR best. He is willing to put himself out there as a role model, a leader. He will hit off the tee when he needs to – that’s not beneath him. He will hustle on to the field every time. He will listen to his coaches. He will focus on the next play rather than pout about the last one. His favorite game was one he lost. The championship in a baseball tournament that left them holding the runner up trophy. They had lost the very first game and had to prove themselves in every other game to reach the top of the bracket. They also had lots of time at the beach. I dare say that was his favorite game because he got to be a kid and do his best on baseball diamond.

As we walked, I was sure there were enduring lessons he learned from baseball. When I asked what he would want adults to know about life – what wisdom would he share, he returned to the simplicity of having a catch with your dad.

Parker: As a kid, my dad, as a kid, he promised that if I ever have a son, even if it’s winter, I’ll go out and have a catch him. He told me that even if he didn’t want to have a catch, he still came out. He said he wants to make this sport fun for me. If you’re a parent that coaches, that’s just it, you want to make the sport fun for them, make them want to keep playing.

Playing catch with your dad is a cultural touchstone of love and connection, transcending a simple game of throwing and catching. The rhythmic exchange of a ball becomes a ritual of connection, symbolizing patience, trust, and the transmission of love across generations. Beyond the physical act, having a catch embodies a moment of pure, uninterrupted relationship where presence is everything.

I would love one more catch with my dad. I remember our last one well. I was an adult. I was coaching varsity softball. I didn’t think I was throwing well enough. I met my 72-year-old father at Linsly and we had a catch.  I was transported to my childhood. I didn’t have lesson plans to review, or laundry, or grocery shopping or any other badge of adult life. He didn’t have a hospital to run. We were simply present with one another. I think there was wonder in that moment.

Parker would have been proud.

On that November night, Bill had also said, “I didn’t paint to make something beautiful. I created art to let my soul speak to all the other right people. You’ll know when you meet the people you connect with, trust them.” So I will walk with children and amplify their voices for “all the other right people.” 

I am walking with leaders after all. I am walking with “right people,” those who lead with their heart. Thanks Parker… and Susan… for walking me back to Bill. He saw me. It is what drew me to him time and again…especially that last night when he said, “Think with your heart.”

Bill would have loved getting to know Parker.


Liz Hofreuter

Founder GEN-Ed

Not your typical researcher or consultant, Liz connects lived experience to transformative leadership. To uncomplicate leadership and education, every story matters and she is just getting started.

Quiet Grace

To hear this blog from the Walkers themselves, just click play.

The first thing you notice about IJ Kalcum isn’t his unassuming height or his red sash credentials – it’s his presence if you are paying attention – he seems to move through space with a calming energy and a quiet grace that draws you near. He enters a room without fanfare, his movements fluid and unhurried even if he is a little late. “I wonder,” he can say softly to an agitated child “if we might take a lap together?” He can do the same in a heated meeting with parents. IJ’s measured breathing patterns can unconsciously influence others to take a breath. I have witnessed it first hand in school meetings and in our personal conversations.

I asked IJ how he managed to keep his composure in tense situations as Director of Student Success (it was a hard position to title – still not sure we got it right). How does he guide the energy toward peace?

IJ: Where does that come from? Well, I think most of it is always geared towards, I think, my martial arts background. With that, I really like reading about different philosophies and philosophers. But I think when I was going through martial arts, I was missing the male figure in high school after my dad had passed away. At that time I was trying to figure out what was even happening. I always think that I’m kind of a late bloomer in the sense of maturity. I think it was a lot of self finding. Is this supposed to happen?

Liz: It does.

IJ: Let me take a moment here.

Liz: You take it.

IJ: I don’t think I really knew that I needed [martial arts]. I think it just kind of happened where I was. Where there was an understanding that whatever was happening was important. That it was like I needed this path.

When grief and loss entered IJ’s life, the repetitive flow of martial arts offered him the focus to drop into stillness and comfort so he could find his path forward. The structure of nightly practice with the clear sense of who he wanted “to be” inspired the man he has become.

IJ: The whole thing that started to happen was anything that I was doing, even if it was something ridiculous or dumb, I always went back to where I wanted to be in martial arts and if it would affect that. So it was always kind of a balance of the good and the bad and then being like, no, no, no, this is who I want to be.

Liz: I really love that.

Liz: So it kept you from getting in trouble?

IJ: It did, it did for the most part. Now, I’m not saying I didn’t have any low points.

Liz: Your mom’s gonna fact check this?

IJ: The funny thing is there’s a lot that my mom and sisters and even Leanne (his wife) really don’t know, like, the extent of and the type of training I did because it was always that I was training at night. I always knew this is going to make me better. 

Liz: But you were pushing yourself.

IJ: I think it goes into how I am today – if I’m told that I can’t do something, I’m obviously going to prove you wrong, you know, …at some point.

Maybe because I’m older now that I take a little bit more time to think about it, but in a sense, it’s kind of like if you tell me I can’t do something, then I feel like you are challenging the character that I’ve developed and who I’ve become and the training that I did. It is interesting that my martial arts background is a huge core, I think, of who I am. 

I have heard it said that true strength often manifests as inner stillness as is developed in the practice of martial arts. Think of it as a deeply rooted tree that sways with strong winds rather than rigidly resisting until it breaks. This inner stillness manifests in various ways: the composure to pause before reacting emotionally, the steadiness to stay with discomfort rather than immediately trying to escape it, the quiet confidence that doesn’t need to prove itself through displays of power or authority. It’s the difference between someone who dominates versus someone whose mere presence brings calm to even a chaotic situation. I have always been inspired by IJ’s quiet grace with colleagues, students and parents. 

IJ: I have a hard time following a specific guide when dealing with students at work just because there’s so many different variables that could be affecting this person. And I don’t think it’s fair if you don’t give them or their parents a chance to let you be a part of their world to understand what’s happening. So you can kind of be their backbone for a little bit.

Liz: Yeah. I know the inside track enough to know that it’s harder for you to do that job if you don’t know the kid. If you’re not teaching a kindergartener, it’s harder to respond to whatever problem that child’s having.

IJ: Right. And kids can see that. Kids are very aware if you’re having a genuine conversation with them. If not, they aren’t afraid to be like, oh, I don’t like that guy. You know in my role, I don’t need to be liked by everyone, but everyone needs to know that they shouldn’t be afraid to approach me and that I am there for them.

Liz: And I feel like you and I both did a very good job at that over a very long period of time.

IJ: I think so, too. I think it took.

Liz: Is that authenticity?

IJ: I think so. Right?

Liz: I don’t know. I mean, I really am asking.

IJ: I mean, I feel like that is. I think that’s one of the things that makes it different, is that, you know, to be genuine. And to have flaws and to have real life situations and to share them with parents or students or whatever is authentic, where they actually know that you’re actually there.

Liz: I ask myself sometimes, if your superpower came from the fact that you were an art teacher. Could you have had the same connection if you were the English teacher or the math teacher? I think you could have, but I think the secret sauce of the superpower is that kids naturally let down their guard a little bit in art class compared to a class where they might struggle or where there’s a clear right answer.

IJ: I agree 100%. I feel like in my classroom, the setting is more relaxed. I think my personality plays into the role of letting students feel comfortable no matter if they have different learning differences. There’s no judgment in it in there. I do think that’s a huge thing. I think it allows them to know that.  when kids walk into my (class)room, it’s that feeling of, I’ve been waiting for this all day. I need this. And that you’re easy to talk to. Or you’re a nerdy art teacher.

Liz: Yeah. Who also happens to be a martial arts expert and very athletic and. Yeah.

IJ: Well, that’s the anomaly of art teachers.

He is an anomaly. Not just because he is an art teacher. I know. I have spent countless hours with IJ. He has made me a better person. He was my wingman in every heated conversation with a parent for the last five years until I started becoming his wingman and then not present at all. I eased out of those conversations because he grew to be better at them than I ever was. 

While we don’t work together anymore, we still have countless hours together. Our children are on the same high school swim team. If you are a swim parent, you know there are many hours upon hours to sit with someone… especially through multiple heats of the 500.

Liz: I don’t know if you feel this way, but especially at swimming. I also like that I’m seeing her be outside of me.

IJ: Yes.

Liz: Like, I didn’t swim. I don’t know anything about swim. Her success at swim is hers. And when she’s underwater, I can yell, but that’s for me, she can’t hear me.

IJ: I didn’t realize how much that I was going to like swim until we really started getting into it. And then I think it was the amount of technical stuff and the amount of being in your own head.

But still, when you’re doing things like relays, you have that team with you. So, you’re trying to up your performance for those people. And like you said, the amount of times that I’ve yelled and have been like, did you hear me?

And he’s like, I can’t hear anything. And I’m like, but I am screaming.

It’s also humbling because I don’t know anything about it. So. He’s like my go to.

So I know he gets frustrated when I’m like, so how do you do this? And what do you do on this? And he’s like, I don’t know. I just swim. Ask a coach. But I always go into kind of …. I don’t know. Like I said, I go all the way back to like, isn’t that a.

Liz: Little bit of flow?

IJ: It is flow.

Liz: Listen, like, when somebody can’t tell you why.

IJ: Why they do it.

Liz: I just swim. It just tells you this is the right place for you. It’s the right fit.

His son is a grade behind Ella. He was born during my first year of headship. I had been given the gift of time when Grace was born. So was Grace’s dad. IJ was the first teacher to request leave. I scoured the handbook to see what he was allowed and saw the phrase “at the discretion of the Head of School.” I offered him extended time. I understand the cost to the school to pay an employee and a substitute. Our school had no money then. Indeed, I had just cancelled the yellow page ad to save costs. This was a cost that I couldn’t save. Our having to cover art classes for an extended time could not compare to his having more time with his son and his wife. I never gave that a second thought. The regret was that I never established a day care at the school. If I had the gift to live those 15 years again – a do over – I would move that mountain and open a day care. Family first. 

IJ is part of my family.  His mere presence has been a comfort. Like a child entering his classroom, when I am in his company, there is a sense that this is what I needed. The same is true for my daughters and so many others. “Mr. K” is somewhat of a legend. His is the classroom alumni find themselves when visiting that campus. It is what they needed – why they returned.

Liz: Just last weekend I made the comment how excited I was for swim season to start because I would see you regularly again. And Bridget said, he always was your safe place. And it was true. It’s probably why I tagged you for leadership as early as I did. I don’t think I deserve any credit for that. I think that’s the energy that you bring. And I think when you say, how are you? You mean it. And you’re not really going to tolerate, “I’m fine.”

IJ: Right. Which is also my own. My own flaw in my own life.

Liz: Well, what do you mean?

IJ: You know how your biggest strengths can also be your weaknesses. 

Liz: So you say, I’m fine too much?

IJ: No, I just …sometimes I’m not. And even though I got some water works going on right now, not a lot. Everybody. Okay. I do have a tendency to push down. And I’m trying to say to myself, hey, maybe you should practice what you tell all these kids.

As he motions with his hands to push down emotions that are too much, he acknowledges how much stronger he is and how much more he can serve others when he practices what he preaches. He knows his strength comes from the depths of grief and worry at levels most of his contemporaries have not yet experienced.

IJ: A lot comes out of it. A lot of new strength. A lot of different ways of leading… transferring stuff on the way you feel into your work, being more more empathetic towards individuals that are going through things. So anytime anybody has something that’s hard, I try to make a conscious effort to at least reach out and see how they’re doing.

Liz: How are you?

IJ: Yeah.

Liz: Might be one of the few people who mean it when you ask. Thanks, buddy. 

Later IJ mentioned that life comes at you fast. You have to take the time for the things you want to do. I would add that you have to take the time to say the things you want to say. I am glad I took the chance to say thank you on our walk. But also… IJ, thanks for hanging out in the office after a tough meeting to see if I was ok. Thanks for reminding me to make myself a priority. Thanks for teaching Grace that a tree she draws can never look exactly like the tree she sees in the window – her first lesson that perfectionism isn’t the ideal. Thanks for being my timing partner. Thanks for the countless laps with struggling students. Thanks for using your voice. Thanks for reminding us how powerful quiet grace is.


Liz Hofreuter

Founder GEN-Ed

Not your typical researcher or consultant, Liz connects lived experience to transformative leadership. To uncomplicate leadership and education, every story matters and she is just getting started.

Fred’s Neighborhood

To hear this blog from the Walkers themselves, just click play.

I need only to hear the first bar of “Won’t You Be My Neighbor” and I am transported to my childhood home at 42 Poplar sitting crossed-legged on the braided rug mere feet from the television absorbing every word Mister Rogers spoke.  He sparked a passion for asking questions and learning about people more deeply. His influence is profound. His fingerprints are all over this series of walks from its onset. None more apparent than my walk with Ryan Rydzewski, one of the two men breathing new life into Fred Rogers’ work through their book, When You Wonder, You’re Learning: Mister Rogers’ Enduring Lessons for Raising Creative, Curious, Caring Kids.

As we know, parenting does not come with an instruction manual. But you could do worse than looking to Fred Rogers for guidance. In their book, Ryan and his co-author, Gregg Behr, explore what they call the “blueprints” that Fred Rogers left us, diving into the science behind Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood and helping parents and teachers create the same feelings for today’s kids that Mister Rogers created for me.  The book has been called “a must-read for anyone who cares about children.”

Ryan: Before I had any kids, people would sometimes ask me, ‘Are you a dad?’ And I would say no. The way I thought about this before I had kids was like, ‘I want to write something that could eventually be an instruction manual for myself.’ And it’s not so much a [“how to”] parenting book . . . It’s so much more about creating the atmosphere that Fred created in the Neighborhood.

Ryan was not yet a dad when writing the book. I know this because Luke and I were the very last relics of his pre-dad life. We were scheduled to meet with Ryan to share the story of the JoJo I (weather balloon) when his wife summoned him; she was in labor. More on that later.

Ryan: It makes me think about things that I probably wouldn’t think about otherwise. Even, sometimes, really small things. Do I have music on in certain moments? Is there art up on the walls? These little environmental things that – before my kids came along – frankly didn’t mean that much to me. Or I didn’t think about them in a systematic way. So, what I’m trying to do is create for my kids that same comfortable atmosphere, where they know that they’re loved. 

Fred’s Neighborhood quietly encouraged us to become the best of whoever we are. In tribute to the legend who brought us together, Ryan and I took an unhurried walk through the Christmas market in Mister Rogers’ hometown to ponder his profound influence. Who should we randomly meet while strolling through this Pittsburgh neighborhood, none other than Mister Rogers’ longtime Neighborhood producer, Margy Whitmer. Her eyes lit up when she saw Ryan. As did his. That’s the thing about Fred – for those of us who grew up at his knee, you sometimes can’t tell where Fred ends and where we begin. And you never know when or how his influence will play out.

Liz: I got my voice again as a writer when I got out from behind research and degrees. When Grace was in kindergarten, I wrote an open letter to her future teachers.

Ryan: Really?

And I realized I had something to say just by being me. So off the cuff, what would you want to say to the future teachers of your son?

Ryan: Oh, that’s a tough question. I forget who said it… who talked about when you have kids, it’s like your heart walking around outside of your body. And I would just want a teacher to remember that. And that’s not just true for my own kids. It’s true for every single student in their classroom. And I know how hard it can be to remember that as a teacher. 

Liz: So… love them.

Ryan: That’s it. I mean, if you would do nothing else, that’s what I need you to do. Love them, keep them safe. That’s a tall order today… Don’t be the person who makes them not want to go to school. There are plenty of reasons to not want to go to school. A teacher – an educator – doesn’t have to be one of them. Can’t be one of them. I heard a superintendent say the other day, ‘We want to make schools that kids are running into, not running out of.’  And I want my kids’ teachers to make those classrooms, places that they want to run into… I want them to feel excited to be there and happy to be there and safe to be who they are there.

Liz: Oh, I like that last part.

Certainly, the idea of wanting a child to be safe is universal, but I like the way Ryan said, “safe to be who they are.” When we were reaching students beyond the campus at Wheeling Country Day School, Luke and I liked the phrase “learn fearless.” It wasn’t incorrect grammar. Fearlessness is what we wanted children and adults to learn. Fearless was not an adverb for learning. It was the direct object. If a child could learn to be fearless – having no fear, it would be ok to be the best of whoever he, she or they is… in any classroom.

Liz: Can you say more about safe to be who they are?

Ryan: Yeah, I’m going to hide behind Fred again or go back to Fred. He said with the Neighborhood, he was creating an atmosphere in which every single person is comfortable enough to be who they really are. And what we’ve learned, what I’ve learned, is that sense of comfort and physical and psychological safety is one thing – really the only thing – that allows a human being to thrive and to grow and to become whatever it is or whoever it is they want to become. I mean, without that sense of unconditional acceptance, you’re always going to try to become something you’re not. And the greatest gift I think you can give is that sense of, yeah, you’re comfortable enough to be who you really are. 

You hear Ryan say, “I’m going to hide behind Fred again.” I had mentioned to him that his interpretation of Fred’s legacy was as important as the original work Fred Rogers did. I could tell he didn’t quite buy that as he frequently mused, “Why me?” 

Liz: I heard you say twice already, the question, why me? Do you think you hide a little bit behind Fred Rogers instead of owning that some of these ideas really are yours and you actually have something to say about curiosity and creativity?

Ryan: Yeah, I think… Oh, wow, that’s a really good question, and it’s a fair question. Have I developed ideas of my own and philosophy of my own? I think so. Of course, it’s been influenced by everything I’ve done. But I do have the [thought] In my head [that] people want to hear from Fred, not from Ryan Rydzewski. So maybe I do lean on that.

Liz: Well, I don’t know. I’m a Fred baby. In fact, if you go back and watch my opening video to this walk, I’m tying my shoes. That’s very much Fred.

Ryan: Oh, yeah. That’s the first thing he ever did, the first episode. Yeah.

Liz: I love Fred, and he inspired me as a child. But when I listen to you and Gregg talk, I love the way you interpret Fred, and that’s not just Fred.

Ryan: Yeah, I think you’re right. In fact, one of… Here I go, doing it again. But one of the things that Hedda [Sharapan]  told me – Hedda is another person like Margy, who you just met, that was absolutely key to the Neighborhood – was that Fred could say the same thing to two different people, and it’s going to be received very differently. And he was aware of that. And so the things that he stood for and taught and nurtured become part of you after a while. And then, of course, by becoming part of you, they change, and you carry it on in your own way. So I guess that’s something that I’m trying to do both as a dad and as a professional, is carry it forward in my own way, and hopefully make it as accessible to other people and helpful to other people as it has been to me.

Ryan is not hiding behind Fred any more than I am hiding behind the people with whom I walk. I am a connector between walker and audience. I am a conduit for their stories to reach a larger audience. Their life lessons will land on each one of you who is reading this in a different way. I may pull the quotes that impact me the most, but you may find something profound or humorous within a different line. By writing these stories they get a new life in your interpretation. So it is in the way Ryan and Gregg are carrying Fred’s work forward. They are taking the lessons offered by Fred Rogers and making them accessible to a new audience, who will weave their own stories and continue it in new and unexpected ways. If their words are received very differently by each person, I cannot say. I am only one reader, but I have heard them present twice and both times the entire room was captivated. 

I found myself just as enthralled on this walk as we wove through such a variety of topics and found that Ryan and I shared the commonality of starting our parental lives in the NICU. That day he drove to Wheeling to first meet Luke and me was six weeks before his wife’s due date. 

Ryan: I got the call when I was about 10 minutes from your school, and I was like, You know what? They’re going to think I’m lying. They’re going to think I just don’t want to do this, and I’m canceling. I was like, ‘No, I really am having a baby today!’

Liz: Can you take me back to that phone call? What was it like to turn the car around and have that drive but know what was ahead of you?

Ryan: Well, most of all, I was worried because my wife’s blood pressure had skyrocketed, and she’s a doctor herself. When she’s shaken over something physical, I know then it’s time to worry, because she doesn’t worry about anything. So I got that call, and first of all, it was: All right, I’ve got to cancel everything on my plate. And then it was a lot of mental math… How quickly can I get to Sewickley, where my wife was in the hospital? How fast can I drive there? How much do I want to risk getting pulled over and making myself even later? 

But it all worked out. It was a whirlwind. He was about six weeks early, and we were really worried for the first part… He was in the NICU for 11, 12 days. Well, I’ve come to learn that in terms of NICU stays, that’s actually not much. We sat with families who had been there for a month. And I learned a lot in those couple of days, both good and bad, because when we were moved to a group room, we would sit day in and day out with Russell while he was in the incubator.

And because we were there for 12 hours a day, sometimes more, we saw that there were kids in there who were not visited once. The very beginning of their life, you already see a gap beginning to widen. And you know how much that’s going to impact their lives moving forward. 

Just looking back to see what my son has become – we didn’t know what long term effects there were going to be, developmentally, physically –, and every day, looking at him, having become this healthy, happy little guy is just one more reminder to be grateful, especially this time of year.

I think about the one pound babies Grace shared a room with. I think about the hours I sat in a hard rocking chair. I think about my mom taking a shift bed-side so we could go see the movie, Miracle. Fitting choice, don’t you think? I think about how far we have come since that cold February in 2004.

Liz: So when we do go back to the coffee shop, you have to take just one second and look at Grace, who was eight weeks early. 

Ryan: Oh, really? So you’ve been through it? 

Liz: I like to think of it as, here’s a little glimpse for you that everything’s going to be okay.

Ryan: If Russell turns out like Grace, I’ll be pretty happy. The little bit I know about her and just hearing her speak and what you’ve told me about her. There’s something to aim for.

Liz: 20 years later, I still actually have moments. I don’t wish to be back in the NICU with the fear, but for the singular focus that there’s absolutely nothing else more important in this world than this child right here. I miss that sometimes, and I should be able to recreate that.

Ryan: Yeah, it was so simplifying. And I’m fortunate. I didn’t have to worry about losing my job or anything like that. But it was the first time I felt like, ‘No matter what happens or what I have to sacrifice, I will be here.’ And I felt that a million times since then. But I don’t know if it’s possible to access that determination before you have a kid. 

Especially a child born pre-maturely. You not only get a glimpse of the miracle of birth, but you hold it against your bare skin, which is the baby’s lifeline to feel comfort and to begin to grow. Almost 21 years later when I am sad or when Grace is hurting, I still cup my hands against my heart and rock back and forth as if we were back in the NICU. That gentle motion saves me. I wonder if Ryan or his wife ever do that? Do they return to the quiet NICU atmosphere in their hearts where their son was loved into strength and health?

At a Dartmouth graduation, Fred said “From the time you were very little, you’ve had people who have smiled you into smiling, people who have talked you into talking, sung you into singing, loved you into loving.” I think about the babies and their parents in the NICU that way.

It’s a good feeling to know Ryan and I can share an unexpected connection like this. We can be curious about it. We can wonder.  By trusting one another and offering unconditional acceptance, we will both show up and be as we are. Mister Rogers would be happy.

It’s such a good feeling,
A very good feeling,
The feeling you know that we’re friends.
I’ll be back, when the week is new
And I’ll have more ideas for you 
And you’ll have things you’ll want to talk about 
I will, too.


Liz Hofreuter

Founder GEN-Ed

Not your typical researcher or consultant, Liz connects lived experience to transformative leadership. To uncomplicate leadership and education, every story matters and she is just getting started.

Ditching the Blue Blazer … for good

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Chad Barnett has changed… for good. While we have talked on the phone at times, we haven’t seen each other for many years since I last visited him at St Edmund’s Academy in Pittsburgh, PA. Instead of meeting on the playground of this independent school, he met me out front. I didn’t recognize him. Gone was the independent school uniform of a blue blazer and khaki pants.  As my steps quickened toward this friend and former English department colleague, I was taken aback by his appearance.

No blue blazer? I asked.

“Nope.”

In its place: a tweed waistcoat, fitted and purposeful. His collar was open, the thin cotton tie loosened—not as a statement, but as a practical outcome of a day spent in a school where movement and play are part of the work. His shaved head, humble and purposeful, spoke to a quiet rejection of pretense—a clarity shaped by walking beside others, not ahead of them. The hiking boots beneath it all were built for steady footing, a reminder that leadership isn’t about standing apart, but about grounding yourself in the work and the community that carries it forward.

It’s a look that might catch the students we know in common from our days at The Linsly School off guard. But to them, I’d say: it fits. It reflects a kind of leadership that contains multitudes—high standards paired with humility, strength balanced with openness, resilience shaped by a respect for differences and an appreciation for growth.

It’s not a look worn for appearances, but for movement. Not to stand above, but to walk with—lifting, supporting, and steadying what matters most. Leadership, here, is an ongoing practice—grounded, enduring, and fully present.

By ditching the blue blazer, the identity and uniform of an idealized “school man,” Chad was becoming more himself. His presence, his energy and the cadence of his words were all more authentic. He spoke of the ways he tried to live up to expectations – seeking approval from paternal role models. He spoke of the long road that led to his marriage to Alice. He spoke of failures from which he had learned. Still, I venture to say what most inspired such change … Hugo.

I met the inquisitive and loving five-year-old on his birthday. It was rest time. If you are a PreK – 8 Head of School, you know this is a sacred time not to be interrupted, yet we walked through the contorted bodies of preschoolers sprawled on mats on the floor. We Heads of School tend to disrupt like that. When Chad finally folded himself into a chair much too small for his frame, I met Hugo. His eyes lit up when he saw his dad. The two collapsed into a hug. The intimacy of the moment in the midst of the school day was a gift for this birthday boy and his father.

Chad: There’s nothing like it.

Liz: Does the world go into slow motion?

Chad: For sure. And it’s never lost on me that the journey to that was long and winding and tricky.

Liz: So is that partially why you can be present in that moment? Because it was long and tricky?

Chad: Yeah, you know, because it’s just never lost on me that I waited a long time for it. And, you know, along the way there was always something missing. And you don’t quite know what that is. And I don’t know that it’s completely solved now, but I know that that little boy takes me a lot farther than where I was.

I fully understand. I waited a long time for it. I often say that my world was changed as soon as they placed Grace in my arms -but that’s nothing but flowery language. It is not accurate. I didn’t get to hold Grace for days after she was born. I first laid eyes on her the day after she was born – not minutes. She was in an incubator and I was wheeled next to her in a hospital bed. I reached my IV-laden hand past her tubes and wires and touched her skin gently at first – as if I needed to make sure she was real. Unbelievably, she was mine. From that moment on I had one job and one title in this world – mother. Every successful element of school leadership was born from a selfish impulse to make things the best I could or the best I wished they could have been for Grace and later Ella.

Chad understands this. Fatherhood changed him …for good. 

Chad: In ways that are maybe even bigger than I would have wanted to admit, because I always felt like, even though I wasn’t a parent, because I’d been a dorm parent and because I felt like I really knew kids, that I understood what parents were going through. But I can look back now and say I knew it conceptually, but I didn’t know it at all emotionally. And I think that led to a head of school that was a little bit more clinical, a little bit more objective. I led with the head and not with the heart. 

By leading with the heart, we transform organizational cultures from mechanistic systems into living, breathing communities of mutual growth. This leadership approach demands continuous personal work—a willingness to confront one’s own emotional landscapes and to heal personal wounds that might unconsciously color interactions. This personal work cultivates a radical empathy that sees beyond surface-level behaviors to the underlying human needs and vulnerabilities. 

In watching Chad work with a group of students, I witnessed the profound difference between protocol and presence. His approach transcended a traditional disciplinary playbook. As students voiced their concerns, Chad created a space where time seemed to expand. Rather than rushing to solutions, he guided them through layers of comprehension – from the visible behaviors that troubled them to the hidden struggles that might spark any unwanted actions. Each question he posed served as a bridge, helping students cross from judgment to understanding. Chad’s leadership was so much more profound than the reflexive reach for the metaphorical blue blazer of authority and compliance.

Liz: Now, did the blue blazer stop at the same time as becoming a dad?

Chad: The blue blazer stopped when I allowed myself to be myself.

Liz: And was that associated with becoming a dad?

Chad: I think it was probably a bit after that because I think the first part of the experience of becoming a dad was like, oh, crap, I can’t screw this up, because if I screw it up this time, it’s more than just me. So I probably buttoned the blue blazer just a little tighter initially just to make sure I was getting it right.

And then I finally came to peace … probably a couple of years into fatherhood … there was a voice that I’d been working on and a sense of myself that I valued that came to light. At a school that emphasizes as a core value and understanding and appreciation of differences among people, we shouldn’t all look the same. And there are lots of ways to lead and there are lots of voices that can lead. You know, we come in all shapes and sizes. And the Navy blazer is not evidence of credibility.

As Chad grew to admire and appreciate who he was and what he had to offer, he didn’t need the blue blazer. He literally shed the trappings and entanglements of the role of Head of School. At his heart, he was enough. His first son had been the “Living Proof” he needed.

Oh in a world so hard and dirty

So fouled and confused

Searching for a little bit of god’s mercy

I found living proof

Well, I put my heart and soul baby

I put ‘em high on a shelf

Right next to that faith

Faith that I’d lost in myself

Forgive me, but I cannot write about Chad Barnett or his son Hugo without a nod to The Boss. Chad is an avid Bruce Springsteen fan, therefore Hugo is too.  At a recent concert Bruce knelt down to give a young boy his harmonica – it was Hugo. This brush with fame adorns the headmaster’s office walls. I imagine it must be somewhat shocking for a student to sit in Chad’s office and know how cool Hugo and his dad are.

Unlike other items on his office shelves, one book sits with its cover facing forward. I was drawn to it as soon as I walked in, for it was illustrated by Peter Reynolds – a man whose art touches my heart as it manifests the power of children. The title reads I am Human. It affirms that we can make good choices by acting with compassion and having empathy for others and ourselves. Seems so fitting that Chad should look up at it everyday. What makes it even better – it was a gift from a child.

As Chad mentioned, his school values diversity. That mission was challenged and strengthened in 2018 when 11 congregants were killed at The Tree of Life synagogue – mere blocks from school and visible from Chad’s home. As a community leader, Chad felt the responsibility to respond with compassion and education. St Edmund’s made a calculated effort to teach and value the respect and kindness necessary in a school with great diversity drawing students from nearly 50 zip codes. In the midst of this work a young girl had the courage to ask Mr. Barnett to borrow some money. She had come to school without any book fair money and there was a book she wanted. As a fellow English teacher, Chad is not one to turn down a request to read, so he handed her the folded $20 bill he had in his pocket.

Moments later she arrived back in his office and presented him with I Am Human. Maybe she knew he was on the precipice of transforming into a school man who led from the heart and not the head. Perhaps she was aware that even a Head of School deserves to know that he is seen and valued for being just who he is. Children know. They are our wisest teachers.

Chad: The voice inside my head speaks up and says “he” doesn’t value your authority. He doesn’t think you’re smart. He doesn’t think you’re good enough. And I now am very familiar with that voice. And I know how to acknowledge it and how to let it go. And that, I think, has allowed me to have a lot of calm confidence.

Liz: What are the words that you use either internally or actually speak when you acknowledge that little liar in your head.

Chad: Sometimes I just sort of laugh or I’ll say, hey, I hear you. You’re back. And I do treat it as a bit of an old friend but not one who’s ever in the driver’s seat anymore.

There is a frame of four men on his desk – Frank Boyden, Jack Pidgeon, Reno DiOrio and himself, Chad Barnett. Alice made it for him. It is a point of pride that she sees him in the lineage of the school men whose authority and leadership Chad admires. I see the value that he is continuing a tradition of excellence in school leadership differently. Chad is different – he has all the best qualities of the long tenured heads who came before him, but now he marches (in his hiking boots without his blue blazer) to his own drummer. Dare I say it is Max Weinberg of Bruce Springsteen’s E Street band?

I know we are a better independent school community when our heads of school know themselves and show up with an authentic presence within their schools. Chad is living proof.


Liz Hofreuter

Founder GEN-Ed

Not your typical researcher or consultant, Liz connects lived experience to transformative leadership. To uncomplicate leadership and education, every story matters and she is just getting started.

Morning People

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Like many of my friends whose children excel in sports, Carrie and Geno Ochap travel all the time. It is a rare weekend that their foursome is in one place. Normally, Carrie and Geno are playing man-to-man defense – divide and conquer… it’s better stated divide and support. In fact, the only time she was available to walk was during soccer practice. While Lincoln was at the top of the hill, Carrie stole away to walk with me. 

Time. It rears its control of our lives in yet another conversation.

Naturally, I have the harbinger of Barb’s walk echoing in my mind. “Don’t let yourself run out of time,” so I ask when Carrie puts herself first to take care of her life and her marriage. It is not surprising that she chooses to respond to the latter. 

Carrie: We have what we call “date nights” but it’s like 5:45 in the morning when we’re both awake and can’t sleep. We watch the news and have coffee and catch up on the world. But it’s really our time. 5:45 to 6:30 a.m.

Being there in the quiet morning together may very well have started when Geno was sleeping in the hospital chair for three weeks while Carrie was on bed rest with their first son. The heightened mix of worry and joy never leaves you. At least it never left me. Carrie did what I could not – she carried a second child and found herself on eight weeks of bedrest with this pregnancy…with a two-year-old. This is certainly the proving ground for life’s journey to divide and conquer.

Carrie: Jokingly, I always say you guys caused me stress before you even were born.

There is truth behind that humor, and it swirls with regret and guilt. She feels like she screwed up. She didn’t do exactly what they needed her to do. “It’s real.” Maybe that stems from a hard pregnancy. Maybe it comes with a learning difference.

There is a hint of anxiety in Carrie’s tone as she talks about her son struggling with reading comprehension. She remembers asking herself, “Did I miss something?” She saw them with their lives in front of them and worried, “What if…” 

Carrie: I always question myself when one of my kids is struggling. It’s hard to see him struggle. With Maddox we unlocked the problem by listening to books on tape. When he was able to finally navigate that situation and learn how to do it on his own after that, I could see that little spark of confidence.

She tries to remember that spark and focus there, but the worry is top of mind. As we talk, I want Carrie to lighten up on herself. I want her to put herself first and see what I see in her. She will. It’s not my timeline. It’s hers. These walks are not intended to fix anything…just to walk with what comes up.

I have to remind myself that her experience with anxiety is exactly why our paths crossed in the first place. She was Grace’s Cross-country coach. I cajoled Grace into the sport because of Carrie. I believe the best we can do as parents is choose to put the right people in our child’s windshield. Ask yourself, who has influence over my child? What values is she influenced by? Whose heart encourages hers? For me, the answer was Carrie Ochap.

Carrie made Grace a better runner and a better person. My daughter surprised me with her speed and effortless grace (no pun intended) on the course. In middle school, she regularly finished in the top ten. Admittedly, I assumed high school would be more challenging since the course was longer. Grace still found herself at the front of the pack. As the season wore on, Grace became worried she would let people down if she didn’t finish well. Carrie knew that pit in her stomach. She could recognize it in my daughter because she had lived it herself. Sometimes, she could coach her through those butterflies and then position herself at various turns on the course – arriving as if from nowhere to offer Grace the push she needed.

Even as I type this, tears roll down my face. How do you articulate gratitude for another mother who sees your child and loves them …appearing as if magically right when they are giving up on themselves?

There was one race that Carrie texted me… “Grace needs you. Come to the starting line.” Standing on the line with that pack of runners behind her, Grace was becoming breathless. She was positioned with her toes on the line because her previous times suggested she would be one of the fastest. The crowd was literally and physically pushing her forward. I couldn’t get to her, but I locked eyes with her and kept my words limited, “Just run your race.” She said nothing, but her face told me that she worried that wouldn’t be enough. “Run your race,” I repeated with a brave smile hoping to mask all of my worries and joys that started during bedrest. 

Carrie squeezed her shoulder, “You got this.” There I stood separated from my child who was hurting. I could see she was creating a narrative in her own mind that was paralyzing. It was Carrie’s eyes she looked into for strength. It was Carrie who responded and repeated, “You got this,” like the beat of a heart until the starter’s pistol fired.

Grace finished in the top five that race. 

I can’t remember if I hired Carrie that year or the one before, but that was the moment I think of when I reflect on how we formed our leadership team. I have seen her bring comfort to so many parents, teachers and children as she did for my daughter. She galvanizes the best from others with her empathy and her passion. Yes, I want to lessen Carrie’s burden, but how do we encourage someone to do that without losing their very essence? The essence that gives every parent the peace of mind when dropping off a child in the morning. 

We aren’t all morning people after all. 


Liz Hofreuter

Founder GEN-Ed

Not your typical researcher or consultant, Liz connects lived experience to transformative leadership. To uncomplicate leadership and education, every story matters and she is just getting started.

A Masterclass

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If wisdom comes from experience, and experience comes from making mistakes, then 2024 has been a masterclass. Between career pivots, unexpected joys, and moments of startling clarity that arrived without warning, I’ve collected a handful of truths that feel too valuable to keep to myself.

So before we raise our glasses to 2025, let me share what this year has taught me – not as someone who has it all figured out, but as a fellow traveler walking through life. Some of these lessons came gently, others arrived with the subtlety of a freight train. All of them have left their mark.

24 lessons of 2024 in no particular order.

  1. Every story matters.
  2. Let your face light up – children need to know you love them just as they are – so do adults.
  3. Challenges faced as a parent make us better school leaders.
  4. Be present to build a better future.
  5. LISTEN
  6. …like you might be wrong.
  7. Be explicit.
  8. No one parents any two children the same.
  9. The best two lines of parenting, “That sucks” and “I get it.” Memorize them.
  10. Show up.
  11. Listen to your gut and use your voice until someone listens to you.
  12. What a waste to want to be the smartest person in the room.
  13. Be authentic.
  14. If kids like you, you are doing something right.
  15. Take advantage of the time you are given.
  16. Pause and use curiosity in moments that take you out at your knees.
  17. Park the snowplow – get out of our children’s way for their own growth.
  18. Offer GRACE…first to yourself …then others.
  19. You are building an interconnected network every day. You will need it someday.
  20. Create WITH not FOR others.
  21. Laugh. Make it fun.
  22. Look up.
  23. Tell them*
  24. Take the next step.

Of all 2024’s unexpected joys, one stands brightest: Tell them. Let me explain why.

Walking, listening, transcribing – this has become my ritual of witnessing lives beyond my own. As I write, my audience remains intentionally small: the storyteller and my daughters. As I have learned, every story matters. 

Each time I hand these stories back to their owners for approval, their gratitude catches me off guard. What started as my personal exploration has crystallized into something more profound: each piece becomes a mirror, reflecting back the light and worth I see in them. I tell them.

These walking companions have given me an invaluable gift: their friendship and their trust. They’ve opened their lives, allowing me to share these blogs with you. In return, I offer them the gift of being truly seen. That exchange has brought me immeasurable joy and it seems to have done the same for them. arvind called it “a shot of B12”.

As 2025 approaches, I will venture on a slightly different path – still walking beside leaders shaping our future, but also walking with children who instinctively understand what our world needs, and unsung heroes like Mark Kowcheck, whose quiet acts of kindness create ripples he will never witness.

Happy New Year.


Liz Hofreuter

Founder GEN-Ed

Not your typical researcher or consultant, Liz connects lived experience to transformative leadership. To uncomplicate leadership and education, every story matters and she is just getting started.