Liz Hofreuter

Angi Evans draws you in. Even on a zoom call. Her unassuming curiosity elicits serious deeper thought. Her humility levels the playing field. Without ego, she leaves her fingerprints on your mind and your heart.

I met Angi through the Elementary School Heads Association (ESHA). The only national organization of Heads of School focused on PreK-8 independent education. That narrow filter makes for professional connections that I hope will translate into lifelong friendships. We support each other through the ebb and flow of an academic year.

Each fall we gather as a group to discuss the trials and triumphs of school leadership. Dozens of heads of school collaborating in one room. Except this year I wasn’t. As a former head, I am an associate member – a title usually reserved for retired heads. I am not retired. I assume everyone uses that expression for one reason – why would you leave such an incredible position unless you were ready to focus on your golf game?

While she is still the Head at Harbor Day School in Newport Beach, CA, she is the first person who understands why I stepped aside. She was spot on when she said,

“It’s becoming my school rather than the school. And I want it to be the school, not my school.” That’s the essence of my decision to step aside after 15 years as Head of School. 

We are walking near Lady Bird Lake in Austin, TX reflecting on the wisdom bestowed on us by Evan Smith. After decades of interviewing leaders for The Texas Tribune and PBS’ Overheard with Evan Smith, he had a thing or two to say about leadership. Actually, he had a top ten list. 

Number 7 was “You got next.” He encouraged all leaders to build a pipeline for leadership succession from the very day they take the job.

Moving through the first six items on the list, Angi was nodding with that knowing agreement a speaker leans into. Then came 7. Evan encouraged, “From day one think about who comes next.”  Nine out of ten of his points. I was like, nailing it. That’s. I’m so good. And that was the one where I was like, crap.

Angi: Well, I say that to board presidents every time, but it’s not our job., but in the end, it’s not our job. Even if you would say to your board chair, “I think Joe Long, who is here at our school, is the greatest next head, they’re still going to close the door and make the decision.”

As we discuss the polarity between confidentiality and transparency in the search process, we identify the tension that adds to the inherent difficulty of change. The transparent communication found in many PreK-8 schools builds trust. It is the foundation for the family-like atmosphere of our communities. In the absence of communication, the false narratives will write themselves. Trust breaks down. This tension is common. As an industry, we need to name it and further examine this polarity of leadership change.

Angi: Not like we’re identifying the next pope – waiting for the white smoke or something.

That’s Angi. She doesn’t take herself too seriously. Her humor pokes at an illusion of superiority, but we’re talking about the need for continued authentic leadership. 

I ask her what makes her a good leader. She names optimism, and curiosity quickly. I add humility and then we agree on a note of competition.

Angi: When they induced me to have my son, they induced another woman simultaneously in the room next door. I was compelled. I wanted to beat her to having the baby. And the doctor’s saying, ‘It’s too early. There’s nothing you can do.’ Sure there was. I’d ask, ‘How’s she doing?’

I don’t need to tell you that Angi’s son was born first.  That was a given. Would I be hearing the story if she hadn’t? Such a competitive spirit keeps us on our toes and drives us toward greater and greater school improvement. However, head of school leadership has a different lens than other positions. Sure there is the business side – “like a superintendent in the public school district,” but there is also a spiritual side… untouched by competition.

Angi: People will come to us when they are in crisis. They’re wanting us to provide some support or wisdom or assurance that it’s going to be okay that we don’t have. But they’re hoping. We can say, ‘I’m sorry you’re going through this hard time, and we will do all that we can to make sure that when your child is here at school.’ They feel this is an oasis from whatever troubles they have going on elsewhere.

We validate the emotion, not the position nor the experience. 

Angi: I think we all became a little bit of crisis addicts.  Crisis crystallizes your priorities. 

And it is the crises – large and small – that leaves others in our organizations musing that they wouldn’t want our jobs with the variety of responsibilities for culture, curriculum, curiosity, balanced budgets, fundraising, governance …and leading through crisis. 

Still, it’s a position we have both treasured for many reasons.  I encouraged Angi to distill it to the top five.

Angi: 

1. I matter. In a certain segment of the world. I matter. People notice if I’m not there. I think I will miss that. I’ve become very used to mattering out in the world. (“That’s super lame, but that’s one of those.”)
2. I have a story every single day.
3. I’ll just miss all the humans.
4. I have things that make me curious, that are engaging and interesting and not only matter to me, but I think matter to society as a whole. I think education is such a noble profession. So when we’re thinking about education, I think we can be proud of ourselves that we’re thinking about something like that. 
5. Every day I interact with 5 year old, every day I interact with a 72 year old and every day I interact with everything in between. And I think there are few roles where you have this almost 70 year span of ages and generations, you know. So if I could say I went and became a consultant or this or that, you’re never going to again have that wide range. And so I feel like I can tell people what 5 year olds care about. I know I can see what a 70 year old is thinking about. Not all of them but you know.

We are both very pleased we dedicated our leadership to the Pre K- 8 arena. In our schools there is room for learning from failure. Indeed, we encourage it. At WCDS a former student suggested a new tagline for the school, “We fail here.” Not one we publicized, but valid nonetheless.

Angi: There’s room for trial and error in K8. I feel so bad for parents who don’t think that there’s room for trial and error …and faculty too. I’m always saying, we don’t have to get it right every time. We just have to keep trying. And so many people are afraid of what I call these very low stakes failures. And so I really talk to our parents about low stakes failures and trying another way and making space for that to not work because they don’t think that there’s room for error.

The most important learning from failure is learning that failure doesn’t kill you. You go forward. 

For instance,  we have 416 students, and I know all their names – including the twins. And people say, how do you do it? And I say, I’m willing to screw up. I’m willing to say Connor to Tyler and have him say, oh, no, it’s Tyler. And then that shame prevents me from ever doing it again. I will never. And so I try to tell people that you have to be willing to make the mistake. It’s totally low stakes. But people aren’t willing to do that.

Again, a perk and a responsibility of the PreK – 8 head – you need to know every child’s name…and their dog’s… and what they call a grandparent. Every child matters and what matters in their lives matters too – it makes them feel seen. We have the privilege of being the beginning of their educational journey and the gift of their being part of our lives. That was the hard part for me. Waking up on the first day of school and realizing the preschool class wasn’t going to be down the stairs. I wasn’t going to sit in on story time or hula hoop badly or pick apart a buckeye as my daily routine.

Angi: Nobody asked me what I thought, and that was it. And he said, I’m just like a potted plant. I have nothing to do here.

She shares that wisdom from a colleague who just retired.

The position of Head of School requires us to maintain that thread of mentorship from beginning to end.  Your first year feels like a launch and you can benefit so much from the hard-won wisdom of those who have sat at the desk for a while. Angi offered some advice to her younger self beginning the life as Head of School: “You’re probably going to do a pretty good job and you’re going to love this. Do a better job journaling. I can’t believe the number of things I’ve forgotten.” 

I continue to think about the final year of headship and all the polarities that exist in that year. If the first year is a launch, shouldn’t that final year be a landing? A descent slowed by parachutes? And don’t we need mentors through this transition just as much as we need them when we are just getting started? 

Who’s got next, indeed, but in the process let us not forget the value of the potted plant.

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Stacy Blain was born to be a scientist.

Stacy: I loved science from a very early age. I can remember my kindergarten science teacher, things like that. Crazy. So I always knew this was what I liked…and someone’s tried to destroy something that I’ve wanted since kindergarten.

Let me explain.  This is my college roommate who found a cure for a specific breast cancer. I have said those words often. They stop people in their tracks. It humbles me when I do. The voice in my head uses it against me sometimes. Who do you think you are? What have you accomplished? I mean… I’m just running a school. Good Lord. My roommate cured breast cancer…

But the university where she worked was not always a supportive mentor. In fact they accused her of terrible things and removed her from an NIH grant that would have allowed the drug she was working on to go into clinical trials much sooner.

Stacy: They basically took everything away in January of 2022, and I didn’t leave until December 23. I stayed there… part of me thought they would wake up and realize they were wrong and they’d give me everything back and I’d just go back to work. I know that’s completely ridiculous, but that’s what I think people that are abused think. Right? I think, oh, this is going to end, and they are going to be better to me, or my employer is going to be better. That’s the psychology you fall into. I wasn’t quitting because I felt like this is what I was supposed to do. This is my whole life. 

It is hard for me to tell this story. The arrogance, gaslighting, and intimidation seems unreal and yet all so familiar to me.   Stacy is suing her former employer for gender discrimination and harassment. This is a recurring pattern. I have seen it play out in the lives of too many women with whom I’ve crossed paths. Yet somehow as something so unfathomable happens, it begins to feel only like a story and not part of one’s reality. Maybe it is a coping mechanism.

Stacy: This wasn’t just a job for me. This was, like, my entire definition of self.  I am a mother, a wife, a friend, a scientist. That’s how I describe myself.

I think she lists them in that order purposely. Motherhood wins the day, but not in any stereotypical way.

Stacy: I’ve often said to my kids, all I want is for you to find something that makes you inspired. I left you kids every day to do something that was a part of who I was. And I hope that I didn’t damage you by not being there every minute. But I said, also, for me, I was such a better mother because I wasn’t there every minute. I wasn’t great at showing up to school with a snack every day.

God, sorry. Seriously, we need a snack? We can’t make it 20 minutes home?

Her list of who she is also includes one other title: CEO. She took that cure and formed Concarlo Therapeutics, a preclinical-stage precision oncology company whose mission it is to dramatically improve outcomes for patients with drug-resistant cancers by creating transformative therapies that control the p27 target. (Yep, I had to look all of that up.) The name of her company is the confluence of her children’s names. I loved that so much, I borrowed the idea. When I stepped away from headship to impact EDucation more broadly, I wanted to remember that my priority is always Grace, Ella and Nicolas, thus GEN-Ed was so named. 

Stacy has always inspired me, but once we took this walk, I found myself enchanted in new ways. We talked about our responsibilities to the women who came before us and the women to follow. We blended the idea of “Princeton in the nation’s service” to dedicating our lives to make something better for this generation and the ones to come. We talked about closing chapters in our lives that had included hundreds if not thousands of students between us. We talked about pivoting from academic worlds to leading new concerns, the necessary period of grief that accompanies the transition and the unexpected joy of longer fingernails. We have both taken the time to reflect on how we want things to be different going forward, so I asked her to define a good leader?

Stacy: Well, I think there are multiple aspects of it. First and foremost, you have to be able to sell your product to other people. And whether that’s you’re physically selling products or you’re doing what I’m doing, which is selling this vision to raise money, that’s what it all comes down to. Can I convince people that this is a good question, that this is a good path to reach the answer to that question, and that will then transform human health?

The second is actually building the team and then making sure the team is seen and validated. Everyone is respected. I have the saying… I do not want to be the smartest person in the room. I want to be in a room with all these brilliant people, and I’ll just help facilitate all those conversations so that we can be the sum which is so much greater than our parts. 

Apparently that’s an unusual mindset. I’ve been told this, like, a lot of people want to be the most powerful person.

Maybe this is the undoing of the imposter voice that lives in our heads – choose to be in rooms with brilliant people. Listen as if you might be wrong to broaden your thinking. Learn something new.

Stacy: I think one of my scientific strengths is being able to listen to different arguments and sort of parse down like, okay, this is actually the question we’re asking, and can we design the experiment for that question? And if we’re right, great. And if we’re wrong, great. Because now we know we need a different question. 

Curiosity, then, is a weapon against imposter syndrome. We can find those places where we feel lesser than or wrong and know we only need to reframe the thought. Ask a different question. Get curious in the moment. Learn from the room rather than worry in false comparisons or long for someone to validate your thinking or your actions.

Stacy: You know, funny you’re saying this, I was about to say, I don’t need to be seen and validated all the time. Although I now think, what if I had been more mentored and more seen and validated for 20 years? Where would I have been? So maybe my ability to do this now as the CEO is a reaction to what I didn’t have for 20 years. I was a lone wolf. I was doing my thing, and I remember thinking, if I just dig in, it doesn’t really matter. I don’t need to have validation, and I don’t need to have mentorship, I can just do my stuff. But now that I’m running a gig, I want it to be different.

I lived for 20 years in the if – when. That’s the way I describe it, If I get this grant, when I win this teaching award, then I’m going to be “in the boys club.” But then you realize you’re never going to be in that. You should be able to say these are the things that I’m doing and working hard for and I should be valued and seen for the place that I am in. 

I was in the room, but I wasn’t seen, right? I have this saying, do I have my invisible shirt on? Like my invisibility cloak? Like, can no one actually see me?

What does such invisibility do? It makes us see ourselves differently. It breeds imposter syndrome.

Stacy: I recognize that I have it. My university ignored me and then was trying to destroy me and said I did all these terrible things, and it’s hard not to take that personally. But one has to look for the motivation that others have to ignore you, or to hurt you, and frequently, and in my case, that was more about how I didn’t fit into someone else’s definition, how I was making people nervous because I wasn’t subservient to their opinions, especially when I started my company and really believed that we could cure breast cancer. That really annoyed people, because they were saying, who the hell does she think she is? So I definitely have imposter syndrome. But I think you have to recognize it’s there and you have to fight it and say, tomorrow’s another day. And then also fight the people trying to bring you down. 

Even Stacy has imposter syndrome. If she does, what hope is there for the rest of us? She is different. Not only is she standing up for herself in a lawsuit, but she also recognizes imposter syndrome for what it is and embraces it as a way to make the most out of each day. Like Barb Buchwach, Stacy understands the value of time. We only get so much time, so we need to make the very best of it.

Stacy: I think what it comes down to for me is life is a zero sum game. Every minute that you’re not doing something, having fun, making a difference is a wasted minute. There’s only so much time.

She has a very scientific way of thinking about things – even how she spends her time. There is a constant analysis happening in her mind. Does this conversation have value? Is this mission aligned with mine? 

Stacy: I ask, is this going to be valuable? And that’s exactly the metric I do in my head. I’m going to go to this thing because I think it’s going to be valuable to me. But networking is sometimes difficult for me. Because it is not initially obvious how this conversation might align with my mission. But in my new CEO role I’ve had to put myself out there more. And a lot of times now I’m completely pleasantly surprised because I’m learning about different industries and different things that I didn’t know about.

Liz: And so you are not the smartest person in the room.

Stacy: I’m not the smartest person in the room and I’m totally comfortable with that. The last five years have been a mind blowing transformation for me. I’m definitely putting myself out there. And I think a lot of it is that the metric of my time value is different. 

Her former bosses may have tried to bring this fierce yet petite woman to her knees these past few years, but she stands tall in her gratitude. Not because the path was easy, but because she never had to walk it alone. By her side, unwavering and steady, walks Jason, her husband, another dear college friend of mine.

Stacy: He’s had my back. We’ve had a lot of angst over the last few years, but we’ve been able to have a lot of joy because we have each other’s back, and we’re so supportive. And I think that it is really a beautiful thing to realize I married the right guy. 

In all the time Stacy felt invisible at work, Jason saw her. When others wouldn’t, Jason validated her. I have a hypothesis that it comes down to this simple truth: one person who truly sees you can give you the strength, the support, and the courage to keep rising, no matter what life deals you. 

When I was walking with Stacy, I had the sense that two small towhead girls…maybe kindergarten-aged… dressed in the finest 70’s style… were continuously darting awaying from us with arms swinging wide and feet barely touching the ground only to return with faces beaming wide from some brief but grand adventure before facing the next. We are all still our younger selves finding joy in our scariest adventures and comfort in our deepest connections.

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In the early 1970s, a love affair with Wheeling, West Virginia began for Jim Denova. As a Pittsburgh, PA native, Denova was introduced to Wheeling by his future wife, whom he met while she was attending Bethany College. He wasn’t just captivated by her, but by the charm and character of this small city that rivaled artist colonies in big cities, historical preservation, great architecture, but also the most interesting people that are very approachable and friendly. 

Fast forward to the year 2000, when Jim Denova began his work at the Claude Worthington Benedum Foundation, a private foundation operating across West Virginia and Pennsylvania. The true essence of Jim’s work was not in the grants themselves, but in the relationships he cultivated. He is a connector. He brought together people from different sectors to cross-pollinate ideas and collaborate on meaningful projects. He expanded my thinking on philanthropy. For him grant making was an investment in a person’s idea that aligned with the mission of the foundation.

Jim: You fund a person and an actual body of work. So if you don’t think your idea needs the money, in some ways you’re denying an investor the opportunity to invest in what they really think is important. And that’s why I use the word investment rather than grant making. Because grants make it sound like charity. It sounds like they’re dolling out to the most sympathetic story. That’s charity. Philanthropy doesn’t work that way. Philanthropy is really about a foundation, meaning an endowment that has a mission. And my job as a staff person, was to find the best projects that match the mission of the organization. 

I’d say “Let’s have a meeting. Let’s throw it against the wall. Let me tell you who else, if you’re willing, should be there. Let’s put the ideas together. Let’s shape the program. And I’ll tell you what, the last thing we’ll do is write it up as a proposal.” You don’t start with a proposal. You generate an idea through conversations. 

This is how I met Jim. We had a conversation about learning differences. We talked about a project. He could sense that my focus on children with learning differences was worthy of an investment, but I do not think I fully understood that the “person” was as much of the focus as the idea until we walked together. While I had written a worthy proposal, it was my ability to tell the story, to listen and to connect ideas that led to successful funding.  

This is also a template for good leadership in Jim’s estimation.

Jim: If I had to define the best leadership, I’d call it collegial leadership, a team sport. And not the singular commander in chief, a head of the army, but the best, most manageable cohort of associates that each represents something different. And that group, that collegium becomes the leadership structure. 

My idea of leadership and how I operate, you can call it leadership, is to convene those people who are all smarter than me. Never convene someone that isn’t smarter than you. Make sure they’re all different and then hit the go button. So that is my leadership tactic.

That servant leadership, deferential leadership, collegial leadership, whatever the Harvard text folks call it, it’s just about having an idea, but then bringing really smart people together to figure out where it leads.

Jim: I put Gregg Behr in that category. Since I’ve known Gregg, we have had “throw it against the wall” breakfasts. He was the first foundation, in my estimation, in Pittsburgh, that convened a cabinet of folks who were doing real work in the streets. He had something called an advisory committee, and they were all heads of school, frontline teachers, community organizers. To be able to say, “What should Grable be funding?” and “Are we doing the right thing?” And he would be told, “No, we’re not doing the right thing.”

Liz: That’s the idea that you create with, not create for. If you’re creating something for someone, you’re not really doing it right.

Jim: Exactly. Too often, especially in philanthropy, because you’re dolling out money, you’re seen as elitist, or you see yourself as elitist. And pretty soon, you have an inbred thought culture. And I said, That’s a little incestuous. Why don’t we convene foundations and the mayor and the commissioner and a couple of hard-boiled nonprofits who won’t just kow-tow? Then we’ll see what we can do. It’s inclusion.

Jim makes it seem so easy. Have an idea. Assemble great minds which must be inclusive of all varieties of people – especially people in the trenches. Press go. You have to listen in that meeting, however. You have to be willing to be told that you are getting it wrong. Failing forward. Be bold rather than safe. That exudes the true courage of leadership.

Jim: Yeah, that’s exactly what I would say. I’ve heard some people talk about learning in the sense that we encourage kids to fail. Yes. But every time they do, make sure they fail better, meaning they make new mistakes. I like that phrase. I like that. Fail better. Keep failing, but fail better. Don’t just fail the old way. Yeah.

Liz: You can’t keep making the same mistakes.

Jim: There was another foundation that in their performance evaluations, if they didn’t have a certain percentage of funded projects that crapped out, my word for failure, they got a lower performance review because the assumption was, if everything you do succeeds, you’re not bold enough.

Liz: I love that. Isn’t that? So you’re not taking big enough risks. Exactly. Or as Luke Hladek would say, your swings aren’t big enough. Wow.

Jim: Isn’t that interesting? And they put it into practice. If you’re out there taking the most cautious grants and so that everything works out, then that’s the fast track to mediocrity.

Playing it safe means choosing the well-trodden path, following prescribed scripts, and never daring to color outside the lines—a strategy that guarantees predictability but absolutely ensures that extraordinary achievements will remain perpetually out of reach. Each time we choose caution over courage, we trade the thrilling potential of breakthrough for the numbing consistency of mediocrity, slowly eroding our capacity for innovation, passion, and genuine growth. True excellence demands vulnerability, requires us to step into uncertainty, and necessitates that we become comfortable with being uncomfortable—something that those who perpetually play it safe will never understand.

As Jim reflects on his bold moves throughout his career, we discuss the transitions that come with retirement, he emphasizes the unknown he experienced.

Jim: I went through a grief process, but it had to do with what… Now that I’m retired, who am I? What do I do? Because I defined myself by my work. So there’s that loss of what meaningful role do I play? Am I the has been? What am I? The thing that- 

Liz: Potted plant. 

Jim: The plotted plant. And I’ll tell you, the thing that smoothed out that process was twofold: the best part of being in a foundation were the relationships that I built over time. When people used to say, it must be great to be in a foundation, you get to give away money. I said, nobody cares about giving away the money, it’s an annoyance. The best part is getting to know interesting people and getting them connected to one another, particularly interesting people who wouldn’t otherwise connect through the nature of a siloed society.

Liz: And you don’t need to work at a foundation to do that.

Jim: You don’t. But you raise a good point. Part of that loss of identity is, do people still want me to introduce them if I don’t have a grant at the end of the conversation? I’m worried about that because I will tell you, having made those relationships, once I retired, people have asked me to work on projects, which took me by surprise because other colleagues and philanthropy said, “Jim, the day after retirement, you’re going to be Jim Who” just so you know. 

Liz: No, but I think it was not you because you were focused on the people and not the grant making.

Jim: Correct. I think that’s accurate.

People. That’s the focus. Children, colleagues, leaders, grant makers, foundation trustees…at the heart we are people. When we turn our focus to profit, policy, procedure and forget to look at the people being affected, we have lost our focus. 

I learned this in a very real way 21 years ago. As an infant, Grace left the hospital on a heart monitor. Add to the baby carrier, the diaper bag, a 2004 heart monitor and you get the image that I was more sherpa than mother. Over the course of the first six weeks we had almost 100 alarms. That means the alarm went off at any hour of the day or night to alert me that something was wrong. If you ever wonder where my anxiety comes from, that might give you a hint. One day my mom happened to be in town and saw me jump up at the alert. She walked over to me and put her hand on top of mine as I silenced the alarm. She said, “Look at her.” I did. My pink-faced daughter was still sound asleep. “She is fine.” She taught me to look at Grace first when the alarm sounded. Grace mattered not the machine. When we returned to Children’s Hospital for the pediatrician to read the reports, he looked at me in disbelief. We had had almost 100 FALSE READINGS. We had a faulty heart monitor. Grace was fine. Look at the child. That may have been her very best advice of all.

I have to give myself some grace…again. There is an equanimity that grandparents have born from their lived experience. I was less than six months into this parenting gig. I was bound to make mistakes. We all are. Even Jim.

Jim: Well, I’ve made more mistakes in parenting that I care to count, and I’m not sure all of them were failing better. And the humility, you never do anything right. Yes. Contrast, with the people that think they should bow at the knee because I work at a foundation, not because I’m Jimmy, because I work at a foundation. You make sure you’re really grounded in all your frailties. I’m sure that’s not what Mr. Rogers would say is the overriding characteristic of parenthood.

Liz: I have to tell you, you just nailed exactly how I’ve been talking about it with my own children…My oldest has said, time and again, you were used to going someplace where your ideas mattered and people put them into action, and we don’t.

In fact, if I speak an idea, my kids are more than likely going to say it’s wrong.

Jim: Now that I’m a grandfather, and so you try to correct those mistakes with your grandkids or what I’ve learned, I’ve tried to fail better.

After this walk through an art gallery in Center Market in Wheeling, I knew Jim better than I had before. I saw differently the work of foundations. I walked away with more confidence in myself. I felt more connected. That is what Jim does.

There’s something powerfully grounding about someone sharing real observations and insights gathered while moving through physical spaces. The movement helps process complex thoughts – the steady rhythm of footsteps seems to unlock deeper layers of reflection and candor. I am so grateful that this is my current path.

Liz: Well, thanks, Jim. Uncle Jimmy.

Jim: Was this?

Liz: This was wonderful.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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