“I live for these kinds of events!”

At our Thanksgiving All-School Assembly, Peter Lisle, our School President, described the excitement, ambivalence, and energy that characterize his extended family’s holiday get-togethers. As he talked about the dynamics and described his relatives, I wondered whether he and I were related. He spoke of grandparents, parents, uncles, aunts, cousins, and brothers and sisters, all with strong personalities, trying to identify and protect their own turf as they attempt to be open and understanding of others. He certainly described our family and I suspect many others.

Although our Thanksgiving did not include all of these people, earlier this month my wife and kids and I traveled to Boston for a series of family events that brought my eight siblings, their families, my mother, great aunt, and my family and me together for the first time in three or four years. As we approached the weekend, Peter’s comments ran through my head, and I found myself with more angst and trepidation than the normal vacation would bring. As much as I looked forward to it, I felt ambivalent and hesitant. While I was excited to be going, I worried that things might not go well. I wondered how the dynamics would be, whether people would get along. Would we be able to interact? How much reliving of our childhood would we do?

Ultimately, my concerns were for naught. It turned out to be a spectacular experience. For whatever reason, there was relatively little tension. People seemed to have let go of their assumptions about each other and were more comfortable with themselves and the others. Somehow, my eight siblings and I balanced our predisposition to regress to the roles we played while growing up with the ability to genuinely share where we are now. People were more open and free, relaxed and happy; as one of my brothers-in-law suggested, we appeared to be more mature or at least more flexible. While I am not sure that we have actually grown up, we have certainly progressed.

The twenty-or-so first cousins who were together behaved much the same way. Though many of them have their individual relationships with and feelings about each other, they mixed remarkably well and were understanding and supportive of one another. While I rationalized that my siblings and I were being good role models for them, I knew at heart that they are free of some of the baggage we carry as siblings and are naturally less concerned about each other.

One of the events we celebrated was the 50th birthday of one of my brothers. This was of particular importance because he is the fifth of the nine children to turn 50, making all of us feel that much older. Of course, as we looked at him, we wondered about our own youth and place in the world, knowing that when our father was 50 we all thought him to be old. (The situation was intensified by the celebration happening on the same day as what would have been my father’s 92nd birthday; although he was not there in person, he was clearly watching over us.)

As intense as it was for the siblings, it was even more poignant for my mother. When I looked at her, she seemed preoccupied and removed, until I saw a tear run down her face. I walked over to see how she was doing. It turns out that memories of our youth had been traveling through her mind in an unabashed fashion. I asked her if she was all right. It was then that she said: “Steve, I am great. I live for these kinds of events.”

Obviously for my mother and for all of us, family is extremely important. Although we can be self-absorbed and preoccupied, we are there for our family and for each other whenever we are needed. As we look to the challenges that we face with our own families, it gives us strength to be able to recall the passion that characterized everything we did as children. Today, as individuals, we are as different as one can imagine, yet the values we share and are trying to teach our own kids are the ones that our parents tried to teach us. They wanted us to be active and involved, compassionate and understanding; they wanted us to be ourselves. Yet, before we could accomplish those goals, we needed to take responsibility for ourselves and to excuse our parents for whatever deficiencies they had as parents, understanding that they did the best they could. (I hope that my siblings’ children and my own children will be able to forgive us more quickly than many of us were able to forgive our parents.)

As we drove home from Boston, my wife, Sunny, and I could not stop talking about the wonderful time we had had there. In thinking about the lessons that we all want to pass on to our own children, we were taken by the amazing consistency and overlap. In Boston, many of us agreed that with whatever we want our children to learn, we want them to have a positive attitude and to have character; we want them to have hope. As Irene Dunlap, one of the authors of the Chicken Soup series, said: “Attitudes are self-created. You are free to choose to be victimized by circumstances or people, or you can choose to look at life with an open mind and be victorious. No one else can choose your attitude for you. Your perspective and choice of attitude gives you the power to be in control. That is the essence of true freedom.”

There may not be a better example of this than Dan Gottlieb, a noted psychologist, author, and commentator here in Philadelphia. A brilliant individual, he was paralyzed in an accident over 25 years ago. Rather than turn inward, he has put his efforts into making this a better world for all. As he says in the introduction of his book, Letters to Sam, “Books taught me a bit about psychology, but paralysis taught me to sit still and keep my ears and eyes open so I could listen.”

The book, which is among the most compelling and sensitive pieces I have ever read, is a series of letters from Gottlieb to his grandson, Sam, who is autistic. In it, Gottlieb comes to grips with his own and others’ expectations: “I wanted him to understand what it means to be different from everybody else. I wanted to teach him what I learned about fighting against adversity that I face each day of my life and that I fear he will face in his life…. Most of all I wanted to tell Sam about love. I wanted him to know that Andrew Lloyd Webber got it right when he said, ‘Love changes everything.’ I wanted him to be fully loved and to savor every sensation that it elicits. And I wanted him to understand that as he gets older, giving love may be more important than receiving it.”

I strongly recommend this book to you, with the hope that the holidays will afford time for you and your families to both give and receive love. My thoughts and wishes are with you. Enjoy the holidays and have a happy and healthy 2007.

Warmest regards,

Steven S. Piltch
Head of School