advisory board: lessons from my dad and brother
by david holmquist, criterion advisor
For all of us--students and teachers alike--a school year is like climbing a mountain. We start at the base, September 1. We gaze at the goal, the summit, June 12. Like a mountain peak, June seems so far away.
Like any mountain climber scaling a rocky and snowy peak, we have close calls, slips, falls. Sometimes we think we will never reach the top, but we are experienced climbers, so we know we will get there eventually.
Veteran mountaineer Sophie Radcliffe said about climbing, “Every day is a school day and I learn something new with each adventure. There is no success or failure. It’s about trying and learning.”
I hope all of you feel a similar sense of satisfaction as you reflect on this school year.
For me, this has been my 27th year in the Janesville schools. That’s 27 mountains, each offering its own sets of challenges and opportunities to learn and to grow.
Some years are better than others, but this school year was my toughest.
In the past eight weeks, I lost my dad and one of my two brothers.
My dad, Glen, was 92 and died on March 24, the first Saturday of spring break. My brother Mark was 66 and died on May 3.
My dad died of heart valve failure, a condition that worsened the older he got, but he refused to have surgery to correct it. He didn’t have cancer and he was not in pain.
Mark was also in no pain at his passing, but his final months were agonizing.
He suffered from gastric cancer, one of the most painful and aggressive forms of cancer there is. In his last two months, he couldn’t eat.
The cancer, floating and growing in his body cavity, had closed off his intestines and stomach, making it impossible for food to pass through his digestive system.
Losing my loved one was tough, but I was fortunate to have an excellent student teacher this semester, Mr. Ryan Moore, whom I am proud to say will join the staff of Milton Middle School next year as their new language arts teacher for grade 8.
His presence gave me the freedom to visit my dad and brother. He listened with empathy to my stories of them.
The rest of the English department was great, too. They were helpful and offered a shoulder to cry on.
As I deal with my loss and grief, I am comforted by the lessons my dad and brother taught me.
Both men were college-trained educators. My dad taught social studies for 11 years, 1949-1960,
He was a man of faith and spirituality. He believed that life was best lived with a giving and generous spirit. He taught me to be patient and humble and kind.
He loved meeting people and hearing their stories. He enjoyed playing and watching golf, wrote a daily poem and was a voracious reader.
He was known for his aphorisms, short sayings that express truths about life. One of his favorites was, “It is not what you take up that makes you rich, but what you give up.”
He never operated a computer or a cell phone, preferring writing and receiving letters to phone calls. A letter, he said, is something you can read over and over, but a phone call is temporary and fleeting.
He believed in the power of writing and learning. “When you write you become exact,” he would say. One time he told me that people are only able to think at their level of vocabulary, and the longer I have taught, the more I have come to believe in the truth of that statement.
He also said that only two things will make a person different five years from now: the books he reads and the people he meets.
My brother Mark also taught me lessons, but they were more grounded in practicality than in life truths.
He was a master carpenter who installed dishwashers, tiled showers, fixed skylights. He finished our basement. He would fix things around our house whenever he visited.
One time our refrigerator was rattling. I had no idea what was wrong. Mark bent down to investigate. He discovered that the drip pan’s insulation had worn away, so he simply put new padded tape on it. That solved the problem.
“If something isn’t working, take a closer look. Use your eyes and ears,” he said.
On my wedding day in 1990, I asked if he had any advice for me. “Just be a nice guy,” he said. I have applied those wise words every day of my nearly 28-year marriage.
He taught me to handle setbacks and disappointments with a positive attitude.
He helped me not to take life so seriously.
These two men were giants in my life. I am devastated that they are gone, and I feel the ache of their absence every day.
But I also know that they left legacies and taught me lessons that I will use to climb my mountains in the years ahead.
Like any mountain climber scaling a rocky and snowy peak, we have close calls, slips, falls. Sometimes we think we will never reach the top, but we are experienced climbers, so we know we will get there eventually.
Veteran mountaineer Sophie Radcliffe said about climbing, “Every day is a school day and I learn something new with each adventure. There is no success or failure. It’s about trying and learning.”
I hope all of you feel a similar sense of satisfaction as you reflect on this school year.
For me, this has been my 27th year in the Janesville schools. That’s 27 mountains, each offering its own sets of challenges and opportunities to learn and to grow.
Some years are better than others, but this school year was my toughest.
In the past eight weeks, I lost my dad and one of my two brothers.
My dad, Glen, was 92 and died on March 24, the first Saturday of spring break. My brother Mark was 66 and died on May 3.
My dad died of heart valve failure, a condition that worsened the older he got, but he refused to have surgery to correct it. He didn’t have cancer and he was not in pain.
Mark was also in no pain at his passing, but his final months were agonizing.
He suffered from gastric cancer, one of the most painful and aggressive forms of cancer there is. In his last two months, he couldn’t eat.
The cancer, floating and growing in his body cavity, had closed off his intestines and stomach, making it impossible for food to pass through his digestive system.
Losing my loved one was tough, but I was fortunate to have an excellent student teacher this semester, Mr. Ryan Moore, whom I am proud to say will join the staff of Milton Middle School next year as their new language arts teacher for grade 8.
His presence gave me the freedom to visit my dad and brother. He listened with empathy to my stories of them.
The rest of the English department was great, too. They were helpful and offered a shoulder to cry on.
As I deal with my loss and grief, I am comforted by the lessons my dad and brother taught me.
Both men were college-trained educators. My dad taught social studies for 11 years, 1949-1960,
He was a man of faith and spirituality. He believed that life was best lived with a giving and generous spirit. He taught me to be patient and humble and kind.
He loved meeting people and hearing their stories. He enjoyed playing and watching golf, wrote a daily poem and was a voracious reader.
He was known for his aphorisms, short sayings that express truths about life. One of his favorites was, “It is not what you take up that makes you rich, but what you give up.”
He never operated a computer or a cell phone, preferring writing and receiving letters to phone calls. A letter, he said, is something you can read over and over, but a phone call is temporary and fleeting.
He believed in the power of writing and learning. “When you write you become exact,” he would say. One time he told me that people are only able to think at their level of vocabulary, and the longer I have taught, the more I have come to believe in the truth of that statement.
He also said that only two things will make a person different five years from now: the books he reads and the people he meets.
My brother Mark also taught me lessons, but they were more grounded in practicality than in life truths.
He was a master carpenter who installed dishwashers, tiled showers, fixed skylights. He finished our basement. He would fix things around our house whenever he visited.
One time our refrigerator was rattling. I had no idea what was wrong. Mark bent down to investigate. He discovered that the drip pan’s insulation had worn away, so he simply put new padded tape on it. That solved the problem.
“If something isn’t working, take a closer look. Use your eyes and ears,” he said.
On my wedding day in 1990, I asked if he had any advice for me. “Just be a nice guy,” he said. I have applied those wise words every day of my nearly 28-year marriage.
He taught me to handle setbacks and disappointments with a positive attitude.
He helped me not to take life so seriously.
These two men were giants in my life. I am devastated that they are gone, and I feel the ache of their absence every day.
But I also know that they left legacies and taught me lessons that I will use to climb my mountains in the years ahead.