It was rain on the roof the Saturday morning of final exams that got me thinking about sounds and associations, a thought-thread that kept spinning out that day (probably because I hadn’t heard it in so long), the next, and beyond: the sound of  a big diesel bus tooting once and then roaring out the gates, carrying Toads to airports and other rendezvous spots. Water moving through the barranca at the edge of campus. The click of “enter” on the “Ready for review” checkbox on instructor reports, the final step after the writing, the printing, the collaborative proofing, and the correcting.  All of these sounds, in chorus, whispered a subtext: “Spring Break!”

It was actually another sound, though, that sealed the deal on my topic for this mid-vacation post: the front-door knocker. Rather than something specific–like spring vacation–that sound can mean anything, beyond the most typical of a student seeking extra help or delivering an essay. It could be an alum (or several) dropping by, a campus visitor arriving for a night or two, a parent or faculty member needing to talk, someone whose child is playing on the other team’s basketball squad trying to find the gym in the dark.

But this knock came two days after the kids had packed off for vacay, so it had to be “other.” I opened the door to find three-year-old Gavin Snyder there, grinning up at me, asking, “DO YOU WANT TO GET A TICKET, JOY?!?” He added a double hop-in-place to be sure I understood how excited he was about the inevitable business deal about to go down. (Exactly how a raffle worked was a mystery, but the trekking around campus from one faculty house to another with his mom, Theana, was clearly fun–and, goods in hand, a little different and definitely a big-boy sort of activity.)

And thus began one of my favorite interactions: the faculty child selling candy/wrapping paper/popcorn/raffle tickets/cookies. I should have known that Gavin–or someone else enrolled at the little pre-K through 3rd school down the road–would be by, since the Hooper boys (Hayden, 9; Hiram, 7) had warmed up my checkbook earlier. (“So, what are my chances of winning, guys?” “Ten percent,” was Hayden’s clear, confident reply. Hiram, dancing and ninja-ing around the table while his older brother tended to the paperwork, stopped long enough to smirk. “About as good as everyone else.”) Wise guy, by which I mean savvy.

These moments take me out of teacher, out of advisor, out of colleague, and into something more like . . . I don’t know–maybe neighbor. I like the interchange, seeing my colleague’s children practicing their “ask,” having a few minutes with them that are not a flash in the dining room or out on campus, but in my home, finding out what’s going on for them in school or, more generally, in life. Most of them grow up, quick as the single-stake race it seems, to be Thacher students, and though it doesn’t take me long at all to get used to their being at the seminar table in Room C (this year, Alden DelVecchio and Nolan Vyhnal), I must admit, I often see in the budding teenager the littler version, envelope and pen in hand, ready to make a sweet deal.

———————————————————————————————-

Btw, if you’ve never read A Thacher Litany by early-days faculty member Forest Cooke, you really must (see below), if only to get a view to what one teacher from the early years of the School felt was central to a comprehensive but concise CdeP countdown. For this post, I checked to see what overlap the sounds I list in my first paragraph above had with Mr. Cooke’s list of “The eight significant sounds.” We agreed on more than I expected.

A Thacher Litany by Forest H. Cooke (Faculty 1912-46)

The ten pleasant smells Sagebrush on a hot day; a well-curried horse; orange blossoms in march; the top of Pine Mountain; bacon frying over a campfire; the wood fires in the sections (of the Upper School); the fresh earthy smell when you use a mattock in the trail; the clean paper smell when you open a new book; the dust smell when the first raindrops of the season fall; the Teacher’s Club.

The nine memorable sights Sunset from Memorial Hill; the view from Matilija Twin Peaks; Piedra Blanca by moonlight; horses swimming in the Sespe; a paper marked a hundred; smiling faces; clean fingernails; a team that pulls victory out of defeat; a letter from home in your mailbox.

The eight significant sounds Walker; orioles in the cottonwoods; rain on your roof; a running brook heard from your sleeping bag under the stars; the starting pistol at the track; the whack of the ball against your bat when it soars out for a three-bagger; your horse nickering when you come to feed it; Shakespeare.

The seven best teachers Your horse; the library; a lonely trail; a fair game; the friend you most admire; corrected mistakes; curiosity.

The six things to learn To throw a good hitch; to cook a clean meal; to speak decent English; to look out for the other fellow; to do a thing right the first time; not to fool.

The five things to avoid A horse’s hoof; misconduct marks; an easy life; the reputation of being lazy; borrowing other people’s property.

The four resorts in time of trouble A teacher; the dictionary; your chum; yourself.

The three great letters S.D.T.

The two necessities Courage and understanding

The one essential Truth