I used to think that East High was the greatest school in the city. Maybe even in the whole state.
Nothing happened that lowered my opinion of my workplace, but I no longer feel the need to pin a gold medal on its brick exterior. Why? Because, at some point, I realized that it would be far better for everyone if--wherever they taught or attended--they believed that their school was the best.
Don't mistake my revelation for a love affair with self esteem, though. I don't want every school labeled "best" because I'm worried about hurt feelings. I really don't like the idea of puffing up kids with helium and hoopla, awarding them blue ribbons just for showing up and giving it a fair whirl. I don't want kids--or schools--to be good because there's a shiny prize on the end of the stick. I want them to be good, period. Actually, I want them to be great.
And, by "them" I mean "all of them."
Like a parity product, let's let every single school that feels it in its bones call itself "the best." Imagine what would happen if every kid, every teacher, every principal, every parent declared their experience "the best." I think they'd do their darnedest to live up to it and things would shine just a wee bit more.
And, by "best," I don't mean "the best I could do." One feels like an apology while the other causes a person to sit up and take notice.
Oh, I'm still given to bouts of "besting," handing out all kinds of awards to my life--best neighborhood, best friends, best family, best music collection, best dog, best summers. . . . Actually, every one of those statements rings true with me. And I don't need a single soul to agree with me in order for those things to remain true.
That's the nice thing about parity living--my happiness, my satisfaction, is not dependent upon sapping someone else's happiness or satisfaction. We can all go home to our mighty nice lives, our sleeves acting like chamois cloths, softening and shining everything we happen to bump into.
Win win, wouldn't you say?
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