FACULTY VOICE
Of Masks and Hats By John Tyler, Middle School counselor COVID is a harsh, sometimes cruel teacher. When accepting the Middle School counselor position in 2020, I felt the world shaking and changing beneath my feet. Walls in hallowed classrooms throughout campus were moving to facilitate social distancing and in-person lessons. This community was learning to preserve a thriving environment for young scholars while creating a healthy space for anyone stepping onto campus.
“Our times aren’t the first to test an entire generation.”
A pandemic taught us traditions could bend. During the worst of COVID’s semesters, achievements and rites of passage couldn’t enjoy the full force of a communal embrace. We celebrated with our hearts when we couldn’t cheer in larger gatherings. Lessons of COVID were frustrating at times; heartbreaking and tiresome too. Our lingering crisis instructs us to seek opportunities to sail above a runaway virus. Our times aren’t the first to test an entire generation. In times of war, economic depression, dust bowls, polio and more, previous generations adapted and inspired. We build from triumph and resilience summoned by persons surviving hard times before us. My grandfather was a gentleman. A proper Midwestern man who believed in God, family and community. He was the kind of fellow who kept his shirt tucked neatly while working in the yard, tinkering with his car, or playing tennis on the city courts. He was the guy who wouldn’t bring up tribulations and focused instead on being grateful.
When off to work or church or out for a walk, my grandfather wore a gray fedora. Men wore hats like that back then. Grandpa wore a daily hat late into the 1960s when the custom no longer was in fashion. I was in my middle school years desperately trying to figure out my existence while he entered old age trying to decide if an unhatted head was respectable. I recall walks with Grandpa – him with his hat and me with my worries – and I remember how he listened and lent me hope and courage when I felt unsure and unsteady. Grandpa believed in me. Eventually he surrendered belief in a return of the fedora and tucked his hat away, for good, on the top shelf in his closet. When he died, I asked my father if I could keep my grandfather’s hat. When moving into the counselor’s office in Wilton Hall, I brought books enough to fill a tall bookcase and a hat, my grandfather’s hat, to hang on a hook inside the office door. Grandpa would be happy to see it again. It was with much reluctance and some discomfort when he retired it to a dark shelf. The hat is a reminder of the man who wore it and the little boy who loved the man who wore it. Comfort is found in the fabric and heft of cherished traditions and venerated history. Customs and routines, even modified to offset COVID, keep us grounded and connected. Returning to classrooms and schedules after a few months of virtual school helped young scholars and our community of educators, administrators
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