It’s All They Know

”Excuse me, teacher…. Excuse me? What did you say?”

Like just about every writer, I write from my own experience; I write who I am. I can’t write fiction, so I don’t write fiction. I do write poetry, mainly for my eyes only. Most of what I write here on Substack is simply an expression of my own experiences, beliefs, and opinions. In fact, it’s all my opinion. It’s all mine, 100%. No AI, ever (that I know of at least—I even dislike word-correction and word-prediction software because I spend too much time correcting THEM!). AI is, by definition, artificial. And I don’t have enough time left in my life to worry about the artificial in life (fact: I actually never had the time, ever, to worry myself over the artificial, even when I might have). I’m interested in what’s real, and honest. Only the real and honest goes into my Alchemy now, the making of me (artificial colors, preservatives, and sweeteners need not apply!). And it’s better if it’s organic, sustainable, and reciprocal. Oh, and plant-based too.

What follows is Alchemy of the real kind.

My wife and I enjoy live productions—concerts and musicals, mostly—the occasional play. I’m setting aside other “live productions”—like the productions produced by Mother Nature herself: ocean, trails, mountains, forests, our home sanctuary—which we also enjoy. Experiences offer so much more joy than the accumulation of “stuff” that you have to forever protect, store, clean, and under-appreciate as time goes on amidst the growing clutter of that accumulation.

There are a few stage productions that, for one reason or another, we’ve chosen to see more than once—here we count “Wicked,” “The Book of Mormon,” “The Lion King,” and “Hamilton.” There are a few others; you no doubt have your own. Among actual performers, in concert, we’ve enjoyed on more than one occasion Josh Groban and Mark Knopfler. Later this summer, we’ll add Ludovico Einaudi to this list. Anytime these geniuses are in concert in proximity to us, we’ll try to see them. Again. (Weird that these are all men—but do note that we’d also see Celine Dion and Carrie Newcomer again.)

And there’s one other performer we’ve seen, now, three times. And we’d see him again too. It’s this guy that’s prompted this post. During the middle of his concert last weekend, just him and one piano player in a sold out Paramount theater, he sang a pair of songs, back to back, that I’ve come to realize are a part of his permanent repertoire. And I love that he does this. Because the two songs are profound—and as a former public school teacher and principal, of students in elementary and junior high schools, I find them especially meaningful and personal. I recognize them as Truth (upper case “T” intentional). And so must this performer.

The songs are even more profound for me, now, even after I’ve retired from professional education, because I’m worried. I’m worried about our kids. I’m worried about what our kids are learning from us, through our miraculous and awful selves, when we forget that every action, word, and behavior we project out into the world is our teaching. I’m worried about our future because I’m worried about the kids we are producing who will step into the void we are leaving behind when it is their turn to live and lead this country. It dismays me this doesn’t seem to be a part, any part, of the national discourse.

Our kids are NOT learning the right things.

I had this exact quote and image posted outside my office door when I was a school principal. If I would have been allowed, I would have had it permanently displayed, large poster sized, at the entrance doors. People need to be reminded of this. People—parents, teachers, you, me, other kids… politicians, presidents, corporate CEOs, billionaires—need to be reminded children don’t come out of the womb having developed the capacity to judge others, in any way, as someone to hate, spit on, deport and imprison unlawfully, denigrate, call names, stigmatize, traumatize, slander, intimidate, racially profile, falsely accuse, scorn, bully, demean, lie about, or be superior to. These things are not innate in the human child. These things are learned—and they are learned from “teachers” who don’t realize they are teachers.

Our kids learn these things from us.

Which leads me to Mandy Patinkin.

I SO hope you know who Mandy Patinkin is. If you don’t, gosh are you missing out on a genius performer of stage, musicals, television, and film.

Mandy Patinkin

I’ll save for another time the things I enjoy most about Mandy Patinkin—things like his most famous movie role, in one of the greatest movies of all time (a line from which he ends EVERY show of his); one of my all time favorite TV shows; and his amazing and unique singing voice.¹

Too big of a hint? Inconceivable!

As I mentioned, at least in each of the three concerts we’ve been fortunate enough to see live, he sang these two songs, back to back even though the rest of the performances were different. So, I know it’s intentional. A commenter on the YouTube video I link to below shared “he’s praying while he’s singing these two songs.” I cannot disagree—because, sadly, the two songs are more relevant now than they were when they were initially written. And we all should be praying this prayer.

The first is a 1949 Rogers and Hammerstein collaboration from their musical “South Pacific.” The second, again which Patinkin pairs seamlessly with the first, a 1986 Steven Sondheim creation from his musical “Into the Woods.”

I want to share the lyrics to each, with you. They are to first be read as profound poems. Then to be read as more profound teachings. Thirdly to be read as song lyrics. And finally, to be heard as sung (and prayed) by Patinkin himself (see the link below).

Now, I don’t actually need to tell you how to read these. You’re going to read them as you read them, bringing your current self to this moment—with all your own experiences, biases, opinions, preconceptions, assumptions, and beliefs. But, if I could risk an ask, would you please try to read them as if you were a teacher? And every child your student? That’s just being real.

Because, sometimes I fear you’ve (we’ve) forgotten this is also exactly who we are.

And I’m worried about our children.

That’s real too.

You’ve got to be taught to hate and fear,
You’ve got to be taught from year to year,
It’s got to be drummed in your dear little ear—
You’ve got to be carefully taught!

You’ve got to be taught to be afraid
Of people whose eyes are oddly made,
And people whose skin is a different shade—
You’ve got to be carefully taught.

You’ve got to be taught before it’s too late,
Before you are six or seven or eight,
To hate all the people your relatives hate—
You’ve got to be carefully taught!
You’ve got to be carefully taught!

(“Carefully Taught.” Lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein III; music composed by Richard Rogers)

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Careful the things you say
Children will listen
Careful the things you do
Children will see and learn

Children may not obey, 
But children will listen
Children will look to you 
For which way to turn 
To learn what to be
Careful before you say 
"Listen to me"
Children will listen

Careful the wish you make
Wishes are children
Careful the path they take
Wishes come true, not free

Careful the spell you cast
Not just on children
Sometimes the spell may last
Past what you can see
And turn against you
Careful the tale you tell
That is the spell
Children will listen

How do you say to your child in the night
Nothing's all black but then nothing's all white?
How do you say it will all be alright
When you know that it mightn't be true?
What do you do?

How can you say to a child who's in flight
"Don't slip away and I won't hold so tight"
What can you say that no matter how slight 
Won't be misunderstood

What do you leave to your child when you're dead?
Only whatever you put in it's head
Things that you're mother and father had said
Which were left to them too

Careful what you say
Children will listen
Careful you do it too
Children will see
And learn

Oh guide them that step away
Children will glisten
Tamper with what is true
And children will turn
If just to be free
Careful before you say
"Listen to me"

Children will listen

(“Children Will Listen.” Lyrics and music by Stephen Sondheim.)

I’m a new grandpa. I have a grandson—he’s about to turn two months old. I have been reminded yet again how deeply Love can penetrate a heart; and how true it is that an actual part of you, yet another generation removed, can become free from you to walk about and grow up in this world, separate from you, but never fully.

Never fully.

I have new motivation to be worried about our kids. To be worried about his teachers. To be worried about what my grandson might learn. ‘Cuz look …

… he’s learning from you. And me. My grandson is listening.

And watching…

Us.

May we teach him well, and better. Please.

Thank you.

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Always and Ubuntu,

~ k

🙏🏼

All they know is what we teach them.

Our children are learning.

Amen.

I hope you will have a listen to this—the words are SO much better when prayed by Mandy Patinkin. Another ask: As you listen, remember two things—we are all relatives, and our children are our wishes.

1. 2006 September 11th Memorial Concert Selection, Riverside Church NYC. A couple of the things I love about this performance are that it indeed is sung in a church, as a prayer. And that the audience, which includes children, offers their gratitude through a profound silence before and after the prayer. The meaning of the prayer is understood—they got it. They felt it. All the best prayers, and songs, are felt.