Nami Bates

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“I went to the Hudson Valley Sudbury School for 2 years, and let me tell you those were the best 2 years of my high school life. Sudbury is such a unique learning environment, and it had a huge impact on who I am today.

When I first attended, I was extremely self conscious and shy from my experience in public schools. Being in Sudbury, everyone was trying to get me out of my ‘self conscious’ bubble, and they did. Being somewhere where the age range is so diverse, from toddlers to teens to the adults, you learn so many different things just from the experiences of others or just observing everyone. I become comfortable in speaking my own voice and sharing my opinions. The whole time I was in public school I was terrible at writing essays, but when I came out of Sudbury, I was extremely good because I was finally able to express what I wanted to say and write.

Sudbury gave me the chance to work really hard on improving my art skills which is my biggest passion. If it weren’t for Sudbury, I wouldn’t be as good as I am today. Getting 2 years straight to devote time to develop my art really made a huge difference. Since I live in Thailand now, its not easy getting a job unless you have a diploma. This isn’t much of a problem for me because I’ve been making money by drawing for people. Everything I do is through the internet, so I get clients from different places. All in all, Sudbury allowed me to boost my confidence level, artistic skills and helped me to further pursue my goals with passion. It gave me things I can use, not just after high school and college, but for the rest of my life. These things I KNOW I would never have gotten if I didn’t go to Sudbury.

I’m in University now, and sometimes I wish there was a Sudbury style University! Sudbury has got to be the most effective school out there.”

[Ed. You can check out Nami’s art at momijigirl.deviantart.com]

I am (not) Autism

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When I was 15, I dropped out of school. It was more of a passive decision than an active one. I just decided I was sick of sitting in a classroom for an hour learning facts that I either knew already or didn’t need to know at all. I didn’t announce to my mom “I’m going to drop out of school”. I just didn’t go. I refused to.

This wasn’t unusual for me. I always had a history of hating school, since I was bullied since first grade and the school did absolutely nothing to stop it. But with college looming on the horizon in several years, I think the school district (and my parents) finally decided to do something about it. The district organized several meetings with my parents, the school staff, and my teachers from the previous year. I was never at these meetings, nor was I invited. But every month or so, right on schedule, my mom would come home with printed information and brochures on faraway boarding schools that specialized in disabled children.

That first set of papers was also the first time I realized that the public school system didn’t see me as an individual. To them, I was a diagnosis.

I wasn’t Emma Elizabeth Boers, as it was printed on my birth certificate. I wasn’t a being of any sort.

I was Autism.

After a failed period of being homeschooled, my mom found the Hudson Valley Sudbury School online. We drove down an hour and a half to Woodstock to visit in the middle of a dreary December night. I knew after the informational meeting that this is where I wanted to go. I canceled my meeting with a Montessori school the next day, my mom paid the fee for the visiting week, and it was settled.

My first day, I moped around the halls feeling lonely. The school’s environment was so social, it was difficult for me to even try to fit in. What would they say if I talked out of turn or said something stupid? I didn’t understand how I would ever fit in. I walked into a room of gamers and thought it would be a good idea for me to bring a few video games the next day. And the next day, I suddenly became the game room’s favorite new student.

After a few long weeks of nothing but Super Smash Bros. Brawl, I was slowly becoming more social. I still didn’t understand what was and wasn’t appropriate to say or do, but I at least decided to speak up instead of being quiet and not talking to people. Slowly but surely, my social skills were improving far beyond what they ever were in public school. I was never afraid to talk to different people, new people, people I didn’t know. Bullying seemed almost nonexistent (though I had issues with a few students) and I felt like I was actually accepted by other beings for once in my life.

While at HVSS, I also decided to pursue my old interest in writing. I had written an (unpublished) novella at the age of 13, but stopped writing when I couldn’t get it published. It was bad, and I realized that, but I also felt like with classes and homework out of the way I had the strength to pursue something like that again. I started on the first draft of the novel Leech Child at HVSS, with the support and advice of the staff.

Near the end of my first year at HVSS I was sitting in the lounge, chatting with some of the other students, when the subject of mental disability came up. I offhandedly mentioned something about my autism, not even thinking about how people might respond.

“Oh, you have autism? Wow, I never would have guessed.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

The responses came one after the other, and even as the conversation moved on, I was shocked. Why weren’t they making fun of me? Isn’t it obvious I’m different?

I thought about it for a bit, and a realization came to me – Sudbury, as a whole, was different. The philosophy was obviously different than the compulsory schooling most kids were used to. The kids were nicer, funnier, and more social. The parents cared more about their children, and the staff didn’t take the job for any superficial reason – they loved kids, and they loved to teach them the way they were supposed to be taught.

We were different, and I loved it.

Several more years passed by, and my mom moved down to Woodstock so I could attend the school more easily. I learned to play Magic: the Gathering, hosted several games of Pokemon D&D, Espionage and Dokapon Kingdom, started school wide projects like making Shrinky Dinks for the craft fair, made Cheeze Whiz flavored gumdrops, and generally had an excellent time. Leech Child was coming along well and I even served on the Judicial Committee, something I thought I would have never been able to do.

At the end of what would be my last year at HVSS, I walked up in front of a whole crowd of people carrying a sheet of notebook paper, and I recited the speech I had written down. I was shaking, and my mouth seemed to move on its own, and I think I cried a bit at the end, but it was beautiful.

It’s been a bit more than six months since I left HVSS, if my memory is right. I’m not in college yet because I wanted some time off to pursue my interests – writing, art, and game development – but I’m hoping to go to Hudson Valley Community College in the fall, and I have little doubt that they’ll accept me. Leech Child is on its third or fourth revision, and I think it’s going well.

Probably the best side effect of HVSS for me was that I began to accept who I was. That I was a being, a person, a somebody. I wasn’t a diagnosis or a label. I could be whatever I wanted to be, within reason, and that was okay.

Today I’m going to announce that in the long run, I’m okay with who I am. Sometimes I might falter or lose faith in myself but for the most part, I appreciate the young adult I’m turning into.

I’m a writer. I’m genderqueer. I’m an artist. I’m a misanthrope. I’m geeky. I’m autistic. Some people know me as Emma, while others know me as Seika or Ness.

But none of these alone are really me.

Sudbury, both the philosophy and the community, helped me realize this. No being is a label, or even a collection of them. We are all a collection of unique experiences and stories, and we each have the potential to contribute something positive to this planet, no matter how small.

It’s okay to be YOU.

And so my story comes to an end. I am NOT Autism. I am Ness, and this is the beginning of a (hopefully) long list of contributions I will make to planet Earth:

Listen to your child. Do they enjoy school? If not, something is wrong. Learning should be an enlightening experience. It shouldn’t be a jail.

Your kid will tell you the truth. After all, kids are the most honest people on Earth.

Well, except for me. I’m a bit too brutally honest for my own good.

And I’m okay with that.

James Davis – Director of Program and Marketing for Vanderkamp

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Note: 20+ students, 3 staff members and some parents went on an overnight field trip to Vanderkamp Center – A Christian Retreat and Summer Camp.  The following testimonial is from the director of the camp.

Working with the Sudbury School kids was amazing for me. I’ve worked with thousands of different children, and saw a few startling differences in the tendencies of Sudbury kids.  The first was a willingness to ask for help.  We did one ropes activity that requires the participants to traverse a long series of cables and ropes. The catch is that it pretty literally can not be done alone.  Every group I’ve worked with until this week struggled mightily at the section that requires help. Typically they will try to do it alone several times before asking if they might possibly be able to work together.  Many times people just want to give up.  The Sudbury group had no difficulty at all.

When the first student reached the difficult portion, he assessed the situation, and simply turned and asked for help.  Others happily came to his aid.  When he completed the course, he did not celebrate – but he walked back to assist others in that same difficult portion.  Children I normally work with are petrified at the idea of being caught “cheating” and are normally obsessed with doing things “on their own.”  While Sudbury school students are given the freedom to do things on their own in their day to day lives, they collaborated more seamlessly than any group I’ve worked with, whether child or adult.  They also embraced the challenge happily.  Children from 3 years old, to 7 years old, to 17 years old worked together with the adults in the group in a totally natural way. I was amazed.

A few other observations:

  • I was amazed by how peacefully the children negotiated, and how awesome they were at playing.  They had no shortage of ideas for little games – they turned the water totter first into a boat and then into a slide. They used elements on our ropes course in creative ways to entertain themselves. I never heard a child complain about being bored, and I never saw a child arguing over a scarce resource (many groups of kids will wind up arguing over the ping pong table or foosball table, but those items were happily shared with kids of all different ages).
  • I noticed a lot of wonderful non-violent communication in the impromptu school meeting that impressed me a ton as well.  When Otto(i believe) raised his concern, he did not accuse anyone else of anything – he even used “I feel” statements that I have trouble getting my 21 year old staff to do. I don’t know his age – 11? 10? But he communicated his needs earnestly without a hint of self-consciousness, and while he didn’t get his way, he definitely seemed to feel heard. I told him later that I was impressed with how he carried himself, and he said, “Thanks. I lost, but oh well!” I reflected privately how different it feels to be heard and not get your way vs. being told “Because we said so.”
  • The unprompted thankfulness at the first meal was amazing to me too.  Kids calling over to John and saying, “Excuse me – this food is great! Thank you so much!”  Yeah, that doesn’t happen here, ever.

I’d say one thing that really jumped out to me as well was the lack of fear for adults. I could tell that adults in these children’s lives are equal partners in most cases.  They spoke respectfully to them without cowering before them. They met me and saw me as someone whom they could have fun with and not a new person who was going to impose his will on them.  They stated their needs in the school meeting openly and honestly. With virtually every kid I work with, getting them to state their needs is usually preceeded by a long period of, “Are you sure there isn’t something on your mind?” followed by a lot of, “I’m fine” talk when it’s obvious they aren’t fine.

The last thing, of course, is how easily they blend with ages.  I watched Riley, Eli, and Amelia play magic without any hint of annoyance toward Amelia for her slow pace. I watched Casper give piggy-back rides, Cara, Aiden, and Katie look after Oliver, Lucy letting May sit on her lap… these kids definitely didn’t suffer the illusion that age is in any way important.

Perhaps long and rambling – but that’s my testimonial. Feel free to use all or none of it! I truly was blown away.  It really inspired me to go back and infuse even more choice into our program here. It’s funny – I wrote and published this little essay before you came: http://www.vk.org/wpsite/2011/10/the-power-of-choice/ and those ideas were so deeply reaffirmed this week.  Pretty great!

Send my love to those wonderful kids and I look forward to seeing you all again very soon!

James Davis
Director of Program and Marketing for Vanderkamp

Commencement Speech 2015

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[Ed. Kiran specifically requested to be “roasted” by Matthew.]

I am really honored and flattered to be asked to speak again this year.  It’s always a pleasure for me to fabricate heady rhetoric. So, thanks guys.  But actually, you know, after they asked me to speak, I went to them – maybe it was just Kiran, and I asked him who he would really like to speak, and he said Steve Buscemi, of course.  I found Mr. Buscemi on americanspeakers.com and there was a form to request him as a speaker – the lowest fee you could offer was $5,000, so I offered that and added a note that really I was really only offering $250.  We didn’t get a response.  So you’re stuck with me.  

So, when I was working on this yesterday at school one of our youngest students approached me and asked if he could help, and I accepted the offer, and I’m going to begin with his contribution:

“Here ye, here ye, I am a pirate.  You will be missed.  Maybe see you on a visiting week.”

Alright.  Here we are: you’re about to graduate.  Though, it’s a little weird to even call it “graduation” here, isn’t it?  Because – as we all know – at this school the curriculum is responsibility and the method is freedom, and so the content of what a student actually does here – what they “work on” – is different for each one; and ultimately, the curriculum is just their own person, their own genius.  

So – what does it mean to graduate here?  The transcripts we give you say that really only you can tell us.  When I was thinking about this I was reminded of a passage from the prologue to East of Eden by John Steinbeck, which I read over and over again in high school.  (I have done some slight editing to bring Mr. Steinbeck up to date politically.)  Goes like this:  A [person], after [they] have brushed off the dust and chips of [their] life, will have left only the hard, clean questions: Was it good or was it evil? Have I done well—or ill?”

This event is not quite as dramatic as end-of-life reflection, but here too, we are really only left with hard, clean questions, and you are the only ones who can really answer them: Did you complete the tasks you needed to? Are you satisfied with what you have done?  To what degree, in what arenas, did you do well–or ill?

So of course, at the majority of schools, the most important element on  this day is receiving a credential which shows that the recipient is capable and willing to meet sets of standards and complete set upon set of nested tasks – I’m not saying that’s bad.  Or good.  But this ceremony, I am happy to say, really has nothing to do with any credential.  We are going to perform the traditional ritual after I’m done droning on and on – you will walk across the stage, and I will speak your name and hand you something.  But there was nothing in particular you had to do to earn this experience, and therefore it’s not really a credential, which is good, because really, how much sense can we make of awarding one here? At this school that takes life itself as its curriculum?  Where we know very well that ultimately there is no credential; everyone is qualified to lead a beautiful life.  We are all qualified from birth to live a life that is good for us.

You’re already doing it.  You know that.  And you’ll keep doing it.  You’ll do better and better at it.  If you take my advice.  But – I want you to know something: there is no point in life when “you have made it.”  There is no perfected person; there is no finished product. I mean, you probably already know that, too, right – you guys all have parents.  But it is a relief to realize: the field is wide open, and you are allowed to make mistakes, because there is hardly anything else you can make on this strange planet.  And also, realizing this, you can laugh at yourself as you journey through life deeper and deeper into your own idiocy.  Try to get at least one really good laugh at your expense every year. 

But somehow, despite our absurd limitations, we all have it in us to live the life we need to live.  What I want to say about it is that – if we’re actually going to do it – we each need do it for ourselves, but it’s something we do together.  We each need to figure out how we want to live, but we figure that out through contact, connection, friction, and, intimacy with other people.  Each of us has a unique way of being in the world, and being called into it, what I would like to call a “genius,” but our genius flourishes in relationship with other people.  

We all have our own tiny lives, and our own extremely limited perspective on ourselves and the world.  We need each other to see and experience more broadly and deeply; to get where we need to go.  So I encourage you, as you go forth from here to explore our strange world, to invest your time and energy and love in people.  Find people you admire – the ones you think really look like they know what they’re doing, and follow them around.  Get with them.  Find the ones who challenge you to think differently, the ones who are brave enough to be honest with you and call you out on your shit.  We all have shit, ok?  Pardon me for swearing.  These people are out there and – they could look or sound like anything – they could be from any demographic – so please be alert and don’t let yourself think, “I associate with this kind of person, but not this kind;” find the people.  Keep finding them.  Value them.  Take good, good care of them.  Do stuff with them.  And for heaven’s sake, ask them for help.  Don’t hesitate asking – we all need help or one sort or another, all the time.  We need to ask each other.  

And approach people, to whatever degree you are able at any given moment, without prejudice.   There’s an aphorism I like: “Not-knowing is most intimate.” “Not-knowing” here does not mean mindlessness or blankness or darkness – it doesn’t mean, like, forgetting people’s names or not knowing your own address (like Kiran) or anything like that. It means openness, curiosity, awareness, and attention.  It actually means knowing that life, and people, are dynamic.  As soon as you label people in any way you have made them static – it’s almost a form of violence – and when we do it we have become, in a profound sense, dishonest.  Adrienne Rich has said a lot of great things about this.  Like,  

The possibilities that exist between two people, or among a group of people, are a kind of alchemy. They are the most interesting thing in life. The liar is someone who keeps losing sight of these possibilities.

Don’t be a liar; you won’t get what you need.  Stay open to the possibilities. Respect people by allowing them to always be new.  I promise you very good things will happen (I’m only doing solid guarantees this year).  Or Nina will refund your tuition (our counsel wanted me to be sure to say that that isn’t a legally binding statement, just to be clear – it’s only rhetoric).

Let yourself be new, too.  Kiran, if you do this, you really might make something of yourself someday (there’s at least a chance).  Take this posture of unknowing into the rest of your life.  Always be ready for new truth, and be willing to change accordingly. That’s called humility, and it is the secret of alchemy.  Get intimate with it.  You won’t regret it.  I promise.

“Not-knowing is most intimate,” and, really, there’s nothing better than intimacy.  It is the source of all our nourishment.

There’s something else I don’t want you to know, either.  I’m going to tell a little story to illustrate – just one story and then I’ll…give up, ok?  This one is from China, and it’s an oldie.

Mrs. Sei’s horse

Mrs. Sei had a tiny farm in a small, poor village in China.  She owned a horse and was therefore one of the wealthiest members of the village.  Her neighbors used to come to her and tell her how lucky she was to have that horse because could plow much more field and have a larger crop and take better care of her family than most people in the village.  Mrs. Sei was a very wise woman so she would never say anything back.  She’d just nod her head or shrug her shoulders.  One day, the horse ran away.  All the neighbors came and told Mrs. Sei how unlucky she was, and Mrs. Sei shrugged her shoulders and nodded her head.  But – the next week, the horse returned, and a second horse was following.  Now Mrs. Sei had two horses! And-the second horse was bigger and stronger than the first!  You can guess how the neighbors reacted – so lucky! Mr.s Sei nodded.  The next week Mrs. Sei’s son was plowing the field with the second horse.  The second horse kicked Mrs. Sei’s son in the knee and broke it badly.  The neighbors rushed over and said, “how unlucky Mrs. Sei was to have that second horse – her son would never have been injured if she hadn’t have got it! Mrs. Sei shrugged her shoulders.  War erupted in the province and the lords began conscripting all the young men to fight.  Since Mrs. Sei’s son had a broken knee, he didn’t have to go into battle.  The neighbors came again and told Mrs. Sei how lucky she was.  This story has no end – it continues to this day.

So – I’m going to swear again: shit happens.  Forest Gump said that, for heaven’s sake.  There’s all kinds of spot-on spiffy sayings about this: life is what happens to you when you’re busy making other plans.  That’s John Lennon.  “If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans. That’s Woody Allen.  It goes on and on.  What I don’t want you to “know” is what’s necessarily good or bad. Your life is an unfolding.  Don’t get too caught up on the particulars of circumstance.  The truth is we will never know how things will turn out.  It’s certainly appropriate and good to have emotional responses to life.  Just don’t cling to that.  Find a way to move through it.  Stay as present, and as open as you can, and in that intimacy you’ll find what you need to.

I’ve borrowed a lot from the far east for this talk, so I figured I might as well conclude with just a little more plagiarism. At the ceremony in which a novice Zen monk becomes a priest, the monk gives a little talk and then at the end says something like, “may there be enough rain in the heavens to wash my words from your ears.”

So.  I’m done.  Wash your ears out, guys, and keep them as clean and fresh as you can.

OK, congratulations, let’s do the dance.