My high school held a three-day, off-site leadership retreat each year that was a really big deal. And when you were a rising senior, you could apply and interview for a spot on the highly coveted nine-member planning committee, which met as a class for the first semester of the school year.
The road was so dark, and the night so foggy, that I could hardly see. My 16-year-old son, Simon, and I were in southwestern Virginia. Diamond-shaped warning signs about downhill grades and truck brakes flashed by. The sky was weirdly light along the horizon, but none of that seemed to translate to the highway that unfurled blackly ahead.
My friends and I like to bore our kids with stories about how we applied to college back in the Gen-X heyday: We had to pull forms off the back of college brochures, type all our information and essay responses on an actual typewriter and mail them. After that, we held our breath and hoped for fat envelopes in April.
Similar to an offensive lineman in football, a catcher in baseball or Tristan Thompson of the Cleveland Cavaliers, Stark County schools offer valuable educational programs that don’t always show up on the state’s stat sheet.