Why I Celebrate Groundhog Day

2/3/2017

Ed Hollinger

Yesterday was Groundhog Day - a day and date that resonates for me with fond childhood memories and deeply personal experiences.

As a kid growing up in Central Pennsylvania, I loved winter. It typically didn’t snow that much along the southern tier of the state so, when it did, it was cause for celebration. Neighborhood sledding, tobogganing on my friend’s long steep hill, ice skating on the pond down the street - I couldn’t get enough of it. The harsher the winter, the better it was. So when the second day of February came around, and, according to legend, the groundhog came out of his burrow, I was rooting for the furry rodent to see his shadow and head back into the ground, signalling six more weeks of winter. The alternative indicated an early spring, which did not sit well with me.

In our part of Pennsylvania, we had Octorara Orphie as our groundhog prognosticator, named for the groundhog lodge (yes, there are such places) on the banks of the Octorara River, which formed the border between Lancaster and Chester counties. Other places had their own furry prognosticators. In Western Pennsylvania, Punxsutawney Phil (of Bill Murray fame) was the hero. Buckeye Chuck hailed from Ohio. Virginia claimed Chesapeake Charlie. The Canadians even got into the celebration with Manitoba Merv and Winnipeg Willie.

Along with the frivolity of groundhog folklore, the second day of February was my oldest brother’s birthday. It is the memory of his story that informs my life, my work and my continued reminiscence of the day. James came into the world on February 2, 1945 with his own unique set of challenges and circumstances. His disorders, likely spawned from birth trauma, affected his intellectual and physical development, conditions he lived with growing up and lasting into his adult years. In school, learning was hard. As an adult, work was challenging, as were relationships and many day-to-day endeavors. He never held a driver’s license but his mobility was not deterred thanks to a network of busses and trains, the schedules of which he mastered. The drivers and conductors became his close personal friends.

Life with James wasn’t always easy. He battled mood swings that sent him into dark places for days, only to emerge, surrounded by love and family, as if nothing happened. We learned patience, but it wasn’t always easy. He got ideas in his head about places he wanted to go and people he wanted to see and off he would go, only to get into trouble - running out of money, losing his bus ticket or getting delayed and missing connections. He had difficulty solving problems when things didn’t go according to plan, but he knew how to make a collect call home.

In spite of his challenges, James compensated for his diminished reasoning skills and analytical processing with a contagious sense of humor and love of people, particularly children. His favorite moments involved family gatherings where his many nieces and nephews were present. He loved life. Even though it was hard at times, he found his own way to give back. He helped anyone in need - strangers on the street, old friends - at times even to his own detriment. He kept in touch with people over the years, writing letters to them - long, detailed transcripts of his daily and weekly experiences. Those letters were met by gracious returns from people who loved, cared for and understood James and his unique place in the world.

In November of 2000, James died after a short but relatively painless illness. In his final days, he was surrounded by people from all walks and stages of his life. One of the most poignant moments at his memorial service was when an elderly and frail Ms. Kraybill, his elementary school teacher, rose to tell the story of teaching James to read and write. “It was a struggle,” she said, “and he didn’t think he could do it. Others had tried to teach him and given up on him but I knew he could do it.” She recalled with great fondness and joy the day “Jimmy could read!” It was her persistence, dedication and care that made the difference. As simple as it seemed, it was still a moment of celebration some fifty years later.

Groundhog Day continues to remind me of James. It’s a reminder of many things: that we all come into this world with our own unique gifts; that success is not standardized but is defined for us all in our own unique way; that all people are worthy of our love and respect, based, not on their merits, but simply on their humanity. The late Henri Nouwen, a Dutch author, professor and clergyman, reminds us that our human worth comes not from what we do or what others say about us. It comes from the simple fact that we are loved, reflecting the Quaker notion that there is that of the Divine in all of us.

Groundhog Day reminds me that, as educators, we can learn from the Ms. Kraybills of the world, who find reason for joy and celebration in the simplest, yet noblest of achievements by our students. It reminds me never to forget that all students can learn in their own unique way and must be “given a chance to fulfill their potential possibilities.” It reminds me that the fruit of our labor doesn’t always yield immediate results, yet in time, our world is made a better place because of what we do.

That’s why I still honor the day. In it, I find hope in the work we do and I renew my commitment to celebrate the essential goodness that lies within us all. I welcome you to join me in the celebration. Happy Groundhog Day, everyone!

Edward Hollinger

Quotes for This Week

The fruits of your labors may be reaped two generations from now. Trust, even when you don't see the results. ~ Henri Nouwen

All children can be educated. ~ Shinichi Suzuki

It is true that we cannot make a genius. We can only give a child the chance to fulfill his or her potential possibilities. ~ Maria Montessori

The ultimate lesson all of us have to learn is unconditional love, which includes not only others but ourselves as well. ~ Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

There is that of God in everyone.
~ George Fox

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