“Like some ghoul in a late-night horror movie that repeatedly sits up in its grave and shuffles abroad after being repeatedly killed and buried, Lemon stalks our Establishment Clause jurisprudence once again, frightening the little children and school attorneys of Center Moriches Union Free School District.”

– Justice Antonin Scalia
Concurring Opinion
Lamb’s Chapel v. Center Moriches School District

As my senior project in high school, I researched the landmark Supreme Court case Lemon v. Kurtzman.

My final paper is available here, as well as the presentation I gave to my senior English class.

The Nowhere-Near-Complete Guide to Duke Youth Academy

Introduction

I always hated swimming lessons. As a kid, I remember hating the trip across town to the North Charlotte YMCA, the strange smell in the bathroom, and the inevitable departure of my mother for the bench at the far side of the pool. But what I really didn’t like was that first step, that first moment when me feet left the firm concrete and I jumped into the liquid cool of the water. I knew that the pool was only four feet deep, I knew that the swimming instructor would be there if anything happened, and I knew that my floaties would keep me from sinking, but I still didn’t like it. It was just too scary to be there in the water without anything under me except the unknown swirling depths. But after a few minutes of clinging to the side of the pool, I would usually get comfortable enough to paddle a little, and with a lot of persistent coaching by the swim teacher, I would be swimming laps by the end of the lesson.

You, my DYA brothers and sisters, are about to begin the biggest spiritual swimming lesson of your lives. As kids, we had to stay in the shallow end of the pool, and we could only begin to grasp the concept of God and what it meant to follow Him. As we got older, we could go a little farther, swim a little deeper, and understand a little more of what it meant to be a Christian. During the next two weeks, you will go farther and swim deeper than you ever have before, but even then you will have only broken the surface of the endless ocean that is the love, the very nature of God.

Like my childhood swimming lessons, DYA was sometimes uncomfortable and unnerving, but only because I was forced to think for myself, examine my own beliefs, and realize that, apart from Christ the solid rock, everything else is sinking sand. But once I took the plunge, I discovered I never wanted to go back to the shallow end of the Christian life. The two weeks I spent at DYA were some of the most mentally taxing, physically tiring, and emotionally draining of my life, but they were without a doubt, the best two weeks I have ever had. And by the end, I wept, as we all did, at the thought of leaving and returning to “the real world.”

Your time here at Duke will be special beyond any words that I can write, and the only way to really know that is to live it out. So live it out to the fullest. God has brought you here to give you a vision of what life, your life, can be. Take it all in, and then go out and make it happen.

Writing to the church at Ephesus, Paul prays that the believers there, “being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge-that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.” And as I prepare my meager advice to you, my brothers and sisters, that is my prayer too.

I think my dear friend Tessa Muggeridge said it best when she gave her advice to new DYAers: Have an open mind, take lots of notes, tell yourself it’s okay to change, ask God to help you change, and just give up and follow the dress code.

After all, you may be swimming in the waters of your baptism, but you do have to keep your clothes on.

Andrew Phillips
DYA Alum ‘06

Some of my favorite essays from This I Believe were contributed by John McCain, Colin Powell, Andrew Sullivan, and  Harry Truman.

This I Believe

I believe in doing, not just believing.

I believe what I believe is what makes me what I am, but I also believe that conviction can not stop at concept, that, in the words of St. James, “faith without works is dead.”

I believe in justice and fairness, and as an aspiring lawyer, I plan to study the law: case histories, court opinions, and legal briefs. I will learn how laws are made, how they are broken, and how they can be repaired. But the summa of my Latin phrases, all my knowledge of due process, and all my study of jurisprudence amounts to nothing if I stop at lex lata, the law as it is. I believe that to serve justice, and to do justice, I must pursue nothing less than lex ferenda, the law as it ought to be. Yet even this is not enough: if I become a lawyer, I will practice law, not just pursue it-I will try it to the very best of my ability.

For ages, society has distinguished between the letter and spirit of the law, but if my belief in the law never leaves the page, then I am only chasing a fleeting fairness, an empty justice. I believe that verdicts of conscience, and of the courts, must not just seek to be right, they must do right.

I believe in honesty and integrity. I believe that my word should be my bond, and that, as a leader, I have a responsibility to stand by my promises. Too often I see people gain positions of power and authority through clever speeches and persuasive argument.

As a writer and speaker, I believe in the power of words: to inspire, to enlighten, and to deceive. However they are used, words are never more than that: movements of hot air that sound pleasant to the ear.

I believe that those who lead must put their promises into action. I believe they must lead by example, not just by exhortation. I believe that if I am to lead, I must have the courage of my convictions, the courage to say “the buck stops here.”

I believe in the life and teachings of Jesus Christ, and I believe the call of all who follow him is to love God with all they have and love their neighbors as they love themselves. My faith defines me, drives me, and guides me. It shows me what really matters; it divides the temporal from the eternal. And in this division, I find something so contrary to all that society holds dear-I find that all my awards, all my accomplishments, all my noble intentions mean nothing.

I believe in the words of St. Paul, that “if I can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing.”

I believe that I am called to justice, service, leadership, and faith.

What then is required of me?

To act justly and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with my God. This I believe.

Jesus wasn’t kidding.

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Of Hokies, Tennesseans, and a Galilean

Jesus wasn’t kidding.

We have seen over the last few days the tragedy at Virginia Tech—the loss of 33 lives, the physical injury of scores of professors and students, and the mental, emotional, and spiritual turmoil of an entire university and, increasingly, an entire nation.

And today, I heard from a dear friend in Tennessee about an illness in her own family. I can only imagine how painful it must be to have a parent in the hospital, and how much more painful it must be not to know what’s wrong.

Jesus said that in this world, we would have trouble (John 16:33). And we need only to look at the events of the last few days to see that he could not be more right.

Although Good Friday has come and gone, I am still reminded of what the Prophet called Christ—a man of sorrows, familiar with suffering.

And I remember that Jesus knew pain and suffering and grief firsthand. Even more, I remember that he knew of his fate before he ever stepped a foot in Gethsemane.

But he did not stop there—either in the garden, or in the 16^th chapter of John.

He continued on: he humbled himself and became obedient to death—even death on a cross! But death could not and can not hold him, and the empty tomb cries “Death: where is your victory? where is your sting?”

He continued on: “But take heart! I have overcome the world.”

And as I sit here tonight in sadness, wondering why, uncertain, and tired, that is where I wind up.

I remember that the poor in spirit will inherit the kingdom of God; that those who mourn will be comforted; and that pure in heart will see God, yet I feel I need more.

And I receive more—a love which is stronger than my fear, a love which conquered death, and a love which knows no bounds.

As we live through days like this, all I can think to do is trust the One who loves us more than we could ever ask or imagine, and take comfort in the fact that He will wipe every tear from our eyes and that one day there will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain.

So let us pray: for the Virginia Tech community, for our own communities, and for all those who work, or watch, or weep this night.

And take heart my brothers and sisters, because even though we will have trouble, we also have a Savior who has overcome the world.

Jesus wasn’t kidding.

Love is not efficient.

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Remarks at Graduation

Woods Charter School Class of 2008
Saturday, June 7, 2008

Ladies and gentlemen of the faculty and staff, honored members of the school board, Uncle Roger, friends and family, and the class of 2008, I am honored and humbled to stand before you today.

And a little anxious.

Because if you know the class of 2008, you know that these 15 wonderful people—my friends and my brothers and sisters of the senior class—they can be a tough audience sometimes.

They are smart, independent, and determined. They are sharp, and funny, and never at a loss for words. And they have a pretty low tolerance for my sense of humor. Over the years, I’ve gotten pretty good at telling a joke and then getting out of the line of fire.

But I know they tease and occasionally throw things, because deep down, they love.

Teachers have often commented that we are pretty mean to each other as a class, and to the outsider, I’m sure it looks that way. But after four years in this class, I can say with all honesty that those insults mean the world to me, because I know the people they come from, and I know that they really do care, even if they don’t care for my puns.

And when I think about this class, and ponder how we manage to be intellectually aggressive but still “laid-back, untroubled people,” I think about how we first came together as a class four years ago.

Looking back to my freshman year, I realize now that I had no idea of what I was getting myself into. I had no idea how much I would learn from my classmates, how much I would share with them, how much we would grow, and how much I would miss them when the time came for us to say goodbye.

As a freshman class, I don’t think any of us fully realized what we were getting ourselves into by starting our high school careers at this wacky little school in an abandoned strip mall. But we soon made our home at Woods, and four years of shenanigans later, we are sad to be leaving.

We are thankful to be the last class to graduate from Cole Park High, and to us, Woods will always be between the Ciao Bella and Torreros, Mr. Temple’s room will always be a hallway, and the toilets will always runeith over.

We are somewhat skeptical about what will happen to our school once it moves to its own building and Dollar General is more than a few feet away. We fear that something will be lost in the transition, but we know that what makes Woods special can not be packed in a box and put on a truck.

In my State of the School Address, I said that Woods is not a place, but a state of mind, and I told the student body the simple truth: You my friends, you are Woods.

And the same holds true for this class.

Each graduating class is different, but they are all part of Woods. Some are outstanding academically, others are vivacious and full of life, and others, like this class, are a bit of both. I think the reason that this class has become so attached to Woods is because we feel at home here, and when I look at the Class of 2008, I see all the things that make Woods special.

In some ways we are gathered here to celebrate a double loss: the loss of our seniors, and the loss of our home for the past ten years. And while we will miss them both, we know that they cannot stay here forever. We want the Class of 2008 and Woods Charter School to go on to do great things, to write the next chapter of their lives, but because they have meant so much to us, it is hard to say goodbye.

I said goodbye to my Grandfather last fall.

The support I received from my class and my teachers and from the entire Woods community was so overwhelming, and I cannot thank you enough for all your kindness.

But as I think about that goodbye, I start to think about this goodbye. I think about the last things my Grandpa said to me, and I think about the last things I will say to you. And when I think about his advice, I think about all of you, not because I think you need it, but because I think you already live it.

As I’ve gotten to know each of you over the last four years, I’ve learned your passions, your dreams, and your plans for the rest of your lives. I’ve learned what ticks you off, and what makes you tick. Each of you has something you deeply care about: writing, religion, education, science, technology, art, or politics. So take hold of your future, and don’t let go. Give you lives to what matters most, and everything else will follow.

Put first things first, he told me. Put first things first.

Many of us are going off to college next year, and if the rumors are true, we are really going to learn the value of a five dollar bill. It’s worth a couple loads of laundry, or a gallon of gas, whichever comes first.

But I don’t need to tell you that the most valuable things in life don’t come with a price tag. In your lives I see your families, your friends, your hopes and dreams, and your wide open futures. So invest in what matters.

I am rich, he told. I am rich.

And to all these things I will add just this.

Love is not efficient.

To put first things first, to be rich—it is rarely fast and easy. But it is worth it.

When I look at your lives my brothers and sisters, I see these things in action. I see you putting first things first, I see you investing in what matters, and I see you doing it not because it is easy, but because it is worth it. And when I look at I your lives my brothers and sisters, it is no surprise that I remember why Woods is so special.

Because when I look at our school, I see the same thing.

As a school, we put first things first when we focus on learning over testing and community over bureaucracy. We are rich when we make do with what we have, and remember that the nicest, most expensive building in the world is worthless without the community that fills it up.

And we remember that love is not efficient everyday, because it is hard to be charter school. The things we do we do for love—the love of learning, the love of knowledge, and the love of community—and we do them even though they are neither easy nor efficient.

So to my school, carry on. Thank you for all you have taught me, all you have done for me, and remember to do what really matters.

And to the Class of 2008, my brothers and sisters, carry on. Thank you for all you have taught me, all you have done for me, and remember to do what really matters

These remarks are dedicated to my grandfather, the Revered Herschel R. Phillips.

He was a man who felt a call, and left his former life behind. He was a man poor in pocket and poor in spirit, but rich in family, friends, and faith. And he was a man of love—through schism, suffering, and time.

Grandpa, you made it home.

But more than anything else, Cole Park has provided Woods with the opportunity to be the school it was created to be.

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The Shopping Mall Address

Remarks Delivered at the Farewell to Cole Park Concert

Friday, May 30, 2008

I go to school in a shopping mall.

That simple statement has gotten me threw a lot of awkward silences over the years.

First comes the disbelief. Psh, yeah…right. You wish.

Then come the questions. Wait, so do you guys like go shopping during lunch?

Do you get to use the escalator for P.E.?

For most people, the idea of going to school in a mall is pretty cool. They imagine that we check out Abercrombie and Fitch between classes, or use Barnes and Noble as a library, or catch a movie after school. I actually had one person ask me if we get out early for big shopping days.

And while it is fun to think about Woods being in Southpoint, we definitely aren’t.

We’re in Cole Park Plaza.

We have Ciao Bella instead of Maggiano’s, Popes instead of Sears, the Dollar Store instead of the Apple Store, and about the closest thing we have to Victoria’s Secret is the unmentionables section in the PTA Thrift Shop. We don’t have fountains with splashing children—but we do have class changes when the toilet’s overflowing again. We don’t have live music or street performers (except tonight)—but we do have the sweet sounds of barking dogs and the people walking through Cole Park staring at us.

When they first hear it, most people think having a school in a mall would be interesting, exciting, unique. And they’re partly right. We definitely have the best lunch choices of any school in town, and being able to run across to DG is a big plus. Not every school has a coffee stand conveniently located in the parking lot, and I’ve never heard of another school that can claim such an important role in keeping its neighbors in business. But then there are the other things.

The bathroom situation. The paper thin walls. The lights you can’t turn off without disturbing the class next-door. The oddly shaped classrooms. The list goes on and on…kinda like this concert.

For good and for bad, these are the things that make going to school in a shopping mall unforgettable, unpredictable, and endlessly exciting.

In my State of the School Address, I talked about how Woods is more than Cole Park Plaza, how the spirit of Woods can live on even as we make the transition to the new building. I said Woods is not a place, but a state of mind. And while I still believe that, there is no denying that our time in this dinky little shopping mall has shaped and sharpened the Woods community.

For a decade, Woods has called Cole Park home, and during that time the loving education chaos that is daily life in this school has produced countless memories. Like the time in the Great Ice Storm of 2002 that our own Ann Kaiyala sought shelter from her dark, cold house in the bright, warm comfort of Cole Park. Or the time that we rented some space from the vet, only to discover that a corner of our classroom was still being used to store dead pets. Or even the time, during my first year at Woods, that someone made the huge mistake of letting yours truly watch the front office for a few minuets.

About 10 minuets on the job, I discovered that the toilet had overflowed again and flooded the entire back hallway from the Spanish room to the teacher’s lounge. And as I stood there, just staring at the newest lake in Chatham County, something happened. Something clicked.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, and when I turned around, I saw a man standing beside me, chuckling to himself. He wisely suggested that I turn the water off, and seeing as water was still gushing out of the toilet like a bidet in overdrive, I did. Then he asked me if I wanted some help cleaning up the mess, and I accepted, although I wondered who this guy was that he would take the time to help clean up an overflowed toilet. So we grabbed mops and buckets, and as we worked, we talked and laughed about all the crazy things that happen every day at Woods. Once we were done, he just shook my hand, and went on his way.

That man’s name was Dan Munn, and it was only later that I discovered that Mr. Munn was one of the founding parents of Woods, a one time chairman of the school board, and a plumbing contractor in a previous life. But what Mr. Munn did is only one example of all the countless things that teachers and parents and students have done for Woods over the years.

Many of the walls you see inside this building were built by people sitting in the audience today, and if it is true that Cole Park has left its mark on this school, then it is more than fair to say that this school has left its mark on Cole Park.

It is that intersection between the people and place that makes this concert, this school, this community, so wonderful. So as we prepare to say goodbye to Cole Park, I’m more aware than ever what this aging strip mall has done for this school. Cole Park provided Woods with its first home, and with that, all the challenges of running a school in a space never designed for it, but also all the unforeseen benefits of putting a school between a dentist’s office and a pizza place.

With all of its quirks and shabby charm, Cole Park has provided the people of Woods with memories that are truly one of a kind, and ones that will last a lifetime. But more than anything else, Cole Park has provided Woods with the opportunity to be the school it was created to be.

My dear friend Evan Munn once described the purpose of Woods as “academic excellence—whatever it takes” and I could not agree more.

Woods has been a success because the community has come together and made a conscious decision to do whatever it takes to provide the best education possible—even if it means putting up with all the challenges of a school in a strip mall. And in the end, I think that is the lasting legacy of the building you see around you. It did not begin the school, but it has shaped it. The seeds of the Woods community did not begin because of this place, but they have taken root here, and grown stronger for the tough and dirty soil of life in Cole Park.

So goodbye old friend. We’ll miss you next year—or at least Ciao Bella and DG.

Thanks for all the memories—we’ll hold them close to our hearts.

And thanks for the lessons you’ve taught us all—they’ve made us stronger and wiser. You’ve taught us to make do with what we have, to make the best of an inadequate situation. We’ve learned to deal with the bathrooms—you wait in line, and make a friend in the process. We’ve learned to deal with paper thin walls—you learn to block out Ms. Gerber, or you learn to listen to two lectures at once.

Cole Park has taught us what that great philosopher Jagger once said: “You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometime, well you might just find, you get what you need.”

May you stand here as a reminder of where we have come from and where we can go, if we only remember what really matters.

And don’t worry, we won’t forget you. I plan on talking about you a lot next year when I’m at Carolina. Because whenever there’s an awkward silence, I’ll just say what I always say.

Did I tell you that I went to school in a shopping mall?

These remarks are dedicated to the founding families of Woods Charter School.

Their hard work, ingenuity, commitment to community, and their never ending pursuit of education remind, inspire, and drive us. Their hands and hearts have built this school, and we are standing on their shoulders.

A special thanks to Cotton Bryan, Becca Solomon, and Carolyn Stotts for their time, their talents, and their tears. They have made Cole Park my second home.

Andrew Phillips
Student Council President
Woods Charter School
Chapel Hill, NC

Woods is not a place. It is a state of mind.

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The State of the School Address

Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Fellow students, esteemed faculty, and dear friends: 

I was going to start with a joke this morning. And I know that would have made your day. But, I’m afraid I can’t. Yesterday, a classmate had a judge issue me a restraining order. Because of my “improper and neglectful use” of comedy and humor, I can’t come within 20 words of any joke. You can see the restraining order during lunch if you want to.

I know you’re disappointed, but there’s nothing I can do. Even if I could tell a joke, all my writers are still on strike. But on to business.

Why am I doing this? Why am I taking up your precious homework…I mean homeroom time to give a speech I don’t have to give. Why should you even care about the state of the school?

I am talking to you today because Woods is in a state of transition. For the past 10 years, we have been the little charter that could—the school in the shopping mall that everybody laughed at—until we starting kicking some serious academic butt. We have been a school of academic excellence. But we have also been a school of close community.

The relationships we have here at Woods are so unique and so special. Those relationships are what make Woods different from any other school I’ve ever gone to, and they are the reason that I love this school. I love that I go to a school where teachers know and care about their students. Where students are so passionate, and so friendly. I love the culture at Woods which is so open, so accepting, and so genuine.

From the very first time I stepped foot in the atrium and saw sophomores mixing with second graders, I knew this school was different. You pulled me into Woods and you made me feel at home. And you have done the same thing for all the other students who have come to Woods over the years. You welcomed them to Cole Park High, but starting next year, you will welcome them to Briar Chapel High. And things will not be the same.

We’ll have multiple bathrooms for the high school, Mr. Temple’s room will no longer serve as a hallway, and the walls in Ms. Gerber’s room won’t shake when someone sneezes. There has been a lot of talk of what will happen to Woods when we leave Cole Park, and I am sad to say, a lot of what I’ve heard has not been good.

There seems to be this idea that the new building will rob Woods of its soul, and that we will become “just another public school” when we get a building with actual hallways and real classrooms. I think it is safe to say that the new building has left some people with a sour taste in their mouths. And there are other folks, like me, who are cautiously optimistic about Woods beyond Cole Park. “How do you feel about the new building?” you ask us. And we reply: It’s pretty sweet.

To me, this sounds like a delicious combination waiting to happen.

My friends, when life gives you lemons, you make …?

And when life gives you a little sugar you add it to…?

Well, I like a little sugar in my lemonade.

Because whatever you think about the future of your school, whether you are sweet or sour, one thing stays the same.

It is your school.

You can pucker up at the thought of the new building, or you can lick your lips in anticipation, but one thing remains. It is your school to mold, to shape, to make your own.

Teachers and administrators have some say over what kind of culture a school has. They can organize classes, sponsor clubs, and create an environment where true community can happen. Over the past few months, the student council has been working to collect your ideas about what changes we can make to that school environment as we move into the new building. We took in your suggestions, your criticisms, and your concerns and we made a list—a list of what “the Man” can do to help student life in the new building.

We asked for longer lunches, more electives, the chance for you all to be TA’s for the middle and elementary schools. And we got them. Our teachers and administrators have already committed to helping us maintain the sense of community that we love about Woods. They are ready to do whatever they can to help us preserve the culture of this school. But they can only do so much. They can write the outline, but we have to finish the paper. They can train us and coach us, but we have to sink the baskets.

The culture of a school is not made by decisions of a school board, or the actions of a principal. It is made by the way that students choose to act every moment of every day. We can rely on our teachers to sustain the culture at Woods that we all love. They will try, and they will try hard, but they will ultimately fail. Because they can’t do it alone.

It reminds me of a little kid who really wants the coolest new game for his Wii. He can use his birthday money to buy the game, but that’s not enough to cover the cost. So what does he do?

He could buy another game that doesn’t cost as much, but it wouldn’t be the one he really wants. Or, he could earn some extra money on the side. He could mow some lawns, wash some cars, or open a lemonade stand. My friends, if we want to maintain the community at Woods, we are going to have to go the extra mile. It is not enough for us to sit back and let the teachers try to create community. For one thing, it won’t work, and for another, we really don’t like being bossed around. Is community really community when it is dictated by the administration? Is community really community when you are forced to participate? True community can only exist when the people who live in that community have a passionate desire to make it work and are willing to make that community a reality.

Woods is not a place. It is a state of mind.

Woods is not Cole Park Plaza, or Briar Chapel, or ever Chatham County. Woods is not test scores, new buildings, or anything else you can measure.

You my friends, you are Woods.

Don’t forget that this school was founded by Roger Gerber, uncle to my friends Eric and Chad and our own Ms. Gerber, because he wanted a place where students were the center of education, a place where students were the motivation for everything that happened.

Woods was founded as a place where students could take ownership of their education, a place where students were the heart and soul of the school community.

More than teachers, parents, or administrators, this is your school.

It is what you make of it.

And with that in mind, I am excited to announce the Lemonade Initiative. What is the Lemonade Initiative? It is just a plan to make some lemonade.

Whether you are sweet or sour about the new school building, it is still your school and the responsibility for preserving the culture of Woods falls squarely on your shoulders. Whether you feel life has give you lemons or a spoon full of sugar, my challenge to all of us, myself included, is to come up with ways to combine those ingredients to make Woods the best school we can.

And to be clear, I’m not talking about things that the teachers can do, or the principal can do, or things the school board can do. I’m talking about the things that we the students can do.

Rachel Cooper—You’re sitting right in front of one of the best examples of what I’m talking about. For those who can’t see, Rachel is sitting in front of locker 49. What’s so special about locker 49? Well, if you ever need a spoon, you can find one in locker 49. Here’s another one: Who’s ever had a runny nose at school and couldn’t find some Kleenex? Next time, try locker 15.

Both of these services have been provided to us by the Woods Conservative Party. And while I can’t condone all of their shenanigans, the Conservative Party wanted to do something to help the community. But rather than complaining to the administration or waiting for someone else to do something, they just made it happen. They have reminded me of the small things that students can do to make this community better. We would all do well to follow their lead.

Another example of a Lemonade Initiative is something that the student council is currently working on: a Student Teach Day. Imagine one day when we switch things up and give students the chance to share their knowledge and skills with the school community. Josh Brooks might teach us to tickle some ivories, Parker Twiss could share a little dolphin intelligence, and Ben Hock could teach us the fine art of ranting.

Here’s another idea. What if we created a Cole Park time capsule, a monument to the original Woods Charter School? We could submit those things which make Woods special: A picture of Mr. Bryan plunging a toilet. A list of things we see on a daily basis that kids in other schools haven’t even heard of…like secret passage ways to a pizza place and the sound of dogs barking during a Spanish quiz. A story of the time you made a friend standing in line for the bathroom. Memories, stories, pictures, videos—whatever we can use to keep the old Woods alive in the new building.

These are just three examples of ways that we can enhance the school community. But the possibilities are endless. Have you ever wanted to try that basket weaving thing that Mrs.Futrell is always talking about? Start a club. Get some friends and try it out. Organize a community service project. Start a can drive, or get a group to work on a habitat house. Volunteer as a TA or a tutor. Get some friends together for a study groups. Whatever it is, we can use it to build community.

This is your school. It is time to make it yours.

One thought in closing:

A really smart guy once said that, without a vision, people will perish.

Without something to guide us, our community will crumble.

Without our community, things will never be the same.

This is our last semester at Cole Park Plaza. Next year, you won’t be able to walk next door to Caio Bella or grab a snack from DG. And things will be different. Like many of you, I’m worried about what the new building means for our community. But I’m more afraid that we will forget our vision, that we will lose sight of what makes Woods Woods.

Look around you. What you see here—this is our vision. This is our purpose. A school where community is the center of everything we do. Will it last? Will the Woods spirit live on past Cole Park?

That depends on you, because you are Woods at its very core. The state of the school is in your hands. I’m just here to make some lemonade.

Thank you.

A special thanks to Cotton Bryan, Becca Solomon, Matt Phillips, and Carolyn Stotts for their editing, encouragement, and support. I owe them so much more than lemonade.