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It’s often been said that death is not only an ending, but a new beginning, as well. I learned that lesson firsthand in the months following the passing of my first wife, Lee.
She was barely 46 years old and our family, small to begin with, was now as small as it could be. Just the two of us: 10-year-old Molly; and her dad, me.
As an ambitious young guy, I had never been particularly interested in parenthood. So, I was surprised once I became a father just how much I loved it. Right from the start.
Even before Molly was born, I felt a deep connection to her. And the sound of my voice must have been very familiar by the time she arrived, after my many “conversations” with her in the womb.
I was a freelance screenwriter at the time and could make my own schedule, leaving us endless hours to play together in those early years.
Still, I would never have dreamt that parenting—not just my child, but many thousands more—was destined to become my calling.
Once I began to navigate life as a single dad, something started to nag at me. Somehow, I had to help Molly deal with this profound loss!
We would take long walks every Friday night from our new home, a small urban apartment, to any one of many wonderful restaurants in the neighborhood. It was our weekly ritual. And on those outings, particularly on the way home in the dark, she would bare her soul.
Underneath it all, I felt her yearning for answers: Why did this happen to Mom? What did I do to deserve it? Does anything make sense in this world?
We did not belong to a church, temple or mosque. We had no community in place to help us address the biggest questions in life. In fact, as far as I could tell, they were rarely, if ever, even talked about. By anyone. Anywhere.
To this day, I can’t say when exactly it dawned on me that I might have to take things into my own hands.
But I do know one thing: Like many of life’s true gifts, I did not appreciate SPIRIT SERIES when the idea first arrived. If it had been a birthday present, I would have exchanged it on Amazon or at the mall.
So, once I began to hear the “call,” I did what many of us do when we know something is right and don’t want to admit it. I turned away.
True, I had my reasons: I didn’t write for children and had no interest in doing so. I adored Molly, and liked her friends well enough, but I had no intention of devoting my life to their welfare.
Still, as the months passed and I continued to feel the hole in my daughter’s heart, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my life would never be the same. This work had me in its grip.
I did have some storytelling skills. Could I use them somehow to come to her aid? Could the stories of heroes from the past, the lessons their lives teach—their triumphs and challenges–help Molly meet the challenge in her own life? And if it could help her, could it somehow help other kids as well?
But, how could I test that out? And where? In public school?! I was just a parent. I had never taught in a classroom, had no training as an educator, knew next to nothing about how public education works and had little or no savings in the bank.
Then, in the spring before my daughter entered sixth grade, I met a gifted secondary school teacher who was inspired by the idea and had the chops to help realize its potential.
In the end, it was a pledge to myself that made all the difference. And not just for me. History’s hero stories can be difficult and complex. To write for kids would never do them justice. I could only say yes to this if I treated my audience as adults.
So, at a middle school in Los Angeles, nine months later, we led 120 sixth graders through the first SPIRIT SERIES experience. Molly was among them. It was an electric three weeks of theater, self-reflection, character-building, rigorous academics and Eastern Philosophy—quite a mountain for them to climb.
When each class had completed their public performance of this one-act historical biography, one shy girl stayed behind. She asked if she could help break down the set. As we finished, she looked up and simply said: “…This changed my life.”
In that moment, something shifted for me.
We had taught them the story of a prince from India who had given up his life of privilege to seek an end to life’s suffering. Now I was faced with a similar challenge.
What would I be willing to walk away from in my life? Could I leave security and comfort behind to head into the unknown with no guarantee of success?
Like the Prince who would become a Buddha, I knew I had no choice. I had already stepped into the mystery…and there was no turning back.
The road ahead would not be easy. If I had known just how challenging, I probably would never have begun. I couldn’t pay myself for the better part of four years, living close to the bone, taking the odd writing job whenever it came.
But as the transformations kept showing up in the students who we took through these three-week rites of passage, as they were filled with the inspiration, empowerment and wisdom these hero stories offer, I was transformed too.
In those early years, I prided myself on the efforts I’d made to reclaim my daughter’s life. It wasn’t until Leslie appeared, my second wife and SPIRIT SERIES partner, that I began to wise up and realize whose life had actually been saved by all my “good works.”
We began to understand just how much these young people needed what we were providing: Purpose, challenge, belonging, wonder, self-expression. And most of all: Safe passage to adulthood.
When things got pin-drop quiet in the classes we were leading, you could sense the light bulbs go off in the students’ heads—whether they realized it or not, they had each already been asking these big life questions. Just like Molly. Quietly, maybe even desperately, trying to figure out what to make of our world.
Somehow, through personal tragedy, I had been led to a calling far beyond anything I could have imagined.
Slowly, my gratitude emerged. We were engaged here in something time-honored and true. The character and core values that are key to survival of any society have most often been shared with our children through stories.
Initiation—successfully undergoing big challenges like the ones we were leading these young people through—has been the primary pathway out of childhood since the dawn of time.
Through the ages, the needs of our kids haven’t changed. But our world has. The loneliness epidemic and the ills of social media—these are symptoms of a deep and urgent unmet need.
The past 25 years, working with over 65,000 young people from coast to coast, have taught me many things. Chief among them, this: We must prepare our children to meet life’s challenges. We owe that to them.
And our most solemn responsibility is to initiate this next generation into adulthood, equipping them with the values, confidence and inspiration they will so urgently need to meet their future.
If we don’t show our kids the way, sadly, TikTok and Instagram surely will.
Richard Strauss is the founder and National Executive Director of SPIRIT SERIES, Inc. an educational non-profit organization that, since 2001, has delivered transformative story-based curricula in grades four through ten, serving over 65,000 under-resourced students from California to Maine.
All views expressed are the author’s own.
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