Parenthood: Week 425 – A Whimper

There was the sound of a whimper.

At first, I thought that it was my imagination, or the sound of the laundry machine. Then it became louder and more insistent.

I crept up the stairs slowly, careful to not make too much noise. I heard the sound again, and it was clear that one of my children was up. As I walked down the hall the sound came from the room that Ollie and Ethan shared. As I entered the room expecting it to be Ethan, my 3-year-old, sad because of some small discomfort, like a missing sock, or that the fact that his pillow had fallen off his bed, I was surprised to find my eight-year-old awake in his bed looking at me with sad eyes in the dark.

Last Monday was Ollie’s birthday. He turned eight-years-old. We decided that we would have a party sometime later in early June but we wanted to make this day special as well. Diana brought popsicles for his classmates to eat after school. I grabbed a cake on the way home and we got some presents prepared for him. We got pizza for dinner and my mother-in-law to help us celebrate. Diana and I were delighted that Ollie told us over dinner that his birthday was just like he imagined that he had a great day.

Ollie’s birthday marks not only his birth but one of the most significant moments in our journey in parenthood.  Yes, there are many moments that continue to be special with my other sons, but so much of my experience with Ollie as parents are filled with firsts. Seeing Ethan and Lucas my two younger sons walk for the first time was magical, but seeing Ollie walk, well, that felt different.

With Ollie I felt like I was learning so much while on the job. Ethan and Lucas have thrown me plenty of curve-balls and challenged me as a parent, but there is a confidence that raising Ollie gave me that helps me through the tougher moments that I lacked with Ollie. I’m not saying that I’m not a mess now, but as a parent, emotionally, I was much more of mess when Ollie was a baby than I am now.

Once again, Ollie has brought me to a new first: eight-years-old. I don’t know what that means, and what is ahead and that whole day last week, while I was happy for Ollie I was wondering what he needed from me during this new stage of his life.

When I climbed into bed with Ollie and calmed him down, I asked him what was wrong. He told me that he was having a hard time going to sleep. I held him for and told him that this was okay. He may have been confused as I have been telling Ethan to work harder to go to sleep and maybe Ollie, the one who actually doesn’t have issues sleeping, took it to heart that he needed to try harder as well. I asked him if there was a lot going on in his head. He told me that a lot happened today and that his head was full. I told him that this happens to me and that it’s okay.

I asked him if he wanted to read a book in my bed for a little bit. He nodded yes. I held his hand and walked him into our bedroom. I brought him one of his favorite books, turned on a reading lamp and tucked him in. I told him to relax and read a little bit and that I would check in with him later. I gave him a kiss and went back downstairs.

I came back upstairs after a little while and found Ollie laying in the bed, his head on my pillow, peacefully sleeping. I pulled the covers down and picked him up. I laughed quietly to myself as I struggled to carry him. His left arm stiffly swung to the side and almost bashed into the door-frame and I had to awkwardly position myself so that his head didn’t hit the wall as I turned into his room. I flashed back in the moment to carrying Ollie as a baby, barely the length of my forearm transferring him to his crib. I settled Ollie back into his bed, pulled the covers over him, and kissed him goodnight.

Ollie's birthday was a good day, and an important reminded that I can still comfort him at night and carry him into a place of peace.

Year 11 – Week 37: The 2021-2022 School Year

Here’s what we know for sure about the 2021-2022 school year.


Next fall, at its worst, mitigation practices will look like they do right now.

As vaccination rates rise and more and more children receive vaccinations, we will transition even more into a new normal next school year. Children twelve-years-old and up can be vaccinated, but it is unclear when younger students can be vaccinated. Even though most adults are vaccinated, it is difficult to imagine a situation when young students under the age of twelve can resume school without mitigation factors without being vaccinated. Likely there will be two different school phases next year, one where students wear masks and one where they do not.

We know what works, we know what is gratuitous, and we know what we need to do to modify our teaching to help our students.

School populations will change.

In early May, Evanston public schools, District 65, reported that their student enrollment had declined by more than 300 students and that this number will likely grow. This decline in enrollment will be accompanied by staff and faculty layoffs. In my school, we have three new upper-level administrators coming to our school this spring and many new faculty who we hired this spring.

The vast majority of schools next fall will have significant changes in their population due to faculty and staff changes and/or student changes. For some school communities, this will have its benefits, for other schools, this will be devastating, and for every school, these changes will be challenging.

I predict that these changes will continue in the 2022-2023 school year, as people who do not have the financial ability to move for this school year will do so the following year.


Curriculum will have to adapt.

For music programs like mine, which had little band and choir at 7th and 8th-grade level and no beginning 6th-grade band and choir, we will have to modify our curriculum from previous years next year. Even schools with mostly in-person school cannot expect students to transition into the curriculum comfortably; they would typically learn at the grade level they are entering next fall.

Discussions of “catching students up” and learning loss will continue in the next couple of months, and schools will have to wrestle with how to serve students academically. After two years of schooling, in the very best of circumstances, students could not achieve the learning growth that would have happened without the pandemic.

Changes in the curriculum to meet the needs of the students are not a concern just for the next school year but will continue for many years.


The crises continues.

When many educators talked about the challenges of the 2020-2021 school year, many of them spoke about three crises: the pandemic, the political tensions, and the upcoming election, and racism in America.

All three of the crises will be present in the 2021-2022 school year. Even if most Americans get vaccinated, the pandemic will continue to have a profound effect on the human race. Few countries are vaccinating at the rate of America, and the incomprehensible suffering and trauma due to COVID-19 will continue around the world as America return to “normal.”

It is a disservice to our students and our humanity if we ignore how the pandemic continues while we remove masks and reengage with each other.

The losers did not go silently into the night. trump’s insecurities, whims, and desire for power continue to influence the Republican party.  Lies continue to be embraced by many Americans and racism as a tool to consolidate power. Democracy didn’t win when President Biden was elected, it survived an assault, and the battles continue.

“In recent weeks, Republican legislatures in roughly half a dozen states have either adopted or advanced bills purporting to take aim for the teaching of critical race theory, an academic approach that examines how race and racism function in law and society.”

- Adrian Florido, this NPR article

This is where we are with the essential integrating of lessons about racism into American public schools.

Black and brown people continue to be mistreated by police officers, and racial injustice permeates every facet of our society.  America has failed to address the systemic racism in public education made painfully clear by the pandemic in a meaningful way.

Instead of leaning into these issues, Republicans are trying to pretend they don’t exist. This crisis continues.

While we have many reasons to be optimistic about the 2021-2022 school year, we need to be realistic about the challenges that we are facing. As the masks come off, we have to use this comfort and lessened anxiety to focus on creating an educational experience that truly meets the present challenges while meeting students where they are at.  This means focusing on mental health, inequity, and community.

We can see this as a burden, and we can see this as a wonderful opportunity to engaging in meaningful, invigorating, and society-changing work. Every day, regardless of the past, we can make choices to do better for our students.  We have to remember these past two years, but we can't dwell on them.

Don’t look back in anger.  Look forward to next fall with hope. I’ll be there with you.

Parenthood: Week 424 – Buffy's Bedtime Routine

It's always the last thing I do before getting ready for bed.

I get Buffy's toothbrush, her toothpaste, and a bowl of water and look for Buffy. She is usually on the main floor. By this point in the evening, she ignores me as I call her name. She is usually in one of her spots, entirely on her side. Like most dogs, she likes to be in corners when she rests. So, I'll find her in the corner of the tv stand, front door, piano, or the wall.  The other spot she likes is a small toddler couch we got for Ethan, which Buffy uses as a bed.  Some days she is lying in the middle of the carpet, comfortable that this is her space.

As I come over to her and sit near her, she perks up. The toothpaste is "poultry flavored," and she thinks of it as a treat. She walks around my body as I sit down, and as I cross my legs, she jumps into my lap. I brush her teeth, clean her butt with a baby wipe if she needs it and take her outside for a quick pee. In the night, when it's dark, we don't let her out in the back. We have skunks in our neighborhood, especially in the summer.  Also, her veterinarian has warned us that while her eyesight when there is a lot of light is fun, her night vision is likely not as good now that she is older.

I put on her leash, lead her outside, and she does her business, and we head back in. At this point in the night, Buffy is very efficient, ready to go to bed, and doesn't need to explore much outside.

Diana usually stays up later than me, so I leave Buffy downstairs to keep Diana company, so she'll make sure Buffy goes to bed with us. Sometimes I'm up after Diana has gone to bed, and in that case, I will usher Buffy up the stairs.

On some occasions, Buffy goes up to our room herself, and I find her in her bed. Every once in a while, I can't find Buffy as she has found her way into the baby's room or sleeping in other bedroom at the foot of Ethan's bed.

In our room, Buffy will often settle underneath the end of our bed. Our bed is built so that the frame around the mattress protrudes over the drawers built into the bed frame. This creates an overhand, which, combined with the comforter hanging over the end of the bed, makes a cave that Buffy enjoys.

After I say one last goodnight to my sons as they sleep, I say goodnight to Buffy. I kiss her on her forehead and usher her into her bed.  I keep trying to explain to her it's better to sleep in her bed for her hips and joints than sleeping on the carpet on our hardwood. She usually cooperates as I move her to her bed, and she settles down.

On nights when I can't sleep or the feeling moves us, Diana or I pick up Buffy and put her in bed with us. Buffy likes to cuddle but prefers to sleep by herself. So she will cuddle as we encourage her to for 10-15 minutes, and then she will move away, wanting to get off the bed. At this point, one of us will get up and help her down off the bed. Buffy no longer tries to jump up on the bed, and even though she can get down by herself, it feels better if we help her.

During the night, as I drift between sleep cycles, I hear Buffy. Sometimes it's her breathing, the little sounds of her footsteps as her claws click on the hardwood. As she has gotten older, sometimes she coughs a little at night. The sounds Buffy makes never keeps me up but are comforting reminders of her presence and the peace she has brought into our lives.

Buffy is content to sleep downstairs in a spot on the floor or a couch. There have been nights that we've forgotten to bring Buffy upstairs, and we find her in the morning, sleeping peacefully somewhere on the main floor. In some ways, having Buffy sleep near us is for her, and more ways, this is for me.

Like my sons being next door to me, having Buffy close makes me feel more at ease. Buffy, throughout the last twelve years, has given so much to our family. She has taught me how to be a parent and a better person. My soul has been enriched by the experiences we've had together, both joyful and challenging, and my heart had grown as I had learned to love in a way I never knew possible before she became part of our family.  

One of the most important things that she has given us is her presence. The past twelve years have brought tremendous change to our lives.

We welcomed three children into our lives, Diana and I changed jobs, and the world around us has changed dramatically in ways that sometimes seemed violent, that was stressful, and scary. Throughout it all, there's been this puppy in our lives reminding us that there is meaning and rejuvenation in caring for another, that the most important ways we connect are often not through words, and that beauty, love, and commitment persist.

Buffy being close at night doesn't make the day's troubles or the sadness in the world go away. The challenges are still there.  But knowing she is near makes me feel better about all of the darkness in the world, and as I hear her breathing, telling me, "I'm here."

Year 11 – Week 36: The Inevitable

 Among the many lessons learned in education this past year and a half is that nothing is inevitable.

There is a feeling that education just happens. Lessons get taught, instruments get learned, and concerts come around like the seasons.  With solid structures and systems in place in many education communities, education can feel like a machine moving forward. In other places, individuals work unrecognized and underpaid far beyond they should make things work. Most schools are somewhere in-between.

When the pandemic hit last year, the critical assumptions that made up the foundations of what we can do and how we can do things feel apart.  Teaching music without singing, creating a classroom community with remote students, and struggling to figure out how to do any in-person events have made every single that we do require a new level of effort. It became clear early in this year that nothing was "going to happen," nothing was inevitable except for the passage of time.

Yesterday, we had our first in-person concert in over a year. Every piece of this required work in ways that I had not had to plan for in the past. We had to plan with our medical advisory committee things that I never had to think about before planning concerts. There had to be discussions about whether this performance could be outside or inside, how many people could come, how chairs had to be spaced out, and many other factors. Some of these decisions were easy to be made, and other decisions had to be discussed over time with much thought.

Instead of having months to plan a concert, we had weeks from the moment our medical advisory committee approved an outdoor performance to the latest date we could do this before the senior retreat. Everything had to move faster in the planning of this concert than ever before. Issues that we usually face felt more urgent.

For example, first, we were going to do this event on our field, but because we don't have lights on our field, we had to do the concert early in the evening to avoid sundown. This meant we had conflicts with sports games. Eventually, this got resolved when we moved the concert into our courtyard and found funds to rent lights.

The main lesson from the experience of planning of concert is that music is not inevitable. In previous years the lift felt easier only because others through the years and throughout the school made an effort to make the music feel routine and not extraordinary.

The event went very well, and because of hard work by many committed people at our school, we were able to bring the magic of live music back to our students and their families.  It was reminder of what we had missed, but more importantly it was vision of our future. 

We've lost so much in music education in the past year and a half, and we can stop the loss sooner than later, but this is not going to happen on its own. As we face the end of the school year thinking about the future, we must remind ourselves and our educational communities that things will not magically go back to "normal." Transitioning smoothly out of the pandemic is not inevitable.  As we move towards the best times that we never forget the work that it takes to bring music back to our schools.

Parenthood: Week 423 – Seeking To Understand Those Without Words

I lost sight of Lucas.

I was sitting at the dining room table writing an email on my laptop. After I pressed send, I looked up, and I didn’t see Lucas. I wasn’t worried about his safety as all the baby gates were up, but I was a little concerned. Lucas is at the age that he can move pretty quickly, and even though our house is set up well for Lucas, he can manage to do things that he shouldn’t like chew on the bottom of a shoe.

Then I noticed the pantry closet door that was open a crack start to open. Lucas appeared coming out of the pantry closet, holding a large carton of Goldfish crackers. This carton was like an oversized school lunch milk container and went up to his chin as he struggled to lift it.

Struggling under the weight of the container, he shuffled over to me and dropped the carton next to my chair, and looked up to me.

“Do you want some Goldfish?”

Since Buffy joined our family, we have had people in our family who do not communicate by talking. Conceptually it’s an interesting challenge. Talking is one of the most important forms of communication in most people’s lives.

The idea of living with others who don’t talk can seem daunting and overwhelming; at times, it is frustrating. However, it’s amazing how quickly and normal it feels.

Even though Buffy barks and has a variety of moans and whines, she doesn’t talk. Ollie and Ethan are verbal but are still developing their verbal communication. Lucas has a variety of sounds that are starting to connect with objects and people, but he is in the beginning stage of this process.

There are times when it’s frustrating. When Buffy isn’t feeling well, I wish she could tell me what is wrong. In times of strong emotions, it can be hard to know what to do when Ollie doesn’t have the words to tell me what is wrong. Ethan has a clear idea of what he wants, and when I can’t understand what he wants, it can be a struggle.

There is also something special to learning how to communicate without words. I love the quiet moments with Buffy when she lets me know how she feels by relaxing her head on my lap or groans at me when one of the boys runs around the house screaming. Times when Ollie can’t find the words remind me that sometimes it’s not important to find words and that I can show him empathy simply by being present. With Ethan, figuring out what he wants can feel more like an adventure than a struggle, and we can find joy in reaching a better understanding of each other.

It is so cute watching Lucas connect through different ways of communicating. He brings over a sock if he needs help putting it on, carries a book over to me to tell me he wants me to read to me, and brings me his jacket to say to me he wants to go outside. During his nightly Facetime calls with my mom, he says hello by clapping his hands.

As we work to understand those in our world who do not talk, we have to try harder and pay closer attention to other ways of communication. We often overlook these important ways of communicating with those who are fully verbal and miss so much. What if we gave the care and attention to understanding those who cannot talk to those who can?

The journey to understand is one of care and love. The bond between parents and children strengthens as language develops as part of the wonderful experience of parenthood.

Year 11 – Week 35: Ending The Year In A Pandemic...Again

Here we are again, trying to figure out how to do closing rituals of a school year during a pandemic.

This isn’t new. Last spring, we were in a similar place. Events like graduations, retirement celebrations, and music concerts all had to change. People moved these events online, others got creative with drive-through graduations, and unfortunately, some events had to be canceled.

Some of these changes had benefits. Virtual events allowed people to participate from almost any location, which led to the inclusion of people who otherwise would not have been able to share in these special moments. And some of these changes led to sadness, as modified events often had technical issues and sometimes could not capture how members of the school community felt in previous years.

We were left with doing the best that we could do by focusing on the positive and being grateful. Even though we had a shadow of what we wish we could have, a shadow was better than nothing.

While so much has changed in a year, many things have not. The vaccination came faster than any of us predicted. Federal and state mitigation recommendations are evolving. We know so much more about this virus and have tools and guidance on creating events that we lacked last spring. We are still in the thick of a pandemic, but we know how to manage it, and the light at the end of the tunnel is brighter than it’s ever been.

We still have to be careful.

The risks are there. We have to continue to make hard choices and what is most important to our community. Now that we can safely do small in-person gatherings, we have to figure out how to make this happen. The path ahead is still filled with unknowns. Being able to do more in-person last year means we have to adapt these events one more time.

In this second spring of school, during a pandemic, while more possibilities open up for events, we have to carefully ask ourselves important questions: What is most important about these events? What can we live without, and what is essential? Who are these events for?

I hope that all of you working hard to bring these meaningful ends of the year events to your school community find moments in work to remember the wonderful students we are serving in our work. It is their spirit and their joy that sustains us, and even when it is daunting.  Success is measured in these moments not in replicated the past, but in small moments of joy, and the satisfaction of knowing  that you did the best that you could in the worst of times.

Parenthood: Week 422 – Reaching 8

At the end of the month, Ollie is going to turning eight-years-old. He will be entering third grade in the fall. Like every single year as his birthday approaches, I don’t feel that I am ready for this.

Tanya Tucker sings, “The days are long, but the years are lightning.” She’s so right. The past eight years were filled with slow moments, times that I wished would faster, but the years are flipping by. Each year that Ollie gets older, I worry about how much less I can protect and how much we haven’t gotten done.

It was tough not to be around all the time when I went back to work after my paternity leave was up.
I worried about how he was cared for in daycare. You learn just to push those feelings aside and try to focus, and they never completely go away.

I still think about him from time to time and wonder if he’s doing okay when we are apart. As much as I’m proud of his growing independence, I really like doing things for him. Diana pushed him, rightly so, to get his own milk to drink, while I’m happy to get it for him. I don’t think it is spoiling me. Part of it is that this something that makes me feel better because there’s so much time that I can’t actively be taking care of him.

There’s never enough time to do all the things that you want to do with your child. Even when there is time, the energy to make things happen is fleeting. I wanted to do a lot of things with and for Ollie have been put on pause because of this pandemic. This helps us a way to slow things down, but I worry. There are books to read, music to learn, and adventures to experience.  When I see that birthday coming, I worry about wasted time when I didn’t engage with Ollie as much as I could have.

As Ollie gets older, things that I do, things that he does, seem to have more consequences for the rest of his life. The responsibility evolves where trust becomes more important, and guiding choices for Ollie as opposed to making choices for him is a switch that I need to make. I’m excited, but I’m also nervous.

For most of my teaching career, I taught third-graders, and the Ollie entering this grade brings together my professional world and my personal life. This age that I studied, and taught, and worked with is the age Ollie will become, and it will be interesting to see how my experiences teaching this age inform how I am as a parent to Ollie in this coming year.

When I was in grade school, I’d to this point in the spring when everything felt perfect. Then the school year would end, and the following year would begin, and it would be tough. Eventually, though, things would start feeling comfortable and predictable, and I wouldn’t want anything to change. With Ollie, it’s the same thing. When I have things figured out, I get to this point, I have a grasp on what he needs from me, and when he gets older, I falter, and I stumble. I eventually figure it out, and once I get there, we are on to the next stage.

Comfort and joy only come through struggling through discombobulation and fear. We need the cycle to find meaning, and for me, parenting propels this cycle forwards and brings me to be a better me. So sooner than later, I’ll be hugging my eight-year-old and forgetting that feeling of worry and just being so happy that he’s in my life.  And no matter how he gets, he will always me special little guy.

Year 11 – Week 34: "You Don't Have To Do This"

With the spirit of our students in our minds, a desire to honor the trust families put into teachers, and a vision of what can be, there are times when what we can do for our students feels like what we have to do.

Most teachers go above and beyond the duties of their job. Monetarily many teachers use personal funds to supplement school budgets. Time-wise, teachers more often than not extend their working hours into the evenings and weekends, and emotionally, teachers' empathy for children taxes the emotional well that compromises what they can bring into their personal life.

The reason that "can-do" so often feels like "have to" is because our clients, children, are deserving of so much more than what our society gives them. When we have the money, time, and emotional strength, it's hard to say no to children who deserve our very best. This is why the duty of being a teacher can sometimes feel like a burden.

As COVID-19 restrictions have evolved, so have the policies around mitigation practices at my school. The one-time seemingly impossible idea of having an in-school live performance recently got approved by our medical committee.

In a typical year, performances are scheduled during the previous school years, and there are months to plan and prepare for these types of events. Earlier this week, we got cleared to put on our first in-person concert in a year, and our planning timeline put our planning timelines on the scale of weeks, not months. Add that this was a concert like none I had ever been involved in before added a layer of stress. This concert has to be outside with multiple layers of COVID-19 mitigation procedures.

It's a lot.

I found myself in the main office talking to one of the administrative assistants asking for helping to find an available date for this performance. She sensed my stress in my voice and body language. Looking in me straight in the eye, she said firmly, "You don't have to do this."

We talked about why I was working on this. I told her about how hard the students in our music classes have been working hard this year and what this would mean to the seniors and their families. While it did feel like this is something I had to do, she was right. I didn't have to do this.

At this moment, she reminded me that I had a choice. The challenge was mine to take on or not. Even though these students deserved this musical experience, they were not entitled to it.

One of the features of teaching in this pandemic is accepting that we cannot be what we want for our students as much as we would like. However, I have a little left, and I can make this happen. No, I don't have to, but I want for my students as much as for myself.

Parenthood: Week 421 – Bedtime

I have many great bedtime memories with my children: Singing "Ollie-bear" ("Edelweiss with different lyrics to Ollie as a toddler), cuddling with Ethan under the covers and reading books with him, trying to ignore Lucas giggles as I rock him to sleep, and just giving up and laughing along with him.  

I also have a lot of really rough memories of bedtime: holding Ollie as a baby pacing around the room with a pacifier wedged between my chest as his mouth to keep it in as he screamed, Ethan refusing to go to sleep and screaming for forty-five minutes straight.  

Lucas, well, I'll be honest. So far, he's been a great sleeper. There are likely issues later in his life, but I haven't dealt with many issues. This is probably because since he is still nursing at night, Diana handles most of his sleep needs.  

An effective bedtime routine is a tricky thing to pull off. There are processes to move through like bath and tooth-brushing. Then there are more wind-down routines like storytime, journaling, and singing, and cuddling. You want to move things along at a deliberate pace because children stall and draw out the entire process if you don't. At the same time, you don't want things to feel frantic or rushed.  

You don't want it to be a power struggle, but sometimes you have to pick up the kid and make it happen. Ollie is very compliment about getting ready for bed when we tell him to. Ethan isn't. This dynamic is tricky. I'd rather Ethan chose to engage in the process independently, but if he doesn't, I can only wait and cajole him so much before I need to pick him up and carry him up the stairs.  

When I try to be positive and pleasant, sometimes my children take advantage of that and ask for more books and more hugs. So, I find that being clear by saying "I'm reading two books only" is more effective, but that sometimes feels more structured than I'd like.  

It's hard to say no to more hugs, and it's annoying to end the night negatively ordering kids back to the room or sternly telling them to get back in their bed and be quiet. I do know that this pays off, as I have seen with Ollie. The structure we put into place has resulted in his understanding of the need to go to bed and put himself to sleep. Even though Ethan is still a challenge, he has significantly improved.  

A year ago, Ethan was getting out of his crib and coming into my bed multiple times a night. When I would try to put him back in his crib, he'd scream in protest. Now, Ethan periodically visits me at night to try to get a cuddle, but I can put him back in his bed, and he goes back to sleep without a sound. Most nights, he wants me to sit in the room for a couple of minutes while he lays in bed, and I usually leave while he's still awake. Sometimes I find this annoying, but this is much better than him needing me in his bed to get him to be all the way asleep. 

Sleep is an unknown.  

It's a place of uncertainty where dreams can take you to places of comfort and also places of fear. In a developing mind of child where object permanence is not established, they can have great anxiety about what can be lost when their eyes are closed and what they will find when they wake up. Sleep is a time of great vulnerability when children are defenseless against the unknown, and in the dark, there is more unseen than seen.  

This is why our work at bedtime with our children is essential. Like many important things about parenthood, this work is hard, it's changing, and it takes a lot out of us. The work is also a gift, proof that our love can carry them into the unknown and provide the comfort that we will be there on the other side through the darkness into light.