A Father's Perspective

by Philip

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It has fallen to me, once again, to pen this edition of our ongoing adventure in a rural Alaskan village. Though I’ve told Ash that my posts generate far less circulation than her more brilliant ones, she retorts that I’ve published books and write often. I remind her that more people read her “Emmy Escapades,” published on Facebook years ago, than have ever purchased or read any one of my three books. Moreover, most of what I write has been, in no small measure, influenced by her brilliant insight and the countless conversations we’ve shared over the years. In so many ways, Phlash has become a far better name for us than either Philip or Ashley—but she’s still the better writer.

It’s November now, and we’ve officially entered our third year here. Honestly, it doesn’t feel like it’s been that long, but the calendar suggests otherwise. The school is rounding into shape, but much more work is needed before I’m willing to say we’ve reached our desired end. Nonetheless, our work continues in a two-steps-forward, one-step-back kind of way. I suppose the best way to approach this update is to provide an overview of each member of the crew and try to limit my tendency toward philosophical pontification.

Ave

This kid. Wow. I’ve known for a while that the potential wrapped up in this girl is high—really high. She’s active, engaged, and once she chooses to take on something, she usually becomes quite proficient at it. Academically, she’s operating on a 12th-grade level in English and a 10th-grade level in math. She’s taught herself how to crochet, play piano, make soap, learn French on her own, and her homemade Danishes have become the talk of the village.

This is the first year I’ve had the privilege of teaching her full-time (an intentional move on my part), and she continues to exceed my expectations. When I evaluate her work, I have to pull back and remind myself she’s only in 8th grade. This has led to a humorous exchange when I provide feedback, as I have to preface my critique with a qualifier: “As an 8th-grade assignment, this is awesome. As your father and educator, I’m still going to rip it apart to provide room for growth.”

However, the “problem” with Ave is that, with all that potential, she’s still insistent on becoming a teacher. A teacher! Why any rational human being would choose that profession in today’s society is beyond me—but I can’t discount the nobility of the calling when entered into with a spirit of grace.

Ave wants to see the best in everyone, including herself, and this has proven quite difficult in a small village and among a generation content with mediocrity. If you’re wondering what I mean, the numbers “6–7” should illustrate the growing absurdity we are tolerating in students today. While others laugh at the mere mention of those numbers, Ave struggles to find her place in a world increasingly hostile to excellence in any form. Regardless, she pushes against the norm, and I can only sit and watch as she continues to develop, mature, and grow into a brilliant young woman.

Josh

Josh is now a sophomore in high school and may be the most popular kid in the entire school. Granted, the school has only 25 students, K–12, but if you ask just about anyone in the village who Josh is—they know, even if it's just, "the crazy boy who always wears shorts."

In many ways, Josh is your stereotypical adolescent male: not quite sure of himself, not always inclined to produce exceptional work (even though he can), not always motivated to work for work’s sake, and preferring stagnation to action on most occasions. He still loves the Arizona Cardinals with a passion indicative of a young man and his sports team and could sit around watching football and golf for hours (this may be my fault).

Nonetheless, there’s encouragement in this. Surrounded by sisters and limited in male companions, Josh’s demeanor remains good-natured and balanced.

The oddity of Josh is that he knows exactly what he wants to do—and that hasn’t changed since he was little. He loves rocks and the slow change wrought by profound natural forces. He’s a tender soul, combining high logic with deep emotional connection. He’s a momma’s boy, for sure—probably takes after me in that regard. He simply can’t stand when Ash is upset or frustrated.

This has provided me ample opportunities to teach, train, and mentor him in how to approach discord and miscommunication. He’s learning. Not only that, but he has become a level-headed young man.

When Josh was younger, he’d have fits of anger that many parents might have mistaken for a disorder—autism or something similar. Ash and I refused to label him, believing that the depth of his emotion was simply part of who he was. I remember when he was small, spiraling out of control in emotional rage—pulling his hair or slapping his arm—and I would ask him, “Who’s in control, you or your emotions?” He’d glare at me and growl, “My emotions!” Then I’d ask, “Who do you want to be in control, you or your emotions?” He’d calm a bit and say, “Me.” I’d take his hand, place it over his heart, and tell him, “Then take control.”

Today, that boy is becoming a gentle but strong young man. He’s frustrated by the immaturity of his peers but driven to be more and do more. With our “littluns” (our K–5 class, as I like to call them), he’s the favorite. They pile on him, wrestle with him, ask him to help with schoolwork, or chase him around the gym in his blow-up capybara costume.

Academically, he’s beginning to discover his aptitude—oddly enough, in math. Historically, math has been one of his most frustrating subjects, but his recent national exams placed him in the top 10% of the nation. He’s still set on a career in geology, but I’m waiting to see where this leads.

Emily

Emily is now a senior, and it still feels odd to acknowledge that. She’s the second oldest—true of both myself and Ash—and I think, in some ways, she takes pride in that fact even though she did nothing to make it so. Regardless, when she leaves next year for college, she’ll be deeply missed.

Emily spent much of her younger years in the academic shadow of her older sister, Jadyn. For years, she questioned her worth because she struggled in ways Jadyn never did. In elementary school, Emily was diagnosed with dyslexia, and it became clear her eyesight caused notable issues with focus. Thus, she weathered early storms of insignificance as classmates excelled and she settled into the role of class comic.

I’ll grant, the kid’s wit is exceptional—sharp, natural, and unique, much like my younger sister Naomi. She doesn’t get rattled easily and, when pressed, is more likely to make the room laugh than acknowledge discomfort or awkwardness.

However, what many don’t know is that Emily is deeply sensitive to the pain of others. This has been a profound realization for us in recent years. Some lean into comedy as an escape from their own struggle—but that’s not Emily. Her humor stems directly from her empathy. She wants to heal people, plain and simple. Humor is a tool, but not the goal.

When Ash and I were caring for Sylvia in her final months, Emily—only nine at the time—watched the struggle as we provided care during those final hours. She observed everything: us, the nurses, her granny coughing and struggling to breathe. In that moment, she didn’t choose comedy, but action. It didn’t take long before she began helping: feeding, bathing, changing sheets—doing whatever she could to help.

Granted, Emily still carries the humor that keeps us all on our toes, but she recently surprised us. Since Sylvia’s passing, Emily has been resolute about becoming a nurse. We’ve been fully supportive. But recently, Emily realized her early academic struggles weren’t signs of a lack of intelligence but rather hurdles on her learning journey. She’s come to see that she can push herself beyond what she once thought possible. Last week, for the first time since she was a little girl, Emily questioned her commitment to nursing—because she now wants to become a pediatrician.

“I just don’t like to see kids hurt.” -Ems

Jadyn

And now to the first and last child, Jadyn—no longer a child at 19, with her own house and a decent-paying job. After a year at the University of Alaska Southeast in Juneau, Jadyn decided to move back home and reevaluate her path forward. Personally, I’ve struggled with that decision. I want to see her out in the world, competing, thriving.

But Jadyn has never been one to charge headlong into the unknown. Even as a little girl, she was more likely to stand on the high dive for an hour and then climb back down than to jump. In junior high, she began overcoming that tendency, but an early dating experience and the cruelty of classmates pushed her back into isolation. Moving to rural Alaska during her senior year didn’t help—any chance at closure with her peers was gone as she adjusted to a new school, new environment, and classmates she didn’t know.

After graduation, she chose Juneau over Burlington, Vermont, largely out of fear, I think. Her first college year proved disappointing: financial aid fell through, leaving her with a large bill, and her professors replaced in-person classes with online instruction, heightening her isolation. Her IT job kept her on the midnight shift, and food delivery filled her off-hours.

After a year, Jadyn moved home to continue classes online (which, at that point, most colleges were doing anyway). She now works with us at the school as the Special Projects Coordinator—managing social media and community outreach. She’s learning, improving, and realizing she has real value to offer.

Jadyn still doesn’t know what career she wants, though she’s considering law—a brilliant choice, in my opinion. Time will tell. For now, I don’t rush her. The world we’ve given our young is anything but inviting, especially to the timid. I wish her confidence and conviction as she finds her way.

Ashley

And then there’s my wife, Ash. What can I say? I’m in awe of her every day. I’m arrogant, confident, and outspoken—but Ashley challenges, comforts, pushes, and teaches me in ways no one else can. She’s better than I am, and I strive to live a life worthy of her companionship.

Recently, a district lead visited our campus to train local teachers on a new curriculum initiative. While there, he recorded Ashley’s classroom lessons and student interactions to use as training guides for other teachers. Who knew, right?

I’m blessed to work in the same K–12 school as my wife. I’m often dismayed by couples who talk about needing time away from their spouse. I spend most of the day with mine, and that still doesn’t feel like enough.

Ashley teaches a K–5 class filled with “misfits” and “unwanteds” and works daily to show them they are neither. She sacrifices her planning time to talk with her students, just to help them feel valued. She’s driven by a deep sadness instilled early in her life, which compels her to pull others in and make them feel seen. The result? Her class is remarkable. From emotional growth to academic performance, her students shine. I wish every seven-year-old had a Mrs. Crosby.

And Then There’s Me

I’ve published three books and am working on two more, though I have little hope they’ll reach a larger audience than the first. Why I do it, I’m not entirely sure—perhaps I’m a glutton for punishment. In truth, I think it’s because I have something to say, whether or not anyone listens.

My fictional narrative Agape is coming along but has been set aside for now while I complete my Principal’s Certification program and focus on my next book in the A More Perfect series, A More Perfect School. I’m confident I’ll finish both, but right now I don’t want to miss time with my kids as they figure out who they are.

After all, are we, as parents, not just shadows of things to come? What legacy can I claim if my children don’t find purpose and meaning in their existence? I suppose I’ll finish the Principal’s program and the books—perhaps even restart my educational consulting work.

For now, though, I’m content watching those I love become the best versions of themselves.

Peace to you all.