Trips are for Kids: Reflecting on the 8th Grade Class Trip

CAA's 8th grade class of 2011 set sail for the Bahamas Sunday, June 5, 2011 from Port Canaveral, FL. In this photo class treasurer, "Freshboi", looks out to sea as the Carnival cruise vessel Sensation leaves port.

This blog began with an 8^th grade class trip.  My first entries in the spring of 2006 were a recounting of that year’s trip to Seoul, South Korea.  Since then I’ve had an ongoing tradition of blogging extensively about the class trip.  I missed a year—my first in Columbus when due to an unusual set of circumstances which I won’t get into here—I ended up not going on the 8^th grade class trip to Orlando even though I was the 8^th grade class sponsor.  The trip entries have always been among my favorites.  But this year before I begin the usual chronicle of my adventures with students and colleagues in the Caribbean, I thought I’d like to reflect on the rationale for the 8^th grade class trip.

My first 8^th grade class trip was to Bali, when I was just 25 years old and a new teacher at Saipan SDA School.  It was a learning experience.  The kids were so terrified of the aggressive vendors on the streets of Kuta that they begged to just stay in the hotel.   I lost $75 of the class’s money to quick-fingered money-changers.  A group of my boys had to be moved from their hotel room because their loud horseplay in their room led to complaints.  I learned a lot that year and since then, I’ve taken groups of 8^th graders to Australia (twice), the Philippines and Thailand, South Korea, Japan and Singapore and Orlando and the Bahamas.  All of the trips have been fantastic experiences. 

Here in America I’ve encountered a question that was never asked during in our years in Saipan:  Why do the 8^th graders get to go on such extravagant trips?  (Well, actually no one has ever asked me that question directly, but I’ve been told the question was asked a lot this past school year.  The board votes at the local, conference, and union level were close, I’m told).  A typical 8^th grade class trip is a visit to a neighboring city, a day at the local amusement park, and maybe a night or two at the Travelodge.  The kids have a good time and go home.  Some schools might even pull out all the stops and make the trek to DC for a few days of national heritage touring.  The kids get to see history first hand, learn a lot, and go home.  But riding an elephant by day in Thailand and sleeping in a five-star hotel in Bangkok at night?  White-water rafting in Bali? Learning to throwa boomerang from an Aborigine and petting a kangaroo in Australia? Attending a Broadway-style musical on the history of South Korea and hearing a world-reknowned pianist play in a beautiful concert hall in Seoul?  Experiencing three national cultures in one city on the island nation of Singapore? Taking a cruise to the Bahamas?  Isn’t it all a little much?  After all why should mere kids get to experience all that?

My response is simple: Why shouldn’t they?  The kids shouldn’t just have a little fun and learn a few things and then go home.  They should have an experience of a lifetime, a trip they’ll never forget.

I think 8^th grade is an ideal time to take students on a major trip—whether it be to one of the great cities of America or to an exciting international destination.  Public and private schools are beginning to offer opportunities for kids as young as fifth grade to go to places like France and China.  This website has an ongoing discussion among teachers a few years ago discussing taking their middle school students to places like Mexico and Spain!  I’m proud to say that at the schools where I’ve taught we’ve been ahead of the curve instead of playing catch-up.

Here’s what I’ve found from more than ten years of touring the world with middle-schoolers:

8^th grade students are old enough to appreciate the experience and are able to handle being away from home, but young enough that they can’t get into adult-style trouble.  With my 8^th graders I don’t have to worry about my kids trying to sneak out at night to find the local nightclub.  I don’t need to worry about the kids trying to take advantage of another country’s lower legal drinking age.  Onboard the Carnival Sensation, I knew none of my kids were going to have much interest in or the ability to sneak their way into the casinos or night clubs.  The kids, despite the already raging hormones and their belief that they know everything, still retain a certain innocence that precludes trouble and also can make more open to the new experience.  To be honest, I don’t think I’d ever want to volunteer to take a group of high school seniors on a major trip—too much stress and worry!  I’ll take my 8^th graders any day.

Traveling with 8^th grade students exposes them to a wider view of the world.  Both in Saipan and in Columbus, I had students who had never been outside of the United States before.  Some had never even been on a plane or left the island (or state).  It’s an invaluable experience for kids to see how people live in a different part of the world or a different part of the country—to see how kids go to school in Thailand or the Bahamas, how the Adventist church worships in Korea or Australia, to learn a few words of a foreign language (or a different way of speaking English!)  It’s important for them to see the world is bigger than what they have known.

I loved my 8th grade class trip!! It definitely broadened my horizons. We were able to experience things that we wouldn't usually experience. I remember when we were in Australia we went into the Outback with the Aborigines and ate ants wit...h green butts. We learned that the ants are what the Aborigines ate while out in the Outback for vitamin C. The other day I was watching Discovery Channel and saw a special on Australia. Sure thing, the green butt ants were featured!! It was pretty cool telling people that I have actually tried the green butt ants!! Not to mention the white water rafting was pretty awesome!--Neischangpi Satur (Class of 2000, Australia)

On Tuesday, June 7, 2011 we visited the new campus of Bahamas Academy of Seventh-day Adventists on New Providence Island, which is still under construction.  Eventually this $10 million complex will house over eight hundred students.

We also visited the current campus of the Bahamas Academy of Seventh-day Adventists.  The kids were amazed to learn that the 8th grade class at Bahamas Academy has more students than our entire school!

And for some, this may be the only chance they get.  Sure there may be trips in high school, but if they’re not at an Adventist or other private school, with thousands in their class all they’ll get is an opportunity.  Perhaps, if they’re a part of the French club they’ll get a chance to go to France or tour the United Kingdom with the AP Literature class.  Maybe the seniors will have an optional trip that a handful of students shelling out big bucks will get to attend.  But the chance to visit a great destination with all of your classmates in a manageable group is a rare and precious opportunity.  With this in mind, I’ve always had a few basic principles that have guided my approach to the 8^th grade class trip.

#1.  Everybody goes. I’m a strong believer in doing whatever it takes to ensure that every student goes on the class trip.  I’m proud to say that in nine 8^th grade class trips, we’ve only had to leave behind four students (One because he and his parents never got around to applying for his passport despite repeated reminders, one who enrolled in our school the week before we left for the trip, one who discovered at the airport that she’d need an entry visa, and only one who I did not allow to attend due to behavior and academic issues).

#2.  The destination should be a place that most of the students have not visited before, and are unlikely to have the opportunity to visit again in the near future.  And I believe in giving kids a voice in where we go.  I know I could simply decree our destination at the beginning of each year, or simply return to the same place year after year.  I’m sure there are advantages to such an approach.  But here’s what I know:  I’ve never had a class complain about their class trip destination (whining on the trip itself however. . .well, they are kids after all!).  I think this is because my kids know that this is the trip that they chose through their votes, through their hard work and discipline (or lack thereof—if the kids end up going to Guam or Cleveland they know it’s because they didn’t put in the work for a more spectacular destination).  I also know that things have a way of working out—the kids may be all gung-ho for a European tour at the beginning of the year, but reality has a way of saying no as loud and clear as any law I could lay down, and I don’t have to deal with the resentment.  So you want to go to Paris?  Go for it.  Here’s how much money we’d have to raise.  Parents, principal, school board, conference board, union board all have to approve.  If you can make that happen, then by all means let’s go.  Reality takes care of the rest.  And hey, those second choice destinations-the ones I’ve been subtly promoting all year--they usually aren’t too shabby either.

The kids originally wanted to go to California, but they ended up here instead.  Bummer. (Lacaya Beach, Freeport, Bahamas. June 6, 2011)

ahhh 8th grade class trip, by far the best week in my life! Australia was amazing. Memories of it are still fresh in my mind. Arriving at the airport, waiting for the bus driver, getting to the hotel, arguing of beds, going to church, e...ating those LARGE mangoes, switching hotels, laser tagging, tube riding, that aboriginal park, that skyrail that was VERY scary, kei learning how to wash clothes, SHOPPING, white water rafting, and the four wheeler stuff. AND POOL, i wasted alot of money playing that. It was so much fun and we learned so much from it. All the fundraisers and all the hard work to get there was all worth it. Learning about the aboriginal people was cool too, I did not know they even existed and I bet they didn't know what chamorros or carolinians were. Imagine that, one week in Australia and I discovered a new race--Kono Remeliik (Class of 2008, Australia)

#3.  Learning is always on the itinerary.  And by that I don’t necessarily mean museums (though those are often included too).  A zoo, a classical music concert, a centuries-old fort, a cultural village are great academic learning experiences.  But I also want my students to learn about the larger Adventist organization our school belongs to.  I make it a point to visit an Adventist institution on every class trip.  I also want my students to learn how to conduct themselves while traveling whether right here in America or abroad.  Whether on a plane, train, or cruise ship I want my students to learn how to travel, how to make their way in a new place with courtesy, curiosity, and dignity.

One of my students poses with a cannon at Ft. Charlotte in Nassau on New Providence Island in the Bahamas. We took a brief tour of the fort that once housed a British garrison in the late 18th and early 19th century and wandered the grounds a bit on our own.

Finally, I believe the 8^th grade is the ideal time for a big trip because often times it’s on the trip that they  grow up.  Literally overnight silly, irresponsible children seem to morph into serious, responsible young men and women.  Almost without exception my students have raised the bar while traveling with their class.  This last group, the class of 2011 maintained the trend.  There was none of the buffoonery, none of the constant arguing over instructions, none of the bad attitudes that had cropped up during the year.  My students were outstanding, throughout the trip.  Not that there was a lack of drama among them or some of the usual minor griping or lack of appreciation of the moment (“Hey guys, look a beach! Let’s swim!” “No, I’ll just sit on the beach here and be bored”).   But when it came to following instructions, staying out of trouble, carrying themselves with dignity in public places, exhibiting responsibility and courtesy to those around them, my students were exceptional.  I was so proud of them.  Of course, I’d had that feeling before:  Watching Myoung Hun barter like a seasoned professional with the street vendors in Bali, Ian changing in money in Australia like he’d been doing it his whole life, Fredo falling in love with Thailand, Nicole and Ana eagerly embracing each new experience in Singapore and South Korea respectively, “J”, “Koala”, and “S” exhibiting a heartening spirit of adventure in Australia.  Every year I get the privilege of watching my students rise to the occasion and shine.

I absolutely love the fact that I fell in love with Thailand. It became to me more than just a trip. The people were great and I really enjoyed the food, the stores, the culture. It was very good at impressing me. Learning some things and learning social norms in different places is also a very cool and neat thing to experience-Wilfredo Paez (Class of 2005, Philippines & Thailand)

This year our class took a cruise to the Bahamas.  Where will the class of 2012 go?  If you ask me, the sky is the limit. But no matter where we go, it’s sure to be the trip of a lifetime

I asked some of my former students turned Facebook-friends to tell me about what they remembered from their 8th grade class trip. Many of those kids are adults now, but they still have vivid memories of their 8th grade trip.  I shared some of the responses in this entry and you can see more here.

Coming up:

The Cruise: Highlights from the High Seas

Blogging the Bahamas Beaches: Onshore in Freeport and Nassau

"Seaing" an Old Friend

The Endorsement: WonderWorks, Orlando FL

More photos!  Pastor Joel Johnson, the father of one of our 8th graders, traveled with us as a chaperone and took lots of photos.  He promised us all copies of all his pictures, and as soon as I collect on that promise, I will add a lot more photos to this entry and the others to come.  Also, I'm going to work on getting written permission from all my students' parents so that I can post photos of the kids on the blog.  After all, it's a bit odd to have blog entries about my trip with my students and never see the kids!

Pastor Johnson armed with multiple cameras.  With this kind of equipment, I think you can expect some pretty outstanding photos!

Win-Win: The Dallas Mavericks' Gift to Teachers

Too often in our world it seems that wrong is rewarded. We try to teach our kids that it’s important to be humble, to be unselfish, to be loyal. We tell them that’s it’s not “all about them.” We tell them it’s important to work hard and pay your dues, stay in school, go to college. But then all around them they see people who are arrogant and selfish, and who, as a direct result of their choices, are showered with success, money, fame, and power. They see so-called role models in sports and entertainment who make it clear that’s “all about me.” They see people for whom the regular rules seem not to apply—they didn’t really need to bother with boring hard work. They didn’t need to stay in school or even go to college. The good life seems to have come to them simply because they demanded it.

But every now and then, the values that we strive to teach are vindicated in the flashy world of popular culture. Every now and then hard work and teamwork triumph over exceptional talent and individual superstardom. Every now and then humility and selflessness triumph over braggadocio and self-interest. Every now and then those who paid their dues get paid back at last. Such was the case Sunday night when the Dallas Mavericks defeated the Miami Heat in the sixth game of this year’s NBA championship.

Of course, most readers know that I’m the farthest thing from an avid sports fan, but this season’s contest piqued my interest. As I bantered with my students about the game as we cruised the Caribbean on our 8th grade class trip, I sensed that more was at stake than a mere game.

Like most Ohioans, I was familiar with basketball star LeBron James' ungracious departure from the team of his youth, the Cleveland Cavaliers last summer. For months before his decision James let the rumors swirl about whether he would stay with the Cavs or sign up with another team. The intense anticipation culminated in an unprecedented one-hour primetime special on ESPN entitled “The Decision.” Like Results Night on American Idol, James milked the full hour, before dramatically revealing to the world (and his former team) his decision to leave Cleveland and join his friends Dwayne Wade and Chris Bosh on the Miami Heat. Together this powerhouse Trinity would chase the championships James had been unable to snag with his less talented teammates in Cleveland.

The Cavs were horrified, Cleveland was devastated, and basketball fans quickly divided into two camps. There were those that felt that James showed tasteless arrogance in the way he left his home team (all but the most die-hard Clevelanders respected his right to choose another team, but many objected to the self-indulgent way he unceremoniously dumped his former team before millions of viewers). And then there were those that felt that “King James” had the right to do what he had to do in whatever manner he chose to get a championship ring.



And for much of the year, it appeared that LeBron James had made the right move. Any hopes that Cleveland would somehow beat the odds and succeed without him quickly evaporated. Meanwhile, Miami proved a dynamic force in NBA basketball, muscling their way through the playoffs and into the finals against the Mavericks, a team with only one big star Dirk Nowitzki, oldsters such as Jason Kidd, and a bunch of relative unknowns. The outcome of this matchup seemed a foregone conclusion.

But something strange happened as the finals began. Miami won the first game at home, lost the second, then won the third game which was played in Dallas. Game Four, last Tuesday, is when I began watching—following the action an TV poolside on the deck of our cruise ship in port in Nassau, Bahamas. It was noted that LeBron was having difficulty, especially in the fourth quarter when his outsize talent was especially crucial. He just couldn’t seem to deliver when he was needed most. Was it nerves? The pressure of the game, the media, his own exorbitant expectations? No one seemed to know, not even LeBron himself. In a sense, it didn’t matter what the reason was—the fact was James was virtually scoreless in the fourth quarter of the fourth and fifth game. The games were close with both teams just points a part right down to the buzzer—had LeBron been himself, there’s no doubt Miami could have won.

By the time Game 6 rolled around and the action shifted back to Miami, Dallas definitely seemed to have the momentum and while the two teams remained close in the first three quarters, in the fourth, Dallas pulled away opening up a lead that Miami was powerless to chase down. The final score was 105-95.

Granted, if the Heat had won and James’ choices had been seemingly vindicated, as a teacher I still could have carved out a teachable moment of sorts. I could have made the argument that though LeBron might have won the basketball championship, in the game of life personal character is what really counts, blah, blah, blah. But the argument would have been a tough sell against the obvious tangible benefits LeBron would have been reaping.

I’m not here to make a judgment about LeBron James as a person. I don’t know him personally. I’m sure he has many fine qualities, and I dare not claim to know his heart. However, we can and should judge his actions, and we can decide whether his public image is worthy of emulation. This is the critical thinking we want to teach our students to engage in. The critical question is not: “Is LeBron James a good person?” The question is: “Were his actions good? Is his public persona worth imitating?” The lack of payoff for his choices makes answering those questions just that much easier.

Count this week’s win for the Dallas Mavericks, a win for teachers and parents as well.

This post by Andrew Sharp on the SB Nation website provides some great insights into why "King James" failed to live up to the hype as well as several links to some other great articles on the subject.

ElijahQuotes on Twitter

So, I finally joined the Twitterverse. I did it in order to hear Mat Kearney's new single, "Hey Mama" which he had released on Twitter for 24 hours a few weeks back. After taking a listen, I did nothing else while I pondered what to do with my newfound outlet to the world. I always knew that if I ever began tweeting it would have to be something more than inane updates about "what I'm doing right now."

I finally hit upon an idea. When J and I were student missionaries in Chuuk, we both made a habit of writing down quotes--funny, insightful, and just plain weird things that our students and colleagues used to say. Those quotes, more than our full journal entries, do more than just about anything else to take us back to that special year of our lives. So, with that in mind, I've decided to use Twitter to record all the new, funny, and interesting things that our son says from time to time. It seems like every day he says something that makes us smile or laugh, something that indicates growth in his understanding of the world around him. Twitter, with it's 140 character limit, seemed the perfect place to share these little pearls from our Little Feller.

Now I know for many the musings of a toddler are about as inane as what I had for breakfast this morning, but that's okay. But for those that know and love Elijah and think you'd enjoy keeping up with what he has to say, I invite you to follow me on Twitter at @maycocksean.

The first two quotes are already up!

Family Worship

Family worship on a Friday night. Winter 2011


The three amigos.

For the past six months or so we've been having semi-regular gatherings for food, fellowship, and worship on either Friday or Saturday evening. J and I had been talking about organizing something like this, something reminiscent of the Friday night missionary gatherings that were a part of our history back in the islands. I was particuarly inspired by the Stafford's Friday Night Haystacks tradition they'd established in Saipan. While we rarely went when we lived in Saipan, we did join them on Friday night when we visited last spring. I loved it. The simple but scrumptious food, the company of good friends and new acquaintances, the joyful singing, the kid-friendly worship thought. We need something like this back home in Ohio, I thought to myself.

Here in America, we're all so busy with our lives. We generally don't live clustered together in a mission compound as we did overseas; here getting together may main a drive of at least 20-25 minutes rather than a thirty second one from one apartment to another. There's not the automatic sense of camaraderie missionaries often feel that comes with being far from home and extended family in a different culture. Here, biological family is close at hand and there's little need to create a sense of family beyond that circle. In short, family worship beyond the nuclear unit seems impractical and unneccessary. But just because it isn't needed in quite the same way doesn't mean it can't be a rich blessing anyways. And indeed, we have been blessed each time we've found an opportunity to get together for family worship here in America.

The core group has been three couples, all with a history in the islands. There's Erwin and Rachel C. Erwin and Rachel met while she was serving as a student missionary in Saipan back in 2004-2005. Erwin, the brother of one of my former students, had just moved to Saipan from the Philippines to work. They eventually fell in love, moved to the States, and got married and settled down, ultimately right here in Columbus. Just a few months ago they welcomed the third member of their family, little D..C.

J and Evelyn Carlos also met in the islands, when both were missionaries on the island of Chuuk. They were the first to relocate to the States, moving to the Columbus area from Guam, I think around 2003. Their son is almost exactly a year younger than our little Feller.

And then there's the three of us rounding out the group. On some occasions one couple will be missing from the gahtering, and on others the group as enlarged by others--visiting family members or other friends from the area. Whoever is there, the atmosphere is always warm, the food is always good, the music enthusiastic, the Spirit of the Lord present.


Story time with the boys.


These gatherings are all the more precious now because soon our group will lose three, as the Carlos family moves to the Chicago area this summer. They didn't plan to move, but circumstances made it necessary, and they are going trusting the God who has led them always in the past, to continue to do so as they head into a knew and unknown future. The C's and Maycocks will continue to gather for worship from time to time after they're gone, and perhaps others will become "regulars" in time. These gatherings by their very nature are all-inclusive after all, and there's always room for one more. But for now we'll treasure the Friday and Saturday nights we have left with the Carlos clan.

We'll miss J, Evelyn, and Benji of course, but we'll plan to visit every now and again--most likely on weekends, when once again we can gather for another family worship.



At the table with the C's. The Carlos family was away that particular weekend, but Rachel's parents who were visiting were able to join us. D.C. was just a few weeks away from being born when this photo was taken.


Rachel reads to the boys during worship to end the Sabbath. Sabbath, April 30, 2011.




Our Feller loves the guitar. Here he "plays along" with J during worship at the C's home, April 30, 2011.

Still Learning

This entry began as some random notes I jotted to myself on my laptop while sitting through a belle plates rehearsal Mrs. Arthurs, the principal of our school, was conducting with my students. It was Friday night, the last night of the first annual Allegheny West Conference Arts Festival, and the entire experience had been one of learning—for students and staff.

What I’ve learned:

Talk less. Just talk less. I talk too much. The kids talk too much. We all talk too much. The more I talk, lecture, explain, cajole, threaten, the more I lose the kids. The gift of gab can be a curse. A few words of instruction, well-chosen are far more useful than long lectures or explanations. I’m as guilty as the students of wasting time with talking.

You’ve got to have your stuff together. Dead time is deadly. It’s better to do a few things well than to attempt too much and have it turn out poorly.

There comes a point when all you’re going to get is diminishing returns. Learn to recognize when that is and let it go.

Recognize when kids are (and aren’t) giving their best. Allow time for growth rather than blaming them for not listening. At the same time, don’t settle for subpar when the students can give more. Remember that most things are easier said than done.

It’s easy to criticize. It’s harder to do the work.

Follow through. Once you say something, you have to back it up. Understand that you will not want to do that when the time comes, but you must do it any way.

Focus on prevention, rather than the cure.

When speaking to students, think about how you would feel and how you would respond if someone were saying the same words to you and in the same tone of voice.

I’ve been learning a lot lately and I’ve been trying, with some success (and with a fair amount of failure too), to put what I’ve learned into practice. Two books have had a profound impact on the way that I approach my work as a teacher.



It wouldn’t be an overstatement that these two volumes have literally shaken the foundation of everything I thought I knew about teaching.



The first book is Soul Shapers: A Better Plan for Parents and Educators, by Jim Roy, a volume that focuses on radically different take on classroom management and discipline. In the book Roy seeks to draw parallels between William Glasser’s educational philosophy of Choice Theory and Ellen White’s counsels on education. (For readers that are not Seventh-day Adventist, Ellen White was one of the founders of our church, a prolific writer on topics from health to education, and considered by many Adventists to be a prophet). According to Roy, the crossroads of these two educational thinkers is that ultimately classroom’s must be “lead-managed” rather than “boss-managed.” Students cannot be (or perhaps more accurately) should not be forced to conform to the will of the teacher, but instead teachers should seek to encourage students to take ownership of their choices. There is much in Roy’s book that challenges me, and I’m not sure I entirely agree with all his conclusions, but I have also found a great deal of wisdom and truth in what he says and already I’m seeking to change the way I manage my classroom to reflect greater respect for my students free will and encourages them to truly take responsibility for themselves.

The second book is the textbook for the class I’m currently taking for my Master’s degree. Classroom Assessment: Supporting Teaching and Learning in Real Classrooms by Catherine Taylor and Susan Bobbitt Nolen is about techniques in assessing student learning but really it is about a new approach to learning—one that emphasizes authentic classroom experiences (tasks that have real-world application and importance) over rote learning, quality over quantity, and the use of assessment (often better understood as “testing” to the layperson) as a means of enhancing the quality of instruction. In this approach the test is not taken at the end, but essentially taken throughout and used not to judge the student, but to help the student succeed. This book and this class has been revelation to me. I’ve been a bit overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all. I look at some of my classes and feel like they need a complete overhaul. A lot of that will have to wait until next year, but at least some of what I’ve learned I’m beginning to try to put into practice right away.

Learning is a funny thing. It is one thing to intellectually comprehend something and another more difficult thing to actually put it into practice. But that process of learning leading to change is what makes any learning meaningful.

Together Again

The whole family in July, 2009, the day we left Kimo behind for the States. This was the beginning of the Great Seperation.

The whole family in April 2010, when we returned to Saipan to visit. This was a reprieve for Kimo from the Great Seperation. The whole family in April 2011. This was the end of the Great Seperation. At long last we are all together again!

It's been just over a week now since Kimo rejoined the family and so far her adjustment continues to be seamless. She's into a regular schedule and eagerly looks forward to her brief visits outside in the early morning and early afternoon and her longer walk in the evening. Babs has been doing most of the Kimo walking duties during the week, but I took her out this morning and after church, and I have to say it's a very peaceful thing, this buisness of walking the dog. I'm usually constantly engaged in something. If' I'm not working then I'm watching TV, reading, blogging, surfing the web, browsing a magazine--something. I rarely leave time to just be with my thoughts. But walking Kimo provides me that time, and I have found it very soothing.

In just a week Kimo appears to have put on weight. Her coat is shiner and fuller in appearance. She's showing a little more energy, scratching at the door to go out like she used to do in Saipan (she's still learning that here in America there is no unsuprevised wandering of the compound at her leisure). The other day she and I had some fun playing together in the house. Elijah wasn't sure what was going on with all the racing up and down the hall and Kimo's playful yips.

Speaking of which, our son and our dog seem to be doing really well. The Feller has taken to Kimo like he has no other dogs. He really loves her and considers her "his dog." He likes to pet her, lie next to her and put his face next to hers. Kimo, for her part, will patiently endure as affections. She rarely walks away from him or tries to avoid him as she used to do in Saipan. We still keep a close eye on them whenever they are together and we are continuing to teach Elijah how to properly approach and treat Kimo.

It's good to be together again.

Babs, the Feller, and Kims out for a Sabbath afternoon walk in our neighborhood, last Sabbath, April 2, 2011, the day after Kimo's arrival. Elijah is clutching our mail, which we picked up while out on our walk.

Kimo enjoying a car ride.

Babs and Kimo. April 9, 2011.

What a difference a week makes! Spring has definitely sprung this past week, as evidenced here by the absence of coats, scarves, and hats that were present in the photo of these three from a week ago.

"Well my mom told me if anyone hits me, I should hit them back!"

What do I say to this kid, in trouble for hitting another kid—usually because the other kid messed with him in some minor way? What I usually say is, “Well, there may be times when you feel you need to defend yourself, but you need to understand that our school is never going to have a policy that you can fight with another student if provoked and not receive any consequences. If you feel you have no other choice but to fight, you need to also understand and accept in advance the consequences that will come with that decision. If you’re man (or woman) enough to fight, you’re man enough to accept the consequences of fighting”

What I want to say is this:

Well, your mom is wrong. If mom is teaching you to lay out anyone who lays a hand on you, she's simply teaching you how to live a life where problems go unsolved and trouble dogs you at every step. No one needs to “teach” his or her child that if “anyone lays a hand on you, you hit them back.” Just about everyone, including kids, are smart enough to know when they are in real danger and will fight back in self-defense. A few years ago, a good friend of ours literally had to fight for her life for hours against an assailant, who she remarkably was able to fight off. Ordinarily she is one of the most gentle, unaggressive people I know. I’m reasonably certain her parents never taught her “hit back if any one lays a hand on you.” They didn’t need to. The instinct to protect one ’self is inborn. “Fight or flight” is the technical term, I believe.

We’re fortunate that in our school fights are rare occurrences, but often times the “mom/dad told me I should always defend myself” argument comes up during lower level disciplinary events, and when a schoolyard scuffle does break out, invariably this argument makes an appearance.

Okay sure, there may be times when a kid needs to stand up to a bully. But I find when parents take it upon themselves to teach their children to “hit back” the result is often hyper-aggressive, hyper-sensitive children who fly off the handle in “self-defense” at the slightest provocation and who are often bullies themselves. These are the kids scowling in the principal’s office yet again, because “Johnny pushed me” or “Jane got in my face” or “Jason was calling me names.” These are the kids shouting down the hall at other kids to “say it again and see what happens.” These are kids that are as likely to throw the first punch as put up fists to defend themselves. Children often times aren’t mature enough to discern when to apply their parents’ advice to “handle their business.” Dad might be thinking this is to be applied if his son gets jumped by some thugs on the street, while “Junior” assumes this means to lash out if another student bumps him.

If parents seriously believe their children are under constant threat of physical harm then the least they can do is provide their child with proper self-defense training, whether martial arts, or even basic fighting skills. But to send a child off with little else but a supposedly street-savvy admonition to hit back can only lead to trouble.

I understand the impulse, though, as a parent. No one wants to see or imagine their child hurt by someone else, picked on, or bullied. On occasion my two year old son will report that one of his little playmates at the daycare hit him. I have to admit telling him “Well, if he hits you, you just him back” sounds a lot tougher and more effective than the wimpy-sounding “Well, if he hits you, you just tell Miss Rose.” But when I put my ego aside, I realize that except in the most extreme circumstances (like my friend’s experience above), “telling Miss Rose” is exactly the appropriate response in civilized society. For us adults, “Miss Rose” is better known as the police. We deal with aggressive situations while still following the law. In the real world, the law generally frowns upon the kind vigilante justice some of us expect our kids to mete out. So for now, I’ll keep telling my son to take his concerns to the proper authorities. My boy, like most toddlers—and most of us for that matter--is willing enough to hit if angered. There is no need for me to encourage or teach it.

The Perfect Dog

After 42 hours of travel, Kimo is finally home here in America

We always felt that Kimo was the perfect dog, but we never expected her to be. . .well, this perfect. She came to us perfectly housebroken without a day of training by her previous owner; she didn't chew up things; didn't bark incessantly; didn't bite; wasn't overly hyper. She was more civilized than a lot of people. But surely, I theorized, a transPacific flight will put her into a state of severe emotional distress and all those wonderful traits will evaporate. I had steeled myself for the worst, and expected days and weeks of stressful retraining before she gradually readjusted.


Exactly one year ago, we piled on a plane and flew to the other side of the world to see Kimo (among others) in Saipan. This year, it was her turn to make the trip. Babs took this video of Kimo in her kennel, just after Babs arrived to pick her up at the airport.


I couldn't be more happy to be totally wrong. I've joyfully conceded that Babs was right all along. Kimo's adjustment has been essentially perfect. Her travel time, including an overnight stay in Detroit was 42 hours. She arrived in good spirits and extremely excited to see Babs. Her kennel appeared unsoiled and it would appear she "held it" that entire time, and gratefully relieved herself--for a long time, Babs reports--once released from the kennel here in Columbus. Since then she seems to have automatically continued with her housetrained ways even though now we have to to take her out, rather than just letting her out to take care of her business at her leisure.


Kimo finally gets her potty break in a grassy area by the airline cargo office where Babs picked her up Friday morning, April 1, 2011. She arrived about 8:30 Friday morning and Babs was able to take her after completing all the paperwork and such by around noon.

Kimo's health is actually quite good, all things considered. Her skin is in pretty bad shape, but should improve with time. Babs took her for a deep-cleaning at Petsmart after picking her up at the airport and then to the vet for a check-up. The vet put her on a couple medications to deal with the infections in her ears and to clear up a couple of other issues. Babs says that Kimo charmed people everywhere they went.


Kimo looking elegant and graceful as always while waiting at the veterinarian's office.

Her temperament seems virtually unchanged despite what must have surely been a very confusing and disorienting journey for her. She has seemed a bit more tired than usual but not sluggish or lethargic. She's a bit more clingy than is typical, but not excessively so. She watches Barbara carefully whenever she moves towards the door, and I think she was very relieved that we took her with us to return the rental car this morning (We wented an SUV to pick her up from the airport, as the kennel was too big to fit in our car). By and large she seems about the same as she's always been. As I type this, she sits curled up on the carpet by the dining room table while Elijah plays with his play-doh in his booster chair at the table.


Kimo hanging out with the family in her new home, Sabbath, April 2, 2011

Our one "episode" was a brief spate of barking last night when our neighbors returned late and tromped up the stairs past our front door and then creaked about upstairs. I posted a rather panicked message on a dog lovers thread on Interference where some regulars have been giving me some dog advice. But it turned out that the barking ended after a few minutes and there have been no further incidences since. And that incident itself wasn't actualy unsual for Kimo, as her one vice had always been barking furiously any time someone approached the door of our home in Saipan.

And so it appears, at least so far, that Kimo will make a smooth adjustment to her new life in here in America, a world away from the tropical island where she was born. We are glad to have our family whole again, and even though we now have new responsibilities (and expenses--yikes!) added to our already busy life, we don't mind. Kimo asks so little of us as it is--to give her what we can is no sacrifice at all.

Welcome home, Kimo.


Kimo's number one advocate looking quite pleased with herself. . .as well she should. Babs always believed that Kimo could handle the journey here and that she'd be all right once she got here. And to her credit she did virtually all of the work on this side of world to get her here, working in tandem with Virle in Saipan. It must have been just like the old days for Virle and Babs working together again. And since Kimo's arrived she's taken the lead in her care as well.

From Magic Kingdom to Rainbow's End: The Disney Princess Half Marathon

My account of running the Disney Princess Half Marathon on Sunday, February 27, 2011 with my cousin Yvette and her friend Carrie: A series of vignettes accompanied by selected lyrics from the songs on my run playlist.


Carrie, Yvette and I at the finish line of the Disney Princess Half Marathon. Sunday,February 27, 2011.


Not the Easy Thing

It’s 3:02 A.M. and I’m finding it hard to get up. The alarm went off moments ago, and with only four hours of sleep, the simple act of getting out of bed seems far more daunting then running 13.1 miles. How much easier it would be to just roll over and go back to sleep. But today is about the hard things, not the easy ones. Today is about the hard journey from grief and loss to remembrance and healing. Today is about the hard work of cancer research—hard work that takes money, a lot of it, for a long time, until a cure is found. Today is about running to raise money to fund the work, all in memory of a woman who worked hard for years upon years just to stay alive. Today is about 13.1 long, hard miles, a token distance in comparison to the hard turns life—and death—can bring. In light of this, getting out of bed at three in the morning turns out to be pretty easy.

“Love is not the easy thing. . .it’s the only baggage you can bring, all that you can’t leave behind."
--“Walk On” by U2


A Sort of Homecoming

Some forty minutes later, I’m driving the near empty streets of my hometown. An orange crescent moon hangs low in the sky. The street-lit palmettos and live oaks draped in Spanish moss remind me of high school, out late with friends, up to adolescent hijinks or buzzing down to Tampa on a whim. In those days I hated running. In those days my family was an annoyance, a duty that kept me from my all-important friends. In those days, I found Orlando the most unimaginative place possible—couldn’t wait to get out and live somewhere that hadn’t been Disneyfied, somewhere that had a history. And now, here I am 37 years old, pumped up to go running. At least one old high school friend will be among the throng of runners, and while I’m glad I’ll be able to see her, I’m here for my family—for my cousin, for my aunt—and thankful for the weekend, short though it’s been, with mom and brother and sister. And as I race along I-4, I muse to myself: This wouldn’t be such a bad place to live.



“Here I am, back where I began. . .all of these roads that lead me to roam lead me back home, back where I began”
--“Where I Began” by Caedmon’s Call


Zoo Station

4:23 A.M. The first thing I see when I get out of the car in the parking lot of Epcot Center is a scrawny Asian man in a muscle t-shirt (the ones with massive biceps, imposing pecs, and six-pack abs painted on), Captain America boxers, and large cartoony boxing gloves. Right away I know this will be no ordinary half marathon. I follow the Asian-American hero , and join the crowd streaming in the direction of the thumping music and white bag-dropoff tents. There are tutus & tiaras everywhere, sequins and sparkles, matching pink outfits, Snow White in spandex running shorts. Some are even running in full-on Cinderella ball gowns. I hear there are only six hundred men running out of something like fifteen thousand participants. More than a few of these princes, as the race organizers call them, are wearing tutus themselves; big, strapping football player types, strutting around in tulle and glitter. I know of at least two fellows that came dressed as frogs. In this carnival atmosphere, I feel rather plain in my San Francisco Marathon t-shirt and black running shorts. But the fun is infectious and the open friendliness among the runners warms me against the morning chill.

“I’m ready. I’m ready for what’s next. I’m ready to duck, I’m ready to dive, I’m ready to say I’m glad to be alive. I’m ready.”
--“Zoo Station” by U2


Princesses gather for a photo at the staging area for the half marathon (Photo taken from Yvette's iphone)


The Gathering

5:10 A.M. It seems like we’ve walked a couple miles already and we haven’t even gotten to the starting line! An endless ocean of runners has crept along a lengthy route towards the starting corrals. I’ve been texting my cousin Yvette Saliba and long-lost high school friend Pamela Foard Jansen pretty much since I’ve arrived, but so far I’ve not seen either one. I finally reach the corrals—here the sea parts, with rivers flowing to my left towards the first corrals and to my right towards the later ones. Yvette and Pamela both text me that they are at their respective corrals. I peel off to the left—I’m assigned to Corral C, but I won’t be going there. I’ll be running with Yvette in Corral F, but first I want to touch base with Pamela—a friend I haven’t seen in over fifteen years. She’s waiting at the entrance to Corral D with her sister-in-law: a friendly greeting, it’s been a long time, a big hug, look at you—we both look so different, childhood has long been left behind. We make small talk, and promise to catch up after the race. It reminds me of another crowd, more numerous than the sands of the sea. There’ll be reunions there too—friends and family we haven’t seen in such a long, long time. Perhaps, we’ll barely recognize each other then too, having been changed in a twinkling of an eye—no longer children and yet forever young. We’ll promise to catch up later, because then, we’ll have all the time in the world.


Me with high school chum Pamela Foard Jansen. This photo was taken when we met up again after the race.

“All God’s children of love and light, every heart will be unified. . .on the day of the Gathering”
--“The Gathering” by City On a Hill


Run Together

5:15 A.M. In F corral with Yvette and her purple-clad Team In Training comrades. I’d begun to worry of late that perhaps I’d feel out of place—that Yvette would have her close knit team of TNT runners and I would be the fifth wheel. But Yvette is so genuinely glad to see me, and her fellow runners, each sporting on their shirts the name of someone they are running to honor, make me feel right at home. Perhaps these especially know that life is too short to leave any one out in the cold. Yvette and I lean on each other for warmth and we all pass the time in friendly conversation. Within half an hour the first wave of runners is off, and we begin to inch towards the starting line. Yvette and her friend Carrie leave the corral and race off for one last bathroom break. I look back anxiously for them as we continue to move towards the starting line and I move closer to the barricades at the edge of the corral where they can see me when they come back—I want to be sure they are not left behind. And this is how we’ll run. Looking back, making sure the other is okay, taking care of each other. We won’t leave each other behind.


Yvette and I hanging out at the starting line.

“Come take my hand, we’ll walk this road together”
--“Not Afraid” by Eminem


I Want to Run

6:20 A.M. We’re off in a burst of fireworks and a cloud of fairy dust. Immediately I encounter difficulty. My right foot is hurting. The top of my foot feels pinched as if my shoe is tied too tightly. I’m not hobbling yet, but I can’t imagine that I won’t be soon if it hurts this much and I haven’t yet run a mile. I didn’t expect this. I confess, I thought this run would be easy--a mere half-marathon, running at a much slower pace than I had trained for. This would surely be a walk in the park, a no-sweat lark. It would be easy. But now, quite unexpectedly, 13.1 miles feels very long indeed. I joke to Yvette and Carrie that it looks like I’m going to need those inspirational songs on my ipod more than I thought. I want to run, but I will crawl if I must.

“I will hold out hope. . .I will find strength in pain.”
--“The Cave” by Mumford & Sons



In the crush of the crowd as we move towards the starting line (Photo from Yvette's iphone).


The Foolish and the Wise

The five foolish virgins. That’s what Yvette, in reference to the Biblical parable, calls the women who stop off for photo opportunities with a bare-chested Aladdin and square jawed John Smith. It seems terribly nefarious of Disney to plant this endless array of distractions along the race route—a full size pirate ship, with a motley crew of Caribbean pirates led by a very authentic looking Johnny Depp impersonator, a pumpkin carriage with Prince Charming standing by, male gymnasts bounding about on a trampoline, a stock car attended by rakish racecar drivers. Gathered around each of these are lines of runners waiting to have their pictures taken. But all we can think about is the 2000 plus runners who ended up being cut from last year’s race barely four miles in, because they fell behind Disney’s required pace and were stopped by the dreaded fence they pull across the course to blockade slowpoke runners. We remember the yellow flags that pop up to warn runners that they are behind the required pace, and the buses that swoop in to scoop up runners that have been disqualified. I joke that they are probably driven by Disney villains, though I doubt even Disney would be that cruel. Of course not everyone stops for photo ops. Just an hour after the race began we see the first runners coming back with just a few miles to go until the finish. Somehow I doubt these women--lean-muscled with grim looks of determination on their faces, powering forward at unbelievable speeds, unimpeded by foolish tutus and party-favor decorations--took the time to stop for a picture with Goofy and his golf cart. We might not be as hardcore as these serious athletes, but we are determined to be as wise they are, determined not to be distracted, determined to finish the race no matter the cost.

“It’s a beautiful day. Don’t let it slip away.”
--“Beautiful Day” by U2



I don't think this is the same Pirates of the Caribbean ship that we saw along the course. There are some pretty good pictures out there of the ship and the pirates, the handsome princes along the way and so on, but most of them were posted by other bloggers who ran the Princess half that day and I felt bad to use their personal photos without permission (especially since we were somewhat critical of our fellow runners in that regard).


The Magic Kingdom.

Five miles in and we enter the Magic Kingdom. I haven’t been here since I was a kid. The Salibas would drive down from the frigid Michigan winters at Christmas time and a trip to Disney World was often part of the schedule of holiday events for the family. The last time I’d arrived at the gates of the Kingdom, I’d probably piled out of the Saliba’s blue-toned GMC van, excited at the prospect of a day of Disney. The last time I’d run these fantasyland streets, I was probably racing to be first in line at Pirates of the Caribbean—the animatronics rides were always my favorites. I got sick on Thunder Mountain Railroad and dared not even consider Space Mountain. The Pirates, and even the nerdy Hall of the Presidents were more my speed. Yvette was there, but I barely noticed her running about with my kid sister and her other cousin Nicole, busy as I was trailing her older brothers William and Nabih with my brother Vince. Uncle Slimen had the chunky VHS video camera to capture the memories. Aunt Patsy kept us laughing with her wit. Grandma, ever the thrifty one, brought contraband egg sandwiches repacked in the bread bags. Uncle Roland and Uncle Robert were cool as always. Aunt Colleen was as pretty as any Disney princess. Mom was there to comfort and care. And Grandpa, the patriarch, presided over the whole brood with dignity and wisdom. Disney was fun, but the best part was being with family.


Running through the Magic Kingdom

And now here I am again. So much has changed. Everything seems smaller than I remember, even the centerpiece Sleeping Beauty castle. There is no blue GMC van, no VHS camera, no egg salad sandwiches. The family has grown up and grown old. Aunt Patsy and Grandpa live only in our memories. But some things haven’t changed. Yvette is still here, running beside me, no longer the kid cousin but instead a good friend. Running through Disney is fun, but the best part still is being with family.

"This was not your dream
But you always believed in me.
I want to go home. "
--“Home” by Michael Buble


Bridge

"All your life you were only waiting for this moment to arrive.
Blackbird, fly."

I don’t suppose I ever knew Aunt Patsy as well as I feel as I do now, as we leave Frontierland behind, and the course winds through the backstage areas of the Magic Kingdom. That’s no slight to Aunt Patsy—it’s just how our family is. We are close in that we always make time to be together—Sabbath lunches for those that live in town, regular holiday gatherings for those who don’t. We are close in that we look out for one another—just about everyone has shared a roof with someone else in the family at one time or another. But beyond the immediate families there is little in the way of heart-to-heart talks and deep sharing. We keep things light, we laugh a lot, but the troubles and heartaches are passed along in respectful whispers, in third person.

"Do you remember when we used to sing. . . "

I had asked mom the night before if she knew of any her sister’s favorite songs that I could add to my playlist for the run. These are the songs she gave me—“Blackbird” by the Beatles, “Brown-Eyed Girl” by Van Morrison, and “Bridge Over Troubled Water” by Simon & Garfunkel, and I’ve grouped them together to create a moment of reflection in the midst of this run. These songs. . .these songs are the bridge. They give me a glimpse of the heart of Aunt Patsy—a parent’s heart, something I can now very much relate to. Like her, I know the heartbreaking joy that comes at watching your brown-eyed child dancing, laughing, and playing innocently. I know what it is to hope to see your child fly. And I know too the longing to comfort and protect. And in knowing all this, I feel that I know her.

"When you’re weary, feeling small
When tears are in your eyes
I will dry them all
I’m on your side
Oh, when times get hard
Like a bridge over troubled waters
I will lay me down"

Though this entire run is a tribute to her memory, we’ve not dwelt long on the reason for the run. I can imagine Yvette’s mother would have had little patience with13.1 miles of teary eyes and gloomy hearts. And Yvette, ever stalwart and cheerful in spite of her loss, would not have been one to indulge her sadness that way. But at this moment, with Aunt Patsy’s favorite brown-eyed girl trotting beside me unawares, my eyes mist over and I allow myself to miss her.




“I see you now and then in dreams. Your voice sounds just like it used to. I know you better than I knew you then. All I can say is I love you.”
--“Treasure of the Broken Land” by Mark Heard, Performed by Chagall Guevera


Beautiful Day

We are entering the long stretch, slogging through miles 7, 8 and 9 on Floridian Way, heading back towards EPCOT. The crowd has barely thinned since the race began. We are constantly jockeying for position, passing or being passed. We run on the grass. We dodge and feint to avoid colliding with other runners. The sun has risen. The morning grows warm. It’s going to be a beautiful day.


The course

“It’s a long road, baby, running away.”
--“Here We Go” by Mat Kearney


Carrie On

Ten, eleven miles behind us and it’s obvious who the real hero is. I’ll be frank. My foot is feeling much better, and the truth of it is, this run has proved to be physically pretty easy for me. Yvette seems to be doing well and is on track to meet her goals. But the hero has to be Carrie. She amazes me. It’s not just her will to keep putting one foot in front of the other. It’s not just the way she digs deep to start running at the end of the too-short minute of walking. It’s not just that she’s on track to blow all her previous records out of the water—that she’s moving faster for longer than she ever has. That’s all run of the mill distance running heroics.

No, it’s that she calls on her training as a nurse and stops to comfort and encourage a woman who’s panicking. It’s that she thinks to pick up Tylenol at the medical station because she knows my foot has been hurting. It’s that she’s worried that she might be holding us back when she could be celebrating her own achievements. It’s that she’s here, alone—her family all back in Connecticut—running for one of her patients. This run is hard for her—it would be well within her rights to forget about everyone else and focus on just getting through this. But she keeps looking out for others, not just herself.

What an honor to run with a woman like this! I don’t know who came in first, but I know with a doubt who has won the day.


Carrie, on the left, with Yvette and me at the finish line. Strong work, Carrie!

"Every hand that reaches out, every hand that reaches out to offer peace
Every simple act of mercy, every step to Kingdom Come
All the hope in every heart will speak what I have done
For as long as I shall live I will testify to love
I will be the witness in the silences when words are not enough "
--“Testify to Love” by Avalon


Over the Rainbow

9:12 A.M. It’s like the end of the rainbow. You can’t quite see it, though you know it’s there. It’s one blind corner after another as we leave the iconic EPCOT globe. Disney employees are shouting encouragement: “You’re almost there!” It’s that point in the run, when you know that you’re going to finish. That goal that seemed as ephemeral and impossible as some magic kingdom on the other side of the rainbow back at the start, at mile 5, and 7, 8, and 9 miles is now not just possible but definite. But still, you can’t see it. It’s the layout of the course—there’s no long, open approach to the finish. So we are left to wonder, Will it be around this corner? No? Then perhaps this one? It’s disappointing not to find the finish, but only a little. Because we know it’s there, only moments away.

Finally, we turn and the finish is in front of us. But I almost miss it, because I’m captured by a massive handmade sign: “Congratulations Yvette, Carrie, and Sean!” I’m blown away—truly surprised and touched. Who are these people? How did they know that I would be here—I’m not part of the TNT group—and yet someone told someone and someone took the time to add my name to that sign. Without question it is the most precious part of a very beautiful day. I’m so grateful to Yvette’s friends for that gift.


Posing with our sign. Thanks to all who cheered like crazy for us!

And now the finish looms ahead. We clasp hands, run as one, with cheers all around us, and it’s over. We made it. We walk now, arms around each other’s shoulder, comrades of the journey. The hard miles, the months of training, the struggle is past. The dreams that we dared to dream really did come true and now all we feel is: joy.


At the end. Look carefully for us in the crowd, we're hand in hand.


"Somewhere over the rainbow
Way up high
In the Land that I heard of
Once in a lullaby
Once in a lullaby
Somewhere over the rainbow
Skies are blue
And the dreams that you dared to dream
Really do come true
Someday I’ll wish upon a Star
And wake up where the clouds are far behind me
When troubles melt like lemon drops
A way above the chimney tops
That’s where you’ll find me
Somewhere over the rainbow
Skies are blue
And the dreams that dared to dream
Really do come true.
If happy little bluebirds fly
Above the rainbow
Why oh, why can’t I."

The end of the rainbow. You can’t quite see it, but you know it’s there.


Yvette and I at the finish line of the Disney Princess Half Marathon. Sunday, February 27, 2011

***************************************
The Complete Playlist
A wonderful collection of inspiring songs –the perfect soundtrack for a run to the end of the rainbow.
1. Where the Streets Have No Name—U2
2. Magnificent—U2
3. Zoo Station—U2
4. Today—Smashing Pumpkins
5. Not Afraid-Eminem
6. Float On—Modest Mouse
7. Billy the Kid-Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers
8. A Sort of Homecoming-U2
9. The Cave-Mumford & Sons
10. Hello Hurricane—Switchfoot
11. You Set Me Free-Michelle Branch
12. Gloria-U2
13. High of 75-Relient K
14. Elevation—U2
15. Don’t Break My Heart--Keawahi
16. Free Fallin’--Tom Petty
17. Walk On--U2
18. I Will Follow--U2
19. Lonesome Day—Bruce Springsteen
20. Beautiful Day/Srgt.Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band/Blackbird-U2 (Live in Japan)
21. Brown-Eyed Girl--Van Morrison
22. Bridge Over Troubled Water--Simon & Garfunkel
23. Home--Michael Buble
24. Here We Go—Mat Kearney
25. Undeniable--Mat Kearney
26. Closer to Love--Mat Kearney
27. Where I Began—Caedmon’s Call
28. Rejoice—U2
29. Testify to Love—Amazon
30. Once Again-Matt Redman
31. When I Think of You—Michael W. Smith (feat. The African Children’s Choir)
32. Mighty to Save—Hillsong United
33. All the Way My Savior Leads Me—Rich Mullins
34. Say (What You Need to Say)—John Mayer
35. Kite-U2
36. One Tree Hill—U2 (Live in Japan)
37. Treasure of the Broken Land—Chagall Guevera
38. The Gathering—City on a Hill
39. Hosanna-Kirk Franklin
40. Pride (In the Name of Love)—U2
41. Lifetime—Mat Kearney
42. Somewhere Over the Rainbow—Eva Cassidy