REMEMBERING RON ANDERSON

The Indomitable Ron Anderson

I’ve walked around all day with a heavy heart since hearing the news of Ron Anderson's passing.  Ron was a mentor and inspiration to so many people.   At times like these it’s hard to know how people, places and communities will be the same in the dark wake following the loss of such bright light.  Yet the beautiful thing about a person like Ron is that his essence remains, though his soul is resting well tonight in some place that none of us can yet know.  That essence resides in his humor, his intellect, his curiosity, his enthusiasm, his compassion and his enormous talent.  When I read messages from the legions of people whose lives he touched so deeply, it feels like a call to action in my own life to re-commit to that essence, taking from him all the things he lived for and the principles and passions that played out in the way he lived his life and cultivated his vocation

One of the things I found so amazing about Ron was how fluidly he combined his passion for performance with his passion for teaching, and how this combination built the foundation of a performing arts program that reached thousands of kids in his lifetime, teaching them life skills through stage skills.  The Springer Academy gave and still gives so many seekers a place to find the best and most creative sides of themselves.  And have so much fun on the journey. 

Ron lived his life to the fullest, which was so apparent particularly the last two years, when things that would rock most people to their core became fodder for Ron to do new and different types of creative outreach and artistic reflection.   Ron never stopped giving, and in this he has set the bar celestially high for those who wish to follow in the deep imprint provided by his footsteps.

Like many folks today, there are things I wish to tell Ron still, and grieve deeply that I will not have the chance to do so while experiencing the light of his face, the wideness of his smile, and the deep and hardy laugh that set so many people at ease.  The thing I wish to tell him most is how much I’ve learned from him after I left the Springer, most particularly since I’ve become a parent.  My oldest child was born with cerebral palsy, and she is a beautiful and complex creature who has captivated both my husband and I since the morning of her birth.  While the deep love we have for her is as wide and deep as any waters, we are also often confounded by the complex experience of parenting someone for whom there is no road map.  Not that any child comes with an instruction manual, but after also now parenting a typically-developing child as well, I realize that there is a significant difference. 

So many times when I’ve struggled on this journey, or felt I faltered in my sense of call to this amazing work of special needs parenting, one of the first people that would come to my mind would be Ron.  Ron, whose passion and commitment to his own son ran so deep, and was so apparent from almost the moment you met him.  Ron, who integrated every child that he could into the Springer program, addressing their unique needs directly and honestly, but with the compassion and optimism that let each child who wanted to try be able to do so.  And how much I learned as an instructor, and how much I saw students learning, in this incredible environment of inclusiveness that was crafted on the base principle that every person could be met where they are, and celebrated for who they are. 

Though I will never have this conversation with Ron, and I grieve that, he will continue to light the way for me in what it means both to struggle and to thrive.  I don’t think there are enough people in this world who do both well and openly, and for having the kind of gutsy vulnerability that such living requires.  For having seen this in Ron’s life, I am deeply grateful.  Ron was always present, very serious and deeply committed to his work, and held a high standard of excellence for all he undertook.  Yet he was also fun, funny, and gentle, and knew that at the end of the day, some deep breathing and meditative movement could help one let go of what was and go forth into what was to come.  And hopefully to achieve that transition with a tiny bit of peace, with grace for good measure.  I hope that is what this transition is like for him, and I wish this as well to those who were lucky enough to live and work so closely with him. 

As I was first trying to put into words all that I felt today, a strange thought crossed my mind.  I recalled a writing exercise we did one of the summers I taught playwriting at the Springer Academy.  In the spirit of Pablo Neruda, we had our younger writers observe different fruits and vegetables and write an ode to the thing that most captured their attention.  At the end of camp, we would pick a few that stood out and have the writers read their ode performatively.  Their writing was incredible, brilliant, hilarious and surprising:  All the things Ron loved best.  I think perhap initially I wanted to write Ron an ode, but when I looked through some old files, I realized I still had a few saved from the students themselves.  Since Ron loved laughter so much- sharing it, creating it, invoking it, designing it- lifting up a little piece of sunshine seemed right as I tried to conceive of the best way to express my joy at his life, and work to heal my grief at his death.  I think that’s how he would have wanted it.  All of us, alive to the struggle, and yet poised to continue the joie de vivre that defined his days and his being.

So I leave you with a tribute not from me, but from Catherine (whoever and wherever you are) and her work from the B group in the summer of 2008.  It resonated well with how I feel about Ron, and about how so many others feel as well.  Thank you, Ron- and thank you Catherine!

ODE TO SQUASH     

by Catherine

Squash, with your yellow exterior and your unique shape, I can never miss you.  When I walk through my garden, I always have to stop and pick you from your vine and gaze upon your glorious beauty.  It always amazes me how you started out as a little flower and morphed into a world-renown vegetable.  So world renown, that producers of a television show decided to design you a computer-generated face and put you on there wonderful show, Veggie-Tales. 

Many people would just get a rather large knife and cut you.  How foul.  Oh squash, I praise you with more glory than gold or rare minerals.  No matter how you feel, you always put a smile on my face.  You make me want to break out in song and dance to announce to other human beings your magnificent beauty!