Browse the news and it does not take long to recognize the current struggle we have as a society to honor the humanity of the other. A culture of polarization encourages us to seek opportunities for division, to highlight our differences rather than the bonds we share as a human race. As powerful as these voices of despair feel, they pale in comparison to the joy we experience when we actually spend time playing alongside others. Today, we made a powerful step toward unity as we welcomed our friends from Special Olympics New Hampshire to Proctor’s sixth annual Special Olympics Fun Day. 

We’re obsessed with sports. So many fans, so many teams, so many opportunities to lose oneself in a quarter, a half, or a period. I’m not saying that it is a bad thing, and truth be told it might be one of the few distractions that can push the dire din of news off to the side. At least temporarily. One can only imagine that having the Washington Nationals in the World Series is a good thing for D.C. How could the first two games played in Houston and won by the Nationals not bring needed distraction and cheer to the beltway region? It’s just the nature of the beast. 

Traipse through the New England woods long enough and you will run across old stone walls bisecting a dense forest. Follow those walls and you will likely find an old cellar hole. Once a home, these remnants transport you to a different era when Proctor’s 2,500 acres were clear cut pasture sprinkled with farms of hardworking men, women, and children scraping a living off the rocky soil. An era when connection was found through human interaction, walking to your neighbor’s home to help bring in the hay, share a meal, repair a wagon. An era when it was acceptable to care deeply about those walking through life with you to show your emotional investment in their well-being. 

Perhaps my voice is not the right one for this blog post. It’s a voice that did not choose the situation I was born into, but most certainly has benefited from it. A voice that has only recently started to grapple with the privilege my family experiences. A voice that will unlikely know what it feels like to walk through daily life with an experience other than that of the majority. A voice that harbors guilt for this privilege, yet is reluctant to give it up. 

Drive along NH Route 11 and you will encounter beautiful scenery, farms, open fields, views of Mount Kearsarge and Ragged Mountain, and the varied architecture that speaks to an evolution of a town without strict zoning laws. You might conclude that while quaint, the village of Andover is far from a cultural center. Take a step off of Main Street into the Lovejoy Library, Wilkins Meeting House, or Brown Dining Commons and you will quickly realize your premature conclusion to be false.  

On some level we see it all. We see teachers tack back and forth from Maxwell to Shirley to Fowler Learning Center, see the maintenance trucks and mowers move across campus, see and hear the coaches on the fields in the afternoon, the kitchen crew roll out meals. It’s pretty simple. The workings of community sit right in front of us and are easy enough to discern. But then there are the other layers.

We thrive when our entire body is healthy, when blood pumps through every vein and we tune into the interconnectedness of individual parts as we operate the whole. The same goes for communities. We are only healthy when every layer of our community feels engaged, heard, and empowered to effect change. 

Watching the teams on campus this fall, talking to coaches, hearing the bell ring on Maxwell Savage after victories are all reminders of all the contests that are happening most days during the week. It’s not just Wednesdays and Saturdays anymore. Mondays and Fridays are roped into schedules, and buses are always pulling into and leaving campus. Uniforms are handed out, cleats are knocked clean before entering buildings, the training room ice bags are everywhere.