Role Models (Dawn Hynes, 1946-2026)

When my mom told me it was a PS 39 day, I didn’t argue. I hopped in the car with her, drove to South Beach and turned the oval doorknob with the words “Public School City of New York” embossed on the brass.

My mom was an elementary-school teacher on Staten Island, and inevitably there would be a day in late August when she’d need me to help set up her classroom. I’d move furniture, organize closets, and set up borders around bulletin boards. Her colleagues, who were more like family than friends and had likely brought their kids to swim in our pool during the summer, would dote over me and ask about my grades, my job, my high school and college plans.

When I was in high school, I told people I wanted to be a senator someday. When I was in college, I wanted to be a journalist. After college, I was a journalist, for five years. As my journalism career evolved, I found myself frequently drawn to interviewing young people, whom I found to have powerful points of view that were rarely explored in journalism. From asking elementary-school students about role models to interviewing teens about school shootings, I wanted to learn from these thoughtful, intelligent children.

At some point, I also began volunteering as a youth group advisor at my church and as a teacher in an after-school program. Both experiences sparked within me the desire to serve as a role model for young people on a daily basis. I shared with my mom that I might want to switch from the newsroom to the classroom.

“Don’t do it,” she warned me. “You’ll be underpaid, underappreciated, undervalued.”

You know how it goes: Your mom tells you not to do something, so of course you do it.

I began my 28th year in education this month. As the principal of a large public high school, I have a lot to oversee. But I have missed a few days of school this September. My mom, you see, was in her final days, with Alzheimer’s winning its inevitable victory over her.

So I sat with my mom, holding her hand, and telling her about the school year so far. I was holding her hand when she passed, and soon after that I was calling a dear friend who had worked with her and who spread the word to the PS 39 teachers. They had been visiting her regularly in the assisted living home, and they would soon be planning to celebrate her life with us.

After almost 25 years of parenting, I’m often gauging my success as a dad based on the degree to which I’ve served as a role model for my daughters. If I see them helping someone else in the same way I had tried to do myself, I’ll chalk that up as a win. If I see them addressing career, family, civic responsibilities or personal care in positive ways that I’d attempted to model, I’ll take a victory there as well. There are many times when I recognize I could have done better, and the girls are also eager to inform me of those. But as a whole, I’ve spent the past quarter-century trying to show my girls a way of living with passion, dignity and service.

I had a good model for that, in the elementary-school teacher who brought me into the world, raised me and then dragged me over to PS 39 to set up her classroom. All of the colleagues, students, friends, family and neighbors who engaged with my mom were clearly inspired by her care for them, her leadership, her initiative and her sincerity. I wanted to make that kind of difference, both for my peers and for young people. So I followed her lead, in and out of the classroom. I told her all about the things happening in my school, and she listened without lots of judgment or advice. We had our own students and stories, and she respected that.

This week, we’ll celebrate my mom’s life, sharing stories of the difference she made while also sharing some hugs and tears. We’ll spend some time honoring the quiet, clear-eyed commitment that Dawn Hynes brought to this world every day. In the end, everyone learned something valuable from my mom, so it will be a classroom of sorts, with many students honoring a great teacher.

After that, I’ll head back to work, sit down in my office and get back to educating. I’ll glance at the New York City Public Schools doorknob on my desk. It’s mounted on a wooden base, and was a gift to my mom when she retired from teaching. I hold the doorknob once in awhile, my fingers skimming the raised letters. It reminds me of where I came from, and who I’ve committed to being. It reminds me of the reality and relevance of role models.

Double Nickels

      Thirty years ago, I wrote a weekly column titled “Life in the 20s” for the Staten Island Advance. It was not a column about flappers and the Harlem Renaissance, but rather a series of essays about the journey through young adulthood. It may not have been “Friends,” but it seemed to attract a following on Staten Island for a minute or two. 

            I recall that in January of 1996, I wrote a piece about how old it felt to turn 25. I wrote about all of the challenges that came with turning such a mature age with college in the rear-view mirror and full-time employment the new normal. I received a birthday card from a dedicated reader who told me I knew nothing about turning old. 

            Thirty years later, I know a few more things about aging. After all, I’m older than my parents were when I wrote that column, and my older daughter could write that column in less than a year. As I celebrate my “double nickels” birthday today, I wonder what I might say to that 25-year-old kid who shared his fears of growing older. I’d mostly want him to live his life without any unsolicited advice. But there might be some things we discuss.

            We might talk about the point in time when some of us allow the focus on “what’s next” in life to also include an enjoyment of “what’s now.” That shift happens at different ages for different people, and it’s been a little at a time for me. It might be a birth, an illness, a death, or another life-changing experience that moves this along. But when it does, we may find ourselves willing to sit and savor the moment in ways we hadn’t done before. To stay in the present longer than we once did.

            I remember that 25-year-old kid constantly thinking and working toward the upcoming chapters of life, from the next job to the next home to the next vacation. The ambition was unceasing, and the work ethic was relentless. It was not uncommon for me to have three stories in the Advance on the same day, and not uncommon for me to work a 12-hour day before going home to organize my clips and résumé.

            At one point in our late 20s, my wife Amy and I sat down together and talked about what we both seemed to want in our life together and in our careers. I had come to recognize that I craved the opportunity to teach and serve as a role model for young people every day. As much as I loved reporting, I wanted the “what’s now” to also include support for young people who were growing and finding themselves. Amy had already decided on that path, so we took it together.

            I switched from reporting to teaching at age 28, and then from teaching to school administration at age 47. Amy and I moved from New York to Massachusetts, and then from Massachusetts to New Jersey. We traveled as much as possible before we had children, and less so after that. Parenthood brought with it all kinds of adventures that I did not appreciate in 1996, and caring for an ill parent has also challenged me in ways I could never have understood.

            At the same time, some things have not changed at age 55. I am still making plans both in my job and in my life, and the workdays are long. I’ve been a high school principal for 18 months, and I’m always reflecting on what’s next for my school and my staff. But when I do that, I am able to draw on the many experiences I’ve had in education, journalism, parenting, marriage, childhood, and life itself to deepen my school leadership.

            This collection of life experiences can help make those “what’s next” decisions more compatible with who I am and what I want my “what’s now” moments to be. Yes, I’m working so hard that I haven’t written a blog post in 14 months. But I’m also doing exactly what I want to be doing with my life. Paying attention to who I am and what I am cut out to do has helped me make those decisions. I also recognize that 55 is nowhere near retirement age for me, so I look forward to doing this work for a long time.

            I recognize that I’m blessed to be active and alive at age 55, and there are no days I want to wish away. Even the days that are a grind are so full of possibility and potential joy, from the interactions with others to the things I might learn along the way. And every day brings with it the possibility that I could be of use to others and make even the smallest difference in this world.

            I think that if the 25-year-old and I were to spend some time together, we’d still have a lot in common. I’m sure we’d go out for a run, and maybe grab some pizza and a movie. I’d remind him that he’s not just chronicling birthdays anymore, but anniversaries as well. Don’t ever forget the life partner you’ve got, and share your love with her. He’d hear that as well.

            As we parted ways, he might ask me if I wanted to write a “Life in the 50s” column. I’d graciously decline, sharing that at 55, age is really the last thing on my mind. I’m focusing on paying attention, learning, leading, and growing. The numbers are just window dressing.