(You can find all the work of Rascal Zurfluh at https://zimplicity.org/.)
The story of the observations of a trusted confidant of a retired school leader.
Well, dear Heads of School, we made it!
The buses will soon complete their final routes. The concert risers have likely been put away. The graduation gowns are being folded and stored. Somewhere, a facilities team is already moving furniture for next year, and somewhere else, a teacher is promising themselves they will not check email for at least a couple of weeks.
As for me, I recently celebrated my fourteenth birthday. Fourteen years is a respectable age for a Shih Tzu. It is old enough to know where all the best sunbeams land in the house and wise enough to recognize that most problems look different after a nap.
It is also old enough to spend some time reflecting.
And as this school year ends, reflection seems appropriate.
The Heroes Most People Never See
When people think about schools, they often think about visible moments:
- The graduation speeches.
- The championship games.
- The accreditation visits.
- The strategic plans.
- The impressive university acceptances.
Humans love milestones.
Dogs, on the other hand, tend to notice the daily things:
- The teacher who stayed after school to help a struggling student.
- The administrative assistant who quietly solved a dozen problems before breakfast.
- The counselor who listened when a young person needed someone to hear them.
- The facilities team member who arrived before dawn so the campus would be ready for another day.
- The teaching assistant who noticed a child sitting alone.
- The bus driver who learned every student’s name.
- The school nurse who somehow always knew exactly what to say.
- The leaders who carried burdens nobody else could see.
These are the unseen heroes of every school year.
And from my vantage point, they are often the reason everything else works.
Schools are remarkable places not because of their buildings or programs, but because ordinary people perform countless acts of care every single day. Most of them never receive awards. Most of them never stand at a podium. Yet they change lives all the same.
A Year of Contradictions
This year, perhaps more than most, has felt full of contradictions. Within our schools, we have celebrated growth, achievement, friendship, creativity, and hope. Beyond our campuses, the world continues to wrestle with conflict, uncertainty, and division.
There are places where violence persists without clear resolution. Communities living with fear. Families carrying anxieties about the future. Headlines that leave us wondering whether humanity is learning from its past or merely repeating it.
International schools sit at a unique intersection of these realities. Our students come from everywhere. They carry multiple identities, multiple loyalties, multiple stories. They often understand, long before adults give them credit, that the world is complicated.
And yet, year after year, I watch something remarkable happen. Children continue to believe that people can understand one another. They continue to form friendships across cultures, languages, and perspectives. They continue to demonstrate a willingness to connect where adults sometimes struggle.
Perhaps that is one of the most important lessons schools teach—not through curriculum, but through community.
What Endures
As my master approaches the end of his first full year of retirement, I find him reflecting less on accomplishments and more on relationships. The longer one lives, the clearer it becomes that many things we worry about fade surprisingly quickly.
Budgets get revised. Strategic plans evolve. Technology changes. Educational trends come and go. The next revolutionary idea eventually becomes yesterday’s innovation.
But certain things endure:
- A student who remembers being believed in.
- A colleague who became a lifelong friend.
- A difficult conversation handled with grace.
- A community that rallied around someone in need.
- A moment when a young person discovered who they could become.
These things last. They are not easily measured. Yet they may be the most important outcomes of all.
The Joy of Wagging Tails
Dogs have a useful habit. When someone we care about walks through the door, we celebrate. Not because the day was perfect. Not because every problem has been solved. Not because the future is guaranteed. Simply because we are grateful for the connection.
Perhaps that is the lesson I find myself returning to this year. Joy is not the absence of challenge. Joy is the recognition that even amidst challenge, there remains much worth celebrating. The friendships formed. The lessons learned. The courage shown. The kindness extended. The communities built. The lives changed.
And yes, the occasional treat shared under a desk.
Endings and Beginnings
One of the great privileges of growing older—whether you are a Head of School or a fourteen-year-old Shih Tzu—is recognizing that endings and beginnings are rarely separate events.
Graduation is an ending. It is also a beginning.
Retirement is an ending. It is also a beginning.
The closing of a school year is an ending. It is also the start of whatever comes next.
This is why schools are such hopeful places. Every year, they remind us that growth is possible. That people can change. That communities can heal. That learning never truly ends, even when the year does.
Closing Thoughts
So as summer begins, my final reflection for this school year is a simple one.
Thank you.
Thank you to the teachers who taught.
To the support staff who supported.
To the leaders who led.
To the families who trusted.
And most importantly, to the students who reminded all of us why this work matters.
Take time this summer to rest.
To reconnect with those you love.
To laugh a little more.
To worry a little less.
To find a patch of sunshine and simply sit in it for a while.
The world will still need thoughtful, compassionate leaders when August arrives.
But for now, it is enough to celebrate what has been accomplished together.
As for me, I intend to spend the summer doing what any wise fourteen-year-old dog would do: taking long naps, enjoying good company, and looking forward with curiosity to whatever adventure comes next.
After all, every ending is simply another beginning wearing a different collar.
Until next year,
Rascal 🐾
From his spot under the director’s desk, Rascal the Shih Tzu spent thirteen years observing the quirks and challenges of school leadership. Now retired, he shares lighthearted reflections with wisdom for Heads of School everywhere.
P. S. – A message from Rascal’s master – one more try – I’d like to volunteer to compile and publish for AISH an anthology of School Head stories. Summer is a great time to reflect and send your story! If you would like to offer something to be included in what I envision will be an annual publication, please reach out to me. I will serve as voluntary editor, so you can submit or even simply schedule a Zoom call with me to tell your story and I’ll put my best efforts into capturing the tales in a way that offers insight to others but also allows us to capture in the archives of AISH the important stories of school leadership from around the world. Please reach out to me if you are interested at jzurfluh@gmail.com. I’ll respond and plan with you in due course.