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Dear Reader, The time has arrived when we can finally count on two hands the number of days till summer vacation. Now more than ever, it is imperative that we take a beat and reflect back on the past school year. Sometimes we find ourselves rushing in an all out sprint towards a point in the future, only to discover upon our arrival that we forget not only how we got there but why we wanted it so badly in the first place. Like it or not, our days here are numbered, as the looming graduation of the Class of 2013 this Sunday no doubt reminds many of us. The summer months provide simultaneously a much-needed relief from the stress of the Deerfield microcosm and a time for students to pursue their own interests outside the classroom. But as you all enjoy some sun and well-deserved freedom, I cannot emphasize more the importance of developing ideas to bring back to school in the fall. Every returning student will be stepping up to a position of higher leadership, and with this comes the responsibility of both preserving the legacy of those who will leave the school in a few short days and creating our own. As you read the following opinions of students and teachers on tradition and technological innovation, I urge you to formulate your own opinions and share them with us as well as the school. Memories are made when you take charge of your time here, and as long as four years might sound in the beginning, I promise they will fly by faster than you can believe. Charlotte Allen, Editor-in-Chief

As we bid goodbye to the 2012-2013 school year, by far the hardest thing to let go of is the senior class. A colorful collection of scholars, athletes, and artists, the Class of 2013 has provided the rest of Deerfield with amazing role models to look up to. Whether on the soccer field or in a Spanish classroom, returning students will miss the wisdom and personality the senior class has breathed into the student body. Through facets of Deerfield like community service and political activism, many members of the senior class have given us tools to use in the world beyond of Albany Road. In addition to these valuable resources, they’ve brought lighthearted humor when the atmosphere becomes too solemn, and a sense of dignity when the rest of the campus gets too unruly. We’ll miss you, Class of 2013. Go onward marching, and let the heart hold memory bright.

Summer days drifted away but oh, oh those summer nights . As we head into the carefree months ahead, The Scroll would like to stress one last time the incredible opportunities that Deerfield affords us. This summer we will become world travelers, volunteers, athletes, summer-campers, artists, writers, scientists and so much more, expanding our minds with each world-class program or internship we attend. Yet in the midst of all this, we must strive to remember that these opportunities are few and far between for the vast majority of the world. This three-month gap in an education often reinforces the gap between rich and poor; the rich send their children to elite programs and foreign countries while the less wealthy kids may have perfectly lovely summers, but without that element of extensive intellectual opportunity. So as we head into this blissful, youthful time in our lives, let us remember we have an opportunity and a responsibility to continue to develop our minds, expand our horizons and arrive back at Deerfield more eager to learn than ever.

The word “community” has been repeated so many times it often goes into one ear and out the other. We do not often appreciate the true sense of community that Deerfield provides. This school is not a collection of strangers; it’s a crew of six hundred diverse students who pride themselves, at least outwardly, on the openness and the inclusion that is supposed to define them and this institution. Albany Road, the charming main street that cuts through the heart of Deerfield’s campus, is the best example of this “sense of community.” We find this camraderie in the smiles (or the smizes) and the waves that are exchanged, and in the fact that every student here knows of, if not about, every other member of the community. In a changing world, where it is all too easy to be mesmerized by how a screen lights up than to stare into a pair of eyes that do the same, the school rule that students do not use their cell phones in public places is a quiet reminder of what is important (or of what should be important). When students tuck their phones away, it is not only a gesture of respect for school policy but also an investment in themselves, that they might look up and see more of a tree than just its trunk, that they might catch the eye of a fellow student and make a small but meaningful difference in his or her day with the simple word “Hi.”

The greatest threats to cultural diversity on campus are required bonding programs, specifically Connect4. These meetings restrict free time and fail to promote deep, vested relationships. Rather than organically learning about a peer, students are forced to bond under artificial circumstances. Instead of having candid conversations, students engage in awkward small talk and bond over cursory similarities, like rain boots. These forced interactions perpetuate the “dominant culture,” as they prevent students from genuinely getting to know each other. These superficial relationships are then substituted for true friendships. Furthermore, these meetings infringe on time that students could use to forge true relationships. “Because students are required to attend so many meetings, Connect4 is dreaded,” said Laura Quazzo ’13. “And I haven’t noticed any genuine bonding occurring. … It’s more of a race to get things done, not to take the time to truly get to know each other.” How can we minimize the effects of a “dominant culture” if students don’t have enough time Deerfield’s rigorous schedule, kids who have interests opposed to the mainstream culture don’t have the time to develop them and engender a counterculture. “At my old school, we had the jocks, hippies, artists, punks; you just don’t see that at Deerfield,” said John Deskavich ’13. In an attempt to integrate students, Deerfield promotes inauthentic relationships that perpetuate the “dominant culture.” By shuffling friends around in housing, Deerfield further promotes short-lived, superficial relationships. Every year, Deerfield tries with fervor to diversify halls. However, this means that students who naturally have an affinity to one another arenʼt allowed to bond in a sustained manner and are forced to switch dorms every year. Rather than allowing actors, or athletes, et al, to live together, Deerfield forces a heterogeneous hall that engenders a homogeneous culture. Preventing friends from living together for more than a year stifles the evolution of the culture of that group. For example, artists canʼt spend enough time together to form an artsy culture. The result is different groups bonding over superficial interests, inducing the “dominant culture.” Finally, the hindrance of specialization outside of athletics harms cultural diversity. Every year, teams return to campus early for preseason and athletes consequently form strong relationships with each other. Those students who are interested in athletics have a forum after school to bond with teammates and create a “bro culture”; debaters, writers, et al, donʼt have these same opportunities. Since extracurricular clubs arenʼt given the same priority as athletics, itʼs difficult for subcultures to evolve around these organizations. Although exemptions are offered, students are often deterred from this option, and pushed instead towards sports. Again, this is an institutional policy that prohibits students of similar interests from forming their own culture—unless of course theyʼre athletes. By prohibiting specialization outside of athletics, the administration has created a bland, “dominant culture.” When speaking at an NAIS conference, Bill Gates was asked how his high school helped him grow into himself. Gates replied, “They stayed out of the way.” If Deerfield allowed students the time to simply be themselves and hang with friends, there would not be a “dominant culture.”

Disclaimer: This is written by a girl who honestly thinks that if the dress code is going to be so strict, we might as well have a uniform. It would save every girl from the stress that apparently comes from trying to impress everyone every day. The Deerfield girls’ dress code is meant to be “classy” and conservative (because my shoulders and lower back are not classy, but rather deeply inappropriate). Saying that the only “acceptable” way to dress is a J. Crew sweater and a knee-length skirt only adds to the exclusive culture that we so often claim we are trying to ameliorate. Instead of shaming girls for wearing shorts to class in the spring, we should rather stop over-sexualizing a universally possessed part of the body. The Deerfield dress code implies that every girl should look more or less similar. Should it not be more important that a girl feels comfortable and happy and HERSELF in what she’s wearing? High school should be about finding yourself, not getting lost in whom everyone else seems to be. Deerfield is indirectly telling you who you should be through this dress code, and that’s simply not okay for us easily impressionable teens. I believe that either the dress code should be more free or we should officially become a uniformed school—it wouldn’t be much of a jump because it already looks like a uniform anyway.

Like many incoming Deerfield students, I loved the concept of a dress code. Who wouldn’t approve of students looking presentable at all times and appearing to take their education seriously? What I failed to realize at that point was the frustration and anxiety that Deerfield’s dress code would eventually cause me. Walking around campus today, we can easily distinguish the criteria for boys’ dress code, but it is nearly impossible to discern distinct rules for girls. Boys keep it classy in blazers and ties, but girls wear clothing infinitely less formal than their male counterparts. A quick peek at DA to Z reveals a reasonable-sounding, appropriate dress code for girls. It shouldn’t be too much to ask of 300 intelligent high school girls, but unfortunately, it is. At the beginning of this year, female students were implored to dress responsibly and follow the dress code. The fall term saw relatively few violations; this spring has been atrocious. Backless dresses, white jeans, blue jeans, and way too much skin in general have become commonplace. Two years ago, many DA students and parents fought hard against an untimely dress code change, propsed late in the summer after many families had already done their back-to-school shopping. The change had good intentions but unrealistic propositions. One proposal was to eradicate low necklines by requiring t-shirts under revealing dresses. This rather extreme proposal was vetoed, but our school is still in need of a change. A young Deerfield woman today must fulfill four clothing criteria: clothing she likes, clothing that fits, clothing in her price range, and clothing that adheres to the dress code. The last is unfortunately the one compromised most often. Because the girls’ dress code is not black and white like the boys’ is, there is room for girls to be influenced more by what is cute and fashionable than what is written in the rulebook, an issue only perpetuated by inconsistencies in faculty enforcement of the dress code. There is a viable, though not necessarily fashion-forward, option that could make the girls’ dress code airtight: conservative dressing that is of similar level to the boys’ attire. There do exist skirts long enough and blouses covering enough to be at the same formal standard as the boys’ conservative and professional look. Fashion should not be the main concern. Deerfield could benefit immensely by prioritizing the intellect and character of a student and de-emphasizing his or her appearance. Like many, I am tired of the dress code discussion. I know my last three years would have been much less stressful had there been more consistency with the faculty and better attitudes, leadership, and integrity on the part of the female students. As I leave Deerfield behind, I hope the tradition of class dress will remain, though we need a more transparent set of rules and a renewed respect of these rules from the female students.

In our generation, we live our lives at full speed. We use high speed internet and instant messaging so we can get information the second it becomes available. We have even changed the English language to suit our fast-paced needs. Words like “are” and “you” have been shortened to one-letter words “r” and “u,” making our communication that much faster. People have turned proper nouns into verbs, saying “Let me google it” or “I just instagrammed that.” This compromised English language is the lingo of Deerfield Academy. We are allowing our iPhones to take over our lives. For example, a group of students sit silently at a table, all checking the same Twitter or Facebook feed. A girl with her head down, thumbs moving a mile a minute, sends a text to a boy sitting on the opposite side of the room eagerly awaiting the “ding” of an new message. We are losing the sense of community that has been a cornerstone of Deerfield Academy for generations. The desire to be connected to one another is still strong; it is the way we go about doing so that is flawed. Instead of asking each other what we did over the weekend, we simply check Instagram, see a double scoop of moose tracks, and know our friends went to Richardson’s. Or we spot a mobile upload of a line of green helmeted boys following a bagpiper and know boys lacrosse had a home game. While technology does make our lives easier, we must ask ourselves: how much of our lives are we willing to replace with pictures, videos, and nonverbal communication?

“To be or not to be?” or “I think therefore I am,” or “The unexamined life is not worth living.” Educational technology cannot help us as we face these three existential conundrums. Everyone must respond to them alone. Once one articulates a position, she might turn to educational technology to find out what others think. What educational technology can do is be a tool once we know what our own questions are and need information to contrive answers to those questions. The first encounter must be with the text of Shakespeare, Pascal, or Socrates. I favor a paper text over a screen-born text because I can react immediately and dog-ear the page or scrawl beside a provocative sentence, “This guy is nuts!” and look to see by turning the book on its side to see how much is left and made a decision about whether or not I want to finish it or not. The paper will be there after the power goes out, the book can dry out after falling in the bathtub, and the paperback will not crack when it’s at the bottom of my backpack. With a book I become self-reliant and do not depend on wi-fi, downloads, or passwords. A book gives a reader has a tactile, aromatic, and visual experience. The work of a book designer is part of the object. On a screen I can modify the size and type of font and making the text mine but disregarding the work of other artists have made deliberate decisions about the whole books. On the screen I command the book, but one can always pick up a Faber poetry book and recognize it as such; a Gallery Press book has a distinctive aroma; one can pick up the same title from an English publisher and an American publisher and instantly know from the feel of the paper and binding whence the title came. Books have identity. I can buy 30 books from a variety of authors and publishers online, and they all look, smell, and feel the same. I cannot have a sensual relationship with a book on a Kindle. Educational technology does work in close support of a class. When I watch today’s physics students measure rate of acceleration and graph that data as quickly as they can touch a few keys and see instantly the differences between trials, and think back to my own days of stopwatches and graphing by hand on graph-paper, I tend to believe my interest in physics might have been more sustained on lab days. In math classrooms, I have watched students use their graphing calculators and quickly see the changes in curves as they easily alter different variables in, say, a trigonometric function, rather than going through the task of hand drawing each and every variation. Faster and easier, and for someone like me, I am more likely to comprehend an immediate picture rather than the ones I manufactured over time. If I could have manipulated in moments the variable that determines the amplitude or length of a sine wave, I think I would have better understood trig. In my own classroom, I readily direct students to their laptops when we encounter an unfamiliar word or come across a specific noun, say, “peony” or “Tree of Heaven” or the song of a nightingale. We can have an authoritative definition from the Oxford English Dictionary and a variety of illustrations and recordings in an instant. One can never, never read either Coleridge’s or Keats’s “Ode to a Nightingale” unwittingly if she has actually heard the song of a nightingale. My point here is that educational technology is a useful tool, but every one of these inquiries begins with a question, a text, a problem for which the student must surmise a solution before using the technology. Educational technology does not ask the student probing questions; the technology can give a student practice questions for an AP exam, but the technology can’t ask, “Why?” and engage the student in a discussion that tests the evidence, encourages the student to refine the argument and its expression. For that sort of activity, one needs a teacher, someone who may know more than the student, but importantly is more experienced with the questions than the student. I have read Romeo and Juliet many times with English I classes, but this year for the first time, a student pointed to a speech in Act IV spoken by Capulet in which the word “death” was capitalized and proposed that “Death” was a name and the speech would make equal sense if one substituted the name “Romeo” for “Death.” The class experimented and found an entirely new way of understanding the irony of Capulet’s relationship with his daughter. I will never read Romeo and Juliet the same way. That experience was based on text, a student, a room of classmates, and a teacher, not a machine or a package of software.

Over the past year, the Language Department, under the leadership of Ms. Invernizzi and with the patient support of Mr. Taft, has engaged in an incentive to incorporate technology into our curricula. Language teachers have grown accustomed to iPads and software solutions which enhance the teaching and learning that takes place in the Kendall Classroom Building. These last several months have been a period of incredible professional growth for me as I have engaged with colleagues in rethinking what is possible in a Deerfield classroom. It is tempting to think of technology simply as gadgetry, as all flash and no substance, but I have learned that technology can be a powerful medium through which we consume information, curate our academic lives and create meaningful content for our curriculum. Moreover, working together with students and colleagues to explore the potential for using technology to enhance our classes has helped me redefine the rationale for and benefits of collaboration. In our department and in my classes, students and teachers take risks together. We have failed and succeeded together. We are learning together. The Digital Age has ushered in a free-for-all in terms of the availability of information as well as a myriad of ways to interact with that information. By working together, as teachers and students, towards the common goals of our classes, we are learning how to participate in this world, harnessing its power and mitigating its risks while striving towards the same fundamental goals of teaching and learning that we all cherish. In fact, my explorations of technology have only affirmed my core beliefs about my profession. Exploring a new and radically dynamic realm with both students and colleagues brings with it a sense of adventure that can in turn infuse our daily work with the content of our curriculum. My experience this year with my Latin 200 class, one of the iPad Pilot Program classes, has been an essential proving ground for me in terms of the potential for integrating technology into the work we do together. Reading the Res Gestae Divi Augusti with the Latin 200 class has turned into a far more critical and rich experience because we are collaborating together to write an eBook. We have thoughtful discussions about Augustus’ reign that are woven into conversations about the nature of the information we consume and about how we can create content that demonstrates our many-layered understanding of this ancient text. We are attempting to create an interactive resource that makes a coherent argument for mastery of the text, and we are all partners and stakeholders in this endeavor. As the year draws to a close, I am absolutely convinced that the integration of technology into the curriculum of this class has yielded deeper and more meaningful reflection: not only on Roman history and culture, but also on the nature of how we consume, curate and share information. We have integrated the invaluable lessons rooted in Classical texts and history with meaningful explorations of how the information age and mobile technologies might be changing the very nature of who we are, what we know and how we interact in the world. I, for one, am eager to imagine how we at Deerfield might forge a new path that reconciles our rapidly-changing mobile world of free information with our cherished traditions of reflection, deep thinking and strong relationships inside and outside of the classroom. I know I am not alone in feeling excited about what the future holds for us. Let’s work together to innovate, integrate and steward our heritage in the information age.

There is a certain feeling associated with holding a worn, leather-bound book and carefully turning its textured pages that I just don’t get while clutching a cold and fragile tablet. There is a certain depth and weight to books that create a sensation of trust between the author and reader that I don’t get while reading anonymous information online. I am opposed to the idea of replacing traditional books and paper with electronic devices. But in a classroom aimed to prepare me and my fellow students for our future careers in a world where everything is constantly flowing through a racing stream of information, technology seems like a more practical alternative to me. I’ll confess—curling up in bed with a tablet will never bring me the same feeling of comfort, serenity, or bliss as a hefty book. But in an English class, where I can flag and quickly locate passages, record audio responses, and even link to specific passages in other texts, a tablet proves to be an incredible convenience. My tablet has every historical text, every philosophy assignment, and every page of notes I need for my classes. I can send my essays, outlines, stories, emails, and websites to my teachers at any time, anywhere, and receive videos, recordings and handwritten comments that make me feel as if I had met with them in person. In my foreign language classes, we record ourselves reading lengthy passages and send them to our teachers in order to avoid wasting class time listening to everyone one-by-one. I can listen to dialogues and watch short films in order to grow accustomed to hearing others speak French. These tools not only give me a chance to hear myself speak, but also give me the unique opportunity to correct my own pronunciation. In my science classes, the tablet allows me to use the latest available technology for handson projects: I can easily organize, graph, sort through and draw conclusions from the data I gather. In math, on the other hand, I can watch as a function rotates about its axis or is sliced into circular cross sections, instead of struggling to visualize it. As our students move into the world of work, their ability to manipulate technology to their advantage will prove to be crucial. I don’t believe in completely replacing the traditional with the new. However, if we slowly incorporate these devices into our classrooms, we will grow accustomed to them, obtaining a necessary skill to survive in the modern world. There is a certain feeling associated with writing in a journal—an uneasiness that, sooner or later, the pages will run out—that I don’t get while working with technology. The possibilities seem endless.