It’s only a few blocks from where I now live, but I hardly ever pass it—one, because it’s not on the way anywhere and, two, because the memory is bittersweet. You see, only half of our six are left. Mom and Dad are gone, as is my little sister, D’Lynne.

Thought of her when I noticed the narrow, brick entrance to the long pear-shaped driveway. Every few weeks my sister—who never seemed able to back her car in a straight line—managed to topple a few bricks on one side or the other.

I grinned to see that there were recent signs of similar damage and wondered if the current family has a similarly challenged driver.

The towering willow is gone from the front yard. They don’t last long in our West Texas soil. But the blue spruce is still there—a giant where we planted a sapling. Again I smiled, wondering what the current owners would think if they knew they were nurturing a stolen conifer, plucked illegally over 50 years ago from the Carson National Forest outside Red River.

There were other memories: teenaged boys playing Horse on the hoop over the garage, Dad with his boys hosing off the ski boat after a weekend at Buffalo Lake, eager children unwrapping presents beneath a huge Christmas tree framed by the big picture window which faced the street.

Seemed strange—to walk by my house, a stranger. I felt I deserved a wave, a smile, some kind of recognition. But no one was home—wouldn’t know me anyway—and  the neighbors are all new.

Made me wonder what my kids will one day think when they walk by the house where I no longer live. Anyway, I have a bit more appreciation for others with similar feelings, like the fearless Commanche who once hunted buffalo here or the rugged cowboys who followed.

Maybe the Indians had it right. The land doesn’t belong to us as much as we to the land. We just get to enjoy it for a while.

What I knew is that since we had settled on a smaller mountain, then we could get everyone to the top. Everyone—even those who told me they didn’t care to summit Wheeler—who were content to hang back, enjoy the surroundings, encourage the others.

And, I had begun to make peace with that—it was unrealistic to think that everyone  could or should climb a major peak.

But then the students chose Atalaya, and I knew what I must do.  It would be a stretch—probably the hardest thing some of them had ever done—but it was makeable.

So the night before our climb, I gave a brief pep talk ending with a hiking order. And, as that famous prophet from Galilee once said, the last became first, and the first, last.

My words were greeted with silence mostly. But I have it from a good source that there was plenty of talk in the hotel room later—am pretty sure I was compared to all the major dictators and serial killers of our era.

But the next day we began with the stronger hikers at the end, and, although we didn’t end that way, we did end with everyone on top.

And at least one participant (who will go unnamed) has promised to start speaking with me again in the spring.

It’s the perfect “half-marathon” for a Wheeler attempt, and it’s where our Finisher hikers decided to go this Friday. It wasn’t an easy decision. They still have their hearts set on New Mexico’s highest, and I don’t think they’ll be satisfied if their peak-climbing ends at Atalaya.

But it’s a good place to start. Because it’s much more likely we can do this as a team—getting everyone at or near the top—which is what Finishers tries to do with students’ academic dreams.

And the students didn’t say this, but I think it illustrates another point: Sometimes one must lower expectations in order to meet higher expectations later—like taking those dreadful remedial classes to get ready for College Algebra. No one likes them, but they’re part of the deal. And if we’re too impatient (or proud) to take them first, well, you know what happens.

That said, Atalaya is no “remedial hike.” The trail guide rates portions of it as “difficult,” and, when I’ve led other college teachers on it, less than half decide to reach the top.

I’m not expecting those results with these Finishers.

That’s what I told our Finishers hikers about a week ago when I confessed I had not prepared them for the trip up Wheeler. And I thought I knew why.

Few budding distance runners attempt a marathon (about 23 miles) before running a half-marathon. The shorter race prepares for the longer. It lets you know how your training is working (so you can adjust if need be) and it gives you a good idea how the longer race will feel (so there are no discouraging surprises).

And the problem is, though we had done training laps up and down the Palo Duro, the distance and difficulty didn’t match half of a major peak climb.

So I sat down with Donna, Mauricio and Christy (the three who have been most faithful with the training), and, as we enjoyed the burgers at Smokey Joe’s, they decided what we should do.

Which I’ll tell you in tomorrow’s blog.

It was April of 2006, and my buddy Clark and I were taking a final mountain-bike ride down the lower portion of the Caprock Canyon Trailway. Due to funding cuts, Texas Parks and Wildlife would close this section of our favorite rails-to-trails path later in the year.

So I was understandably nostalgic about the ride, and Parnell, located near the end of this 30-mile stretch between Turkey and Estelline, accentuated those thoughts.

For Parnell was once quite a place. In 1929, when the Fort Worth Denver Railway laid tracks through here, the town boasted a population of 500 and had three stores, a hotel and café, two barber shops, two cotton gins, a lumberyard, a garage, a church and a brick schoolhouse.

As we rested beside the old Parnell Station sign, I thought about those people, whose works, in less than a century, had been reduced to weeds and rubble.

So this is the place in the blog where I’m supposed to talk about values—i.e. the importance of spending one’s life building things that last.

But that’s not what was on my mind that spring day. I was sad. Because I know what it’s like to invest in stuff that dissipates. The problem is you’re clueless at the time. Who knew the Parnell railway would one day go away? Who knew Lehman Brothers would do the same in 2008?

Even for the best informed, life is somewhat of a guess. I like to think those Parnell people knew that. They dreamed big, worked hard, accomplished a lot and moved on when the dream dried up.

Which is all any of us can do.

One, because I love peaks—the views, the discovery, the challenge. And this route up Wheeler is especially challenging—over 3,500 feet of vertical gain in just three and one-half miles.

Two, I’ve climbed with my sons, daughters and guy friends, but never with students, never with Finishers. The camaraderie on the trail is going to be exceptional. Also, Dr. Biggers is sponsoring this with me, and those of you who know Claudie know that fun (crazy?) things happen when she’s around.

And, three, I love the symbolism. Finishers is all about reaching your dream while/by helping others reach theirs. That’s exactly what we intend to do on the mountain.

Stay tuned. I plan to take you along via blogs and videos. Wish us well!

My first response is to be cautious. We don’t know yet how well it’s working. The fast growth is promising, but we’ll know we’re successful when the data say we are—when students involved in Finishers graduate at a higher rate than their peers. Until then, we can only guess.

So here are my guesses. These are the reasons I think students come to and stay with Finishers:

The Power of a Pledge
Nothing particularly innovative here—lots of groups do this. There seems to be something about formal pledges (which students sign to join Finishers) that helps folks follow through on their promises.

The Power of a Dream
But pledges, by themselves, are just words on paper. Finisher pledges begin with articulating one’s dream. The idea is to remind students what life goals are dependent on their academic ones.

The Power of Relationships
Every Finisher must both be and have an encourager—someone to check on him or her regularly and encourage/help with whatever obstacle one might be facing (including the nonacademic—rent, health, depression).

The Power of Example
Some things (commitment, hope, resilience) are caught more than taught. At every monthly meeting at least one student shares his or her story. These inspiring tales are my favorite part of Finishers.

The Power of a Movement
Early on I almost ruined things by letting a well-meaning student start dividing us into committees with officers and job descriptions. Then, the core group got me alone and reminded me what I had told them—we’re more of a movement than a club, with a shared passion not program. Thus, our leadership is more bottom-up than top-down. And spontaneity is as important as planning.

This last point helps me see the unifier in all my points. Why is Finishers working? I can answer in one word: students—these incredible students who somehow came together at this time and place.

I’m lucky to be here.

It started a year and a half ago. For some time I had been visiting with colleagues about a dream I had to form a student support group—students helping students reach those elusive academic goals.

We talked, analyzed, even planned. But not much happened.

Then, I shared the idea with students. Suddenly, I began to get emails.

Them: Dr. Bellah, I want to be in the group.

Me: What group?

Them: The one you’re starting. You know, to help us reach our dreams.

So on a January afternoon in 2011, five of us (four students and me) met at Chili’s and talked—about their lives, their dreams, their struggles to finish school. About ways to help each other get there (the dream) from here (AC).

By May, there were 12. In September, 20; thirty when the semester ended in December. By April 2012, we had gone to one meeting per month with about 60 (students and faculty) attending.

More important were the stories—of students facing seemingly insurmountable obstacles, of their decisions to give up (at least temporarily), of their fellow Finishers who refused to let them quit—who put their own resources on the line (time, money, academic expertise) to make someone else’s dream come true.

Which is why this 63-year-old English teacher is not dreaming of retirement, but of the Fall semester when, I’m sure, these amazing students will continue to amaze me.

More in the next few blogs.     (See the Finisher video)

About times with my dad when I was Jeremy’s age.

We’d sit out by the pool in Phoenix in the early morning, Dad with his coffee and me, well I never developed the taste.

Jeremy did.

And I’d feel relief. Because I was on vacation. Because we had someone to help watch kids.

But mostly because Dad was there. And dads take care of us. They make everything better.

At least that’s what we hope for, what we dads strive for.

So my prayer is that both Jeremy and his dad will be as good at it as my dad was.

Watching him with James, I’d say he’s off to a good start.

Are the folks in Wenatchee, Washington (the sign says “Apple Capital of the World”) different from the anglers and loggers in Flathead, Montana (Flathead Lake is the largest fresh water lake west of the Mississippi)?

There is research that seems to say so. Malcolm Gladwell in his bestselling book, Outliers, explains why many American valedictorians have Asian names. Seems it’s due not to race but place. According to Gladwell, the parents of these students raised rice in their countries of origin, an occupation which requires long hours of hard work. Their children simply applied the ethic to academics.

Similarly, in his popular history of Texas, T. R. Fehrenbach argues that place (and the events that occurred there) have shaped the present day psyche of Texans. He says the lone star state remained a frontier (where survival was dependent on using weapons readily and skillfully) much longer than states like Kentucky and Tennessee (where the fighting was just as vicious but shorter—decades shorter).

Thus, Fehrenbach concludes that our somewhat obnoxious fighting spirit (the famous/infamous Texas swagger) is inherited—from our ancestors—from the land.

Place also seems to matter in the Bible. God told Abraham to move to a better place. Lot was warned to escape a bad one, and Jonah was to visit an evil place and make it better.

My take away in all this? We live in a country that gives great freedom to choose both what we do and where we do it. Perhaps, we should pay as much attention to the latter as we do the former.