MY VIEW
by Dave Provost Head of Nantucket New School
When I first moved to this island, of which I have become fond and which I am proud to call home, I admit being quite amused by the idea of "Hate Month." I don't remember where I heard the expression first, as used to describe the dark month of March on Nantucket, but I remember thinking it was somehow kind of, well, quaint. It felt like something an unabashedly honest community would say about itself during the grayest, dreariest part of the winter; it seemed like just another one of those things that made Nantucket unique, quirky, and independent. It was another interesting thing to tell my friends about my new home. "Oh, by the way, this is hate month where I live? Pretty neat, huh?"

I've changed my mind about Hate Month, and I am abstaining from celebrating this year. In fact, I am not even going to say the words out loud any more. I have my reasons.

Here are three at the top of the list: Give something a name, and it takes on a life of its own.

Sure, March is tough. There isn't much happening, and you have to work hard to keep yourself patient, entertained, and, on some weeks, fed, if you are the type who likes to eat out. It's also easy in March, in a community as small as this one, to grow weary of those same people with whom we share our days and weeks in the "off-season." Even with a school vacation at the end of February/beginning of March, a relatively mild winter, and an earlier arrival of daylight savings time, these weeks are tough ones. There's just no question about it. Giving a rough time of year an official moniker, however, almost gives one permission to be a big, fat jerk. If you're living in a place where Hate Month is widely acknowledged and part of the local vernacular, it's almost rude not to take part. When in Rome...

I believe in self-fulfilling prophecies.

If you live in a place and operate under the assumption that, for at least a 31-day period, your friends, neighbors, and colleagues will be hating actively, guess what? I had a student in my office yesterday telling me about a classmate, her archnemesis. I asked, "Did something happen in class today?" "No," she said, "but I expect something will any day now." (She obviously knows it's Hate Month; we train our young well here on Nantucket.) I told her she was probably right. Some evil act would almost certainly come. Unless, of course, she changed her expectations.

Life's too short.

This past Sunday I attended a memorial service for Jessica Mehringer at the Unitarian Church, which was packed with her friends and family. Jessica was diagnosed with cancer in October and, two weeks ago, she was gone at age 35. She left behind a husband who loved her more than life itself and the most enchanting four-year old daughter you have ever seen. Among the people gathered who spoke about Jess was a very wise man who reminded us that we bear witness to too much loss and suffering in this life not to take better care of one another, especially in such a tightly-knit community. He said it much more eloquently than I have remembered it, but the point was not lost on me. Jessica's husband, Greg, made the same point in a different way, pointing out that there are two ways to achieve everlasting life: the first, he said, laughing through tears, is to be the Nantucket High School football coach. The second, he said, becoming serious, is to be loved.

Somehow, I don't think that Jessica Mehringer would have approved of Hate Month. She didn't have time. And when you really stop to think about

it, neither should we. I