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Sunshowers and Summer Clothes: When Music Brings Us Home

smgaillard Music, Parenting , , , , , , , , , ,

For Thelma Houston, Jimmy Webb, Brian Wilson, and Bruce Springsteen

Today, I wasn’t expecting to break down in tears. As I write this, my face is warm and wet from tears evoked by a song.

Music can do that.

Earlier in the week, I had come across a picture on Instagram of Jimmy Webb and Thelma Houston. Their 1969 collaboration yielded a beautiful album entitled “Sunshower.” It’s a stunning collection of songs from the pen of Jimmy Webb. You know Jimmy Webb if you know songs like “Up, Up, & Away,” “MacArthur Park,” and “Wichita Lineman.” He arranged and produced the album with noble support from various studio musicians from the legendary Wrecking Crew. Thelma Houston is the star of the show with her vocals evoking Gospel, Broadway, R&B, Soul, and Pop all amalagated into a sound that transcends categories.

My mother had a beloved copy of the album. I remember the illuminating album cover of Thelma Houston arrayed in a yellow pantsuit sitting in a yellow room. Her smile was sunshine personified. Heck, she was the sun itself.

Having seen that picture on Instagram, I decided to put the needle on the album that my mother had given me last year. It’s the same album and the original pressing with its crackling warm hiss of snaps, crackles, and pops just aligned with my Sunday morning.

The second track on the album triggered my tears. “Everybody Gets to Go to the Moon” kicks in on a solid set of triplets evocative of the symphonic sound during the middle instrumental section of “MacArthur Park.” Drummer Hal Blaine, the master studio percussionist, keeps the beat snappy and swinging. As soon as I heard the opening notes, I am instantly transformed to my early childhood in Carson, California. I might be 4 or 5 years old. I can see Mom preparing Rice-A-Roni in the kitchen. She’s got Houston belting out the beauty of moon travel in the midst of complex shifting time signatures all in one measure as Webb conducts the Wrecking Crew amidst a loving tidal wave of sound. I remember dancing with my arms outstretched with my big brother and little sister. We are twirling about and pretending we are flying to the Moon. Mom is keeping the beat on a ladle as she is stirring the rice in the kitchen. She is also gently encouraging us to be quiet as my newborn baby sister was sleeping.

Then, we hear the magic sound amidst Jimmy Webb’s mini-opera for Thelma Houston. It’s the magic sound of jangling keys on the front door. The sound denotes one thing and one thing only: “DADDY!” The three of us run at top speed toward that magical sound of keys dancing on the front door. The door opens and we leap into our Daddy. There are kisses and hugs. It’s joy and then we start dancing in time to Thelma Houston’s aria of “Everybody Gets to Go to the Moon.” Incidentally, another version of the song by The Three Degrees is used in the classic film, “The French Connection.”

I was so moved by the song this morning that I went to share the memories of Carson with my wife. I am weeping, smiling, laughing, and grooving to the solid beat of the song all at once. Carson was heaven on earth for me. That song simply brought me back to the sound of my father’s keys in the door and the joy of being in our family. As I am sharing these memories, I make a connection to another song that evokes a memory.

It’s 2007 and all of our daughter are home and their kids again. I am hearing “Girls In Their Summer Clothes” by Bruce Springsteen. It’s a warm day amidst a North Carolina summer. I pull into the driveway with the windows down and I see all three of my daughters playing in the backyard. They spot me and come running to me. I am crying as I write this. It’s full circle. I can now feel what my father felt as he jangled those keys in our front door on Radlett Avenue. All three leap into my arms. It’s heaven on earth. Springsteen’s song sounds like a lost track from the “Sunshower” album or even “Pet Sounds.” Both Brian Wilson of The Beach Boys and Jimmy Webb both drank from the same aspirational well of Technicolor sound in their records.

Brian Wilson once said that “Music is God’s voice.” I firmly believe that. It’s the divine thread that transcends all boundaries, divisions. Music is a time machine that connects us to memories. We hear a song and we transported backward into a memory. It keeps in perspective within the present. It can point us toward possibilities for the future.

What song does that for you? I would love to hear. Please share in the comments.

Here’s “Everybody Gets to Go to the Moon” by Thelma Houston:

Here’s “Girls In Their Summer Clothes” by Bruce Springsteen:

A Lesson from My Dad

smgaillard Leadership, Parenting , , , , , ,

Lately, if you have been following this blog, you might have noticed a thread weaving through my recent reflections, one centered on gratitude for those I love. A recent health setback prompted me to take a deeper inventory of what and who I am thankful for. That process led me home, in every sense of the word, back to my family, and especially to my father.

For leaders, it is essential to pause intentionally and take time for gratitude. That practice has been reinforced by my good friend, Lainie Rowell, author of Evolving with Gratitude. Her work reminds us that gratitude is not just an emotion but an action, one that ignites connection, strengthens relationships, and transforms the atmosphere of our lives. I was honored to contribute to her book and to witness how gratitude can change the temperature of a soul. It is the grounding rhythm beneath every meaningful leadership melody.

So today, I want to express my gratitude for my father, the best man I know, by sharing a few lessons he has taught me, lessons that have carried me through every stage of my life.

My father has been my teacher, mentor, protector, and moral compass. Through his words and example, he has taught me everything from the musical brilliance of Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On to the importance of a firm handshake and the art of being a gentleman. But the greatest lesson of all has been the power of unconditional love, a lesson deeply rooted in our shared faith.

For years, my father made countless sacrifices for our family. He did it with humility and grace, never once complaining, even in the face of racism or rejection. He stood firm in his devout faith and values, leading not with loud proclamations but with quiet strength. His faith-filled example spoke louder than any sermon ever could. Dad is also on call to say a prayer for you if you need it.

There is one phrase my father has said to me for as long as I can remember:
“Dare to be great.”

He said it to all four of his children. It was never about achievement or applause. It was about integrity, purpose, and belief in our God-given potential. Dad saw greatness in us long before we saw it in ourselves. It is his way to motivate and inspire. Most importantly, it is his way to show that he believes in you but that we also have to believe in ourselves.

I will never forget a small but powerful moment years ago. I had been invited to a local event where I introduced a special screening of Yellow Submarine. As the author of The Pepper Effect, I was thrilled to share my Beatles expertise before and after the film, but when the time came, only a few people showed up. My amazing wife, who has endured my lifelong fascination with The Beatles, was there by my side. And so was my father. He is not a Beatles fan, and that movie was probably far from his cup of tea, but he was there smiling, proud, and present. That is who he is. Showing up has always been my father’s love language.

My father is also the best leadership coach I know. His wisdom is wrapped in empathy and anchored in common sense. When I have faced discouragement, he has always been my one of my first calls. I remember one conversation in particular when I was sinking into self-doubt and negativity. Dad listened quietly, then in his calm and steady voice said,
“Hold your head high, son, like I taught you.”

Those words cut through everything. In an instant, the weight lifted. That is what Dad does. He restores balance, brings perspective, and reminds me of who I am. His optimism is not naïve. It is rooted in faith, experience, and courage.

There have been countless moments like that, moments where my father’s love, patience, and wisdom have guided me back to center. I am beyond blessed to be his son. I am grateful that my three daughters have grown up knowing him as “Papa,” the same man who has modeled grace, humility, and strength for generations.

The world is better, safer, and brighter because of my dad. His life is a testament to faith, love, and quiet greatness.

Dad has taught me to be a better husband, father, and teammate.

And as I reflect on all that he has taught me, I know that I still have much more to learn from him. I will never tire of those lessons.

His lessons continue to guide me, and his love will forever be the compass that leads my way.

Thank you, Dad.

Why The World Is Brighter Because of My Daughters

smgaillard Parenting , , , , , , ,

This past week marked National Daughters Day. It is a day when parents everywhere pause to celebrate their daughters in big and small ways with pictures, posts, and memories shared. Because of some recent health setbacks, I did not post anything on that day. What I was able to do was send my three daughters a quick text letting them know that I love them. Still, I could not let the moment pass without honoring them in a way that feels most authentic to me. Writing about them is the best way I know how.

When I wrote my book, The Pepper Effect, I described it as a mash up love letter to The Beatles and to education. John, Paul, George, and Ringo will always hold a special place in my heart, but the book itself is dedicated to my real Fab Four, which is Deb and our daughters Maddie, Emily, and Rachel. Being with them is better than any Beatles reunion as I have often said.

Just last week, we celebrated my mother’s 80th birthday, and all three of our daughters came home to be with her. To have us all gathered around the table was a gift I will never forget. They are older now, living on their own, pursuing advanced degrees, and shaping their lives with purpose. As Deb and I sat at dinner, I found myself quietly watching them laugh and talk together. I did not want to interrupt the moment. I just wanted to sit in the presence of their joy. In that silence, I felt immense pride. I am grateful beyond measure for the miracles God entrusted to us in being their parents.

Their presence is electric, life giving, and affirming. In those quiet moments, I whispered a prayer of thanks for the privilege of being their dad.

Our house is quieter now. I miss the days of Beatles Rock Band tournaments, playing Pretty Pretty Princess, and endless games fueled by imagination. I miss sitting on the sidelines of soccer games and applauding at dance recitals. I miss those treasured moments of reading aloud together at night. Every time Deb and I get to be with them now, it feels like a blessing we hold onto tightly. I know the world needs their gifts, their voices, and their leadership. I know that I have to let them go as they walk into adulthood. Even as they share their light with others, I will always carry infinite love for them, with special space in my heart reserved for each one of them.

All three of my daughters have faced challenges that could have broken others. They have pushed through setbacks and disappointments with remarkable strength. They have endured misogyny and overcome it. They have experienced racism and ignorance, yet continue to stand tall as beautifully biracial women who embody resilience.

The greatest title I will ever hold is Dad. It is the most important name I have ever been called. Each of my daughters has shaped my heart and soul in ways words cannot fully capture. As I write this, tears are filling my eyes. I cry for how fast time has moved since they were born. I cry for the gratitude I have for the beautiful moments we have had together. I cry tears of pride and joy for the young women they are becoming. My tears are unapologetic as my infinite love is for my three beautiful daughters.

The world is a brighter, kinder, and better place because of Maddie, Emily, and Rachel. I love you all eternally. Proud Dad always.

For My Mom at 80: Infinite Gratitude for a Lifetime of Love and Faith

smgaillard Leadership, Parenting , , ,

This past week, my mother turned 80 years old. I cannot begin to measure the blessing that she is in my life. Every good thing I have is connected to her love, her sacrifices, and her unwavering devotion to our family. My mom has never sought the spotlight. She is a quiet, humble hero who has spent her life giving, nurturing, and guiding with grace.

When I was a little boy and refused to nap, my mom didn’t get frustrated. Instead, she created something special. She would read to me from Golden Books, Hardy Boys, and countless other stories. Those afternoons are stitched into my heart. My love of reading, my love of stories, and my passion for learning began with her voice.

I remember riding in our family station wagon during our years in Carson, California, with the AM radio as our constant companion. One day, Harry Nilsson’s “Coconut” came on. I laughed and proclaimed that the doctor’s cure was making him sick. My mom just smiled, a smile that told me she was delighted by my joy and imagination.

I remember the fall day she surprised me after kindergarten at Annalee Avenue School. We walked home together, crunching leaves on the sidewalk, each step a simple but unforgettable gift.

When nightmares came, she found a way to comfort me by putting on a Mister Rogers record at bedtime so his voice could soothe me to sleep.

We laughed together through episodes of “WKRP in Cincinnati,” “I Love Lucy,” and The Bob Newhart Show.” I remember her joy when she welcomed my wife into our family. I remember the look of bliss on her face as she held each of my daughters when they were newborns, her eyes shining with love for them before they even knew the world.

Mom makes the best macaroni and cheese on earth. There is no contest. She also gave me one of the greatest gifts of all: music. From Dave Brubeck and Mose Allison to Bobby Darin and Sergio Mendes, she opened my ears to beauty. As a kid, I used to resist her favorites: Barry Manilow, The Bee Gees, The Carpenters, Roberta Flack. Now, I embrace those artists, because when I hear their songs, I hear my mom.

More than anything, my mom gave us faith. She taught me the power of prayer, the strength of humility, and the courage to keep going. Even now, we share our prayer of thanks for each other that dates back to my childhood:

“Thank God for Sean.”

“Thank God for my Mom.”

There are so many things my mother has given me. There are so many that they are infinite and lasting. My gratitude for her is infinite and lasting, too.

My mother is a gift from God. Her kindness, love, and devotion have shaped not just my life, but the lives of everyone she touches from my father to my siblings. The world is better because she is here.

Happy 80th Birthday, Mom. I love you more than words can say. And as the years keep turning, like the grooves on a treasured record, may her song of love play on forever.

Twin Tassels, One Heart: A Reflection on Graduation and What Truly Matters

smgaillard Education, john-lennon, Leadership, Parenting , , , , , , , , , , , ,

This post is dedicated to my true Fab Four: Deb, Maddie, Emily, & Rachel.

This past weekend, our family was called to divide and conquer. A moment we had both dreamed of and quietly feared had finally arrived: our twin daughters were graduating from college—at two different universities, with ceremonies only an hour apart.

That scheduling twist, which had loomed as a distant possibility, finally became reality. But in true fashion, our daughters made the call for us. They knew the challenge of being in two places at once, and they handled it with grace, maturity, and love. One twin would be celebrated in Boone, the other in Charlotte. My wife, Deborah, attended Emily’s ceremony, while I went to Rachel’s.

It wasn’t easy. We wanted so badly to be in the same place, to celebrate both daughters together as a complete family. But our hearts remained united, even across the miles.

As I sat in the Convocation Center at Appalachian State University, surrounded by the joyful noise of other families, I found myself scanning the sea of black caps and gowns. I was determined to catch a glimpse of Rachel. Our oldest daughter, Maddie, who had just completed her second year of law school, finally spotted her and pointed excitedly.

And then—there she was.

Waving. Smiling. Radiant in her graduation regalia.

For a moment, time folded in on itself. Her wave transported me to another milestone—the day of Rachel’s First Communion. That same smile, that same sparkle in her eye. She had looked across the church, found me in the crowd, and sent me a quiet wave. I had waved back, with the same lump in my throat that returned to me all these years later.

But something else happened, too. In Rachel’s smile, I also saw Emily’s. Her twin’s light and laughter seemed to echo in that moment. It was as if both were standing there in front of me, even though Emily was an hour away in Charlotte. I felt a powerful closeness to both daughters, woven together in that one unforgettable glance.

That’s the thing about being a parent. These moments hit you like a thunderclap. They echo from the past and resonate into the future. And suddenly, you realize the most important title you’ll ever hold isn’t “Principal” or “Author” or anything in your email signature. It’s simply “Dad.”

I am so proud of all three of my daughters—Maddie, Emily, and Rachel. They are bright, strong, kind, and wise. They are charting their own paths as young adults, and watching them step into their lives fills me with awe. I’m even more grateful for my wife, Deborah, whose quiet strength and boundless love have held the center of our family together through every season of growth.

Now, with the nest officially empty, I find myself reflecting—not with sadness, but with gratitude. The house may be quieter, but my heart is louder than ever with pride and love.

What Matters Most

It’s easy to get lost in the deadlines, testing windows, evaluations, checklists, and calendar invites. But in the rush of it all, don’t lose sight of what matters most—your people. Your family. Your loved ones.

I’ve made mistakes. I’ve put the job first far too many times. I’ve been the principal who stared at the calendar and missed moments that I can’t get back. And I’m still learning.

John Lennon said it best in “Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy),” a song he wrote for his five-year-old son, Sean. It appears on Double Fantasy, the final album Lennon released in his lifetime, just weeks before he was so senselessly killed by gunfire at the age of 40.

In that song, Lennon offers this lyric that has never left me:

“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.”

It’s more than a line—it’s a truth that rings louder the older we get, especially when the nest starts to empty and the calendar continues to fill.

So, as the year closes and you check off your last task, I offer a few humble reminders:

Action Steps for Leaders to Thrive in Life and Work

1. Calendar Your Family First
Put family time on the calendar with the same importance as meetings or walkthroughs. Block it out. Protect it.

2. Celebrate Milestones—Big and Small
A graduation, a recital, a family dinner. These are not interruptions. They are the point.

3. Let Your Team In
Model balance for your team. Share your family moments. Celebrate theirs. Normalize stepping away to be present.

4. Unplug With Purpose
Turn off the notifications. Leave the laptop in the bag. Watch the game, take the walk, enjoy the silence.

5. Reflect Often
Journal. Take a quiet moment in the car. Play a favorite song or album. Remind yourself why you do what you do—and for whom.

The nest may be empty, but the heart stays full. And at the end of the day, love is the legacy that lasts far beyond our leadership roles.

So here’s to what matters. Here’s to waving daughters, twin smiles, and a family that found a way to be in two places at once—with love as the through line.

The Power of a Check-In

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“So, what’s on your turntable?”

That question was a daily gift during my final year of teaching at Bedford High School. It came from my colleague and kindred spirit, Barry Low, our brilliant music teacher. Barry had a way of showing up with his warmth, wisdom, and that irresistible curiosity for all things music.

Back then, it was 2003. I had a small boombox perched in the corner of my English classroom. CDs were still king, and there was always one queued up and ready to play—usually something from The Beatles, Sinatra, or a little Bossa Nova to soundtrack the morning.

Barry would pop in between classes and ask that now-legendary question: “So, what’s on your turntable?”

Those moments felt like sacred mini-sessions—a spontaneous graduate seminar in music. We riffed on everything from Sergio Mendes to Frank Sinatra to Brazilian jazz. Barry always had a new artist to share, a bootleg CD to lend, or a story that made both of us laugh. My students waiting for class would often catch a glimpse of our camaraderie, and they were drawn in by his wit and warmth.

What Barry didn’t know at the time was how much I needed those check-ins. I was carrying some heavy emotional weight. I’d taken an ethical stand in my department and found myself increasingly isolated. There were days when the silence from others felt deafening. But Barry’s daily drop-ins cut through that fog. His kindness, his curiosity, his way of being present—it all reminded me that I wasn’t alone.

And isn’t that the thing? We never really know what someone is carrying when they walk through the doors of the schoolhouse. But one simple check-in can shift everything.

That’s the lesson Barry gave me—and it’s a lesson that’s stayed with me for over 20 years.

In my last blog post, I shared about being rushed to the hospital after a heart episode that occurred at school. I believe now more than ever in the power of a check-in. A few friends reached out after that moment. Their words, texts, phone calls, and prayers helped guide me back to healing. That experience reminded me again that compassion is not complicated. We just need to ask, “How are you really doing?” And mean it.

We live in an era where emojis and likes are often mistaken for connection. But real connection—life-giving connection—happens when we extend our arm, when we lean in, when we show up. As my good friend Max Pizarro says, “Arm extended.” That phrase carries a quiet power. It’s a posture of empathy. A stance of solidarity. An invitation to belong.

Lauren Kaufman recently wrote, “You don’t have to carry it all alone.” That line struck a deep chord. It reminded me of the invisible loads we all carry and the ways we can lighten each other’s burdens just by being present.

Belonging isn’t just a buzzword—it’s essential. Dr. Susie Wise puts it best in her book Design for Belonging: “Being accepted and invited to participate; being a part of something and having the opportunity to show up as yourself.”

That’s the heart of it. Create spaces where others can show up as themselves. Be the colleague who tunes into others. Be the leader who notices. Be the friend who checks in. Because that’s the gig—that’s the leadership jam that transforms classrooms, staff rooms, and lives.

We are the entry points for belonging. Let’s carry that with purpose and with rhythm.

So, what’s on your turntable today? Maybe it’s kindness. Maybe it’s courage. Maybe it’s simply showing up for someone. Whatever it is, press play and let it echo.

Further Reading:

🎧 Design for Belonging by Dr. Susie Wise — Purchase the book here

📝 Lauren Kaufman’s blog post, “Shine A Light, Share A Load” — Read it here

A Special Note of Gratitude on My Last Blog Post:

A special thanks to for the overwhelming response for my last blog post, “A Principal’s Rebirth: Finding Life, Love, & Leadership Again.” That post came from a deep place in my heart and I am humbled by the outreach many of you shared. I want my words to help others and this post serves a salve for others who are struggling. Please feel free to share that post linked HERE. Mental Health is so important and my hope is that this blog is a support for all who need it. I am here for you and I am glad that the world has you in it.

A Principal’s Rebirth: Finding Life, Love, and Leadership Again

smgaillard Uncategorized , , , , , , , , ,

“Call 911.”

These were the last words I heard from our SRO before everything went dark and I fell to the ground.

This was not just a sudden medical emergency—it was the culmination of years spent silently carrying anxiety, stress, and deepening depression. It was the moment my body forced me onto a new path, the first steps toward rebirth.

Last year, I experienced a traumatic health crisis, what doctors described as a cardiac episode triggered by years of relentless anxiety, chronic chest pains, and suffocating Imposter Syndrome. It happened at school, amid the daily chaos and pressures we face as leaders. My body simply gave out.

When I regained consciousness, I was surrounded by paramedics and the incredible members of my office staff, working rapidly to keep me alive. Tears filled my eyes as fear overtook me—I genuinely believed I might never see my wife and our three beautiful daughters again. Breathing was impossible, and the chest pains intensified.

As they rolled me into the ambulance, a flood of thoughts rushed in. I saw my family—moments missed, memories sacrificed. My heart ached thinking of the countless times I’d prioritized my work over my loved ones, placing duty to my school ahead of duty to my family and, ultimately, myself. I called out to God, and then darkness returned.

When I awoke in the hospital, tethered to various medical devices, my heart eased the moment I met my wife’s calming eyes. My oldest daughter was already there, confidently navigating conversations with doctors, demonstrating remarkable strength and poise. Pride overwhelmed me—but so did shame. As her father, I should have been protecting her, not the other way around.

It’s been a full year since that fateful day—a journey of healing, renewal, and rediscovery. My physical health and blood pressure are now managed carefully. Regular therapy sessions every other week have transformed my outlook, grounded in the love and unwavering support of my family and a few deeply cherished friends who check in weekly. Every day, I practice intentional self-care, finally understanding that my identity as a principal should never overshadow my humanity.

As the creator of #CelebrateMonday, I recognize now that I wasn’t celebrating myself. I leaned too heavily on fleeting PLN connections, seeking external validation while overlooking the unconditional, immediate love from my family. While my PLN gifted me a handful of true friendships, I realize my greatest strength comes from being fully present with those who truly cherish me. In pursuit of acceptance, I had unknowingly compromised my core values as a leader.

This past year has gifted me profound clarity and growth. I’ve learned to distinguish between genuine leadership and the seductive illusion often sold through polished selfies, viral gimmicks, and ego-driven platforms. I now seek authenticity, humility, and depth, distancing myself from empty slogans and superficial validations. I am grateful being at a new assignment returning to a school district I truly love and feel sincere support, empowerment, and belonging.

This month marks a year since my rebirth—a new birthday I honor with deep gratitude. My perspective is forever changed. I embrace each moment ahead with my family and true friends, choosing authenticity over illusion, presence over performance, and self-care over self-neglect.

Here’s to life renewed, leadership redefined, and love fully embraced.