Tue, May 12, 2026

Young People, Act Your Age—and Enjoy It!

By Paul Burke, Head of School, The Nightingale-Bamford School, NY 

Last summer, my family took a special vacation. Our twin boys graduated from high school, and we offered them the chance to choose a destination from a short list. They chose a visit to Ireland, our family’s ancestral homeland. We spent five days together just outside of Galway, a beautiful, small city in the west of Ireland. And, we had a great time.

Midway through the week, our daughter Jane and my wife Christine returned to New York because Jane had a basketball tournament and Christine for work. The boys and I remained in Ireland, but we left Galway, too. We took an early morning drive along the west of the country from the Republic of Ireland into Northern Ireland.

I had been to Ireland several times, but never to Northern Ireland. The relationship between the two states is complicated. Northern Ireland is not a fully independent country, yet many people treat it as one of the four “countries” of the United Kingdom. Some residents identify as Irish, others as British, and some as both.

I was able to witness this right away. As our car crossed the border, we passed a sign that read, “Welcome to Northern Ireland.” Notably the word “Northern” was violently crossed out. The first town we drove through had similarly contested language; depending on your allegiance or perhaps your family’s history, you were either in Londonderry or simply Derry.

Even more startling than the spray paint was the sight of competing flags flown side by side. Two houses sat next to each other on a small plot of land. One flew the green, white, and orange of the Irish flag. The other hung the Union Jack of Great Britain. How do neighbors who see their nation’s identity so differently find a way to be neighborly? Do their kids share the same playgrounds? Attend the same schools? How do they talk about their history?

Questions that, of course, are relevant in an America where flags of affiliation flap and foment in towns and cities all across our land. These were my thoughts as I drove on; thoughts that remain with me today. As for my boys, next to me and in the backseat, well, they were still asleep. It was early after all.

After a few days of fun in a coastal Northern Irish town called Portrush we flew back to New York. On our six-hour flight home I binge watched the Netflix series Derry Girls. Derry Girls tells the story of five school friends in that same town of Derry in the 1990s, a rougher time in Northern Ireland, a time when flag waving more than threatened strife, it openly led to it. A time of discord and periodic violence, commonly referred to as the Troubles.

But here is the thing: on the show, as in real life, the politics, the history, the surrounding environment, it was all just the context. The true stars of the show were the people, and in particular the young people—the way they face life, and the way they carry each other through it.

Derry Girls follows the exploits of four girls and one boy. The boy is named James and he is English. James is Michelle’s cousin. He attends his cousin’s school because his family knew it would welcome him in spite of his differences.

The best schools, whether they are in Derry or in New York City, are made so because they welcome everyone.

The school the kids attend is distinct in its own ways; it is religious and strict by many standards, but still—in some important ways—it reminds me of what I have seen for many years working in New York City schools.

At the heart of it, Derry Girls is a story about friendship. It is about loyalty to one another, struggling to grow up, and grappling with how to make sense of family and school. It explores the whimsies and realities of authority and power; it is about change and permanence, identity and belonging—and yet still, in spite of it all—the Derry Girls prioritize adventure and joy. I see this here at the best schools in New York City, too. 

The final episode of season two culminates with a visit from Bill Clinton, an American president attempting to broker peace for this troubled land. A grand presidential visit was a big deal for this small town. As one of the girls says, “For once, our town will be seen by the world for being more than merely a problem.” School is canceled throughout Derry, with the exception of the girls’ school. The kids quickly decide to blow it off, a form of rebellion both expected and desired by the formidable, but secretly tender-hearted principal, who had just one day earlier declared that their school—though others were closing—was to remain open.

The girls arrive early for the Clinton speech and secure front row spots. When the speech commences James is missing, and the girls are sad. He had been retrieved by his mother and was set to return home. The girls had just bid James adieu, as Clinton began his remarks to a small-town audience designed for all the world to hear. Soon, the camera pans to our front-row girls whose attention is clearly elsewhere. From a distance, James can be heard yelling to them, “I am a Derry Girl!”—each time louder than the last, calling the group to him.

The episode ends with an image of the five kids on a hill overlooking the town. Clinton’s speech is striking, both as a backdrop and as a contrast. His words implore adults, leaders of various factions, to embrace each other. The children, on the hill and barely listening, are already doing so. 

The children, it seems, don’t need to change. They just need to allow the best parts of who they are to emerge. This is what can happen at school. We tell young people we don’t want anyone else. We want you. We merely hope that by being a student here, we can help the best of you to emerge. Nothing more and nothing less.

New York City’s students, just like those Derry Girls, are our school’s center stage. This school year exists within a specific political, economic, technological and historical context. We are living in a dynamic time. Dynamic actions can include destruction as well as construction. That can be both unsettling and exciting.

My wish is that New York’s kids, just like those Derry Girls, get every chance to act their age. To revel in it, in fact. At a time when forces are directing you to grow up fast, schools—and their parents—have a unique chance to tell you it’s okay to be young. School can both prepare you for adulthood, and tell you it is also really okay to act your age, to run away from adult worries, to go and hug your friends, even while the speech is happening in the background. 

The girls’ school in Derry was special not because of the surrounding environs, or because an American president was coming to town. It was special because it allowed all of its students to be funny, questioning, smart, to be both rebellious and deferential. In short, it allowed them to be fully human. 

And not surprisingly, the students responded in kind. 

They were funny, they were smart, and they were loving. I think our schools in New York, at their best, allow for this. New York can be a serious adult place with serious adult demands and worries, but in truth, our schools serve kids. And this generation deserves as much a chance to be their most fully kid-like selves as any other that came before them. 

None of us who lead a school, or lead a home for that matter, can direct all of the varied technological, political, and economic twists and turns. All of us, at various moments,might really want to, particularly as it relates to our kids. 

Here is what we can do: we can invest in one another–schools supporting parents, parents supporting schools. All of us, in the name of supporting kids. That is our unique, precious, and powerful space. If we can do so, we will have something worthwhile. Imagine if New York’s schools can be well-known for allowing the kids to emerge as their best selves. It is a lofty goal, but one that parents and school leaders could seek together. 

Taking this tack feels particularly important today because while a good school can provide our graduates with opportunities near and far, access alone won’t save every day. For one, it is not guaranteed. The forces at play are real. The power, just beyond their reach. The outcome, forged by someone else. That is reality.

We know this as adults. It can sometimes be the cause of our worries. In truth, as much as we might try, we can’t solve all of the world’s problems. Because this is true, their education becomes that much more vital. A true education goes beyond barriers of admissions, occupation, and positionality. It goes to the minds and hearts of the students themselves. When that young person emerges, unfolds, and emerges again, it will comprise a power that no force could ever take away. On the contrary, that is a power we should source, invest in, and grow.

Paul A. Burke’s tenure as head of school at Nightingale Bamford began in 2012 after teaching, counseling, and administrative positions at Salisbury School, CT, and Packer Collegiate Institute, NY. He attended Williams College and later earned a master’s degree in educational administration at the Klingenstein Center, Teachers College, Columbia University. Paul served as president of the board of the Independent School Admission Association of Greater New York (ISAAGNY). His leadership at Nightingale Bamford continues to shape ideas and commitments that grow academics, arts, and athletics for students from kindergarten through twelfth grade.

This article first appeared in the 2026 issue of the Parents League Review. Get the current issue of the Review free with a family membership. Or purchase it separately.