Foxboro school board does the right thing ... sort of.

The school committee of the town of Foxborough (henceforth to be spelled here as Foxboro, which is how most people know it), took three votes Tuesday night regarding the school system's sports nickname of "Warriors" and its accompanying logo, which you will recognize as an almost exact duplicate of the Washington NFL franchise's helmet logo from 1972 through 2019.

I did not attend the meeting, but I did watch it on Foxboro Cable Access and I'm reporting on it here because I don't believe the local newspaper's current deadlines allow for next-day reporting of night meetings anymore. So, here's what happened.

The first vote was essentially to affirm that "Warriors" is the official nickname of all FHS athletic teams. It passed by a 5-0 vote. Board members believe that it was the first time in the history of the school system that a sports nickname actually received official sanction by a municipal board. 

Days are numbered for this logo.

The second vote, summarized here from the original wording because I can say it more effectively in fewer words, was to eliminate all future use of Native American imagery in any logo or symbol representing the school, and to phase out the current logo's use when items bearing it would be normally replaced. The motion also prohibited boosters clubs or other outside entities from using the logo on uniforms donated to the school -- although it was noted before the vote that the school system does not accept gifted uniforms, but would accept payment for uniforms that the school department would then design and order.

That passed 3-1 with one member abstaining, following a drawn-out discussion that was marked by a total lack of understanding of the motion's meaning by at least two of the board members, a lot of hand-wringing and agonizing by another, and frequent eruptions of pique by members of the audience, including accusations that Chair Richard Pearson was bullying his fellow members to vote a certain way. I didn't see that, but opinions tend to vary.

And the third vote was to create a committee of students, teachers, athletic department officials and other interested parties within the town to come up with designs for a new logo over the space of about a year. This motion passed 4-0-1, but not without more confusion -- and the puzzling suggestion by one particularly agonized member that said committee could still come up with designs that included Native American imagery. The previous vote clearly prohibited all future uses of ANY Native American imagery, not just the ripped-off version of the Redskins' old logo that adorned Foxboro football helmets since 1983, but that one member just didn't seem to get it.

Of course, a future school board could vote to rescind that ban -- and brother, what a can of worms that would open.

I will refrain from too much personal comment here for several reasons, not the least of which include the fact that I haven't been a Foxboro resident since 2015, and that I still work for Foxboro Cable Access, occasionally announcing girls' basketball games. But I will say without hesitation that I believe that from start to finish, the Foxboro school board has handled the issue very poorly -- and on Tuesday, the members' inability to express themselves clearly and understand the actions they were in the process of taking achieved little more than to further infuriate those in attendance that weren't going to be satisfied unless the board totally capitulated to their demands to keep the Redskins' logo.

Maybe they felt intimidated. I believe at least three members of the board (no names here; no need to point fingers) were clearly intimidated by what they must have perceived as a hostile crowd. But it still amazes me that two members clearly did not understand the votes they were taking and how each vote affected the others in turn. 

As it stands, I believe Foxboro has done the right thing. The board essentially voted to disassociate "Warriors" from the Native American imagery. That is important, because if the state legislature ever passes a bill banning all native imagery for school nicknames, mascots and logos (as New York and Maine have), Foxboro can argue that "Warriors" is merely a name and not a characterization of the indigenous peoples.

This could suffice for a while.

The plan is not to rip the logos off the helmets of the football team before Friday's game against Stoughton. Logos would be replaced as the items upon which they appear need to be replaced or refurbished. The helmet logos would remain through this season, and then disappear before next season. The athletic department has already been using a stylized blue and gold "F" to represent itself in just about all necessary uses of a logo, and that could be slapped on the helmets (decals aren't too expensive) until someone comes up with something better.

The logo on the gym floor would probably be removed during that floor's next refinishing. And at present, as it was said during the meeting, the hand-me-down uniforms of the JV girls' tennis team are the only FHS uniforms that still have the logo on them. Signage around the schools will be replaced as needed. And the championship banners in the gym might not be replaced for a very long time, if ever -- after all, most of Walpole's old banners still say "Rebels" on them (except field hockey, as those teams are called "Porkers"), and there is no move afoot to replace those banners. New ones in Walpole will say Timberwolves. New banners in Foxboro can still say "Warriors." 

And yes, it is a good move to get the community involved in designing a new logo -- if residents remain up in arms about losing a logo that wasn't of their own design in the first place. But under no circumstances should that committee dare to consider anything remotely related to Native American culture. That's just a one-way ticket to further division in the community and possible punitive action by the state down the road.

I'll say it again, the Foxboro school board should have done exactly what King Philip Regional High School did. They simply made the decision to sever ties to Native American imagery and remove all semblance of it from public view. And that's not easy for a school district that was named after the late-1600s chief of the Wampanoags, Metacomet, who changed his name to "King Philip" to appease English settlers.

This year's KP football helmets no longer have the feathered spear logo on the sides, and hardly anyone noticed. I still think KP might eventually be in a world of hurt at some point if the legislature comes down upon any form of Native American imagery, because nothing is more native than naming the entire school district after a tribal chief. And I won't even bring up King Philip's War.

I guess you can say that in KP's case, it seemed like a good idea back in 1958. 

So was it for Foxboro in 1983 when Jack Martinelli chose the Redskins' logo as a way of dressing up his football team's helmets. But times change. This is 2023. And despite all the crying and gnashing of teeth over lost logos that will characterize the community in the weeks and months to come, it won't change the march of time.

In the meantime, and hopefully for a long time to come, "Go Warriors!"

Farewell to the Summer of Bunnies.

One of my backyard bunnies uses my camping chair as shade during a hot summer day.

I have never claimed to be a tough guy, a rough-and-tumble woodsman that can wrestle a grizzly bear into submission, level a forest of sequoias with a rusty, dull axe and make a mighty river change its course with merely a disdainful glance.

No, I'm a creature of the suburbs. My exposure to nature has been limited at best. We had a cat once during my youth, but I was so allergic to it, I got nosebleeds. My parents had to put the cat down, although they told me it ran away -- and they didn't tell me until I was in my 40s what really happened. I wasn't pleased.

My home is too close to the center of a busy town for there to be deer or coyotes wandering about. But I have become content in my golden years to watch nature's more innocent creatures frolicking in my yard. Last year, I had more squirrels calling the yard home than I knew what to do with. I've had a woodchuck claiming residence out there as well, but that goofy thing is too skittish in the presence of a lone human to provide much entertainment. Chipmunks, raccoons and the usual contingent of blue jays, cardinals and crows serve their purposes (and relieve me of the storehouse of stale bread that accumulates in the house of a single guy that doesn't always finish the loaf).

But this summer was special. This summer was the Summer of Bunnies.

Eastern cottontails made my yard their home.

I've always had a warm spot in my heart for the little fuzzbuckets, ever since I stumbled upon a nest of baby buns in the backyard when I was a mere tyke and my parents cautioned me to leave the nest alone, so as to not scare the mama bunny away and thus interrupt the development of the little ones. I respected the instructions, although one day I returned to the nest to see if the little buns were growing and found instead that the nest had been vacated. They had grown up and went off to find their way in the world. I was heartbroken.

I also have a close friend who is a bunny person. She used to keep a pair of domesticated white rabbits, and she loved them dearly, but upkeep became a problem as her job kept her away from them for long hours. Bunnies that become pets are very dependent upon their owners for not only food and shelter, but also for love and affection. It was a very sad day for her when she had to give them up. And yet when we used to go down to the Cape for vacations, she would always make a point of scheduling a daily drive to the beach to see all the bunnies running near the shore around 5 p.m., and she would shriek with joy when one would appear.

This summer, a lot of people noticed that there were more bunnies than ever before in the backyards of New England. It's been a banner year for our two predominant local breeds, the New England Cottontail and the Eastern Cottontail. The latter was not native to the region originally, but it has thrived and I'm of the belief that my backyard buns are Eastern Cottontails. 

Around April, before the grass turned green, I started to see the bunnies hopping around the backyard and foraging in the still-brown grass for their meals. But as the grass greened and the weather turned warmer, the bunny population began to resemble rush hour on the Southeast Expressway. There were days where I'd see six of the little scamps doing their thing in the backyard, and maybe another couple running in front of the house or crossing the street to the neighbor's yard.

Always wary, but the buns accepted me.

Of course, I wanted to start interacting with them somehow. More than anything else, I wanted them to recognize me as just a big, goofy guy and a friend that posed no threat to them. So I would try to be as stealthy as possible when leaving one of my house's two doors to the backyard, and I'd make my way to a camping chair in the middle of the yard and just watch.

Some of the bunnies would run for the hills. Others would look up from their dinner patch and be vigilant for a short while, then go back to munching on the grass. And a couple of the more courageous ones, once getting the hint that I was parked in the chair for the long run and not going to leap out and chase them, might extend their dinner table range to about 6 feet from me.

As the summer progressed, I'm convinced that most of my buns grew comfortable with my presence in their midst. They might only pause in their eating for a few seconds upon my appearance, and they felt more at ease in running closer to the chair as they basked in the summer sunshine. And gradually, I started to recognize them from their coloring or their mannerisms.

One particular bunny, for instance, took a liking to a worn-out camping chair that I left close to the side of the house. He (or she, I never knew which) scraped out a little depression in the ground below the chair, and used it as a cooling spot during the warmest days we had in July and August. The bunny would lay flat in the little depression, legs extended straight back, and the shade and the coolness of the exposed earth underneath the chair must have felt like a little slice of paradise during those steamy days.

Seriously, how cute is this?

There was one smaller bunny that was particularly fearless. It would hop to maybe just 2-3 feet away from me and sit up on its hind legs, front legs dangling down in front, just checking me out for a while as if to say hello before resuming its quest for a tasty meal of fresh grass.

My garage has doors that open to both the front and back yards, and I would open both and encourage the buns to use the shade and cool cement floor as shelter or a respite from the heat, as well as a quicker access to the front yard. It was just so much fun to see them responding to the invitations I left without trying to impose my will on them. I didn't feed them; bunnies are notoriously picky about what they eat under just about any circumstances, and I thought it was better for them to embrace their wildness and not become dependent upon me for their dinners -- although I must admit, I considered planting some lettuce and other veggies for their consumption. So many people whine and moan about bunnies and other animals eating their gardens, but I'm perfectly happy with the produce at Stop & Shop. Sadly, I did not inherit my mother's green thumb, but maybe I'll read up on backyard agriculture before next spring and maybe they'll enjoy the wider menu options.

There was one moment during the summer when something happened to tell me that I had indeed made some sort of connection with at least one of the buns. I was sitting on the stoop of my porch's back door, just watching the fearless bunny chowing down with no fear of me and nary a care in the world. But suddenly, a formation of Canada geese appeared in the sky above my yard, honking away and making quite the racket. The little bunny was immediately fearful of the noise and the large flying animals above. 

I don't believe geese are predators of rabbits. But I imagine the rabbits are instinctively fearful of the possibility of death from above from large winged creatures. I have a variety of hawks that call the nearby pond their home, and I've had bald eagles perch in the larger maples briefly before going on their merry way. Both are always looking for tasty bunny snacks.

The little bunny started to run away, but then suddenly stopped, looked at me, and made a quick sprint to within a couple of feet from me -- as if to show an awareness that it would be safer next to the big human than running out in the open.

Gradually, their relaxation became my own.

Of course, I talked to the little bunny. I told the poor thing it would be safe with me, that I wouldn't let anything happen to it. Silly of me? Well, there is no evidence that the Eastern Cottontail understands English. But maybe, just maybe, the bun felt a little sense of reassurance in my voice before the honking geese disappeared into the distance.

As the weeks passed, I began to notice that the number of bunnies in my yard was starting to dwindle. There are a variety of predators wandering through the yards at night, including a couple of feral cats that roam the underbrush to service their primal hunting urges. The bunny population went from six, to five, to three and then just two. And one of those had two very obvious talon wounds on its neck -- and I may have seen the crime committed. One recent afternoon, I saw a hawk swoop out of a tree and take to the air again with a small animal in its grip, but I couldn't tell at the time if the prey was a rabbit or a squirrel. When the second bunny returned to feed close to my house a few days later, the wounds were obvious. But the bun was undeterred in its quest to chow down in preparation for the coming winter.

In the last week, there has been just one bunny in the yard. It's my courageous little bun, still happy and comfortable to nibble on the grass close to the house where it feels most safe. The bun's fur is poofed out more than before, obviously preparing a winter coat. It still recognizes me, even though I'm busier now and I don't make it out to the backyard before sundown as much as I did during the longer days. But soon, I'm sure, the little fuzzbucket will disappear into a hiding place.

A special summer has come to an end.

Our wild bunnies don't live very long. They are under constant attack from natural predators and man-made ones as well. My spirits sink each time I find one on the side of the road that didn't make it through the traffic. But of course, these precious little animals reproduce at an amazing rate, and the photos I may have taken six years ago of frolicking bunnies might be photos of the great-great-great grandparents of the ones that charmed my heart and soothed my soul this summer.  

 

A few weeks ago, I posted a photo of one of my bun chums on Instagram, and the first comment under the photo was from someone I didn't know who called me a "fag." Now, I have no idea why that individual chose to refer to me with the British slang for cigarettes, but I did get the notion that the poster felt that my love of bunnies somehow represented a flaw in my masculinity.

As if it's anyone's business, I have no doubts about my identity, sexual or otherwise. If anything, the comment was indicative of that individual's own shortcomings as a human being. If I cared enough about that unknown person's opinion of me, I might be compelled to understand why he is so miserable an individual to want to mock me for my love of these precious creatures. But I don't. He can go fuck himself with a cattle prod for all I care.

The Summer of Bunnies brought me happiness and inner peace -- and after 70 years on this planet, a lot more than the bunnies get to enjoy, I am thankful that they chose me as a participant in their wonderful, precious lives.