It is a sad commentary that today we face a choice between having

Hear the words of Ted Kulongoski, spoken with the weight of responsibility and the fire of vision: “It is a sad commentary that today we face a choice between having schools that are a monument to our past—or schools that will be the lifeblood of our future. But since that is our choice, let us resolve to choose wisely.” In this solemn reflection, there is both lament and a call to action. He names the sorrow of neglect and the urgency of decision: shall we honor only what has been, or shall we build boldly for what must come?

The meaning of his words is clear: education is not a relic to be preserved in stone, but a living force that shapes tomorrow. When schools are left to crumble, when they become monuments instead of engines, they serve as shrines to what was rather than beacons for what could be. Yet if they are renewed with vision, they become the very lifeblood of society—the wellspring from which progress, justice, and innovation flow. Thus Kulongoski charges us to see education not as heritage alone, but as destiny.

The ancients, too, knew the sacred role of learning. In Athens, the Academy of Plato was not built as a museum of memory but as a seedbed of ideas that would shape civilizations yet unborn. Rome itself, mighty in conquest, faltered when it ceased to cultivate wisdom in its youth. Where the schools decay, the nation’s spirit decays also; but where they flourish, even humble villages may rise to greatness.

History offers a sharp example. After the Second World War, Japan lay in ruins. Its cities burned, its people weary, its past scarred by defeat. Yet its leaders turned to education, rebuilding schools not as monuments of grief but as lifeblood for renewal. In a single generation, Japan transformed itself into a nation of strength, creativity, and prosperity. This stands as living proof of Kulongoski’s warning: the choice of how we build our schools is the choice of how we build our future.

But there is also tragedy in his words: the sad commentary that such a choice should even exist. For what greater folly is there than to debate whether to nurture the young? To starve education is to starve the soul of a nation. To neglect children’s learning is to betray not only them but also generations unborn. His lament is therefore not mere criticism but prophecy: if we fail to choose wisely, the future will judge us harshly.

The lesson, O seeker, is this: let us never treat education as luxury, nor schools as relics. Let us see them as sacred ground where the past hands its wisdom to the future, and where children are prepared not to repeat our history but to transcend it. To invest in schools is to invest in hope itself, for every book opened, every lesson taught, is a stone laid in the foundation of tomorrow’s world.

Practical is this counsel: when you vote, consider the schools. When you speak, raise your voice for the teachers and the children. When you give, give to learning. And in your own home, let knowledge be honored—not only as memory of what has been, but as a torch to light the road ahead. For each of us shares in this responsibility: to keep education alive, vibrant, and worthy of the generations it must serve.

Thus Ted Kulongoski’s words echo as a call across time: “Let us resolve to choose wisely.” Let us not settle for monuments to the past, but build temples for the future. For in choosing schools, we choose not only buildings of stone and wood, but the very shape of the world to come. And if we choose well, our children will not look back with sorrow, but forward with strength.