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Each Kindergarten student is taking a turn sharing a word that sums up their inward feeling. We are seated on meditation pillows on the floor of the Reflective Classroom. Some students have difficulty choosing just one word, “Happy, calm, and silly… well, just happy!” Another shares decisively without hesitation, “Sad.” My heart sinks a little. As we make our way around the circle, one child puts her hands on her heart, looks to the sky, and gently proclaims, “Wind.” Remarkable.

As I make my way through each classroom setting, I am sometimes invited to participate in a lesson, but for the most part, my role is to observe without engagement. I silently sit or move about the room as if hidden. The students indulge this intrusion and often seem happy to see me arrive. After a few moments, however, the students and teachers quickly settle back into the work at hand.

A few months ago, a particularly skilled host in the first grade brought me his chair and a book about sea life. He explained, “I actually like to stand at my desk. You will really enjoy this book.”

This past Friday morning, I watched as the High School Geometry class participated in an applied math lesson on indirect measure. Students fanned out across the east side of the campus to calculate the height of objects too high to measure by hand. Sitting back to enjoy the students’ soft laughter and active engagement was the perfect way to begin the day.

Watching second graders using manipulatives and working in pairs to count by 2s, 5s, and 10s, I witness firsthand the complex integration of academic learning and social development — the negotiation of taking turns, practicing listening, not being included, and not including.

To witness the vibrant learning of both student and teacher against the backdrop of beauty and serenity on our campus never seems ordinary to me.

I want him to be good at academics, otherwise present society will see that he’s destroyed. Right? So, please give me that first. Right? Then, I say to you, make him more… You follow? something much more than becoming a BA, PhD, and all that nonsense. He must have all that nonsense, but make him something much more. Can you? That’s all my question. Help him to become a holistic human being.”

— Krishnamurti
“First Dialogue with Teachers at Rishi Valley”
1985

Jay Jayanetti joined Oak Grove School in 3rd grade back in 1988 and graduated in 1998. He went on to obtain his B.S. in Neurobiology, Physiology, and Behavior (NPB) with a minor in Studio Art from University of California, Davis. Jay subsequently obtained his Doctorate of Dental Surgery (DDS) and Specialty Certificate in Prosthodontics from UC San Francisco. Heading east, he then obtained a Specialty Certificate in Maxillofacial Prosthetics from University of Alabama, Birmingham. (Maxillofacial prosthodontists treat patients who have acquired defects in the head and neck region usually due to cancer, surgery, trauma, and/or birth defects.)

Jay spent five years working as a Clinical Assistant Professor of Prosthodontics, first at UCSF School of Dentistry and the University of the Pacific School of Dentistry before joining Louisiana State University in the same capacity. At LSU School of Dentistry, Jay was awarded the “Golden Apple” Excellence in Teaching Award in 2014.

Last year Jay was thrilled to return to California. He is currently the UCLA Associate Program Director of Maxillofacial Prosthetics and Clinical Assistant Professor in the Division of Advanced Prosthodontics.

Asked if or how his Oak Grove education remains important to him, Jay responded:

I don’t subscribe to supernatural powers. Instead, I am a naturalist in my thinking. Therefore I know that I am a product of my genetic material and my upbringing, the latter of which was to a great degree influenced by the faculty and staff and friends that are the fabric of the Oak Grove School community. To that end I know that I am fond of my time in Ojai and at OGS. I love reminiscing about these past chapters in my life, and when I’m in Ojai, I’m drawn to the campus for a quiet stroll through the wood chip paths. I usually take a moment to sit on a boulder under an oak tree, and without trying I hear the voices of those that shared with me a piece of themselves: Karen, Vicky, Darcy, Theresa, Don, Jake, Issa, Karen, Jeff, Jeff O., Liz, Posy, Gabe, Larry, Laura, Irmgard, Christy, Meredy…”