Bigger Fish

There once was a man who loved to fish. He fished nearly every day he could. He valued time on the water, the relaxation, and the skill he had acquired over the years. He had become good at catching fish, and as most fishermen do, he occasionally took someone along with him to share in the experience. One day, he took a boy with him. The boy spent the day on the water and worked hard to learn throughout the day. He paid close attention to the bait he used, how to rig the equipment, and how to cast a line into the water in just the right spot. He studied the fisherman's every move. The boy was excited every time a fish was caught and felt more and more successful with each new fish they put into the boat. By the end of the day, the boy felt comfortable enough to ask the fisherman a question about something he had noticed. He asked, "I have watched all day and learned so much, but there is one thing I do not understand. All day, I watched you put the large fish back into the water, and you only kept the small fish. Why don't you keep the bigger ones?" The fisherman responded, "Because I only have a 9-inch frying pan." 

The story of the fisherman is a perfect example of a challenge we are facing and why the work on rigor is so important to us all. The fishman had experience and skill, but because he limited himself, his outcome never changed. His skill didn't matter because he didn't think he could do more than what he had always done. He limited himself by his resources and his mindset. It's an easy trap to fall into. We get comfortable. We resist change. We think that the problem can't be solved where we are, or that it doesn't apply to us. But like most things, the concept of rigor or changing outcomes is part of a mindset that shows up in daily life and not just an End-of-Course exam. Students don't just choose to feel limited in their abilities when they sit down for a test. That mindset can be seen in how they behave, their aspirations, and their work ethic on anything they care about. So while you may not be someone who carries the weight of teaching one of those exams we measure, you do play a big part in contributing to the mindset, work ethic, and abilities that are needed to be successful on them. Accepting the challenge of rigor teaches students that they can do hard things. It builds skills that they apply any time they face adversity. And most importantly, it teaches them to be stronger men and women later on. 

So take a lesson from the fisherman and look for ways to think differently about what you do and how you contribute to the concept of hard work. Without accepting the idea that we could do more, you never know what you can truly do. Let's go catch some bigger fish together.

Stay Pissed Off for Greatness

This week the NC State Board of Education released School Performance Grades for all NC public schools. The moment those grades were approved, the world had access to the grades and performance of each school in our state relative to each other. It's natural to compare and contrast. I've been in the profession long enough now to have seen both sides of the emotion that comes with that announcement. Long before this year, I've been a part of our school when it did well and when it didn't. I have lots of personal feelings about the metrics used to grade schools and the undeniable variables that play into the system. When I sat with the State Board and NCDPI, I asked hard questions about why we choose to stay with the system that we have. I advocated for change even when we were at the top of that metric. But when yesterday's scores were made public, my opinion didn't matter. Instead, the announcement included the marker that our school had re-entered Low Performing status. It's the first time in a very long time, and if I'm being honest, it pisses me off. 

The first rule of leadership is that you give credit to your team when things go well and you take personal accountability for your organization's losses. So now that I'm officially able to discuss our grade, I'm telling you that this is on me. There are several reasons why I could have done things differently that could have had a different impact. Despite how I feel about the metrics that determine our grade, my job is to lead us through them. Undoubtedly, there are always barriers, but my job is to get around them. Not having done that pisses me off. 

I have enough self-awareness to know that I don't always hide my feelings well. When I'm frustrated, it shows in how I look, how I speak, and what I do. This year I set a wellness goal for myself to be less reactive to others when I'm that way. I know that it doesn't always open doors for me and that, too, can be a barrier. But on the issue of school, teacher, and student performance, I'm going to choose to stay pissed off. While it's not always my most likable trait, it does drive me to help make things happen, and so I want to use it. Former NFL linebacker Ray Lewis coined a phrase, "stay pissed off for greatness." He explains that it means that, despite wins and losses, you always get to choose your effort. That effort leaves your legacy and your mark on anything that you do. So when things don't go your way, you can choose to wallow in it, or you can choose to roll up your sleeves and do something about it. I'm choosing to stay pissed off for greatness. Becasue if I'm not, then maybe it feels like it is ok to be where we are. And if you don't like how this grade reflects on us, I invite you to get pissed off also. 

Thank You

I started as the principal of Greene Central High School in 2013. At the time, we were still living in Pitt County, and Rylee was attending school in Farmville. Staying after school for games and other events often meant that by the time I got home, both of my girls had completed their homework and were in bed. A little bit of my heart broke every time that happened, so something had to change. Erika and I made the decision to move the girls to Greene County Schools in 2015. Rylee started in 3rd grade and Reagan in 1st grade. Each day, I would pack them up and sit in two lines to drop them off before coming to school and starting my work day. They were always the first ones dropped off at their schools each morning. It was tough, but the payoff was that they spent many hours after school with me in my office doing their homework and at games. Reagan usually stayed in my office, but Rylee enjoyed going to anything she could attend. My girls grew up at Greene Central and quickly learned which teachers they could go to if their dad was in a meeting. They knew who kept snacks. They knew who could take them somewhere if I wasn't able. And Marvett fed them many meals from a concession stand. My girls grew up at the school and with many of the staff members as surrogate parents. They were always safe and well cared for. 

When they came to Greene Central as official students, they already knew most of the staff. They had ideas about the courses they wanted to take and goals for what they wanted to achieve. But those achievements wouldn't have been possible without the people who supported them and guided them along the way. My girls have had big dreams, and that often meant extra time and attention from those who worked with them. I'm not foolish enough to believe that being the principal's kid didn't have some weight on staff members who were asked, but I would also like to think that a lot of that time was spent in mutual appreciation for what they were working on. 

And now, after many years of being in these halls, both of my girls are leaving this school. Reagan's goal of being accepted to the NC School of Science and Mathematics was achieved earlier this year. She will start at the Durham campus in August for her 11th and 12th grade years. She will have opportunities to learn with others in an environment that can push her, but only because of those who pushed her here. She's very excited. Rylee leaves here as the Valedictorian, headed to UNC in the Fall. She thinks she wants to be a dentist, so she has plenty of school left ahead of her. She enjoyed being a part of just about everything in high school and even came during exams to work on ceramics. Both of my girls got to their goals because of the environment that helped teach them, guided them, and took care of them. So from the bottom of my heart, thank you. Your work for them has made so much possible. Thank you for the time you gave to them, if you taught them, or just for the environment you helped create that let them thrive. As a principal, I am proud of the team that graduates students of every ability each year. But this year, as a parent, I am eternally grateful. 

Service

This week is Teacher Appreciation Week, and it always gives me a moment to reflect on the educators who impacted me and led me to where I am today. This year, three of my favorites came to mind because of a similarity between them. Mrs. Chesson was my 8th-grade math and science teacher, and she commanded a presence everywhere she went. The sound of her heels in the hallway could silence any classroom of 13-year-olds. Mr. Baker was my AP US History teacher and coach. His energetic way of teaching became something that I would try to copy in my own classroom years later. Mrs. Dail was my 10th-grade English teacher, and her way of teaching literature taught us something about our own lives in every lesson. 

But despite how good each of these people was in the classroom, it wasn't their pedagogy that made them my favorites. Their impact on me was in their choice to do things that were not required. Mrs. Chesson taught me the year that my grandfather passed away, and she kept a close eye on me that year as my family struggled with that loss. I lingered in her classroom because I felt safe there, and she showed me a lot of compassion. Mr. Baker taught me how to be a leader. He was intentional in how he guided me and was the person who came back years later to convince me to go back to school to be a principal when I was thinking of leaving education altogether. Mrs. Dail vouched for me to keep a scholarship when I got into trouble just before graduation, and when I returned four years later to teach in the same building as her, she was my unofficial mentor teacher. 

None of these people had to do these things. It wasn't in their job description, and chances are, no one probably even noticed that they did it. These acts of service came from kindness and the knowledge that I would likely never be able to repay them. In a world where so much seems contractual and we only give when we expect to receive in return, acts of true service stand out. They teach us empathy and compassion. And while the curriculum that we teach young people is important, chances are, they will have opportunities to serve others far more often than they will use the other things we teach them. So, for this Teacher Appreciation Week, I want to say thank you for your service. Your deliberate acts of kindness and the many things that you choose to do to help students make a difference. Whether you mean to or not, your choice to serve is a role model for our students in ways they don't fully recognize yet. But I promise, one day they will get it. 

This Is What It Looks Like

What is a good school? It feels like there are so many ways to measure that question today. There are obviously test scores from state assessments that try to measure that. But then someone sold us on the idea of measuring student growth, with the teacher as a variable. So, is that what makes us good now? Maybe. But what about the other quantitative things? Graduation rates. CTE credentials. Scholarships. Attendance rates. Suspensions and acts of crime. There are lots of numbers you can use to measure a school. And for all of those numbers, there seem to be people who like to contort those numbers to promote or discourage others from the idea that a school or group of schools is "good" or "bad." So, how do you know what to trust? Maybe the answer isn't quantitative. What about the things that aren't easily measured in a spreadsheet? At the heart of the culture wars for or against public schools, it often isn't the real facts and figures that are used. Instead, we often see examples of great things or awful things. A moment in time that represents the reputation of a school, a community, or public schools at large. The recent notoriety that our school received from a viral TikTok at a band competition can make the world take notice, but today, tomorrow, or next week, that could change in the wake of an unfortunate event or the negative opinion of someone put online. 

So, how is anyone supposed to know what a good school even is anymore? Understanding education in a classroom, a school building, a district, or even beyond that is a complex thing to define. When I teach or speak to others on this topic, I often use a metaphor. I tell people that good teaching is like pornography. It's hard to define it (because some images of the human body are art and some are not), but you always know it when you see it. Your gut tells you really quickly, and you trust it. So that means if we trust our gut that our school is good, then that's it...it's good. Not so fast. We are biased. And we find ourselves right back where we started, struggling to know if we are "good." Hold that thought.

Last night, I had the opportunity to attend the Jay Robinson Gala for the Public School Forum. It's an annual event to honor one or two people a year for their contributions to education in our state. It's a pricey and coveted invitation to get, and sponsors make large donations to attend. Last night honored Mebane Rash and Tom Oxholm. If you have ever read an EdNC article, you know Mebane. She founded it to tell the stories of our public schools and the things that impact them. I owe a lot to Mebane for lots of different reasons. She's covered a lot about our school over the years and she's been a great thought partner for me. When they showed video covering her impact last night, I quickly recognized student faces. Literally all of the footage of her for the ceremony was from Greene Central High School. They even used some footage from our school for Tom's video. 100% of the images used to show students, teachers and instruction at one of the most prestigious education events showed Greene Central High School. 

So how do you know that you have a good school? Well, I think all of that stuff matters. The numbers matter and so do those gut feelings that people get. But when some of the most notable education advocates in the state use you and say, "this is what it looks like," ...well you might just have something special. 

The Kids Are Alright

In 1965, the famous British rock band The Who released a song entitled The Kids Are Alright. The song references a guy who trusts his girlfriend to dance with other guys. There's a feeling of confidence in her and in the guys she dances with, all of which he presumes to trust. It was a hit song for The Who because it captures a feeling that maybe adults can take a lesson from. Trust is hard. Especially when it comes to trusting others who interact with you. That trust is even harder when those people are different than you or you have been taught to perceive them as a threat. Fast forward 60 years to today. Trust is perhaps even harder. Our kids grow up in a world of political, racial, and cultural differences that they are told to be cautious of. The media can even fuel those fears through the stories they tell and the narrative they choose. Trusting your girlfriend and friends when they dance together seems small in the wake of what our children hear and see today.

Our school has a new student with us this semester. Diana is from Jordan. She speaks Arabic and she is Mulsim. She wears a hijab. I remember a few years ago when another member of her family, Mystia, was with us for a while. We were worried then about how students and the community would interact with her. We were anxious that the political climate then would cause issues of bullying or harassment. We watched closely and quickly saw the opposite. Mystia enjoyed her time with us and made several friends here who treated her very well. The kids were alright. 

This week, two students and our new student, Diana, approached me in the hall at lunch. Diana was confused about her schedule, and her new friends were trying to help her find an answer. As we walked toward the counseling center, I asked the two girls how they had found Diana at lunch and how they were involved in helping her. (Diana speaks no English and communicates through Google Translate on her phone.) The girls, one Hispanic and one White, explained that they help Diana in classes that they share. One of the girls sits with her in first period and the other in third period. They don't speak her language. They don't share her faith. They don't have a common race or ethnicity. But for some reason, they trust one another despite the limited time they have known each other or their lack of commonalities. 

In a time when our news is filled with division at home and abroad, it was refreshing to see the opposite in our hallways. It's optimistic to see trust in a time of mistrust. It makes me think that maybe the kids are alright. And just maybe, we can all learn something from them for change. 

The Other Thing

Today our school says goodbye to two incredible math teachers, Dana Hedgepeth and Carrie Ann Miller. Dana is retiring and Carrie Ann is moving on to a new opportunity, and while I'll be the first to acknowledge that they are each irreplaceable in their own right, I am happy for each of them. Both of them have earned it, and we all deserve to get what we have earned. When I reflect on the past 12 years of working together, many warm and funny memories come to mind. In the classroom, both of these ladies have stuck by some of the crazy ideas I've put them through over the years as we looked for the perfect recipe for improving high school math instruction. I've changed what they taught, how they taught, and who they taught along the way and they never backed down from a challenge. I'm not narcissistic enough to think that they never questioned me or even cursed me along the way, but they always showed up and for three class periods a day, they did the very best they could do. There's a lot to be said for that. 

But despite how good they are in the classroom, I'll remember them for the other things. When I think of Dana, I'll never forget how much pride she has in this school. She wants everything to be perfect. Don't dare think that you can place flowers or set the stage for graduation as well as she can. Her eye sees things mine never will. And while she endured our jokes about her obsessiveness over such things, she never stopped trying to make things absolutely perfect for students, staff, and families. She has so much pride in being from our school and she wants everything about it to be the very best. It's seen in her classroom and in how she speaks. Carrie Ann has a similar flirtation with perfectionism. Her clean classroom and aversion to germs of any kind are a hint of what lessons look like in her room. But what I'll remember most is seeing her, years before blended instruction or a need for videoed lessons became a thing, struggling to balance an iPad on a stack of textbooks to video herself going over a math problem so that her students could watch it doing their homework. Those first videos are not something she's proud of today, but if you could see how she transformed her classroom in the months that followed, you'd see that same obsessive nature. That same desire to be perfect. I watched both ladies struggle over the years with personal hardships that I would not wish on my very worst enemy. And despite the time and space offered to them, they could turn it off and try their very best to be perfect for students several times each day to teach math. 

How you teach is always going to be important. You're never going to hear anyone say that you can get away with being a bad teacher just because you care about students. Lots of people care, but doing that is only half of the job. But if there's something that I'll take away from Dana and Carrie Ann, it's not just that they are amazing math teachers, it's the other thing. It's a desire to work so hard for kids because they deserve it. It's that no matter what obstacles life throws your way, you face it head-on. They are two of the best math teachers I've ever known, but they are also two of the most resilient people I've ever met. And maybe it's that other thing that makes them great.

Clatterblocks and Neckties

I have a practice of keeping my personal social media away from work. When I get home at the end of the day and try to unwind, I often fall victim to scrolling through my various social media platforms to catch up on the entertainment, news, and connections with friends and family from the day. I'm fairly certain that I am like many of you who find yourself entertained by the news of those with whom we keep relationships. It's nice staying connected, even if it's just through liking a picture or status. And every now and then, I get excited or sometimes sad news about someone I haven't seen or spoken to in a long time. This week I learned about the passing of a former middle school teacher of mine, Mr. David Seeman. 

Mr. Seeman was my middle school shop teacher. His accent told even the most absent-minded 7th grader that he wasn't from eastern North Carolina. He was very quick-witted and loved when he had a student who could pick up on his sarcasm in the classroom. The first lesson you learned in Mr. Seeman's class was to build a set of clatterblocks. These were a set of wooden squares connected by three ribbons. When you opened them up, they made a clicking noise that you could keep going by flipping them. Building them was an introduction to measuring, cutting, sanding, following a list of directions, and executing a plan. The noise of the blocks filled the room as students successfully completed their first task. Mr. Seeman must have noticed that I enjoyed his class and I quickly became one of the kids who understood his brand of humor. This usually just earned me extra tasks that he only gave to those he trusted. He taught me how to break down equipment that only he used to clean it and even gave me some inside tips on projects that he knew would push my thinking. He was a great teacher and I still credit him for some of my enjoyment in building things today.

But if I'm being honest, that wasn't his biggest impact on me. In my middle school years, my dad traveled quite a bit for his job. As the oldest son, that often left chores or other responsibilities that my dad usually filled up to me. My mom was nothing short of amazing, but she wasn't a dad and so we did our best. Near the end of the year, there was some type of awards assembly at school and my dad was out of town. My mom wasn't able to miss work to attend and she did her best by sending me to school with a buttoned shirt and one of my dad's neckties. She instructed me to find a teacher who could help me tie it. Mr. Seeman was clearly my first choice. I found my way to his classroom at the first change of classes and he was happy to help. He told me to pay attention as he tied it around his own neck and I watched with every bit of attention a 13-year-old boy could give. The tie looked perfect to me as he took it off his neck. I reached my hand out to take it from him and he quickly untied it and handed it back to me. I must have looked confused. He asked me if I was really paying attention and told me to tie it back. In the next few minutes, he guided me on how to tie it myself several times until I got it right. I have literally never tied a tie any different way in my life. 

I'm fairly certain I could rebuild clatterblocks from memory today. I promise you I can take apart a paint gun and clean it to his specifications. I only know how to tie a necktie the way he taught me how to do it 30 years ago. If you've ever doubted if students are learning anything from you, let this be a lesson that you have much more impact than you could ever imagine. Teachers are amazing human beings who teach us so much more than anything they could write in a lesson plan. Mr. Seeman and many others taught me lessons that made me think about the kind of person I wanted to be. They taught me values. They taught me to question things and to think for myself. None of these things are ever going to show up in a content objective. But one day, maybe some absent-minded teenager will grow up and look back at the impact that you had on their life and celebrate you for all that you did for them. I know I do.

Tennis

I've never played a full game of tennis in my life. It's a fact that my daughter, Rylee, loves to remind me of whenever I critique her in a match or when she's practicing. I remind her that for almost 10 years now I have watched her take many lessons, carried her to lots of tournaments, and seen her play many, many times. Any parent of other players who have sat near me can tell you that I'll make a noise the moment that she hits a ball that I know isn't going to go where she wants it to go. I've seen her hit enough of them that I can absolutely tell you the moment the ball touches the racquet if it will be in or out. I know that because I've seen her hit so many tennis balls. This week I watched her hit her last tennis ball as a high school player and it left me with a lot to think about. 

You don't have to read too many of these blog posts to know that I love a metaphor. Watching my daughter play, I remembered how much I've seen her change and grow over time. Those investments of hours on a court, lessons, and equipment made a huge difference. We poured a lot of effort into that growth, and while it was something that she enjoyed, it wasn't always easy or fun. Similarly, I thought about the time that we have with students. It's short. And while you may not feel like it mid-semester, they will soon be gone. You will have put the effort into them that you could best provide. Hopefully, the time and resources you were given produced some growth that you could see. You watched them, coached them, corrected them, and praised them. And because you get to know them so well over that time, you also probably have a really good idea of how they will perform when they take a test or prepare to demonstrate what they know on the subject. In the same way that I know where the tennis ball will go, you probably know how a student will perform because you've watched them. There's a lot to be said about that level of investment, especially when you want them to be successful so badly. 

As a tennis dad, I learned a lot of lessons about people and motivation that are probably pretty applicable to the classroom as well. I've fallen victim to being an overbearing parent at a 10-year-old match and getting kicked out and I've wiped away tears when she cried. As I sat and watched her play her last match, I asked myself what I would take from this experience. These are my best takeaways as a parent, educator, and just as someone who has been the guy who watched a kid play a game. 

Never be afraid to coach and give feedback but always remember that they are kids. 

Tell them that they did a great job even when they didn't get the outcome they wanted, especially if they put in effort. 

If you only play lesser opponents, you'll always perform like them. Challenging yourself is how you grow.

Pushing yourself is hard but if you're doing it right, it should still be fun.

So many problems can be solved by stopping for just a minute and taking a deep breath before you carry on.

Benevolence

It's easy to get caught up in the action/reaction exchange that our lives can often become. All of the things that we do often come with the expectation of a return on that action or investment. We come to work and we expect a paycheck. We eat better and exercise and we expect to lose a few pounds. Most things in life are transactional that way and we expect them to be. The expectation of a return is what motivates us to do something in the first place. If I'm being honest, I'd show up to work far less without getting paid and I'd eat really poorly if it wouldn't impact my health. But I know better and so I try to do better. The payoff is usually good enough to get me there and when it isn't, that thing is often stopped or forgotten. 

So when you care enough to do something for someone without an expectation of a return, that's a pretty powerful thing. And if you look throughout a school, those things start to pop up regularly. Teachers keep food for kids they don't teach anymore. We give up time or resources when we see a colleague or student group in need. It happens all round us and it's a magical thing. We do these things just because we care and those acts of benevolence do more to teach children how to be successful than anything else we teach them. So thank you to all of you that do things just because you care. While you may not expect a return on that action, know that your example makes a difference. 

Side note: If you catch someone in the act of benevolence, do yourself a favor an thank them for it. When people don't expect a return and get one anyway, the effect gets magnified by the receiver and the giver. Give it a try!

Impact

Sometimes life gives you little reminders of places were you may have had an impact. It's easy to get caught up in your personal and professional events and forget that the things you do, have a lasting impression on others. And when you need to remember, life has a funny way of putting a reminder right in front of your face...literally. So as I sat in an EC classroom this week to do a teacher observation, I saw a student wearing a t-shirt that I hadn't seen in a very long time. The shirt was one that runners and supporters received for the Bo Run. The Bo Run is an annual high school cross-country race held in memorial for a student, Bo Thompson, who had passed away in the early 2000s. While I did not coach Bo, I knew him fairly well. I coached for another school and we partnered together to host a summer running camp in the mountains. In the wake of his death, several of the teams with runners who knew him started the memorial race in his honor with proceeds going to charity. The race is still an annual event and will be held on September 28th this year. It's a pretty big deal now with tons of schools and individual runners participating. I honestly hadn't thought about it in a long time until seeing the shirt.

It's strange to think back to the kids I coached who were there when it started. To think about how they grieved his death. We watched at the first race, and students from many different schools joined in prayer and support for one another. They overcame an obstacle and helped start something that continues to make an impact today. In the moment, we knew that we were helping kids grieve and supporting a good cause. Those "kids" are all in their 30s now and a whole new generation participates in the event. Today's runners didn't know Bo and if they start the race in traditional fashion, only hear a short story about how the race came to be. But seeing that old tshirt reminded me that the things we do to support kids really do mean something. The phrase on the bottom of that shirt served as a powerful reminder that the actions we take for kids matter in their lives and while we often share comforting words with them, it's the things we do that mean more. 

Smile

I'm privledged to have met a lot of really interesting people throughout my time in education. I've met politicians, policy-makers, CEOs of large businesses, and all kinds of people with a lot more influence than I'll ever have. It always makes me feel proud when one of those people asks me my opinion about something related to education or when I have the opportunity to brag about a program, teacher, or student. It's the same feeling you get when someone says something nice about your children and you get to brag on them a little. 

This week I had a great conversation with a former legislator. We chatted about schools today, what it takes to lead one, and what issues face those who work in and attend public schools. I can talk all day about that stuff, but I had to acknowledge that it's not as bad as they would have you believe. He asked me to explain that, so here goes:

There's a lot of noise today around education. It's a topic that people care about and it generates interest and emotion. Politicians and anyone trying to get you to support one will tell you some narrow or jaded (sometimes wildly false) view of one part of education. But the truth is, I think we are doing ok. Yes, we need more funding. We always have. Yes, we need more people who want to teach and work with students. We always have. Yes, some policies and locations make the job more difficult than others. There always have been. But despite all of that, every educator that you know can tell you a heartwarming story about a kid. They can probably tell you a funny story from just this week. 

When I told him this perspective, he said something that gave me that same proud feeling. He said, "I always know that if you need to smile, just talk to an educator." It's true. You are the advocates that tell first-hand stories about what you do every day. Some of those stories are crazy! Some are exciting. Some give you hope. Tell your stories and make people smile. It'll give you that same feeling.

Goals

I signed a lot of Professional Development Plans this week, and I always find it interesting how differently teachers in the same building can write up a goal. Some teachers write highly detailed language that could rival the best AI bots. Others write very simple sentences that get right to the point. Some sit down to complete the task as soon as they can, ready to mark it off their list. Others put it off until they are forced to get it done. (Yes, I'm talking about you if you haven't done yours yet!) There's no right or wrong way to have a goal. The only things you can do wrong are to not have one or to forget to guide one. Having goals is similar to tending a garden. If you never plant seeds, it's pretty foolish to expect plants to grow. And if you don't water and fertilize those plants, they probably won't yield much fruit. 

If you're normal, the professional and personal goals that most of put on your PDP aren't always fully capable of capturing what you really want to accomplish in a school year. Your department developed a goal that's likely centered on curriculum, something new that came your way, or a problem that needs fixing. Those are pretty formal. But the bigger question is what do you want to get out of the next ten months that we call a school year? How do you expect to change? I forced myself to take a dose of my own medicine this week and think about those things as I sat down to write my own PDP. Like most of you, I kept that document pretty formal, but afterward, I wrote out some goals of my own and I'm going to do my best to water and fertilize those goals this year so that the change I want is actually something that I'm working towards. So if are like me and you didn't take the time to write those things down in a PDP this year, do it for yourself. Otherwise, you might find yourself staring at bare dirt, while gardens around you found ways to grow. 

Awards

This week I got the privilege of accepting a couple of really important awards on behalf of the school. On Thursday our school was recognized by the State Board of Education for renewing our STEM School of Distinction Model School status. A ton of work went into the achievement of this award. STEM teachers put a great deal of work into the courses and counselors have the arduous task of getting those courses to fit within the student schedules. Several teachers and students also worked with Emily Lahr to complete the rubric and host the site team when they came to grade our school. When the presentation was made to the State Board, they acknowledged that our school had been a part of this designation for over a decade and that now it was a part of our culture. 

On Friday evening we give out the state championship rings to the players, coaches, and support staff of the 2024 baseball team and they were nice enough to give the principal one as well. Just like the STEM award, a lot of work went into making the state championship possible. Players and coaches put in lots of practice. Many teachers volunteered to work in the concession stand or gave up precious weekends to watch them play in the final games. And we won't get into the field maintenance and other work it takes over a long season to make everything right for game time. 

This week's awards show the dedication, effort, and resources that go into building something great. The unfortunate thing about these awards is that only a few get to receive them. But it takes a community to pull off both of these accomplishments. Think about the parents who take the time to learn about the STEM program and get their children to make this investment into their education. And I'm fairly confident that many of these parents have some effort in making those Grand Challenges happen. Think of the hours that go into taking children to practices, lessons, camps, and games. And for both programs, think about the many other community partners that support, cheer, and give to make us better. These awards are given to the school, but they represent a much larger community that all made investments. So while I get to hold a banner or wear a ring, I know that many others celebrate these achievements along with us. And that's a pretty cool thing to take part in. 

Community

We kicked off this year talking about our community. We established that our community holds students who are free to learn, grow and fly from here to their next stop in life. We also established that others live within cages that limit them from sometimes getting to the flowers that surround us. Despite these differences, together we make up a community. But why? What really is a community? 

A community is generally defined as a group of people sharing a similar interest. That may not always be what we think of. Our sense of community can sometimes be restrained by geography. In our case, the boundaries of Greene County define our attendance area and it's easy to define the students within it as our community. But what interests do we share that make us unique? When I came to work here 12 years ago, one of the first things I was told was something that I have never forgotten. "There's the right way, the wrong way, and the Greene County way." I still think of that sometimes when I meet people that once attended the school and recount things that still go on in our school today. There really is a Greene County way. And while we may not always agree or align behind what we think is right, there is a community thread that keeps people here. Our schools are an important part of that thread because we educate and sometimes even spend more awake hours with young adults than their families can. In addition to a class curriculum, we also teach the Greene County Way. And that means we are also responsible for improving it along the way. 

So as you set your goals for the year, I invite you to think about how small improvements that you make impact the thread that binds this community. Our shared interest is always evolving and it is our responsibility to make sure it is evolving in a positive way. Every community deserves that.

Time

As we move into the final weeks of school, I never feel like I have enough time. There are always a hundred demands for my attention, presence, or information. I constantly feel like I'm chasing my tail and also letting others down by not giving them the attention that they deserve. Every day is a triage of determining what is most pressing, what can wait, and what can be done another way. It races by until graduation comes, students and teachers go home, and my life settles. It's the same way every Spring. Maybe if we did a better job of spreading out events throughout the year. Maybe if I had front-loaded observations earlier I'd have more time. Maybe if I wasn't as involved in scheduling, the planning for the new school, or some of the other things that take me out of the building I would be able to direct attention elsewhere. But that's not how life is and no matter how hard we try, schools can be unpredictable places that demand more from us than we can always provide.

In the absence of time, I find myself thinking of what needs to be done and fretting about what I didn't already get to. If I'm being honest, I could probably be doing something different than writing this right now, but throughout the week I saw some of the same tired faces on staff members that I know I have probably shown to you as well. We are all fighting for time right now and stressing that everything won't get done. But it will. It always does. And that's not because we fought for those precious seconds near the end. So collectively, on this last Friday in April, before we enter the rush of May, take a deep breath and know that it will be ok. We have a great team of people. Your presence with each other and in front of students is worth far more than the stress of worrying that it won't all be done perfectly. Hold on tight, because time in this last month is going to go fast, but there's a lot to enjoy along the way. Hang in there.

The Science of Trauma

In an instant, a traumatic event can alter the chemistry of the human brain. The response to stress releases a hormone called cortisol. Cortisol is known as the stress hormone and it triggers our brain into the "fight or flight" mode. This chemical has literally kept our species alive as our ancestors needed it to know how to respond in a life-threatening situation. As environmental factors threatened our survival, we adapted and learned from the chemical responses of our brains. We learned how to avoid the event, and we lived on and passed that information to our offspring.

A lot of science has emerged in the past few years that tells us (especially educators) how responses to trauma at a young age can impair a person's cognitive functions. Today, our students are not met with the same traumas that our ancestors faced. We are not fighting off a cave bear for survival. Instead, young people today face different, and more prolonged traumas that consistently increase the level of cortisol in their bodies. High levels of cortisol can lead to irritability, emotional instability, or depression. If those symptoms seem familiar to you, you're starting to make the connection. 

This week I pointed out the connection that many of our recent student suspensions have to the traumatic death of a former student. The sometimes violent reactions that these students display can be traced to their own inability to cope with questions that they do not have answers to and feelings about the event that they do not understand. Those emotions around the traumatic event are magnified in their homes and in their neighborhoods by others who are experiencing the same feelings. That environment keeps the levels of cortisol elevated and perpetuates the problem. This is the biological reason that we are seeing the actions that have been happening over the past couple of weeks. 

So what do you do to fight a normal biological response? The answer lies not just in biology, but also in sociology. Biologically, our bodies want to heal and will attempt to sleep. Other times, we can't stay still and need to release energy. (Do either of these sound familiar?) Our bodies can also regulate cortisol with other hormones like endorphins and oxytocin that make us feel better. Endorphins can come from laughing and oxytocin comes from feeling loved or belonging. These hormones make us feel safe again and happy.

If you've stuck with me through the science of the last four paragraphs, then I'll give you the moral of the story. To fix kids who have been exposed to repeated trauma, you have to love them. And when they do bad things that isn't always easy. We want to be upset as well because we are responding to stress. But darkness doesn't put an end to darkness, light does that. And loving a student doesn't mean avoiding consequences or lowering expectations, it means loving them hard enough to hold them to it and expecting more from them because you do. All kids in our environment are impacted in different ways, and right now, the best weapon that we have at our disposal is to love them. We all deserve it.

Talented

I am blessed to have two daughters who do well in school. In early grades, they were acknowledged with the educational marker of being Academically and Intellectually Gifted (AIG), a designation once referred to as Gifted and Talented. If you believe that nature is the reason, you could point to having two parents who were also blessed with that same designation in school. Or maybe nurture is your argument and you point out that both of their parents have advanced college degrees and education is highly valued in their home. Either way, we are quick to recognize academic talent in schools. If students are extremely hard-working and diligent, they might even earn a high enough GPA to get a scholarship or some sort of designation to speak at their graduation ceremony to formally recognize their hard work. While I'm extremely proud of students who have academic talent, this week gave me a couple of reminders of the many other talents that students have. These talents may never show up on a class rank and it probably won't earn any of them a single dollar in scholarships, but it can give you a glimpse of what kind of people these students have the potential to grow up to be. 

If you don't know David, you've almost certainly seen him in our school. David is Chinese and he is the only Multi-Language Learner in Mrs. Galue's ESL class that speaks Mandarin as a first language. David never misses school. Ever. He even comes on the exam makeup days. This week, as students brought chocolates to share with one another for Valentine's Day, David decided to give his classmates a different gift. He brought his violin from home and played for them. As I watched the video, I was so impressed with his confidence and pride in sharing his talent with his friends. This is not the same young man that was in our school just one year ago. 

That same day, our school hosted the annual Valentine's Day dance for our special needs students. It's hard not to smile watching these students have the time of their lives dancing in the gym. They are joined by teachers and students and Mrs. Duncan's class caters for the event each year with pride. And that's where Steve fits in. You may also know of Steve. He has a "colorful" discipline history and his associations outside of school have been questionable at best. He can be angry and sometimes volatile. He enjoys Duncan's Culinary class and has been a bit of a project for Coach Edwards this year. But despite his past, Steve also has talents. I could easily see them that day when he was caught doing the Cha-Cha Slide with our EC students, smiling from ear to ear. He is also not the same young man that was in our school one year ago.

Every student has a talent. While we formally recognize a few of those if they happen to show up on a standardized test or on an athletic team, it's fun to find the ones that don't always get recognized as easily. It's even more fun when we can find just the right moment to bring it out of them. And if they can't hold a full conversation in English, they may be able to share in another way. Perhaps the right opportunity can even make the toughest of students dance when a disabled class asks you to join. That's what teaching is all about; discovering how every student can be talented.

He Who Holds the Story, Holds the Power

Most of you know that I was a history teacher. Despite my affinity for math, I decided to teach history because I get caught up in the stories. Most of the recorded history we know is told by the dominant group, the most powerful culture, or the victor in the battle. We know their side and it isn't until many years later (sometimes never) that we learn more about the group that came up short. The winner, not the loser, gets to tell the story. And for that reason, he who holds that story, holds the power. 

For a little while now, I've been working with some other state leaders on this same idea. We have been advocating that parents and community members need to know the stories of our public schools. In a time when parents have more choice than ever before from charter schools or private schools, it is easy for parents to become overwhelmed and to look beyond the greatness that traditional public schools have to offer. And for that reason, we've been trying to advocate that school leaders do a better job of telling those great stories. Well, all of that talk got me thinking this week about the power of our personal stories. We all have experiences that brought us to where we are today and so many of those stories would be inspirational to the students that we teach and interact with. Your story as a person and as an educator is your purpose and your drive to show up and do the things that you do. But without telling that story, we can miss an opportunity to relate to students and to gain trust in them as someone who has perhaps shared some of the same experiences that they have. We do a lot to learn the stories of our students, and that part of teaching is vital. But along the way, be sure to tell yours as well. You never know who may be listening and who might just gain inspiration from what you have to say. That inspiration and those grounding moments are what build authentic interest between us as people and what give us the power to draw from one another. 

He who holds the story, holds the power. Are you telling yours?

Check Yourself

I have been working on a project for a while now to change some policy and budget legislation. With election season upon us and the interim budget changes getting ready to start, that work has kicked back up. This time around I have some new thought partners in the process and it's been super helpful. It's always nice to have a partner on a project who carries their weight on tasks and can talk the talk and walk the walk. Last weekend we did some revising to the policy and drafted some new ideas for messaging. It was really good work. While it was all fresh in my brain, I sent the information out to a larger group with all of the ideas that we had talked through. It was literally a giant brainstorm put into organizers and carefully drafted words. And I seriously messed up. I gave absolutely no credit to my partner for their contribution to it. It wasn't on purpose but it hurt their feelings. And rather than let that get in the way, they let me know. 

Have you ever messed up and not given credit where it was due? I feel like I do it at the worst possible times. I put my head down and focus so hard on a goal, and in the process, sometimes forget about those that are working on it with me. Luckily, this person was great enough to check me in a nice way, but if that hadn't happened, I could have lost out on a thought partner or even lost a friend. The truth is that we all have partnerships like the one I referenced every day. These are the people that you ask to do things to help you personally and professionally. They get you through things, listen to you rant and (if you're lucky) check you when you mess up. It's important to have people like this in our lives. They hold us support us but also hold us accountable. You very likely work with some of these people. They are the ones who don't mind stepping in with some other part of your life is in chaos. They are the ones that are our first pick to work with when we have a task or a challenge. They are the ones that you would do the very same thing for in return. So before you mess up like I did, take a minute this week and check yourself. Who are the people you count on and appreciate that you might not give credit to? Give them that credit. It will mean the world to them and that feels so much better than the feeling of regret when you realize you didn't.