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.