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.