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.