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.