Day One

Well, the end of yet another "year" has arrived.

I've often struggled with this time of year, portrayed as an event...

"The end".

"The beginning".

This is one of those points in the school year when every reflective educator shifts into a period of introspection, of scrutiny.

Pressure mounts, because of a blend of satisfaction with what's been started, with an unsettled feeling, knowing what has yet to be accomplished.

At first, it's the calendar that seems to be an unstoppable obstacle to progress.

Historically, school years are marked by frequent starts and stops, which have become "milestones".

"The first day of school" and "the last day of school".

Winter recess, spring break, and summer vacation.

Conference days, half-days, three-day weekends, snow days, and...the inevitable...sick days.

"Count downs" until they arrive have become events, adding a level of distraction, and compromising valuable learning time.

Each of these breaks, while creating a sense of excitement and restoration, also presents a serious down-side: an interruption to routines, positive habits, and momentum.

But the issue (my issue) is less about the calendar, and more about the mindset that school is "the place" where learning happens.

I've always been challenged by the anticipation of a "new year". As a teacher, I felt I hadn't done enough in the classroom. Back then, it was helping students become fluent readers and confident problem solvers. My driving purpose was to help each student find his/her reason for "coming to school".

Feeling that "the clock was ticking" left me feeling that I was racing against time, so not to fail - my students. My job as their teacher was to help them discover potential they had yet to see in themselves. This was my calling. How could I allow the discontinuity of a calendar make me feel as if I were coming up short?

Now, I lose sleep over students (and their families) who lack the necessary resources to build continuity between school and home. I become distracted, by adults who seem to have a stagnant mindset, almost working against dedicated teams focused on exhausting every option to create conditions of success for all children. And I become focused on building a culture that maintains a learning haven, where all who enter can check "personal baggage", in exchange for a ticket to optimism, hope, and personal success.

My tension has become a driver for me. What once created a physical and emotional angst now fuels me to reject complacency and compels me...to act.

Every. Single. Day.

Undoubtedly, the traditional "school calendar" has reinforced tendencies to comply with school as we've known it. But to be successful, learning must be thought of and modeled as something that happens well beyond one grade, or 180 days. School must become an organization that embraces sustained efforts to build relationships and support autonomous learners, beyond the school walls.

I am proud to be amidst a culture shift that is occurring where I am a learning leader. And I am proud to say I am one of the learners, stretching and "being stretched".

In the last two weeks these are just some ways that we've celebrated learning:

• Live instrumental music, played by students, has streamed through the halls.

• Teachers smiled proudly, seeing their enthusiastic students, excited for genius hour projects - proof that confirmed that instructional risks pay off.

• Teacher teams modeled the simple pleasure of reading and the power of student voice, in a book "blind date" activity.

• Passionate teachers took risks to engage students in meaningful social learning, while also using technology as a tool for formative assessment.

• Ten-year-olds learned how to code, and inquiring how to continue at home.

• Generations partnered, as we welcomed members of our local senior citizen center into our school, sharing our community space.

• Members of after-school clubs engaged in physical activity, to raise money and awareness for those afflicted with illness.

• Parent volunteers visited our building, showing adolescents what true service and empathy look like - and what it means to give your time to help someone else.

• Teachers cooked with kids, sharing fulfillment of a family gathering.

• A school community wore school colors, college t-shirts, and "ugly sweaters".

• Classes competed, for hot chocolate...and bragging rights, to see who could help purchase toys for sick and underprivileged children.

• Our school connected virtually with another to learn about how Chromebooks (and a growth mindset) will take our learners and our schools to the next level of purposeful engagement in 2015.

• Our team, like family, shared moments of sincere gratitude, with tokens of appreciation, hugs, laughs, and in some cases, tears.

We engaged one another, not in school learning...but in life-long learning.

Highlights such as these are a testament to the good work being done in schools today, to create authentic learning experiences that move learning beyond the school walls.

So why does this have to stop?

Well...it doesn't.

The start of a new calendar year tends to invite pressure - to resolve to accomplish new things.

"One day. I will do it...one day."

And it seems that the momentum that inspires this to start becomes an afterthought, sooner, rather than later.

The cliché to do something "one day" has got to be switched...to day one.

And there's no sense waiting until January 1 to get started on this mindset, because each and every day presents a new chance to make, "one day", Day One.

To fully commit ourselves to breaking away from learning being a "school thing" and happening one day, there are clear commitments to building a learning culture that embraces Day One thinking:

1. Surround ourselves with others who both "talk the talk" and more importantly, "walk the walk".
2. Be intuitive, understanding that each person has his/her own reality for when/how a spark is lit.
3. Be resourceful and creative, opening pathways, pushing and pulling others towards their passions.
4. Be patient and willing to keep an open invitation to others, to join a team of passionate and supportive learners.
5. Be intentional, to drive ourselves to our outer personal limits, and model being fearless learners.

All members of our learning organization seek, demand, and challenge us to meet them where they are. They just ask for us to help in different ways. And we owe it to them, to deliver.

Why? Because we are breaking away from the idea that schools exist to prepare students for a test, for the next grade, or the next school. We are preparing learners to become autonomous, relentless, and compassionate leaders in our local and global communities.

Because that is what the world needs right now - deep, meaningful learning that transcends our school walls.

Are we ready to make today, day one?

What If?

The start of the holiday season marks a period of deep reflection, a time to consider how experiences have impacted perspectives and progress. For aspiring servant leaders, this is the ideal time to consider how decisions and actions impact members of a learning organization and, most importantly, the children in our learning communities. It is also a period to be grateful for opportunities afforded to us, as learners and as leaders.

A Crystal Ball

Two weeks ago, I received a handwritten thank you note that took me back in time.

It came from a student: a current high school senior, and former student at the middle school where I'm privileged to lead. At one time, this student was also a third grader...in my class.

And now, she is soon-to-be college-bound, with a bright future ahead of her. Where does the time go...

The thank you was simple and genuine, expressing the student's appreciation for taking time out of my day to attend a special event held at our high school. It was then and there that she signed a National Letter of Intent to attend a university where she will study and will play lacrosse.

Who'd have thought, just four years ago, when a new girls lacrosse team was started at our middle school, coached by one of our new middle school teachers that it would so quickly provide academic opportunity of this magnitude: for a student to continue her education beyond high school? And I never could have imagined, a decade ago, that I'd have an opportunity to see one of the children I taught, whose learning progress I monitored through four years of adolescence, go on to launch herself into the next phase of life, on the road to being an independent, productive, contributing adult.



When I think back to the time when this student was in my class, I remember she was a hardworking, unassuming eight year-old, who was serious about learning.

And...she was fast.

As part of an elementary school wellness program, all of the third grade classes started every morning with a ten-minute walk outside. But the students' favorite part was the daily culminating event, when we lined as many students up as we could at a makeshift "starting line" and had three races, in which the students sprinted and two winners declared (one girl and one boy). As a relatively new teacher at the time, I was nominated to race with the students each day. And, as anyone might imagine, I was tough to beat. I was an adult, after all. (Picture a 30 year-old, wearing a shirt, tie, and dress shoes, out-sprinting 75 children each morning.)

There were two students who, without fail, I couldn't beat, one of whom was our soon-to-be college lacrosse player. As a I read her thank you , I remembered those morning races, now smiling proudly at the thought that I lost regularly...to an eight year-old girl. I just wish I knew then what I know now about her. Being able to say I was losing races to a future college scholar-athlete (and telling others that's why she was winning our races) would've been way easier for my bruised ego to take.

Having this unique opportunity - seeing students whom I taught, propel through middle and high school, has often given me cause to reminisce and to celebrate. The memories of working directly with these children, coaching them to their personal best, working with their parents, together, celebrating achievements, navigating challenges, and bouncing back from failures. These are special moments that I will always cherish and that I appreciate now, more than ever, particularly in a leadership role.

A Fishbowl

The direct impact of my efforts are no longer quite as clear or linear as they once seemed, when I taught. At times I do miss that sense of personal fulfillment, that one only gets from being in a classroom. But that experience has provided me a unique appreciation - for seeing the potential in all children. It's also given me the patience needed when implementing systems that don't always cooperate or deliver immediate results or outcomes on neat and orderly adult-established timelines.

In retrospect, I may have been able to predict that I'd someday be at a college signing day for this student. But I've also encountered many former students, who've defined their own brand of success, and in their own time. But I often wonder, what's become of the students with whom I've lost touch? How many others discovered their pathways well after their time under my care and supervision in the classroom? In the last five years, I've had the good fortune to see this, up-close, in my first years as a principal. And I've marveled at the improvement, confidence, and self-worth that students come to discover about themselves, and with varying degrees of adult support.

As Principal, I've committed myself to systematically moving an organization and all of it's members forward, and into position to impact the success of all of it's members: students, staff, parents, and community. And receiving a thank you card from a 17 year-old, serves to remind me of an important lesson...that we owe it to each and every student to have high expectations, high levels of  support for achievement, and tireless patience throughout the process. Because each child's success matters, and a child's defining moments may, or may not happen when it's right, for us.

A Mirror

Each day, the focus of my work is intensely driven by one question:

Is this a decision that is good for children?

It is a question on which I reflect several times each day. It also serves as a filter when I am faced with a challenging or difficult situation that hinges on making a decision with which I am faced. Evidence of this can be recognized in strategic personnel decisions, goals and outcomes that represent a delicate balance of academic, social, and emotional priorities for each student and for groups of students, and a master schedule that maximizes equitable academic opportunities while maintaining a challenging, balanced, and student-responsive middle level program.

And in the end, our most important accomplishments, our results, will be measured in our communities and in our society, and will outlast our direct impact, like that of a teacher, in a classroom, with a student. This will be seen in the form of how the contributions of those on whom our decisions have made an impact will impact others.

This is what becomes the legacy of our efforts.

For the remainder of this school year, I'm committing myself to honestly answering the following "What if" questions.

What if:

1. We consistently made concerted efforts to approach new situations openly, receptive to perceiving qualities that are consistent with future success?

2. We identified such qualities in each child we encounter, keeping the option for success open, daily?

3. We approached every new situation with a learner mindset, expecting and demanding the best of ourselves and those around us?

4. We shifted our thinking, our conversations, and our perspectives?

5. We started viewing ourselves as "leaders creating leaders"?

And...consider the alternative. 

What could happen if we didn't?

Making Connections

As “Connected Educator Month” draws to a close,  I’m thankful for friends and colleagues with whom I’ve connected, at school, through Twitter chats, Google Hangouts, Voxer conversations, webinars, and face-to-face, in professional conferences and workshops. These experiences have continuously nourished my hunger for professional growth and have provided a sense of indescribable camaraderie. In my wildest dreams, I couldn’t have imagined this was possible, and I continue to become a better learner and a better leader, through the generosity of other connected educators.

But if I had to choose one event that has defined my "connectedness" this month, I’d have it say it occurred over a four-day stint that was spent…in “the Valley”. More specifically, Frost Valley YMCA, in the heart of the Catskills Mountains, in upstate New York.

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My relationship with my daughter has always been fulfilling. She’s an “old soul”; selfless, unassuming, coachable, and diligent. I can say with great humility, that if I’ve gotten one thing right in my life, the kind of person she’s becoming tells me she’s evidence of that.

Then she turned 13.

We all hear the "horror stories" of what happens when children become teenagers. They become moody. They stop talking to you. They become introverted and isolate themselves. This fear of losing this special father-daughter relationship was something I dreaded. With each passing day in middle school, I awaited that fateful day, when she’d cease communicating with me, only to resume normalcy sometime in her 20's (as legend would have it).

And then along came her school’s 8th grade class trip. I was chosen to accompany her and her classmates, as a chaperone. And she wanted me to go.

Was I dreaming?

“The Frost Valley Trip” is one that has received local status, as the trip of all trips. Central to the experience are elements of adventure, environmental education, nature, and fun. The tasks on this trip are known to test one's ability to work as a team member, to persevere through unfamiliar and complex challenges, and perhaps most challenging, to abandon the comforts of home. No home-cooked meals, no warm bed, no family time. No use of technological devices.

That's right - no modern technology - for four straight days.

No cell phone. No tablet. No lap top. No desktop. No television. No. Technology.

This was perplexing, troubling, and borderline unfathomable. While “kids today” use technology as a tool for communication, socialization, and learning, I’ve recently started to question how I might “get by” without a device in-hand. I rely on an iPhone that functions as a watch, calendar, and camera. I use it to send and receive email, to tweet, as well as the more tradition application of placing and receive calls. And if I ever have a question about anything I’ve ever wondered, all I have to do is “ask” my device. The iPad has become something that can also do these things, as well as serve as a tool for teacher observations. The more sedentary option, the desktop, is where countless hours are spent, running and reading reports, drafting presentations, and researching and compiling a collection of best practices.

You call this, “Connected Educator Month”?

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As our bus climbed, weaved, and traversed the unfamiliar Catskills Mountains, our service connection dwindled, dissipated, and then altogether vanished. We were left with an unfamiliar feeling of being dis-connected. After collecting our bags, marching uphill to our cabins, and unpacking, we were ready for our four day (tech-free) challenge.

Upon arrival to the site, we were divided into pre-assigned groups of children and adults. Every day, we got messy. We took arduous hikes and participated in a series of strategic teambuilding activities. We picked apples and made cider. We gathered in a circle around a fire pit and shared a read-aloud about how apples of varying colors, shapes, and sizes, when mixed together into a cider, blend well. We studied pond-life, canoed, toured a local historical mansion and estate, and accepted a physical challenge to climb a rock wall with one of three levels of difficulty.  And we reunited three times a day to break bread (where I officially and informally was able to check in with my daughter). Nightly, over 200 students, chaperones, and staff returned to cabins for a good night’s sleep only to start over the following day.

So what does any of this have to do with being connected?

For most of my adult life, I’ve allowed my professional pathway to define my personal identity – as an administrator and a teacher. These labels have been and continue to be a source of pride for me. I am an educator, a leader, and a learner. And I am proud of it.

However, this month, on this trip, I found myself, quite unexpectedly, re-connecting with old familiar labels - dad, teacher, student, (inner) child. It happened quite unintentionally, and it never felt so good.

As the parent of an adolescent, I came to realize the vulnerability and uncertainty that comes with the role of both parent and child. I negotiated “the dance”, resisting the urge to remain by her side and allow her the space to call on me for support, if she needed it. (She did greet me each morning with a “Good morning” and a fleeting peck on the cheek.) There alongside other parents (and more specifically, other dads), we openly expressed our gratitude for being granted time away from work - to unconditionally love each of our kids there with us. As a former classroom teacher, I marveled at the boundless energy and enthusiasm exhibited by the teachers who organized and facilitated the learning activities, which made for an amazingly positive experience for the students. As a building administrator, I was impressed, with the real-time leadership of the Principal and his staff, anticipating and responding to issues as they arose, upholding the non-negotiable to treat each child as if he/she was their own. And as a “child at heart”, I appreciated hiking in the rain, playing in the dirt, climbing, running, and laughing…like a child. And I rooted for each child, as he or she pushed him/herself past their comfort zone, which, ironically, is how I’ve spent my past 18 years in education, and 13 years as a parent.

None of this would have been possible, if not for my generous Superintendent of Schools and an amazing daughter who asked me to accompany her on this trip, despite her adolescence.

So, how was this month connected, for me? I connected, with my daughter, with others with whom I could empathize, and I connected, with myself.

And I did it all, without my iPad or iPhone.