I had a conversation with a student toward the end of the year – it was just a quick chat in the hallway – while she was on her way to class. She was late and I knew she hadn’t been here the day prior, and so I wanted to quick follow up with her on a conversation we had had earlier in the week. Coincidentally, I ran into her in the hallway on that day as well.
(Sidebar – I think our most productive conversations might be had in the hallway, on the off-chance we run into someone and take that opportunity to do a quick “how ya’ doing?”)
Turns out she had taken a “mental health” day to process some of the things we had spoken about earlier that week. She needed it. I would encourage anyone to do the same – adults and students alike. You need to be the best version of yourself in order to be available for anyone else. On an airplane, it’s why they tell you to put the oxygen mask on yourself first. You need to be there for your little ones (or anyone else, for that matter). You can’t do that if you’re not healthy – physically, mentally, emotionally.
Back to my kid in the hallway. I walked with her to class. As I had mentioned, she was already running late. I asked her: “What Now?” I wanted to know what happened next. I mean, she took a day off to take care of herself. Perfect. Take it if you need it. But then what’s next? What’s your plan? Don’t just show up without a plan, tell me you spent the day on the couch – feeling sorry for yourself – and now you’re here without a plan for moving on, for taking care of yourself now that you’re back in the swing.
She looked at me before she walked into class. We were only a minute late. I don’t panic about tardies unless they’re chronic. And then I still don’t panic, really (This is another sidebar, perhaps a topic for another day).
The response was one pretty typical of teens: “I don’t know; I haven’t thought that far ahead.” And I knew we’d be meeting again.
So are you living your best life? How do you know? Are there things you need to follow up on? Questions that nag at you that need answering? How will you answer them? How will you make the time to ensure that you really, really understand what it is that’s bothering you?
One of my favorite quotes that I’ve been pondering recently comes from author, speaker, entrepreneur and internet personality Gary Vaynerchuk. He said: “You’re not coming back. Now live like that.” If you lived every day like that, what would it look like? How are you living your best life? If you can’t answer that, take a day off. Think about it. Come back with a plan. Take care of yourself.
I sometimes wonder what my school would be like without me in it. Without me here every day, greeting kids and visiting classrooms and walking through the hallways and meeting with teachers and talking to students and… the list goes on.
And I wonder what teachers feel as well. Not about me, but about themselves. If they wonder what their classrooms would be like without them. If they wonder about the school they spend so much of their lives in, and what would happen if they were no longer there. If they care about that. Because they should.
I have a feeling that I know what most teachers would say. And if they won’t say it aloud, I know what they are probably thinking. I would bet they have this crazy notion that they are replaceable; that someone else could come in here and do this job, teach these kids, put their heart and souls into this work – this important, awe-inspiring, work of giants – and that if they were to leave, if they were to no longer be here one day, then life would just go on and these kids would continue to come to school every day and learn with someone else standing in front of them, next to them, with them.
I know that there are teachers out there who feel that way. And perhaps with good reason. Perhaps, over the years, they have been made to feel this way – that they are replaceable and that anyone could come in here and do what they do on a daily basis. Some may have even lost some of the spark that drew them to this work in the first place. And I would say I understand that.
I understand why someone would feel that another body could come in and pick up where the previous teacher left off. Because, indeed, that is truly what happens, right? I mean, there can’t just be an empty classroom left behind. Right?
But it is. It is an empty classroom. And sure, it might fill up over time; it might fill up with energy and warmth and all of the good stuff that is created when the synergy of a passionate teacher combines with kids to create an excellent teaching and learning environment. That might happen.
But the SOUL of that classroom. The soul of that classroom left hollow by YOU, the TEACHER, the NURTURER, the CAREGIVER, the COACH, the COUNSELOR, the MOM or DAD they don’t have at home. YOU might be the only thing she looks forward to seeing each day, the ONLY one that keeps her coming back through these doors every day.
So I know what you might be thinking, teacher. But you’re wrong. You can’t be replaced. And if you haven’t thought about how your classroom, your school, looks or feels like without you in it, read this again. Let it sink in.
I wrote previously that culture is about knowing who you are and about knowing your people, and about how you can’t know your people unless you know yourself and where you’re coming from and your emotions and where your head and heart are at.
The next step, after making sure you have those pieces in place to the best of your ability, is to align your core beliefs with your daily actions so that people who work in the organization understand that this is who we are, and this is just what we do here. Everybody in the establishment needs to understand that that is what the culture is here.
If people can’t align the core values that have been established to their personal and outward daily actions, then they don’t belong here. It’s that simple.
And then again, it’s not simple at all, is it. It’s not as simple as saying, “please align with these core values and beliefs.” You’ve seen it all too often – people sit in a room with the best of intentions, they work together to hammer out what everyone believes will be the mission and vision of the school, and then the year gets going, people get lost in their work behind closed doors, things take place, honest, open discussion doesn’t happen as often as it should (always to the detriment of the group… and the students), and all of a sudden it’s the end of the year and the organization’s Core Beliefs, or those finely tuned Mission and Vision statements, all of which everyone worked so hard on and were so excited about, are a distant memory.
Roland Barth wrote, “Show me a school whose inhabitants constantly examine the school’s culture and work to transform it into one hospitable to sustained human learning, and I’ll show you students who graduate with both the capacity and the heart for lifelong learning.”
The notion presented here by Barth ties in directly with my point – unless a school and its inhabitants are constantly examining shared beliefs, core values, mission statements, big picture visions and the like, the direction of the organization can tend to get lost, the path muddied. It is worth remembering that if it is worth saying, if it is worth bringing people together and spending any substantial amount of time on a thing, then it is worth repeating. Multiple times.
This quote by Barth is one I had come across many years ago, probably during that 1st principalship I held at Murphy Elementary School. Like the discussion I had with the Mayor over lunch before the start of that year, this idea has stuck with me through the years, and done a lot to help in the formulation of my thoughts around schools and teaching and learning and students and communities. I ended up staying at that elementary school for 8 years before receiving the internal call to move on. During those years, the idea from Barth that one needed to constantly examinethe school’s culture stuck in my head like no other idea ever has.
For 8 years, we examined the school culture. For 8 years, we talked about and discussed school culture. What it looked like in everyday action, What it sounded like in classrooms and in hallways, in the cafeteria and on the playground, What it felt like to outsiders who came into our building, and What it meant if something wasn’t working how we wanted it to work.
These were not easy conversations, some of these. We didn’t like to admit when we had it wrong. We didn’t like how it felt to discuss with people when they weren’t living up to the expectations that we had so painstakingly and lovingly announced publicly. We didn’t like the feeling of starting over constantly. What we discovered throughout this process, however, was that we weren’t wasting our time having fruitless conversations around test scores and academic initiatives. Were these important? Of course they were. We knew that, and they were in place. They had a purpose. They are part of life in the schoolhouse. But they were taking care of themselves.
Because we engrossed ourselves in conversations around Culture and how to constantly “Do Culture” better, everything else took care of itself. After 8 years, we were the only elementary building in the district to be meeting and exceeding in all areas of AYP (remember this??). And the only thing we changed was the Culture of the building. It was the only thing that mattered.
“Schools should be the richest and most soul- and mind-inspiring places they can be.” I saw this quote somewhere and wrote it down in a safe place. So safe that I just ran across it again years later. A quick Google search did not immediately reveal the source of the quote, so for now it remains anonymous. I know it is from some book I’ve read, and I’m so very thankful that I ran across it again. So let’s look at this a little bit and try to understand what it means to be the richest and most soul- and mind-inspiring place.
I write from my current vantage point, which is High School Principal, but my thoughts can always be altered to come from the elementary or middle school levels as well. I have had stints as principal at all three levels, and so my thoughts sometimes blend and always begin with students first.
I wonder what would happen if our meetings with staff and faculty began with this question: “What are we doing to ensure that our schools are the richest and most soul- and mind-inspiring places they can be?” What kinds of responses would we get? I bet they would look like they had been ripped from the Anytown USA School District Mission page. You would see things like: Ensuring that our students are lifelong learners, and Providing all students with a challenging curriculum and Helping students become productive citizens. And these responses are just fine. There is nothing wrong with these answers, and no one would say we don’t want those qualities in our own children.
But what does that look like? How is our school the richest? How is our school the most soul-inspiring? How is our school the most mind-inspiring? How do we know? Where is our proof?
When I can walk into a high school classroom and find students coloring a map of the world… is that my proof? When I walk into a high school classroom and see kids frantically scribbling notes from a lecture… is that my proof? When I walk into a high school classroom and notice kids with their heads down at the back of the room… is that my proof? When I walk into a classroom that is being subbed by a guest teacher and kids are mindlessly watching a movie… is that my proof?
Certainly there are, without question, MANY classrooms that look and feel exactly the opposite from my examples above. I can go out on any given day and do random walkthroughs and find examples of stellar teaching and learning that is rich and absolutely soul- and mind-inspiring. Make no mistake. What I am wondering is, “what about the rest?” What about the rest of the kids, the rest of the classes kids are sitting in, perhaps bored, or completing mindless tasks, or… just not learning.
One could easily say well, yes, but let’s make sure we are putting blame where blame is due. Let’s make sure we are properly holding kids accountable. After all, it can’t simply be the quality of the teaching, or the content of a lesson, that is causing kids to be bored and/or “not learn,” can it?
Really. Can it?
I would urge you to think about the typical high school student’s day. Look at the typical high school student’s eight-period schedule with a lunch installed in the middle of the day, a study hall if she’s lucky, and the rest of the day taken up by back-to-back classes of 45 minutes each, with bells interrupting each period. If she is a high-level student, she is probably taking Honors and/or Advanced Placement (AP) classes, which even compounds the issue further.
That one study hall is probably being used to watch Netflix in an attempt to de-stress from the day, hang out with friends, or maybe catch up on some homework that didn’t quite get finished. The issue with a straight, back-to-back eight-period day is that the learning which might be taking place cannot even begin to compare, say, to the learning that takes place out of school – the things I really want to be learning. I know for myself, that when I’m learning something and I’m really deep into it, I am not going to stop and switch gears after 45 minutes.
I know I brought up a sticky point, here. I implied that the only time someone ever really learns anything is outside of school. But that is only one half of the story. I have learned many great things during my time in school; granted, they were only cursory glimpses into things (like Greek Mythology or 20th Century English Literature or Creative Writing), and I am highly thankful and may not have ever learned of this content had I not attended these classes. But where did I really, deeply learn about this subject matter? Certainly not during a 45 minute class period, where just when I was starting to get into it, the bell rings and I’ve got to switch gears and try to pay attention in algebra. I hate algebra. I’m no good at algebra.
There is another point that needs some clarification here, which my loathing of algebra calls to mind: the power of the teacher. There can be no replacement for a highly energetic, passionate, caring, patient teacher. Even though I hated algebra; despite my intense anxiety and sudden stomach aches an hour before I had to be in that algebra class, my high school algebra teacher was caring and she was patient and she clearly LOVED the content, and THAT made all the difference in the world for me. To this day I don’t love algebra, but I am somewhat good at it, and I never fell asleep in her class because I didn’t want to disappoint or offend her.
Still, our current system is not working for everyone. Something needs to be done. For the sake of everyone.
Where do we start? I would say that a good place would be with the question:
What are we doing to ensure that our schools are the richest and most soul- and mind-inspiring places they can be?
Through a culmination of life events, on-time choices and a few perchance happenings in my life, I have found myself wanting to be the most successful in the world at what I do.
And it is not really even a want. It is a need, It is a burning desire. And I know how this sounds. I know this sounds gluttonous, perhaps, or even a little over the top and unnecessary and a little like perfectionist theory when we are usually telling kids to stop trying to be perfect and that no one is perfect – just be the best version of you. But I would tell you that this is wrong. Think about it. If you wake up in the morning and you roll out of bed, ready to get after it, and you are excited about the prospect of getting after it – whatever “it” is for you – it’s going to be a good day for someone.
It’s going to be a good day. For someone (besides yourself).
Because if you are rolling out of bed ready to hustle, ready to grind and you are actually excited about it, that will probably be good for you and will lead to your own feelings of goodness about yourself and being motivated and anxious to see what the day brings.
But it is probably even better – this burning desire for perfection – for the recipient. I’m sure of it.
If you don’t believe me, consider the students and colleagues of the ever-exuberant classroom teacher.
The teacher who gets out of bed at 5:00 so he can get to school by 6:00, There with the morning milk delivery. The same teacher who is waiting at the door for his students when they arrive – Each and every morning, The one who greets each one of them by name and with some type of silly handshake, Or perhaps with a quick check-in because he knows something was going on the night before.
He is the one who comes to each faculty meeting with a smile on his face, The one who sits up in the front, Even though some of his closest colleagues may be sitting toward the back. The teacher who asks questions and tries to get something out of the meeting, Even though there really isn’t much content relevant to his particular duties. It’s mostly administrivia and stuff that could have been put in an email.
Think about this particular teacher and the impact he is going to have on each person he comes into contact with every day. Think about his students every morning, and how his attitude and optimism make an indelible impression on each and every one of them. He has the power to take a bad day and make it manageable for receptive young adults. Some may even look forward to seeing him each day because they know It’s the only time that day they will receive any kind of warmth from anyone.
And think about his colleagues. The ones who aren’t thrilled to be at work that day (probably because they are viewing it as work). The ones who sit at the back of the faculty meeting and grade papers or chat or surf the internet instead of being attentive and showing respect to the presenter. The unsaid influence he has on these fellow teachers, the impact his smile and that pat on the back has, will go a long way toward their overall attitude and mood. They may not even realize it at the time…
I had a student come up to me last week. I was standing in the hallway at the end of the day, talking to a group of students before they departed for the weekend. If I remember correctly, one of them was crying over her worry at not being able to afford the college she wanted to attend. She’s a junior, mind you, but that’s a story for another post.
This student came up to join our group after he retrieved his belongings out of his locker. As we were preparing to go our separate ways, he turned and said, “I want to thank you. Without even knowing you did it, you helped me have a great day by what you said to me in the hallway earlier today.” “Well, you’re welcome. I’m glad I could help!” I offered up, with a smile and a fist bump. He walked out the door, clearly off to have a great weekend. To tell you the truth, I don’t even know what I said to him. I remember having a brief conversation with him, but couldn’t tell you which part of it was the catalyst for his great day.
But that really doesn’t matter. What matters is how he felt after speaking to me, no matter how brief our chat. What really matters is that we, as human beings, don’t leave anyone’s feelings to chance. What really, really matters is that we wake up every day wanting to be the best, wanting to be number one, and that we have a burning desire, an inner drive, to be the most successful in the world.
Someone is on the other end of your desire. While you are busy trying to be the best, someone is the unknowing recipient of all that greatness… greatness disguised as kindness, warmth, caring, hope, optimism. How great you want to be matters. It matters a lot.
“If the bottom line of life is happiness, then it makes perfect sense to say that it is the journey that counts, not reaching the destination.”~Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi
(repost from a previous blog post)
What do great leaders do differently from leaders? What separates an average leader from an extraordinary leader? One characteristic that has been weighing heavily on my mind of late is attitude. Great leaders set the example and must remember that everything counts. My office is housed upstairs in our school, and the quarters are, to say the least, cramped. It can be difficult to stay positive 100% of the time when there are days when you feel everyone is on top of one another. I began to notice that if I came in feeling grumpy, by nine in the morning, my whole office staff was on edge, which effects the parents who come in or call, and the teachers who tend to drop by and say hello while making copies. And this, of course, could have a less-than-positive effect on the children in those classrooms. I decided to try a little experiment. After all, I could not possibly have this much of an impact on everyone. Could I?
For one week, I came in bright-eyed and cheery, greeting everyone I ran into, shaking hands with one and all, even bringing coffee into the office staff. They thought I had gone a little haywire, but hey, I could tell that everyone was feeling good about themselves. All right, so this was fun, and I found myself feeling very productive and on top of my game, even though I had forced myself to play this little game. I wrote all of my observations in a notebook.
The next week, I purposefully went out of my way to be grumpy, cut people off in mid-sentence, yell at my office staff (even though it was difficult to find anything they were doing wrong), and just be in an overall foul mood. At around 2:00 in the afternoon, mid-week of the experiment, a teacher came looking for me. I was holed up in my office and hadn’t seen her or heard from her all week. She plopped herself down in a chair opposite my desk and said, “So, I hear you’re in a pretty bad mood. People are wondering what’s wrong with you.” I was dumbfounded. I was also happy to know that people noticed my moods.
Whether or not our moods have a positive or negative impact on the people we work with, it is our responsibility to put a positive spin on things. We have the power and obligation to filter what comes out of our mouths, what information we share with others, and to model what kind of behavior we expect out of people. It all starts with our attitude. We set the tone.
In the words of the Hungarian psychology professor, Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, “People who learn to control inner experience will be able to determine the quality of their lives.” And if we can accomplish this for ourselves, who knows what we might be able to help others accomplish. It’s worth a try, and those we serve are worth it.
Listen. I have to tell you this story. It’s one you may not have heard before, except in bits and pieces. And they are all important pieces, believe me, but they will make more sense once you see the whole picture.
The toddler came through the main entrance of the apartment complex and out into the bright sunshine with her mother following closely behind.
It was a cool day and a light snow had fallen earlier that morning. At the moment, standing on the sidewalk outside the complex, I had a feeling run through me similar to the one I experienced when the older siblings had first come to live with us: this could be the last time this little one sees her mother. This premonition had come true last time. I was hoping it wouldn’t turn out the same this time.
Upon seeing us waiting, the child’s mother began crying instantly. This was not what she wanted, but knew there was no other way.
The baby had to eat.
Without money, she had to find a way to put food on her table. Leaving the toddler with us was the only way she could see. I agreed, though it would not be easy. I reached my arms out to this little person who had only seen me on two other occasions. She immediately came to me and allowed me to pick her up.
Goodbyes happened quickly and mom kissed her baby on the face. I gave the mother a hug and promised her we would take good care of the child. She nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks.
I thought back to the courthouse scene when the judge handed her first four children over to my wife and I. Mom asked me if it was all right, asked me if we would do this for her.
Though the judge had just severed all legal ties and rights to her children, it was mom’s last effort at some sense of control. I did the only thing I could – I assured her it was the right thing to do and, with tears streaming down my own cheeks, assured her that they were in good hands.
My thoughts turned to my work at the high school. Selfishly, I knew I would not be able to take any days off to help with the demands an added child can sometimes require. My wife must have been reading my mind, knew the troubled look on my furrowed brow as we drove back home with our little bundle strapped into the back. She quickly asserted that this time would be different. This time we would elicit the help of others.
The number of people living in our home, the number of humans that I felt personally responsible for, had just grown to 9. We had become the size of a favorite TV family from the 70’s.
A former superintendent I worked for and admired would always tell the story of how she finished her dissertation under extreme circumstances. She had recently lost her daughter, and shortly thereafter been promoted to her first superintendency.
I never knew how she managed, and to this day still cannot fathom how one continues on after having experienced loss of this magnitude. Nevertheless, she did finish the requirements of her doctoral degree, and she did step into the role of superintendent. She did so with dedicated intention, even though there was a quiet storm brewing just underneath the entire time. It drove her forward and led her to doors she didn’t know were there; doors that might not otherwise have opened.
This is what I believe to be true: in life we are given only that which we are able to handle. We are given no more and no less, but it is up to each of us – as individuals – to figure out how to manage the load. We have still not figured out quite how to manage that which we have been given, but each day we get better, and each day we learn something new that is able to help us along the way.
My superintendent learned along the way, as well. She never missed an opportunity to talk about her daughter and those dark days when she first came to the realization that she would have to carry on without her. Talking about her memory helped her cope, helped her manage the pain of loss, and showed her that there was a way to carry on and still have a good, productive life.
The four siblings were waiting at the door when we pulled up with their little sister. We had told them in advance. Any type of change can send them into a flurry of uncontrollable excitement that doesn’t always end well, so we always try and prepare for anything that will look different in their lives.
This was a big difference, especially given we had no idea how long little sister would be with us. It was Christmas time, so we were hopeful that mom would want her back at least by the Big Day. We have also learned not to have too many expectations in this fluid world of foster care, emergency placements, and adoption, so we were prepared for anything.
As my former superintendent learned the hard way, life has a way of throwing you curveballs. It can be unpredictable, unreliable, but unmistakably steadfast in its resolve to show up every day ready for however you want to receive it.
We were bound and determined to face it head on and stare down any challenges it may have in store for us.
If you are a school leader, or an educator in any capacity, you’re looking at me and shaking your head right now. And you would be right.
One of the things I don’t do well is delegate. I have to admit that I am really quite bad at it, and that this has been on my mind a lot lately. Probably as a result of my Accountability partners – those people with whom I speak multiple times a week, if not daily. They hold me accountable, ask how I’m doing, if I’ve kept up with my commitments, and they do so in the nicest way possible. Truly, I think if they approached and took the stance of, “Why haven’t you done this yet like you said you would,” I’d probably be less inclined to push myself to these higher standards.
And that’s what they do: push me to higher standards. I don’t know if I’ve ever been as productive as I have been over the last few months. And it’s due, in large part – like, a REALLY large part – to having these friends in my life.
But really, this post isn’t about them. They WILL appear in it, and they WILL get their OWN, separate and even MORE awesome post, but this one is about me and DELEGATION and DROPPING things off of my to do list and the EMPOWERMENT of others.
My inability to delegate, as fixed-mindset as this sounds, is, of course, rooted in the best of intentions. I come across it honestly. A very long time ago, I learned that if I wanted something done to my liking, I needed to do it myself. It was proven to me time and again that, if I tried to put my trust in someone else to get something done, it was never done to my high standards.
The ones I set for myself. The ones I never shared with anyone.
Yes, you know where I am going with this. It’s in that line, “time and again.” After the first one or two times of not getting the results I wanted, this was on ME! No one else. The reasons for the outcome can vary – you weren’t clear enough in your instructions, you didn’t speak your expectations out loud (or loudly enough), you didn’t follow up with someone after they “failed” you the first time… the list could go on and on. But the one thing all of these excuses have in common is YOU. Or in this case, ME.
What ends up happening when we don’t break out of our own bad habits, or when we don’t stop telling ourselves that “I’m just bad at something (whatever that thing is),” is actually three things:
1.) We take EVERYTHING on ourselves;
2.) We don’t DROP anything off of our plates, and:
3.) We aren’t able to EMPOWER anyone else.
A good friend of mine pushed my thinking this week when she asked,
“What can you do to make it possible for others to lead?”
This floored me. I couldn’t answer. I truly didn’t know, and had to wait until this writing so that I could work it out. I have heard the phrase (and even used it once or twice), “I need to get out of my own head,” before. I could easily fall back on the excuse that I am not good at delegating. What’s probably closer to the truth is that I find it hard to delegate when I’m always thinking about what else I should be doing as a leader, that I am never doing enough, and, worse still, that there are actually other people out there who think I’m not doing enough.
See what I mean? I really need to get out of my head. It grips me, and it stops me from doing what I know how to do; from doing what I am good at.
And it keeps me from delegating to others so that they have a chance to lead, and it keeps me from dropping things off of my plate so that I can be free to do the really important things that I always talk about but never seem to get around to do doing, and it keeps me from empowering others.
It keeps me from investing in people well before their opportunity to lead even opens up.
IF I HAD REACTED BADLY IN THIS SITUATION, rest assured everyone within earshot would have been telling all of their friends that I had lost my temper and was not very approachable. I’m not sure I changed this parent’s mind about me that year, but the real issue, I knew, had nothing to do with me and I just had to grow a thicker skin. This was tough for me. As someone who doesn’t like conflict, this also means that I am much more comfortable around people who are usually getting along.
As I was to learn in the years to come, this doesn’t always happen in a school setting.
Even though adults are all there for the same reason – the students – they don’t always see eye to eye, and they definitely don’t always get along. I had better grow that thicker skin sooner rather than later.
But this is really where my second core value came into play, and came in handy. I have always understood that perception is reality, whether true or not. People are going to make all kinds of assumptions based on what they think is true; they will tell stories about what they see, about what they hear, and this will become fact. It will become what people talk about. And it will turn into an image of you, of your school, of the kids and teachers in your school… whether it is the truth or not.
That first day of school, I was walking around and introducing myself to parents, high fiving the kids, being goofy and having a good time. I don’t know if this is what the former principal had acted like. Maybe she was more stern than me, maybe she didn’t joke around with people, maybe she didn’t smile ‘til Christmas (this was actually something we learned in our undergrad program. I still can’t believe that one). Whatever the reason, the father who didn’t like me was most likely not ready for someone who looked like me; I mean, I was 33 years old at the time and definitely looked much younger than, perhaps, principals are expected to look? I don’t know what his reasoning was, but I know I thought about it a lot. Probably too much.
Either way, I knew that he had already made his mind up about me. His perception was his truth, and I could do nothing about that. But I also knew that I was on stage. I knew that everyone was watching me. People are like that when someone is new – they are watching your every move, waiting to pounce if you fail. Maybe even hoping you fail. These two manifestos go hand in hand – “Perception is Reality,” and “Everyone is Watching You.” Mess up while everyone is watching, and the new reality becomes everyone’s truth.
As I navigated that first year, one thing stood out to me more than anything else. This was not going to be easy, and it was not always going to be fun, but it WAS going to be the best I could make it, and I was still so VERY excited to be doing the work I was doing. It has always resonated with me how grateful I am to be working in the field of education. I have worked many jobs in my life – many of them directly out of high school, or while I was in college trying to support my young family. I have worked in a photo lab, worked on a food truck delivering meals to factories and warehouses, worked 3rd shift on an assembly line in an air filter factory, worked for a carpenter learning how to build room additions, shingle roofs, constructing backyard decks, worked for a construction company pouring concrete basements, and worked at my dad’s full-service pumping gas, changing oil and fixing tires.
NONE of them compared to this work. This was not work. This was the stuff I lived for. There was never a time when I wasn’t excited to go in to the school every day. ____________________________________________________________
We made it into the building that first day without further incident. The parents eventually left. I kept peeking out the front windows of the main entrance wondering what they were doing, when they would leave. My secretary had been in the building for at least a few years prior to my arrival and told me that they always do that.
“What for?” I asked. “Mr. Prickett, are you serious?” I must have looked pretty dumb. “These are their babies. This is harder for them than it is for their kids.””Oh,” was all I could muster. And then this: “Call me Jeff, would you please?” She looked at me and turned to walk away.From down the hallway, she hollered, “Okay, Mr. Jeff.”It was better than such a formal greeting. I wasn’t used to it, and didn’t know if I ever would be.
And she was right, of course. About the parents, I mean. It was 30 minutes or so before they had finally all dispersed and gone back home, or gone on to work, having given in to the fact that teachers weren’t going to come back out and return their kids to them for a few hours.
I walked down the first grade hallway.
I had no idea what to do.
There were 6 classrooms,
3 on either side of the hallway.
I decided to take a peek into the rooms,
see what goes on in a 1st grade classroom.
To my surprise,
there was a great old piano in the first room I walked into,
the teacher already sitting at it,
kids at her feet on an oval-shaped, braided rug,
singing songs of welcome.
My plan was just to pop in and welcome everyone for a minute or two, hang out around the edges of the classroom, not be much of an intrusion. After all, this was what I did at the middle school as an assistant principal the prior couple of years.
It didn’t quite work out that way.
Over time, I got the reputation of being quite a troublemaker. It wasn’t intentional – well, the “troublemaker” part wasn’t; what was VERY intentional, was the having fun at work part, the having fun with kids and with teachers part. If we couldn’t be serious about our work and still have fun, I didn’t want to be there.
When I say he walked the halls causing trouble, here’s what I mean. I had a classroom in the “basement” in a room with no windows. It would get so dark with the lights off, that there were emergency lights in that room. One day, as Mr. Prickett often did, he walked the halls to just look in and say hi. He came by my door, switched OFF my lights and walked away! As the kids started screaming, I yelled “Mr. Prickett…. get back here”. He slowly walked back in the room wondering why I called out for him! The kids were nuts telling him the lights just went off for no reason! I QUICKLY corrected the kids telling them what really happened. They thought it was the funniest thing ever. ~ Classroom Teacher ___________________________________________________________
