Leaving Cooperstown

Leaving Cooperstown last weekend was like leaving a loved one at the airport, knowing you aren't going to see each other for an indefinite period of time.  And it wasn't just the fact that I was in Cooperstown, like really in Cooperstown... this was amazing in itself and I will never forget walking the downtown streets, filled with baseball nostalgia and people and, of course, the Hall of Fame.  What was more even more surreal for me was the experience of watching 12 and 13 year olds play the game of baseball - the game I have loved and honored since I was a boy - with as much heart and ferocity as I have ever seen.  All of a sudden, it didn't matter that it was a steamy, blistering 99 degrees in the sun; it didn't matter that there was not a single spot of shade anywhere nearby... all that mattered were those boys and that field, out there playing the game of baseball.

So leaving hurt.  Leaving meant, for the boys, saying goodbye to the friends they had made from all across the nation; it meant that all that remained were memories of the times they had together, both on the field and later at night in the bunkhouses, keeping their coaches up late and playing games that only boys staying in a bunkhouse - away from their parents - will play.  I have only heard half of the stories, I'm sure, and that's okay with me.  That is as it should be with the summers of our childhood.

Regardless of how many games they won (or lost), what matters is their experience and the memories they created. These are the things that will last a lifetime.  Sure, they picked up a wealth of knowledge about the game of baseball - after all, they were playing teams from all across our great nation; teams from California, Florida, Georgia, Pennsylvania, Ohio, New York and New Jersey.  There was even a team from Canada. 34 teams in all, some of whom play all year round.  But it is the life experiences that will stick with them, and I began to think about school (of course), and what it is we really hope kids walk out our doors knowing, remembering, feeling, thinking and caring deeply about.  This will be the subject of my next post.

Vacation

Heading out for vacation today and ironically, I came across a post on Twitter about putting the "vacate" in your vacation.  I spoke about this with my colleagues, who encouraged me to leave the laptop closed and "step away from the inbox."  I wanted to fight back and assured them that, if they really needed me, I would be available by phone and that I could still check my email at night when everyone went to sleep.... They looked at me with crooked smiles on their faces and gave me a playful shove.  I know, I thought to myself - don't worry about it.  This is exactly what they were thinking.

At a previous school, I had teachers who begged me "not to learn anything new" while I was on vacation. They explained that, whenever I came back I always had fresh ideas for them to try out in their classrooms.  This translated, of course, into more work for them, more training that they would need, and definitely more time away from their own rest and relaxation...

While I am a firm believer in always learning new things, I have a new appreciation of vacation and what it means to treat your people well.  It has only taken me twelve years as a public school administrator to figure it out...

1.) Leaving your work at work while you're on vacation allows others to step up and take charge.  If you have been transparent and included your people every step of the way, they've got it under control.  Let them step up.  They can do it.  Trust them.

2.) Leaving your work behind while you are on vacation allows you to free your mind.  You need to do that.  I have learned that, miraculously, everything will still be there when you get back...  and running just the way you left it.  This doesn't mean that your employees don't need you, like I used to think in my early days of administration; it just means that people have learned from you.  Be proud of that, and be proud of them.

So I leave today for New York.  It is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, as my son and his baseball team play for the next few days in Cooperstown.  My wife and I will live the lives of baseball parents - cheering, rooting, soaking up the sun, and just being.  I will finish reading the novel I have been reading on and off for the last year, and I will let my mind wander.  I will enjoy the road trip for the sheer excitement and driving pleasure that is a road trip.  And I will leave work behind.  Somewhere in the back of my mind I am trying to tell myself that I deserve it.

Lesson #1131

     The first half of the school year - in the books.  For me, the year meant change, and it has certainly lived up to everything people associate with this term.  For starters, the year would mark my entry into eleven years of public school administration.  Eight of the previous ten had been served as an elementary school principal, and the two before those as a middle school dean/assistant principal.  I made a switch this year, and am back at the secondary level, serving as principal for 1,000 middle schoolers.
     I wake up every morning, loving what I do with utter devotion and passion.  I knew the change would be difficult, and I would miss my little ones dearly; it is always hard when you face the reality of not being there every day, week after week, year after year, and I am pretty sure that leaving was harder for me than it was for them... However, just being around kids every day, no matter what the age, no matter how big they are or how much they try and push you away, is a blessing for me.  I am thankful that I get to work at a place I love, to be with people I look forward to seeing, to think thoughts that never end, to labor so intensely it leaves you emotionally and spiritually drained at the end of every day.
   
   I don't know if I would ever change that.

     To all of those who work in public education, whose first waking thoughts every day are on the children, who go to bed every night thinking about the kids you will encounter, and have an impact upon, the next day - Create memories for your students, be the difference makers, fathers, mothers, counselors, coaches, teachers, and friends.  Do good things for others.  Have a blessed 2013.

Thinking

We wrap up the year by meeting with friends and family.

We gather at long tables, around drinks and food, congregate in people's homes.

Too often these are places we don't normally frequent throughout the year.

Too often we don't keep up with these people.  

Too often these are our very own family members, friends we used to know, yet we now find ourselves grasping for words, questions to ask, topics that will hopefully spark some conversation.
We get wrapped up in jobs, our careers...
We try and better ourselves,
find Success,
yearn for Glory,
desire more Money,
come up with Reasons...
We think, at the end of the day, that we should be doing more, that
We could have done this differently,
We could have worded that a different way,
We should have worn the red tie today instead of the blue one,
We shouldn't have said that... what were we thinking?

What are we thinking?

Family Leadership

"Leadership can be thought of as a capacity to define oneself to others that clarifies and expands a vision of the future."    

- Edwin H. Friedman

Being an effective leader requires having a vision and being highly transparent about it.   This is also true for husbands, fathers, and leaders of the family.  Understanding that people will not follow you unless they believe in your vision and understand where you are going, you must ask if you have thought this through; have you have intentionally planned out your path?  Andy Hargreaves, an internationally reknowned writer, researcher, consultant and author, says this: "Be relentless about your purposes..."  We need to focus on the clear path, making sure people understand where we are going and what our purpose is before we can expect them to trust us and follow.

Baseball is a simple enough analogy to understand. There is only one end goal in mind - winning. Whether its one game or the pennant or the World Series title, that is why a player plays the game. Certainly, players love the game itself; passion motivates people to want to do well; the spirit of competition inspires athletes to want to play hard and to win. But the vision and the mission is clear: win baseball games.

What is true, then, of leaders? What is true of husbands, of fathers, of dads, of mentors and coaches? For these people, having a clear focus is critically important. And yet it is something that is sometimes overlooked. Especially in places like the home. I have to ask myself as a husband and a father, if I have a clear vision for how I want to lead in my marriage, how I want to lead as a father, as a daddy; what morals and values do I want my children to have?  Have I intentionally worked on this?  Do my children know what I stand for?

If I say that family comes first, do I have a clear vision for my family? What message am I sending if, after a long day at school, I come home and lounge in front of the television for the next four hours until bed?

  

Doug Reeves said you should have a vision so clear that someone from another country, though they may not speak your language, would know what it is.  Although this was a keynote delivered to school leaders, family leaders need to apply this in the home as well.  Dream big in whatever areas of your life you lead.  Nothing happens in leadership without dreams (Reeves).

Winter Break Thoughts on School

The clear blue sky gives way to a more appropriate grey-colored hue on this cold winter morning.  I was actually hoping for tons and tons of snow, until my wife kicked me and reminded me that we are driving to Colorado in just two days, and to please keep my selfish thoughts to myself until we get there.  I oblige.  My thoughts turn, instead, to other things - this is not hard for me to do - and end up where they usually do.  For anyone working in schools, this is always where our thoughts end up: in our classrooms, offices, hallways, cafeterias, playgrounds.  I received a call yesterday from a teacher, who was supposed to be on winter break, telling me that the lights which are supposed to be illuminating the school at night were apparently not on.  I reminded her that, although it was a dismal day, it was still day.  Those lights do not come on until dark.  She gave an uncomfotable little laugh.  I asked her what she was doing at school and reminded her that she was supposed to be taking time off to rejuvenate.  She said she was doing this - at school.

This is typical of many teachers, of many educators, and although I, myself, don't go in over a holiday break, I find myself constantly thinking of school.  I can't help it, and I share this story today.  Because I can't stop thinking of school...

Walking the hallways one day, I happened upon an unusual thing.  It was after making my usual morning rounds up and down the halls, in and out of classrooms, talking with kids and the occasional teacher if I happened across one on her way to the work room.  Most of the time I will stop in a classroom if I see or hear something cool and exciting going on and I want to be a part of the action.  It is the best way for me to know what's going on with kids and with teachers.  I need to feel connected, and I can't think of a better way to do this than by being out and about for a good portion of each day. 

On this day, I happened upon a classroom where I didn't hear a thing.  Not too unuusal; I mean, the kids were in there, this much I knew for sure, because I had already made a pass on my way to another room and I saw them in there.  And I saw the teacher.  And you could hear a pin drop.  I thought maybe they were taking a test, or someone was dreaming up an answer to a question posed just the moment before and I hadn't heard.  So I moved on, not being one to interrupt in serious moments of thought like what was certainly happening here.  I stopped for another visit on the classroom across the hall, where these kids and their teacher were dancing a Mexican Cumbia.  Very typical in this classroom, these kids were intensely focused on their maestro, as he moved with them through the steps in this dance.  I joined in and everyone laughed at my two left feet.  After breaking for a few hugs and some discussion on the history of the dance in this very important culture at our school, I bade them goodbye and returned to the classroom across the hall. 

From the moment I stepped out into the hallway, I could hear only sounds wafting from the lively room I had just closed the door on.  My heart broke as I moved into the doorway of the quiet room across the hall and witnessed the students sitting in perfect quiet (minus pencils scribbling) at their desks, their teacher staring out at them from her perch at the front of the room.  Books were open on each child's desk and they were furiously scribbling definitions from the vocabulary section of a basal reader.  I cautiously made my way about the room, attempting to engage the eyes of at least one child.  No one would dare look at me.  The teacher made no attempt to rise from her desk, if only to look over the work of her pupils, ensure that she was checking their understanding (although I cannot answer what it is they are supposed to glean from simple copying)... something.  At least something in the way of engaging these children. 

There are two ways of responding in these situations - the right way, or the way I wanted to respond.  The way I really wanted to respond would have caused serious repercussions for me, in the form of low teacher morale and feelings of inadequate self-worth. This is not something any principal needs when the education of children is at stake.  Everything we do translates back into the classroom.  The way I did respond is undoubtedly the right way. It is not always the easiest, of course, as tough conversations never are, but the results are definitely worth the planning and preparation that go into having them.

As I spoke with that teacher in the privacy of my office later that day, sharing with her the notes from my reflections that day, and asking her direct questions about the teaching practices and techniques I witnessed, some genuine, reflective conversation around pedagogy ended up taking place.  I understood but disagreed with her on some issues, and she with me.  That was okay.  The important thing is that she felt comfortable disagreeing with me, which was why we were able to come to some mutual understandings on my expectations for how things run in this school, while still allowing her the creative liscense she desires as an educator.  She agreed to try some things, and I agreed to be patient and help her along when I noticed her getting stuck in old ways that come from years and years of doing things the same way.  The status quo. 

I, by no means, rule with an iron fist.  I like to think I treat adults like adults, and that I have no need to look over their shoulder all day long.  At the same time, there are certain things I am responsible for, and the bottom lines for me are student achievement and social well-being.  This begins with relationships, but that is the subject of another post... 

Outside, it has started to snow.  Much to my wife's dismay.

This Christmas

On a gloomy Wednesday afternoon, no sun in the sky to speak of and a few hours of Christmas shopping under our belts, my son and I plop down in the living room and breathe a sigh of relief.  It is over with.  Or so I think.  For there always seems to be yet one more person to buy for, one more gift we "should have bought."  I start to get nervous and my head starts to pound.  Did we buy enough?  Is there someone we forgot?  Will the kids be satisfied?  Always there is this nagging thought that lingers until the day has passed.  And I begin to find myself hoping for it to pass.  That is the shame of it all.

My thoughts turn to the kids at school.  The ones in my school and so many others like it.  The ones who don't get Christmas, who don't look forward to two weeks off.  For these kids, this is two weeks away from perhaps the only caring, stable environment they know.  These parents don't worry about how much money they will be spending on their kids because there isn't any extra money to spend.  And the kids know that.  And they are okay with that. 

Let me repeat the last line.  They are okay with that.  This is an important point because this is, possibly, the biggest difference betweeen the so-called "haves and have-nots."  These kids don't need us to feel sorry for them; they don't need hand-outs, as so many people are quick to think.  Poverty is a horrible, ugly thing.  Kids and families who are living in poverty wil be the first to tell you that.  But they have learned something that many others have not.  Family is everything.  Relationships come first, and when the chips are down, family is what matters most.  Not worrying that someone will be happy with the gift we bought them at Christmas.

This Christmas, let's not worry about the things we don't have.  Let's not worry about the last-minute shopping we should be doing.  Because what we should be doing is counting our blessings and spending these two weeks we are fortunate enough to have off, with our families. 

Funeral in December

Today was a day to remember, for all the wrong reasons.  Adults and children alike were crying - sobbing - into each other's shoulders, holding onto each other, coming together as one in a way I have not seen in a while.  Over the funeral of a child.  She was a 6th grader who had just left us last year; so recent I still remember that she did not show up for the 5th grade graduation ceremony we hold every year for our students, and the time I spent with her in the office, patiently discussing some of the choices she had been making, the grandma she loved so dearly and who would be so disappointed to learn of her poor decisions if I had to call her.  We talked of her father, and how he had died a few years ago, how she made bad decisions sometimes because of her anger over him not being there for her, how he would definitely want her to do the right thing. 

As Christmas fast approaches, I think of the family and the horrible timing of this event.  I think of how stressful holidays can be for many families, and how hollow it will be for this particular family.  At the same time, I think of how proud I am of my teachers who attended the visitation with me today, of how strong they were, of my health clerk who stayed the whole day with the family, and with 6th grade girlfriends who needed a familiar face, and who had so many questions about death and about why and about how, and who wanted someone to buy them lunch later on in the day... which she gladly did. 

Sometimes life does not go as we plan.  Sometimes we struggle to understand the whys and the hows and we can't comprehend that there just are no earthly answers to so many of our questions.  It is even harder when something like this so unexpectedly happens to someone so young, someone who had so much to give and so much more time on earth.  And how to explain all of this to children when we don't even have the answers ourselves? 

Later today, I discovered a few teenagers back at the elementary school where I work.  It was late afternoon, many teachers had gone, but many were still hard at work and would be for another few hours yet.  Teachers are, by far, the hardest working people I know.  These teens had all gone through our elementary school and were all at least a year or two into middle school.  A couple of them were at the funeral earlier today.  They had come back to a familiar place, a place they knew they were welcome at any time, a place they had grown to love because of the people inside - the people who had spent so much time with them over the years, the people who treat these kids as if they were their own.  There is only one thing that I hope children leave our school with, above all else - a sense that they are important, that they have purpose and that they matter in this world.  They get this from the adults who care about them, and if they have that, they can get through anything.  Even a funeral in December.

Sunday Thinking

As I sit here thinking about this blog, which I haven't updated in months, I decide to come up with a list of reasons that I can go to when I need to make excuses.  So here goes:

1. Too many books to read
2. I don't have any ideas to write about
3. It's too much work
4. My dissertation takes up all of my time (I haven't written a word in two weeks)
5. My wife's to-do list for me is too long
6. I'm depressed because I have to put up the Christmas decorations
7. I have teacher evaluations to write
8. I still have teacher evaluations to write
9. Too many emails to answer
10. My kids won't turn off the TV and it is OH SO distracting....

I could go on.  Really, I could.  There is always so much to do, and I am really, really bad with managing my time.  Many of us are.  And I think blogging is important, it is good for people, and it keeps people together - a community sharing ideas and learning from one another.  And so I will fire it back up again, get the juices going.  Because I have a lot to say.  Whether you want to hear it or not.

The Drive to Keep Moving

I will write about the above topic in the coming days.  I have been so busy working on my dissertation as of late that I have neglected blogging.  In reality, it could have helped me....

I Hear Things

I hear things I don't want to hear.
Things that should never be.
Things that are not fair.
Things that hurt.
Things that mean I will never be the same, and are supposed to make me stronger.
But that is not the way it happens.

It was the week before last and I was resigned to the fact that it would be what I call an "office day."  This is when I find myself so backlogged by phone calls, emails, reports and other administrivia, that I lock myself in and tell myself that if I don't get this stuff done, I will be fired.  It rarely works, but on this day, it did.  I stayed.

No walking the halls,
No schmoozing with the parents who stay for hours after dropping their kids off,
No trying to fix all of the problems that weren't mine.

And then this mother came in.  Her first grade son was with her, and he was looking despondent.
I ushered them in to the office, cleared a chair for them, and sat across from them.
In cases like this (not that I knew what kind of case it was yet, but you could just tell), I always sit with them at a table that I have in my office.  Behind my desk wouldn't be right.
I have known this parent for a few years.  All of her kids had gone through the school, and she had two left - the boy now sitting on her lap, and a second grade daughter, probably sitting in class.

As she started to talk I focused on the boy.
His eyes were hollow.  He stared at the floor, not really seeing.
It appeared that he could not lift his head off of his mother's shoulder.  It had rested there, propped and held by her expert maneuvering, even as she sat down and took off gloves and hats and scarves and began to speak.
Her husband, the boy's father, had just been diagnosed with a rare cancer.
Terminal.
She said it was terminal and yet she kept on speaking, her voice unwavering, her eyes glued to mine, and her one free hand stroking, gently stroking her son's sandy brown head of hair.
I asked if there was anything I could do.
She declined, only to request that I let her know if there was a change in her children's behavior.
And she took my hand.
Told me there was nothing to be done.
Thanked me though there was nothing I could think of that she should be thanking me for.

I realized I had been crying only after she had left and walked her son to class.
I was not embarrassed, only wished I had not cried in front of her.
Wished I could have been stronger.
Wished, sometimes, that I did not have to hear things, that I could just sit at my desk and answer phone calls and return emails and fill out reports and fix all of the little problems that people wanted me to fix.