Our Words Matter

When I was in high school in the late 1980s and early 1990s, we did not have nearly the technology that's available to us in 2019, not that this should come as a galloping shock to anyone. So if we were to watch a video, on VHS, someone was typically dispatched to the end of the hallway to collect a TV/VCR combination from a rolling cart and bring it back to the classroom. On this particular day, I was sent on this errand.

As I left the room, I vaguely remember the teacher warning me to be careful about the electrical cord and not let it drag on the floor. Do you see where this is going?

I made it almost all the way back to my classroom when the cord slipped from the notch I thought I had secured it in, and it fell directly in the path of the wheeled cart. My forward motion pushed the entire cart, large TV and VCR, over and it crashed in the middle of a relatively quiet hallway. Doors flew open, and to be honest, the concern was only for the technology. The teacher whose classroom I was returning to had some choice, loud, public words for me:

"Didn't I tell you to be careful about the cord Ricca? What's the matter with you?" I am not ashamed to admit that I started crying, overwhelmed by the situation, my teacher's comments, and I disappeared into the guidance office.

I had my own moments with my own students that I'm not proud of as a teacher. In one of my first years teaching in Chicago, I lost my patience when a student of mine failed to turn in his homework (yes, I also cared too much about homework at that place in my career). I publicly questioned his commitment to the class, to our time together, and to his own education. When I was done embarrassing him, I got around to asking why he didn't do his homework.

"My little brother ran away last night, and we spent the night looking for him." I sadly repeated, in earnest, what had been done to me less than a decade earlier.

When I think about these moments in my own educational history, I'm reminded of a line from Dr. Haim Ginott, that has been in a frame in every single classroom I've taught in, and in every single office that I've worked in. "As a teacher, I possess tremendous power to make a child's life miserable or joyous. I can be a tool of torture or an instrument of inspiration. I can humiliate or humor, hurt or heal."

Now, I share these stories in full humility. I've failed in this regard as a husband, as a daddy, as a teacher, as a superintendent, and as a human being. I will fail again. I share this in full humility, hoping that others will not repeat my mistakes. They're easy to fall into and hard to climb out of. It requires a substantial amount of self-awareness and an endless supply of patience.

If nothing else, do remember how much our words matter, especially during this incredibly hectic time of year.

Photo courtesy of www.thegoalchaser.com

The Next Three Weeks

The next three weeks are going to be hard. They are going to be challenging. They are going to require every adult to find every ounce and shred of patience that we can muster, on a regular basis. Our students are going to be excited and anxious, some in anticipation, and some in dread, some with wonderful holiday traditions to look forward to, and some with none. If that feels and seems overwhelming, it is. I'm hopeful this quote from Mother Teresa can help us manage:

Do small things for others, with great love.

For the student whose family is atheists, for the colleague whose spouse is ill, for your own child who is on the autism spectrum, do small things with great love.

For the student who excels at everything, for the colleague you admire from afar, for your family member who can do no wrong, do small things with great love.

For the student who faces equity issues daily, for the colleague who can't seem to get out of their own way, for your spouse who struggles with addiction, do small things with great love.

For the student who always does their homework, for the colleague who always looks so "together," for your own child who at 14 is more confident than you are at 44, do small things with great love.

For the student who always does their homework, but has a parent struggling with addiction, do small things with great love.

For the colleague who always looks so "together," but daily visits an infirmed and homebound family member, do small things with great love.

For your own child who at 14 is more confident than you are at 44, who hides the social media stress they are consistently under, do small things with great love.

We have an opportunity in the next fifteen days together to make sure that when we arrive at this place, we all feel safe, welcomed and included. Every single person, with all their baggage, both visible and invisible, is safe exactly as they are at the St. Johnsbury School. Every single person, with all their baggage, both visible and invisible, is welcome exactly as they are at the St. Johnsbury School. Every single person, with all their baggage, both visible and invisible is included at the St. Johnsbury School.

It may seem like impossible work. But I offer you this, if we know our students, I mean truly know our students and if we know our colleagues, I mean really know our colleagues, we can do this. Together.

Do small things for others, with great love.

Photo courtesy of www.creativefabrica.com

With A Little Help From My Friends

Last Saturday, we continued the Ricca Family Tradition and celebrated our seventh Friendsgiving with almost fifty people in our home. The idea is a simple one: most of our friends will scatter around the state and the country to celebrate the official Turkey Day, and we want to have time to be with them and their families. My Wife and I prepare the turkey and the stuffing, provide dessert and drinks, and everyone brings a side dish to share.

We got up early and dressed the thirty-five-pound turkey, and Tom (as we affectionately call him every year) was in the oven, pre-heated to 325 degrees, at 8:30. He would stay there comfortably for at least the next six to six and a half hours. We had plenty of other things to do in the kitchen and the rest of the house after that. We would check on the turkey periodically, baste it, and make sure it was progressing as we would expect it to.

Around 11:30, when My Wife checked in on Tom, there was a little smoke coming up from the bottom of the oven. Some of the chicken stock we had put in the bottom of the roasting pan had "leaped" out of the pan and was smoking. We carefully pulled Tom out and put him on top of the oven and tried to figure out what to do. Ultimately we decided to use baking soda to stop the smoldering, but that left us in a bit of a bind. How were we going to cook Tom for the remaining three to three and a half hours? And where were we going to cook the stuffing?

We immediately started calling and texting friends. Who was home and could spare their oven for the next three and a half hours? One of our dearest friends got back to us and was already on her way over in their car to help us out. Five minutes later, I was in her front seat, with a cutting board on my lap, holding the roasting pan with two bright red oven mitts. I don't think she drove more than ten miles an hour so that the chicken stock would not spill.

Someone else was offering to cook the stuffing we had already prepared. We brought the two trays of stuffing down the street to their house. Would it matter that Tom sat out of the oven for almost forty-five minutes? I had no idea - this had never happened to us before. We would find out at dinner later that evening.

By all accounts, this was one of our best turkeys we've ever cooked. I don't know if our friends were being kind - although it did taste very good to me. I don't know if this means that in the future we need to take our turkey out for between a half hour and forty-five minutes next year. I don't know if we should plan for something else to go wrong next year.

What I do know is this: Friendsgiving happened in the Ricca House this year, because of our Friends.

Photo courtesy of Mr. Charles Schulz

I Will Ask Again, When Will it be Enough?

How many more children? I want to honestly know the answer. How many more children have to die in schools before there will be enough courage to stand up and say no more?

On Thursday, November 14, 2019, Saugus High School in Santa Clarita, California, was added to a list that appears to have no end in sight. At least no end that ensures more reasonable protections for children who are compelled to go to school. There seems to be no end to the failure of courage and leadership that adults continue to show on this issue that fails our children regularly.

The Second Amendment is waved in the face of grieving parents. Imagine that for just a moment. The most natural law is broken, the one that we all accept that we are going to outlive our children. As a dad, I do not allow myself to go there. To imagine that possibility that my own children would die before I do is literally unthinkable. So if that were to happen, and those opposed to more regulation of the gun industry in the United States (the only industrialized nation where this continues to be a consistent problem) were to respond with their empty sympathy while touting the Bill of Rights, I'm not sure how I would react.

We cannot say that this won't happen in Vermont, because it almost did. In February of 2018, a tragedy was averted at Fair Haven Union High School because of the courage of a young woman who, at the time, was not able to legally vote. My in-state colleague Brooke Olsen-Farrell, who is the Superintendent of Schools of the Slate Valley Unified School District, which includes Fair Haven Union High School, told me at a recent conference, "I didn't go to school for this." As educators, we accept that this is a part of our role. Our children must feel safe if they are to be educated. We simply can't be expected to do it with our hands tied behind our backs.

Nicholas Kristof, in the New York Times, shares some sobering statistics when it comes to gun deaths, and it's broken down by state. For households that are estimated to have guns, Vermont is fifth highest in the nation, behind only Wyoming, Montana, Idaho, and Mississippi. We have also earned an "F" along with twenty-five other states, according to the Law Center to Prevent Gun Violence when assessed on gun regulation. So we have one of the highest estimated number of households to have guns in the entire country, and our control of guns ranks in the bottom half. Not a great combination.

In a few short weeks, the seventh anniversary of the tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary will be upon us. I was off-campus that day, and as my phone began buzzing with the news, I will share that I selfishly was grateful to look in the rearview mirror to see my own two children securely buckled into their car seats. The following Monday, when a Williston Police Officer was greeting students at their elementary school, I choked up saying thank you to him for being there.

As a Superintendent of Schools, I've dealt with my share of safety incidents. Two were hoaxes, and in one situation, a person, who had allegedly robbed the Vermont State Credit Union, lost his life on the grounds of the school. I've been present to hear the Superintendent of Schools from Sandy Hook in Newtown, CT, speak. I've listened to the pain in Dr. Erardi's voice when he talked about what it was like on that December day in 2012.

When is the reality of the murder of our students going to trump the potential to have to use a weapon to defend oneself? When can we look at this as a public health crisis, and not something that needs thoughts and prayers? When can we expect our leaders to lead?

I never want to be in a position to have to explain to a family that we could not protect their children when they came to school. And I never want to be in a position to hear from my own children's superintendent that she could not protect them.

Will you please help?

Photo courtesy of thinkingthirty.com

Related Post: Enough

The Democratic Process

This past week, two critical votes happened in my life; one professional and one personal. First, the professional one. The Town of St. Johnsbury passed a $3 million bond for school safety improvements, a new boiler, as well as system and control upgrades for one of the youngest school buildings in the state of Vermont. The vote was very close: 411-400.

The idea of a bond has been a part of my professional world in St. Johnsbury since I started serving here last year, part-time. The Board has been thoughtful throughout the entire process. As far as I know, there were no other schools that had a bond vote this week, so after the thirty day reconsideration period, we will be working with our architects to prepare Requests for Proposals to be considered as early as January 2020. The Board is hoping that with no other schools putting out RFPs at that time, we will benefit from highly competitive labor rates.

As Superintendent of Schools, I cannot try to persuade any voter how to vote. In the words of Joe Friday, "Just the facts ma'am." So I spent time over the past few weeks in St. Johnsbury establishments with a sign that read: I'm Brian Ricca, Superintendent. Ask me about the bond vote on Tuesday, November 5. I was in the public library, I was in two different coffee shops, I went to a lunchtime spot and spent an afternoon in a bookstore. Some people were surprised and had no idea about the bond. Some people were not even St. Johnsbury residents. But by far, the number of people I spoke to were thoughtful and considerate, even if they disagreed with the idea of the bond. I had conversations that were respectful, engaging, and thorough, again, even if we disagreed.

In my personal life, on Wednesday of this past week, we had a meeting of our neighborhood association. We have lived in the same neighborhood since 2010, and it has been a joy to watch our children grow up in a place where they are close to their friends and can ride their bikes to school. The association was considering what to do with the common tennis courts, and we've seen e-mail messages for months, letting us know we needed seventy households at the meeting to make a decision. In a neighborhood of 139 houses, we needed a majority to be present to move the discussion forward.

With two young boys in our home, we had an interest in the courts being resurfaced and in one of them being turned into a multi-purpose court, with more options than just tennis. To be sure we had a quorum, for the two weekends before the meeting, our family went around to houses and checked in about the meeting. We talked about the option we were hoping for, and if folks were in agreement but couldn't attend the meeting in person, we asked them to sign a proxy.

I arrived at the association meeting with thirteen votes, one for my house, and twelve proxies. We had a majority of households present, and the meeting began. After much discussion and debate, a motion was put on the table, and it was seconded. Further discussion and debate followed until finally, someone asked if we could vote. The vote was counted, and the motion passed!

I know that not every vote is going to go my way, and not every outcome in an election is going to be the outcome that I hoped for. But given the polarization that we see on the national, and somewhat on a state, level, there was really something very fundamentally American about the way these past two elections played out. And it's given me something else.

Hope.

Photo courtesy of www.nhpr.org

Be the Light

Last night, we gained an extra hour of sleep so that as we go forward in fall and begin to think about winter, we have more daylight in North America. Having been born in New York and lived no further west than Chicago, I'm used to cold, bitter winters. I'm not a terribly good skier, but I enjoy the snow. I love the way the snow clings to the evergreen trees in our yard. I do prefer warmer months but the cold doesn't bother me. What I really don't like about these upcoming months is the lack of daylight. Driving to work in the dark, driving home from work in the dark. You can keep the cold and the snow, but give me some more daylight.

The great news for me is that I get to work with children, and I get to work with people who have committed their lives to serve the children and families of St. Johnsbury. Children don't notice the lack of daylight, or if they do, it doesn't show. They do notice when we change our clocks, and I'm very grateful that my own children are a little older so that this impacts them less than it did when they were toddlers!

I'm sure that if we spoke to our students and asked about the lack of daylight in the winter and the vast amounts of daylight in the summer, they would admit they notice it. But for the most part, this is an adult thing. What I'm writing about is not something that I gave a great deal of thought to when I was growing up. Although, I have an uncle who still calls my father on December 22 and asks if he's noticed how much longer the days are! He does the same thing on June 22, except then, he asks if he's noticed how much shorter the days are...

So since this is something that really only lives in the worlds of adults, and because I have the great fortune to spend my days around children, as we go forward into the time of year when we have the least amount of sunlight, I am making the following commitment: Every time that I begin to complain about the lack of daylight, I will do something to make someone else's day brighter. I pledge to light our St. Johnsbury world with the smiles of others so that while we may not see the sun as much in the coming months, we will see our students' and colleagues' faces brighten more. Never underestimate the power or the infectious nature of just one smile.

When you have the great fortune of spending your days around children, you are reminded of what it is to be childlike. To look at the world with wonder and awe. To find joy in swinging on a swing. To feel the exhilaration of playing with your friends. To scream with delight while sledding down a hill. To be out of breath, after running in the snow, bundled up to your ears with winter gear. Not wondering once when you will see more sunlight.

As adults, we have a choice.

Be the Light.

Photo courtesy of www.deerhorn.com

The Discomfort of Equity

This past Wednesday, I was privileged to attend the 2019 Rowland Conference, keynoted by Dr. Robin DiAngelo. DiAngelo is the author of, among other books, White Fragility: Why It's So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism. As she began her remarks, she told the mostly white audience that we should prepare to be uncomfortable, as, in her experience, white people have difficulty discussing issues of race and racism. She was right, I was uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable.

Let me share just some of the things that she said that made me uncomfortable:

• If you have not devoted years of sustained study, struggle, and focus on racism, your opinions are limited and superficial. 
• The status quo of our society is racism; it is the norm, and we are quite effective at reproducing it. 
• We (white people - Dr. DiAngelo is white as well) see ourselves as unique individuals, unaffected by the culture we live in. 
• Racism is a system, not an event. 
• None of us are exempt from the anti-blackness in our culture and in our country. 
• Smiling does not interrupt the system of racism. 
• Niceness is not antiracism. 

As she was speaking, and I was listening to these things, I was starting to feel more and more uncomfortable. So I began to make excuses and justify and rationalize what I was feeling. It's called "credentialing," according to Dr. DiAngelo. Here's what I was telling myself while she was speaking: 

• I grew up in Mt. Vernon, NY; I had plenty of black students in my schools growing up. 
• When I visited New York City, I saw plenty of black people. 
• I played on of sports teams growing up that had black players. 
• My first teaching job was in a school that was almost entirely full of black students. 

In other words, those were some of my "credentials" that made it, so I was not a racist, and therefore I was immune to the discomfort I was feeling in the Davis Center on the campus of the University of Vermont that day. The truth is, I am not free from the patterns of racism, simply because of these experiences in my life. 

The fact is, I've been benefitting from my race for as long as I've been alive, and even before that. As Dr. DiAngelo pointed out, my own mother benefitted from the prenatal care she had while she was pregnant with me in ways that black women in 1974 would not have had access to. I had teachers that were the same race as me beginning in kindergarten, and I saw the first teacher of a different race than me in seventh grade. I had only one black professor in my undergraduate education and no professors of a different race in graduate school. 

And yet, I expect that the families of color in the St. Johnsbury School District will just entrust their precious children to me because the first time I was a teacher, I had a room full of black children? I must work to earn the trust of these families. I must struggle to be someone who shows, not just tells, the families of color that their children are in a building where we are aware of this inequity. I must work against the systemic, institutionalized racist structures in the second most white state in all of the United States. 

Who will work with me? Who will stand next to me? Who will struggle with me?

Our students are waiting for those who will be allies. Who will ask the hard questions? Who will advocate? Who will step up? 

Our students are waiting for our answers. 

Photo courtesy of Dr. Robin DiAngelo

What's On Your Tray?

One of my favorite parts of being a superintendent, particularly in St. Johnsbury, is having lunch with students. Being in the cafeteria where there is such a buzz of positive energy, children are truly themselves, and I get a chance to talk to students more than during learning walks or classroom visits. The students for their part, seem more comfortable, easily engaged, and happy to find me at their table.

What makes it even better in St. J is the fabulous, fresh salad bar that we have available to all of us. For the past two years, I've heaped as many vegetables as I can onto my traditional cafeteria tray (can't fit it all onto the squares and circles provided). In addition, I add cheese and hard-boiled eggs to round out the meal. I find a spot for a child-sized carton of milk or two and I head to find some students to sit with.

This past Friday as I went through the line, I didn't see any cheese nor hard-boiled eggs. I didn't think anything of it, as my tray was already pretty full. But as I approached Tammy, one of our wonderful cafeteria workers, she looked down at my tray, looked at me, and said, "Wait, we've got more eggs and cheese!"

I was truly touched - we have more than six hundred students in the St. Johnsbury School and more than two hundred adults working in our building. Tammy had noted what I usually like on my salad and did something about it. I feel incredibly grateful to serve in a school district where the people in the cafeteria take note of what we put on our trays.

Now the skeptic will say, she only did that because I am the superintendent. If I was not at the top of the food chain, I would not be able to write this blog post. That may very well be true, but if you believe that, then I want you to consider something else.

In our district, every individual is assigned a number that is entered into the computers to track how much we owe for our meals. I have observed both Tammy and Carolee Stuart (our Director of Food Service) routinely remember the four-digit code for any number of students who have forgotten it or who have never committed it to memory.

Some of our first graders have just completed their first full month of having lunch in the cafeteria. Their eyes were wide open, answering questions about what they wanted or didn't want on their tray, meandering through a line that sometimes moves quickly but also sometimes stands still. When they finally get to the end of the line, they need to tell either Tammy or Carolee their number before they can get to their table, sit down and start to eat. Truth be told, I've forgotten my number a few times as well! Both women knew it before I could remember it myself.

Lunch is one of the few times where we don't ask our students to do anything but be themselves, to be children, to eat and spend time with their friends and classmates. We don't ask them to recall facts and figures, recite poetry and prose, or list the planets in the solar system. Mealtime should be relaxed and comfortable, and if say you've forgotten your four-digit code or what you typically put on your tray to eat, it brings me great pride to know there are people looking out for us.

The cafeteria, like our other learning spaces in St. Johnsbury, is a place where relationships matter.

Photo courtesy of www.yourmoderndad.com

How Do You Learn?

When I was in third or fourth grade, I learned the multiplication tables that we all know (and some love). I distinctly remember practicing them at the kitchen table with my parents in the evenings. I would sit with one of them and practice until I had most of the stack correct. We did other practice activities in school around multiplication, but I don't remember those as well.

That rote practice left an impact on me as a learner. Flashcards have been a way for me to learn ever since 1983. Currently, I have a stack of them at our home, thanks to Linda Hartwell. They are pictures of all the faculty and staff, with names on the back. I go through the stack to learn the names of the employees in the St. Johnsbury School because, for me, there's nothing more important than learning someone's name. Our children quiz me when they're eating breakfast.

Yes, I am adept with technology. Yes, I tweet many times a day. Yes, I carry an iPhone. And, when it comes to learning people's names, I go back to something that worked for me more than thirty years ago...

No one asked me if flashcards worked for me in 1983. It was something that was routinely suggested for families to do, to practice multiplication facts. Flashcards worked for me then, and they still work for me today.

Part of the brilliance of personalized learning is that each learner will approach it in his/her own unique way, with his/her strengths and weaknesses. I'm sure if you polled my superintendent colleagues, not everyone is using flashcards to learn the names of their employees. I would suspect that some do though.

Still, this question of how do you learn is a valid one, and it's something that we can be asking even our youngest students. Yes, we can ask a kindergartner (with the help of a teacher and parents/caregivers) how do you learn? We can ask for evidence of who they are as a writer, a reader, a mathematician, an artist, a citizen of our school. We can ask this because no one rises to low expectations.

So if we can ask our youngest learners how they learn best, we can certainly ask it of all the other students in our schools. Think of how empowering it would be for our students when their teachers turn to them and ask for guidance on how they learn best. Think of how much agency they will feel when the teacher molds and adapts the assessment for our children, to demonstrate their learning in a way that feels authentic to them.

No one asked me when I was in third grade if I wanted to learn my multiplication tables by using flashcards. If they had, I'm honestly not sure how I would have answered.

I simply do know this; I'm still using flashcards to this day, so it worked.

Photo credit to www.cthawards.com

Related Post: There's An App for That

It Really Does Take A Village

I started my teaching career as a volunteer in a program called Inner-City Teaching Corps. The idea was simple: take recent college graduates, put them in a house together, train them, and assign them to classrooms in Chicago. The idea came from other models like Teach for America and the Jesuit Volunteer Corps. This program was different in that it was only based in Chicago, it was only teaching, and it was a two-year commitment.

During those two years, while learning on the fly how to teach in a school where the Free & Reduced Lunch rate hovered between 99 - 100%, I ate, slept, and breathed for that school and my community of fellow volunteer teachers. I often was one of the first ones in the door and one of the last ones out. The front doors to the school were chained every night to prevent people from breaking in, and at some point in my second year, I asked the principal if I could have the padlock key for it. I coached some of the athletic teams and wanted to stay working in my classroom beyond when the last person left. 

Since I had the key to the padlock, I could then also be the first one in. There was so much I could get done in a quiet building, and since I was still desperately learning how to teach on the near Westside of Chicago, I had a lot of work to do. 

During one of my many conversations with my principal, I mentioned something about the amount of time the volunteers were spending in the school. Given my age, my lack of real-world experience, and my privilege, I'm confident I was a little full of myself and my fellow volunteers. While I don't remember what she said to me word-for-word, the message put me in my place, and it is something that stays with me to this day. 

She told me that the amount of time we spend, as volunteers, is precisely what we are supposed to be doing. We have no family, we have no children, we have no other commitments outside of this building. My principal then went on to tell me about a teacher that had a spouse in the hospital and had to leave with her students. She told me there was a paraprofessional whose son had moved back in after struggling with drugs. She shared that we had an administrative assistant who had not been feeling well for several weeks, who was also out of sick time because she was caring for her daughter's children, and could not afford to take any unpaid days for herself. 

And that was just what my twenty-three-year-old rookie teacher self needed. I was put squarely in my place. Yes, I was a volunteer. Yes, I spent almost every waking hour at my school, including on the weekends. Yes, I was the first one in the building, and the last one to leave. And that was precisely what I was supposed to be doing. I put my pants on one leg at a time, just like everyone else.

I still put my pants on one leg at a time, even as the Superintendent of Schools. Simply because I am at the top of the organizational chart does not give me any "superpowers," beyond that of any other member of the St. Johnsbury School District. I am, however, privileged to hear about people's stories when it comes to their work and their need for time away from their jobs.

So I get to know who needs time away for pregnancies and for funerals. I listen to the stories of people who need Family Medical Leave for themselves, and for their family members. I have sat with people who have cried tears of joy in my office, as well as consoled them when they've cried tears of sorrow and sadness. One of the most humbling parts of leadership is that we walk with people on their life journey, and they share their stories with us.

My twenty-three-year-old self would want to remind us of this: Everyone we serve with is doing everything they can, at that time in their life, for their students. I firmly believe that to cultivate and maintain a healthy and vibrant school culture, we must start there. We have faculty and staff that are first in and last out. We have faculty and staff that need to arrive right on time and leave right with our students. We have faculty and staff that can coach and moderate co-curricular activities. We have faculty and staff that have no spare time.

The bottom line is this: we all need each other, at our best. Our school district does not function to the best of its ability without all the people in it. Every single adult makes a difference in the lives of our students and our colleagues. Every single adult has a story that brought them to our building and has a story waiting for them every time they leave our building.

I am proud to be a part of the St. Johnsbury Village.

Photo Courtesy of S.T.R.E.E.T.S Youth Center

Related Post: We Carry Their Stories

There's An App for That

I ran track in high school. I played other sports as well, but track was my most consistent. I competed at the varsity level running middle distances, the two-mile, and the one-mile relay. I trained with my team and practiced every day. I even still remember my best times: 2:09 for my 800 in the two-mile relay and 54 seconds for my 400 in the mile relay. Needless to say, that was many, many years ago.

This past summer, I wanted to get back to running. So one beautiful morning, I grabbed my phone to listen to some music, put on my sneakers, and went out for a run. It was still cool, the sun was just rising, and I was excited to get back into a healthy routine.

I barely made it around the block. I was only slightly out of shape, seeing as the last time I ran regularly was twenty-seven years ago when I was in high school.

So what was I to do? I scoured the internet for training programs and came upon this app that seemed appropriate: Couch to 5K, by Zen Labs. It had great reviews, and it was free. I downloaded the app and went back out - expecting to run. Instead, I did a lot of walking. I did very little running. It was quite humbling.

For the first several weeks, I was doing more walking than I did running. Near the middle of the training regimen, it seemed as though it was close to equal parts walking and running. Then as I got past the halfway point, it started to get hard. I was doing more and more running, with less and less walking. My legs were being trained to get back into shape - slowly but surely, I was putting more and more miles back into my body, and my body was responding.

I "graduated" from Couch to 5K and have been running 5Ks on my own since the early part of the school year. My goal is to run three 5Ks each week, to keep putting the miles on and to stay in shape as I get older. This past Tuesday, for the first time ever, I ran a 5K in less than 30 minutes! I was really proud of my accomplishment.

My return to running made me think about personalized learning, one of the newer commitments we have with our students. This experience was one I created for myself, and I sought out the assistance I needed. It wasn't a linear process; there were stops and starts. There were stages in the training that I had to repeat because they were too hard, and I couldn't complete them the first time. I was successful because I followed my own path to return to running. If we reached out to all the people I ran track with in high school, I doubt their return to running would look exactly like mine.

This is the same for our students. There is no single path toward unlocking their potential. As superintendent, my primary role for our students is to ensure their school is a place that is self, welcoming, and inclusive for each of them, exactly the way they are. While they are here, the adults build meaningful relationships with them to get to know what makes them tick. In that way, the adults can make suggestions and teach in a way commensurate with each student's needs.

As our students grow and learn more and more about themselves, we will turn to them for more insight into how they learn best. We will want to know what they are passionate about, what excites them about their own education, and how can they demonstrate what they've learned in a way that is authentic to them. Their education is partly their responsibility, and we will need them and their families to partner with us to be successful.

Who knows? There someday may even be an app for that.

Photo courtesy of www.picturequotes.com 

A Safe Learning Space

I have always been fascinated by flight. I took my first trip on an airplane when I was five years old, New York to Chicago. That was back when you were allowed, in fact, encouraged to visit the cockpit during the flight. I remember standing behind the pilots looking out at the beautiful blue sky and enjoying a sense of awe and wonder.

The professional pilot's life, for me, was not something that I was prepared to commit to and so I've enjoyed aviation as a hobby. When our children were little, we would go to the Burlington Airport and plane spot regularly. I listen to the air traffic controllers for the Burlington Airport often and enjoy seeing the inbound planes to the BTV gliding toward runway 33 during their final approach outside our home.

My Family has supported this love of aviation, and this past Father's Day, I was treated to a flight lesson. I have almost 15 hours of flight time in a single-engine Cessna, and while I have no immediate intention of earning my private pilot's license, I still plan to build up hours of practice, because I love it!

From the pre-flight checklist with the instructor outside the plane to strapping into the left-hand seat, to pushing the throttle in just enough to taxi off the ramp, and out the runway, my pulse was quickening, and I could feel the anticipation building.  We were lined up on runway 33, and with no other traffic, we were cleared for take-off. Now a take-off run for a single-engine Cessna is nothing compared to even some of the smaller commercial jets that flight into Burlington. We were up in no time.

The sense of awe and wonder returned, with Lake Champlain ahead of us and the beautiful green landscape of Vermont below. The instructor allowed me to focus on flying and handled all the communication with air traffic control. However, I still listened. A couple of times, I thought I heard the air traffic controller state the wrong runway, and then corrected himself. When I pointed that out to the instructor, he told me something that made me really proud.

Since the Burlington Airport is rated as Class C (not high-density traffic operations), it is often a place that new air traffic controllers are sent to learn tower operations. The airport is not very busy, except first thing in the morning, when every single gate has a plane that has spent the night. Given these circumstances, it's a good airport for novice controllers to learn and hone their skills. They do so with a veteran controller next to them to ensure no big mistakes are made, to talk through decisions, to answer questions, and to share feedback.

That is exactly what I was doing at that very moment. I had an instructor pilot to my right. He helped me make sure I didn't make any big mistakes. I talked through many of my flight decisions with him that day. He answered all of my questions and I got important feedback both during and at the end of my flight.

Everyone has to learn somewhere. It is incredibly rare to be in a situation professionally or personally in which we do not need the help of someone else. Someone who has more knowledge, training, and or experience than we do. Everyone needs to have a place where they can take uncertain first steps, stumble, or even fall without causing forward progress to stop entirely.

A pilot with less than 20 hours of experience flew over the skies of Burlington Vermont on Saturday, June 22, with guidance from a novice air traffic controller. The flight was a complete success from pre-flight clearance to takeoff to touchdown to taxiing back to the ramp. I got another hour in my logbook and improved some skills along the way. My guess is so did the air traffic controller.

We're both very grateful for the Class C learning space at the BTV.

My flight on Saturday, June 22, 2019
Image courtesy of www.flightaware.com

It is a Small World, After All

Do you remember what you were doing in the summer of 1993? I don't can't tell you a lot of specifics from that summer but what I do know is that I learned to water ski. In Vermont. On a pond. Let me back up a little.

In the fall of 1992, I was a first-year student at the College of the Holy Cross. This was pre-cell phone, pre-internet, and pre-voicemail. Yes, it must seem like the stone age for the digital natives. Our evenings consisted of studying (at least a little), watching Letterman or Leno, and playing cards. That year I learned how to play pitch, from a sophomore on my hall. Since we played almost every night, we got to be friends.

As the spring semester was ending, he invited a bunch of us to his cabin in Vermont for a long weekend. Again, this was pre-internet, so we actually wrote down the directions. I grew up in Mt. Vernon, NY, a little north of New York City, so several of us carpooled up together.

It was a great weekend - I learned how to water ski. Having never done it before, it took me more than a few tries, but I got it. By the end of the weekend, I was dropping one ski once I got going. I remember thinking this was such a beautiful place in Vermont, and when we left, I didn't think I would ever see it again.

Fast forward to the early 2000s. I am on Peacham Pond with my then-girlfriend, now-wife's family. My Wife's family has had a camp on Peacham Pond since 1987. We were playing pitch at her kitchen table, and the conversation was about the other families that had camps on the pond. In passing, I heard the last name Davignon mentioned, and while it didn't register with me at first, I paused for a moment.

"Did you say 'Davignon'?" I asked. Yes, was the response I got.

"Did that family have any children?" Again, the answer was yes.

"Did any of their kids go to Holy Cross?" Maybe, was the response this time.

"I went to school with a Kris Davignon..." and I trailed off remembering what I had done in the summer of 1993. Someone in the room said, "I do think Kris was one of their sons."

I got really excited as I retold the story of how I learned to water ski. In Vermont. On a pond.

When we build relationships with others, we have no idea where those relationships will take us. I've not spoken to Kris Davignon since he graduated in 1995.  Yet in 1999, I met a woman from Vermont teaching next door to me in a volunteer program in Chicago. On October 8, 2000, I went out on the last first date of my life.

In education, we build relationships with our students, their families, and our colleagues. Those relationships are dotted with moments, most of which we are very proud of. We make mistakes, we correct them, we move on, and we hope to not repeat the same mistakes. The big difference in education is that our students must come to school, and we cannot begin to tap into each student's full potential unless they feel safe, welcome, and included. 

We don't know where those relationships will lead, or when we will see our students again after they leave us. Every year teachers say goodbye to one class in June, and welcome another class back in August. We hope that we make an indelible mark on their hearts so that they can open their minds to learn together with us.

In 1993, I learned how to water ski. In Vermont. On Peacham Pond. And little did I know, my future wife probably saw me.

It is a small world, after all.

Our oldest son Patrick Sup Boarding on Peacham Pond, Labor Day 2019

Our youngest son Brendan jumping into Peacham Pond, Labor Day 2019

On Your Left

I will admit, I was late to the Avengers movie scene. I was not really into comic books growing up. Don't worry, I knew and loved the basics: Superman, Batman, and Spiderman. But the rest of them passed me by.

Fortunately, I am the Dad to two young boys who are very much into the series, and I have seen some of the movies, including the most recent Avengers End Game. As virtually a newcomer to the series, I spent the better part of the movie wondering how the "good guys" were going to beat Thanos and the "bad guys." This became less and less clear to me as the movie went on. It seemed as if there was no way for the Avengers to win.

(*Spoiler Alert - if you haven't seen the movie, and care about it, please stop reading*)

Near the end of the movie, and during one of the epic battle scenes, there is a break in the action while all our heroes and villains are catching their breath. Captain America is front and center, and we hear a radio crackle, and a muffled voice says:

"Cap, you listen to me?
Cap, it's Sam. Can you hear me?"

At that point, Captain America puts his hand up to his head, to try to hear better what is being said through the radio in his ear.

"On your left."

This was a call back to an earlier movie, The Winter Soldier. In the opening scene of that movie, Sam Wilson (later Falcon) is running and is passed three times by Steve Rogers (Captain America) during the run. Each time, Steve says, "On your left" while he passes him.

At that point in End Game, all the Avengers, literally, all of them began to arrive to help Captain America and our heroes defeat Thanos. It took every single one of them, and they did it together. We are all better together. And I will admit, I loved this movie!

Sometimes in education, we fall into the trap of closing our classroom or office doors, and essentially going at it by ourselves. Teaching and leadership can be very lonely places. We may be faced with challenges that seem to be ours and ours alone, and if we choose to address those problems alone, we may not be as successful.

With a focus of Visible Teaching and Learning for All, we are taking steps in St. Johnsbury to make our instruction more intentional, more accessible, more available to all students. We want to share our successes and learn from our missteps. We want all our Faculty & Staff to make our building a place that is safe, welcome, and inclusive for all our students and their families. We will do it together.

St. Johnsbury Faculty & Staff, you hear me?
St. Johnsbury Faculty & Staff, it's Dr. Ricca. Can you hear me?

On your left.

Photo courtesy of www.uniqueteachingresources.com

I Like My Chicken Fried

Yes, you read that correctly. I like my chicken fried. Not fried chicken. Let me explain why. 

While vacationing this summer in West Falmouth, MA, my family and I went to a Cape Cod Baseball game. If you go to the Cape, and you are even the slightest baseball fan, I sincerely encourage you to find a game to go to. From their website, the Cape Cod Baseball League is recognized as one of "the best summer leagues in the country by college coaches and professional scouts." It's a wooden bat league, admission is by donation, and players are accessible to fans before, during, and after the game. Talk about playing for the love of the game!

This particular game was a doubleheader, and we arrived late catching the West Falmouth Commodores winning in walk-off style. In between games, I played catch beyond the outfield wall with our oldest son Patrick. It was a classic father/son moment and one that I would not soon forget. 

While we were playing together, there was music playing on the loudspeakers. I wasn't really paying attention to the songs. At one point, one of us overthrew the other, and I did stop to listen to the music. I heard the following lyrics: 

"It's funny how it's the little things in life, that mean the most

Not where you live, what you drive, or the price tag on your clothes

There's no dollar sign on a piece of mind, this I've come to know."

I thought about what I was doing at that moment right there. Standing in the grass, having a catch with my son, at a baseball game, in the middle of the summer. Talk about the little things...

That evening while putting him to bed, he was fussing with his phone. As I was reminding him we don't have screen time before bed, he told me he was downloading a song. I am almost sure I rolled my eyes and asked what song, expecting him to tell me the name of a song I could not recognize. Instead, he said, "I'm downloading Chicken Fried, you know, that song that was playing today when we were having a catch." You could have knocked me over with a feather - we had not said a word about that song all day. 

In education, we sometimes get caught up worrying about significant issues. Equity, justice, racism, test scores, budgets passing, and curriculum. Please hear me clearly - these are all critical issues, every single one of them. All have their place in the St. Johnsbury educational world. 

And we have to tend to the little things. We have to water the plants of relationships, we have to feed the desire to be cared for by our students, we have to nurture and grow a culture of trust so adults can feel safe taking risks. We don't want to miss the little things because we don't always know where those things are going to land in the lives of our students. 

So yes, Patrick and I both like our chicken fried. 

Photo Courtesy of www.yourmoderndad.com

Back to School

When I was a graduate student at Fordham University, studying to earn a Masters of Science in Teaching, one of my favorite professors noted that the number one thing most students worry about before the first day of school is, "Will my teacher like me?" That has stuck with me throughout my time as a teacher and into educational leadership.

Will my teacher like me? It seems like such an absurd question, especially because students are legally compelled to come to school. And yet, it is something that students wonder about. My hope is that very, very few St Johnsbury students wonder about that.

Our focus this year is Visible Teaching and Learning for All Students. We will be looking for, and highlighting, the ways that the adults in our district demonstrate educational practices that make all students feel safe, welcome, and included. When our students are confident that they belong, precisely the way they are, they can begin to access their education in a way that will allow them to grow to their individual potential.

Through the power of Facebook and social media, I am connected to my former teachers, some as far back as elementary school. Some of my former students are in touch with me as well, students that I taught in my very first year of teaching in 1996. In both instances, as a student and as the teacher, the connections are about relationships - not content. And if content does come up, it is only in passing. If you take a moment to remember any of your favorite teachers, I will offer that you remember the name and the person first, then the content or grade level. Further, your memories are about how that teacher made you feel first, then the information you learned.

In the St. Johnsbury School District, we are about Visible Teaching and Learning for All Students. All of them...

For the student struggling with questions of gender identity,
For the student wondering when the next meal will come,
For the student worrying if they're wearing the right clothes,
For the student hoping for a lot of homework,
For the student hoping for someone to help complete the homework,
For the student questioning whether or not they'll fit in,
For the student avoiding the answer to the question, "What did you do this summer?"

These are all our students in St. Johnsbury. When they are with us, I want them to know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, they belong here. With their unique gifts and talents, and with all the ways they need to grow and improve. They are all safe, welcomed, and included here.

Will we like our students? No, we will love them.

On True Public Service

I met Dave Timson at my very first Board meeting as Interim Superintendent at the St. Johnsbury School. When I walked into the Band Room, he looked at me, asked me who I was, and when I responded, he said, "You sit in that chair, there." What a kind thing to do - I had no idea where I was sitting, and Dave gave me a hand.

Dave was a regular at both School Board and Select Board meetings, as noted in a wonderful July 10 article in the Cal-Rec. So when he announced at one of our fall meetings that he was sick, I was stunned. While I did not know him well, what I saw was inspirational. Dave took seriously the notion that an informed public was an expectation of every individual citizen. His presence, his questions, his careful reading of our materials, his ability to make connections to the work in the school and the work of the greater community - all of that was quite evident to me, in just a handful of meetings.

Dave was respectful. His questions were tough, fair, and civic-minded, with the greater good of St. Johnsbury as the context. When he disagreed with something that was said, he let you know it. However, he was not disagreeable. I'm not trying to split hairs - I'm trying to make a point. Dave was able to share his own opinions in a way that did not invalidate the views of others. Something that we all can learn from.

Dave was open to being wrong. When he asked a question and was surprised by the answer, he said so. He was honest about his own misunderstandings in a way that was humbling and candid. When he was right, he let us know. When he was wrong, he owned it. Again, something that we can all learn from.

Dave was consistent, he showed up. I have felt his lack of presence at our Board meetings. Besides the members of the press, Dave Timson and Jo Braman are the only members of the community who attend every single Board meeting. Jo is diligently carrying on her public service, but who will replace Dave?

In short, no one.

We have lost a member of the St. Johnsbury community who cared very deeply about what we do. No, Board meetings are not glamorous and rarely have compelling storylines. However, as a public institution, we do serve the public. Our public education is a service to this community through the children. Our teachers serve the students and the families of our town so that the values of our community can be woven into the content of our lessons.

I am grateful to have learned so much from Dave Timson in such a short period of time. I hope our work in the St. Johnsbury School will continue to make him proud.

Thank you, Dave - you will be missed.

Photo courtesy of the Caledonian-Record

In Gratitude

I've been catching up on the 10% Happier Podcast from Dan Harris, recommended to me by My Wife. On an episode from October of 2018, the guest was Shawn Achor. Achor's definition of happiness is compelling: Happiness is the joy you feel moving toward your potential.

One of the elements that contributes to happiness is gratitude, and Achor has an exercise that points us more toward happiness than cynicism. Achor suggests that we write three things we are grateful for each day, but add the reason why we are thankful for these things. The "why" is critical to the exercise. According to Achor, doing this exercise consistently for 21 days will transform a pessimist into an optimist.

Taking a cue from Achor, here are three things that I'm grateful for having served the St. Johnsbury School District this year, as well as the why.

1. The emphasis on relationships. This is the centerpiece to my leadership and something that abounds in the St. Johnsbury School District. We put people first because the work of education is deeply personal. Faculty and staff pour themselves into their work, serving the students and the families of St. Johnsbury. We make mistakes, we admit them, we apologize, and we move on. It is always, always, always about relationships.

2. Kindness. In my remarks to the 8th Grade Class of 2019, I mentioned that this is perhaps the most polarized time I can remember in our country's history. We live in a world full of social media retorts, acting first, then asking questions, and a lack of face-to-face communication. In St. Johnsbury, I've been a part of and witnessed hard conversations in person, where we tell the truth with compassion, and we model empathy. In a world where we can be anything, kindness matters.

3. Teaching and learning for all students. I was humbled to learn of the singular focus established by the Leadership Team when I started in September, and I saw it in action in all corners of our work this year. One of the ways that this was most evident to me was during our contract negotiations with our labor units. We were settled with a new contract in three sessions - literally, just three sessions. I know colleague superintendents who have needed more than three sessions to establish negotiating ground rules. The fact that this is the reality in St. Johnsbury points to a commitment by our labor units to put students first. This is a credit to them and to the School Board.

I am grateful to have the opportunity to serve in a school district where students come first, where kindness is present, and where we emphasize relationships.

We are St. Johnsbury, and I am proud to be a part of it!

Photo Courtesy of www.truenorthcf.org

A Belief in What is Possible

Yesterday afternoon, I traveled to the Collins Perley Arena in St. Albans City for a celebration of life for someone who I was grateful to have for a colleague and more importantly, a friend. Ned Kirsch passed away earlier this spring far too soon and left an indelible imprint on the landscape of Vermont education. I miss him.

The room was full of Ned's family and friends; there were educational leaders, Vermont educational officials, and people whose lives he had touched. And there were students. Students sang "These Green Mountains" at the beginning of the celebration, and spoke beautifully about the relationships he formed with them. Ned was always about the impact of our leadership on students. No matter what you were talking about, for him, it was always, always, always about the students.

This blog itself is a tribute to Ned. If I trace back to my first post on this blog, it came on September 4, 2012, but I needed to look almost three years later to the summer of 2015 when I started writing regular, weekly blogs. That happened after a conversation with Ned.

I pulled him aside at one of the All Members' Meetings of the Vermont Superintendent's Association because I saw how the folks in Franklin West Supervisory Union blogged weekly. And I wanted to know what the secret was. How does someone as busy as Ned make the time to write something weekly? There was no way - he had to have some gimmick, some trick, some way to make it work...

When I asked him what his secret was, he smiled and was quick to tell me: You make the time. You make the time for what's important. You make it part of your weekly routine, and it will stick. It might be challenging at the beginning as you introduce something new to your professional to do list, but after a few weeks, it will nestle itself into a familiar place in your world.

That was four years ago, and I have not missed a week of blogging while we have students in our buildings.

When I first asked the question, I didn't think I would have time to write weekly.

When I first thought about where the time would come, I didn't know it would exist in my week.

When I first tried to write weekly, I didn't think I could sustain it and worried that I wouldn't have anything meaningful to say.

Ned, I miss you. Thank you for nudging me and showing me what is possible.

Photo courtesy of www.digitalpromise.org

Would You Run in the Rain?

A few weeks ago, I wrote about Dean Joe Maguire, a mentor to me while I was at Holy Cross. After I graduated, we stayed in touch, and I was even able to visit him a few times when I was back on campus. Sadly, he passed away in December of 2002. I found out about his death when I got a call in the apartment where I was living, asking me to be a pallbearer. I was honored and humbled by this request, and thus far in my life, it's the only time I've been a part of a funeral.

This presented a logistical dilemma: I was living in Chicago at the time and would need to fly to Boston, then drive to Worcester. At the time, American and United Airlines published fares in the latter part of the week for routes that did not have full flights for the upcoming weekend. As I recall, you needed to fly Saturday and come back on Monday. I was in luck that week - there were saver fares published from Chicago to Boston. Now the trick was getting a car and driving to Worcester.

One of my dearest friends, Jeff Haines, was living in Watertown at the time. We met teaching first grade in Boston, two Yankee fans educating the six-year-olds in Beantown! When I called and told him my story, he was happy to have us stay with him and would let us borrow his car for the day.

My then girlfriend (and now wife) and I left Chicago early that Saturday morning but with the usual delays in the crowded skies between the midwest and Boston landed close to 9:30 and needed to get to Worcester for an 11:00 funeral. It did not seem likely that we would make it on time. With no bags, we went right outside baggage claim, and Jeff was there. He jumped out of the car, pointed to the driver's side, and told me to get in and drive.

Once we exited the airport, we began driving in what can only be described as a downpour. Several times the windshield wipers were on high as we started driving west on the Mass Pike. We chatted for a while, caught up a little bit, and as we approached the Watertown exit, I slowed the car off the ramp. I began to turn right to head toward Jeff's house when he told me to stop the vehicle. "Let me out here," he said. When I refused because of the rain, he responded, "There's no way a pallbearer can be late for a funeral." With that, he got out of the car, opened the back door for Michal, helped her into the front seat, and took off running home to his house.

I sat in the car, stunned. As I watched him disappear into the rain, soaking wet, Michal reminded me that we still had a funeral to go to. A funeral that I was unsure we would be able to get to before it began.

We got there on time, and I was able to fulfill my mentor's wishes to be a part of his celebration of life.

We got there on time, and no one knew what we had gone through to get there.

We got there on time because of my friend who ran in the rain for me.

Courtesy of www.weeklytravelspecials.com

Enough

If this graphic from CNN is not staggering to you, please consider this. In the two most recent school shootings, young people lost their lives choosing to go after the shooter. Literally doing what Secret Service men and women do for the President of the United States: they took a bullet for their classmates.

When will this be enough? At what point will we as a society take a stand and demand that our right to bear arms does not outweigh a child's right to a safe school environment? We compel children to come to school, in the state of Vermont, and it says so right in Title 16 Paragraph 1121: A person having the control of a child between the ages of six and sixteen years shall cause the child to attend a public school, an approved or recognized independent school, an approved education program, or a home study program for the full number of days for which that school is held...

We continue to have school shootings, tragically on a regular basis in the United States, where there is seemingly unfettered access to assault weapons. Weapons in which the perpetrators of this violence can literally hold down the trigger and fire a hail of bullets into the bodies of innocent people. Why are these weapons necessary? 

South Carolina Republican Senator Lindsey Graham indicated in 2013 that assault weapons, like the AR-15 that he keeps in his home, are useful for protection. "I think I would be better off protecting my business or my family if there was law-and-order breakdown in my community, people roaming around my neighborhood..." 

The potential for law-and-order breakdown justifies the need for assault weapons to be readily available? If we never had another school shooting in the United States, at the present levels, it would take Canada, France, and Germany more than thirty-seven years to catch up with us. While I am a hopeful person by default, I just cannot believe we won't have another school shooting unless something changes.

I do have hope in Vermont Democratic Senator Patrick Leahy. In response to last year's violence at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School, he called on his colleagues in the legislature to do something. "Congress must finally act and pass commonsense measures that have languished for too long at the bidding of a gun lobby that cares more about its profits than about people. Now is the time for Congress to muster its own courage."

How many more school children, compelled to go to school, will show more courage, in the face of unspeakable violence, than our elected officials? Are those who are adamant that assault rifles are necessary, ready to show the courage of the young people who recently gave their lives to stop the tragedy from going further? Does the potential for a law-and-order breakdown justify weapons like this continuing to be used to murder innocent people?

Don't look now, but once again, our children are leading the way for the adults with their courage.

It's time to say enough.

I See You

This past week was Teacher Appreciation Week. One week dedicated to ensuring that the adults in the lives of our children knew how much they meant to us. While some may see this as a formality, appreciation is essential to an individual's self-worth and place in an organization. It is a way of recognizing effort toward the larger goal of serving students and their families.

In a meaningful way, I want all the adults of the St. Johnsbury School District to know that I am proud of their commitment to our work, I am grateful for their service, and that I see them.


To the teacher agonizing over grading an assessment on a Sunday night, I see you. 

To the paraprofessional walking the halls with a student unable to be in the classroom, I see you. 

To the principal crafting a thoughtful evaluation, I see you. 

To the administrative assistant buried under a mountain of bus notes, I see you. 

To the administrator struggling to find the right words to help someone move forward, I see you. 

To the district-level employee hoping to fit in, I see you. 


To the teacher wondering how you will get through to June, I see you. 

To the paraprofessional that feels overlooked, I see you. 

To the principal wracked with worry about a student, I see you. 

To the administrative assistant running a school like a well-oiled machine, I see you. 

To the administrator juggling a masters course, a family, and professional responsibilities, I see you. 

To the district-level employee helping to see the blind spots, I see you. 


With sincere thanks from a very grateful superintendent, I hope that you all felt appreciated this week. And you did the week before. And you will the week after.

I am proud. I am grateful. I see you.

You matter.

Photo Courtesy of Twitter

On Traveling

I recently returned from a fantastic trip with my family. We spent two and a half weeks in Thailand. The reason for the trip was simple but significant. We are raising our children in Vermont, one of the whitest states in the United States. Our state does not even come close to representing the rest of the world, a world that is rapidly shrinking through the beauty of technology.

My Wife and I met while teaching on the Near Westside of Chicago, in a neighborhood that most people didn't go to unless there was a Bulls or a Blackhawks game. Our oldest son Patrick was born in Chicago, and as we contemplated moving to Vermont during his first year in the world, the only concern we had was the state's lack of diversity. Something Chicago has plenty of!

The decision was made to move to Vermont, and the promise was made to each other that our children would see the world outside of our beautiful state. We committed to ensuring that they would learn that while Vermont is a wonderful place to grow up, there is a very, very big world out there that looks nothing like the Green Mountain State.

This trip was the furthest either My Wife or I have ever traveled. It was an amazing experience of food, culture, diversity, ethnicity, and custom. While visiting the Buddhist temples, women's shoulders were to be covered, as were men's knees. We learned that almost everyone in Bangkok eats street food after work and that people rarely cook at home. Inside the indoor flower market (bustling at 10:30 PM each night) we watched people meticulously prepare garlands for the shrines that adorn almost every home and business.

And no one spoke any English. Well, that's not entirely true.

Some people did speak English. Our tour guides did - although it was broken English. In-flight announcements were in the native language of each of the carriers we flew, and then again also in English. And once on a beach in Koh Phangan, there was someone (sounded Australian by the accent) who was speaking English. But that was it.

We were out of our element, out of our comfort zone, in a world we were completely unfamiliar with, and we loved almost every minute of it. I had "dad" moments; you know the ones where you calculate how long it would take to get to the nearest hospital in a foreign country while your children are scaling the rocks at a natural waterfall. But no one got hurt.

I love where we live. I love that we are raising our children in Vermont, close to our family. I love that there is a vast big world out there to explore.

And I love that we are honoring our promise.

Our Boys at the Than Sadet Waterfall, Koh Phangan

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

This past week, during my hour of classroom visits, I stopped in the gymnasium to play with some students. Ultimate frisbee was the sport being played; the teams were red and green. I made eye contact with the physical education teacher, who nodded at me, and then I jumped right in.

The teams were each wearing a different color wristband, so I took the enviable position of putting on both colors. I would hold up the red hand when the red team had the frisbee, and I would hold up the green hand when the green team had possession. I played no defense, scored no points, and still had so much fun!

While we were playing, I noticed a young man who got frustrated if the frisbee moved backward (away from their goal) even if his team kept control of it. Sometimes that happened because the only person open on that team was behind the person who had control of the frisbee. When throwing the frisbee backward, that sometimes opened up some space for another person in front and closer to the goal. This happens because the people on defense move in the direction of the frisbee, and make more space available.

My friend was having a hard time, because he wasn't able to see this. I could see his frustration growing. I went over to him and crouched down next to him to talk. I quietly explained what was happening and why it was working. He looked around at the space in the gym, trying to understand what I was saying. It wasn't happening at that moment, and I could see he didn't believe me.

We continued to play and a few minutes later, my friend came over to me and said excitedly said, "I saw it, I saw it. He threw it back and then she threw it forward and then we scored a touchdown!"

Photo courtesy of www.theodysseyonline.com

Rarely in education, or in life, is success a straight line forward. As educators, it happens weekly, if not daily in our classrooms. We move forward with our students, only to then take a step or two backwards. Sometimes it's with individual students, and sometimes it's the entire class. We want our students to learn and improve, and the lesson we want them to take away is never to stop trying.

For me, one of the beautiful parts about the lack of a straight line to success are the people that you meet along the way. In 2001, while dating the woman who would ultimately become My Wife, she told me I would be a superintendent of schools one day. I responded with disbelief - there would be no way I would ever want to be a superintendent. Superintendents are far away from children, they push papers around, and only work with boards. Who would want that job?

Fast forward to 2019, and I am a superintendent of schools. I choose to spend time in classrooms, have office hours for adults, and maintain a presence in the building. I love to eat lunch with students, ask them what they're learning, and share this information with the board. It is my job to ensure that students feel safe and welcome when they come to school so they can learn to his or her potential. It is also my job to give the adults the freedom to be their best selves in service to our students and their families.

It certainly is true that the path to success is rarely, if ever, a straight line.