It's Not Their Fault

I learned from one of my favorite principals that a good leader stands in front of their team when things go south and pushes everyone else in front when things are worth celebrating. I have tried to model that example in the various leadership roles I have served throughout my career. During these first 32 days with our students in St. Johnsbury, it's clear to me that I need to stand in front of my team. This is not their fault. 

We are one of the only, if not the only school in the Northeast Kingdom that is not yet offering fully in-person education. The Reopening Taskforce decided based on the guidelines from the Vermont Agency of Education and the Department of Health. I proudly stand in front of that decision. We have more than 600 students in our PK - 8 system and more than 180 adults. We cannot have a seat for every student to sit at that is at least six feet apart from others while they do their work. 

But the guidance has changed, you say. Indeed it has. We officially received it on Friday night. And our Reopening Taskforce has been expecting this. The new guidance says we need to have a seat for every student in grades PK - 6 to sit at and do their work, which is at least three feet apart from others. The Reopening Taskforce is taking the time to review this and measure our classrooms. We are also reviewing our procedures for screening, our lunch procedures, and our procedures for arrival and departure. In addition, we have open questions about staffing, furniture, and space. 

Will we have enough staff for more than 80% of our student body to return? Do we have enough furniture, and do we have the three feet we need to configure our furniture in a way that maintains public health but also feels like a classroom our students can learn and grow in? All these questions stem from one fact that in any other year than one with a global health pandemic, is a good thing. 

We have high enrollment. 

If you've never been to our building on Western Avenue when we all are in it, let me tell you, it's bustling. Hallways are full of voices, faces, and people. Big people, small people, and everyone in between. There is a certain joy to our school when the doors are open, and humans are streaming past you in every direction. But we can't do that, at least not now. 

The public health considerations impact a school of our size in a distinct way from others in our area. Also, very, very few families indicated a desire for fully remote learning in the early portion of our summer. That, combined with the fact that high-speed broadband internet is not a reality for every household in St. Johnsbury, led us to only have a fully virtual option for a small handful of families in a limited number of circumstances. 

I also want it to be clear that I believe it is in the absolute best interest of all children to be educated in person. Unfortunately, given the insidious nature of the COVID-19 virus, this does not outweigh the public health considerations. While currently in Vermont and the NEK, our numbers are good (if not excellent), we have seen an uptick in cases, not only in the NEK, but we've also seen the first case of school transmission of the virus in our state this past week. 

So while we are working to assess our ability to welcome back our PK - 6 students, we will do it thoughtfully and carefully, as we have made every decision to this point. I feel the pressure - I know the pressure. I expect my own children (both 7th and 8th graders) to be in a hybrid learning model for the remainder of this year. The guidance indicates that for 7th graders and up, six feet is the expected physical distancing. For our 7th and 8th grade families in St. Johnsbury, it is reasonable to expect that their students, too, will remain in a hybrid model. And as a dad, I know how hard this is. My teenage boys are aching to get back to school. Yes, my teenage boys. 

The other aspect I would be remiss if I did not mention is this, and I'm paraphrasing the words of Meg Allison, the President-Elect of the Vermont State Librarians' Association: "If there was ever a time to build a collective compassion for public educators, it is now." And yes, I understand, compassion is a two-way street. And yes, I understand that public education allows families to work, earn a living, pay the bills, and essentially exist. 

However, overnight, teachers became essential workers. And we are proud of that, and we own that. But do you know that I have teachers in my building who are crying because they are utterly overwhelmed? Not first-year teachers (not that it is OK for first-year teachers, or any teachers for that matter, to cry) but teachers who are established members of our school family. Teachers who are considered veterans who have taught generations of students and their parents. They wait until their children leave the classroom and then break down under the emotional weight of all this. I don't want anyone ever crying because they're overwhelmed with work. Never. 

I'm here to stand in front of every single employee in the St. Johnsbury School District. I'm proud to stand in front of every single employee in the St. Johnsbury School District. Every single day they show up for every single student, regardless of where that student is learning. 

So please, if you have concerns about our hybrid learning model, reach out to me. If you have concerns about the plan we have enacted, let me know. If you have concerns with how the St. Johnsbury School District is moving through this global health pandemic, don't complain to our teachers. 

It's not their fault. It's my fault. And I'm truly proud of that. 

Photo courtesy of @gmspirates

Truth With Compassion

If one is to be successful in any leadership role, managing relationships, particularly the difficult ones, is central to the work. It's easy to work with people who follow-through, meet deadlines, and do their job with obvious zeal and passion. However, as we all know, leadership is about having the hard conversations. 

One of my central tenets I try to lead with is the notion of "truth with compassion." Even when we are having conversations that will land hard on someone, I maintain there can be some semblance of empathy and kindness. Regardless of the work behavior being addressed, there is still a person listening who has feelings, a family, and a life outside of work. We can tell the truth about behaviors and job performance in a way that still honors the person. 

Growing up, I saw my dad cry often, and that let me know from a very early age that men are emotional despite the conventional wisdom. I'm comfortable crying, and I have found that parenthood from its very inception (I wept with joy when both Our Boys were born) often causes me to be more in touch with my feelings. This past week, I cried reading aloud the birthday card My Wife wrote to me. 

And yet, my sense is that still in 2020, there is this notion that crying, showing emotions, being compassionate, showing empathy... all these are signs of weakness. From the bombastic and toxic political rhetoric at the national level to the gendered roles that we tend to categorize toddlers into, there is still this sense that real men don't cry. For me, this could not be further from the truth. 

To be clear, I'm not saying that if we witness racist behavior, we must cower in the corner. I'm also not saying that we have to do it in a genteel way if we stand up for what we believe. Finally, I'm not saying that there are no circumstances that will cause us to raise our voices in anger and opposition. Anger is an emotion, after all. But it seems to be one of the only ones that are OK for men to demonstrate publicly. 

This week, I've been thinking a lot about authenticity when it comes to the work that I do. As our school district leader, I must be a positive figure, championing our work during this unusual time in our country's history. By nature, I'm a hopeful and positive person. And at the same time, I have to honor that this is an incredibly challenging time for everyone. The mental gymnastics that I have to do as a dad to ensure that my own children are where they are supposed to be when they are supposed to be there is exhausting. And I am a white man of privilege, with a more than capable partner who shoulders substantially more than her part of the load. 

What does this mean for the single, working parent? What does it mean for the families that are caring for aging parents? What does it mean for those who struggle with addiction? What does this mean for those whose skin color brings a level of implicit and explicit bias to every moment of their day? 

The bottom line is this: no one wears a sign around their neck, listing the areas in their life that are hard. If they did, relationships would be a whole lot easier. But since they don't, we need to lead from a place that is considerate of the reality that we just don't know what folks are going through. We need to talk about the behaviors, not the person. We need to acknowledge that some feedback is hard to hear and that we believe enough in the person to share the feedback. 

I've been comfortable with emotions and crying since I was a young man. I strive for empathy and compassion when working through the challenging conversations I have as an educational leader, whether or not we are living through a global health pandemic. It's not a sign of weakness. 

It's a sign of strength. 

Photo Courtesy of @KatelynLeitner1

A Bucket of Balls

On September 28, a tweet from Ethan Anderson went viral. News outlets, People Magazine, ESPN, even the Today Show picked up on it. Here's the tweet itself: 

The note in the tweet was what everyone, including me, found so compelling. It read: 

Free

Hope someone can use some of these baseballs in the batting cages. I found them cleaning out my garage. I pitched them to my son and grandson for countless rounds. My son is now 46, and my grandson is 23 y/o. I am 72, and what I won't give to pitch a couple of buckets to them. They have both moved away. If you are a father, cherish these times. You won't believe how quickly they will be gone. God bless. 

P.S. Give them a hug and tell them you love them every chance you get!

(I needed to pause while typing this post, as I really was starting to cry). 

Perhaps it's because I'm turning 46 this week. Perhaps it's because my own son has started to show a real interest in baseball again. Perhaps it's because I know there are fewer years with my own children in our home left before they go to college. Perhaps it's because this is simply and utterly a beautiful gesture, and we don't see too many of them these days. 

Parenthood is a funny thing - it challenges you and strengthens you. It is exhilarating and full of sorrow in a manner of moments. It can fill you with joy, and it can cause you to feel tremendous guilt. It causes you to look at the mini version of you - hoping to not make the same mistakes you endured as a child, knowing that instead, you will make your own as a parent (and that ultimately your own children will try to parent without repeating those). 

I was writing my dissertation when our children were little, very little. My Wife dutifully every night after dinner, directed me to the basement where I had my computer and my research. For those years, she parented our children during the day, and she parented them at night. She did this selflessly because I made a promise to both Patrick and Brendan, one they never knew or understood at the time. I promised that I would finish my dissertation so that they would never notice. Thanks to My Wife, they never knew I spent my evenings writing. That's because I never wanted to respond to one of their requests for my time with, "I'm sorry, Love, I can't. I have to write my dissertation." 

I've slipped since then. I've made excuses. Work. Pandemic. Cooking Dinner. You name it, I've said it. And I know, I know in my heart, the time is slipping through my fingers. Truth is, it's slipping through all of our fingers. We are less than three months from the end of 2020, and while it seems that this year will never end, I assure you it will. 2021 is right around the corner. 

It's not about the bucket of balls. It's about what the bucket of balls represents. It's about time. Time with My Boys. My Wife calls it "time in." Time in with our children is precious. It can be easily taken for granted. Things can get in the way. Work. Pandemic. Cooking Dinner. You name it. 

So with thanks to Ethan Anderson, I'm recommitting to My Boys and My Family. I'm recommitting to "time in." For Brendan, it's shooting in the driveway, talking statistics (which he has an uncanny way of learning and then dropping in a conversation at just the right time), and learning how to play Xbox. It's time in the fields for Patrick walking our dogs together, chatting in the car (he sits in the front seat now), and throwing in the backyard. 

(I paused to swallow hard again). 

We just need a bucket of balls. 

Photo courtesy of www.todaysparent.com

False Positive

One week ago, I got a phone call from one of my Principals. On my personal cell phone. On the weekend. Often those calls are not good news. This one wasn't. 

A member of our St. Johnsbury School community had a positive test for COVID-19. 

I will be honest, I expected this to happen this year, I didn't think it would happen in September. I thought we would have more time to prepare. 

Sunday afternoon quickly turned into a work afternoon and evening. 

In consultation with our local Health Department, we decided for all students to learn remotely on Monday. This decision was driven by the fact that the contact tracing would not be complete by the time our school day started on Monday. I sent out a message to our entire school community, letting them know the circumstances and assured them I would keep in touch as the situation evolved. 

A limited number of adults went to the building on Monday and we put our heads together about the next steps. The reality was that we could not make any more decisions until we heard back from the Health Department with the results of the contact tracing. I'm proud of the fact that we were able to furnish our medical professionals with contact logs promptly, and that our adults kept accurate track of those who had been in their rooms for more than fifteen minutes. 

On Monday afternoon, we learned from the Health Department that the positive test was limited to our 5th Grade Family, and they also confirmed they had completed their contact tracing phone calls. My message to the community that afternoon was that while our 5th Grade Family would continue to stay remote for at least the remainder of the week, everyone else was welcome to return to school on Tuesday. Also, I informed everyone that if they did not receive a phone call, they were not considered a close contact. In other words, no news was good news. 

We stayed in touch with the Health Department on Tuesday, but there were no updates. On Wednesday, though, we received the best news yet. The member of our school community who had tested positive went to a local hospital and retested, and the results were negative. The Health Department called our COVID Coordinator and confirmed that the test was negative. We did not have a member of our school community with COVID-19. 

How was that possible? 

The first test was an antigen test, also known as a rapid test. State guidelines recommend antigen testing only for people with symptoms. According to Seven Days VT, "Vermont is one of fifteen states that do not count positive results from antigen tests as confirmed COVID-19 cases." Instead, the state relies on polymerase chain reaction or PCR tests, which take longer to return results. 

Now, please understand. I'm not writing this to quibble with state guidelines. I am not writing this to question the work of the Health Department. As my own children remind me all the time, I'm not a real doctor, and I leave medical decisions to the medical professionals. 

Why am I writing this? I'm wondering aloud what the impact is of our seemingly overall need to have information instantly or rapidly, as the test is often called. I'm just as guilty as anyone else. I look to my Twitter feed for information because it's in my pocket, and I can get to it quickly. Banner headlines tell the stories of "Breaking News," which occasionally isn't verified and turns out is untrue. Far too often, we are deluged with notifications and red dots on our phone, demanding that we "check-in" and "connect." 

I've been asked if we would have done anything differently if the Health Department had informed us we had a "presumptive positive case," instead of a positive case. I can't answer that question myself. I am grateful to the School Board that I serve, as they delegated the decision making during this state of emergency to me. I am also incredibly fortunate to be surrounded by a team of professionals on the Reopening Taskforce that will help me find a way to answer that question. 

This team committed to physical distancing - we are in a hybrid model currently. This team committed to six feet apart. This team committed to modeling mask-wearing anytime we are in the building. This team committed to washing hands often, free-standing dispenser stations, and plenty of people to clean our building daily. All of this is in the guidance from the state, and you know what? It works. 

How do I know it works? Because no students were close contacts in this situation. Let me say that again. In our school building, with a hybrid model, with mask-wearing, washing hands, and daily cleaning, not one student was a close contact. 

Thank you to: 

Patrick Campbell
Lydia Cochrane
Louisa Driscoll, COVID Coordinator
Jodie Elliott
Sharma Gencarelle
Kara Lufkin
Jody Oliver
Jeremy Ross
Carolee Stuart

These are the members of the Reopening Taskforce. I'm proud to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with this team. That team, along with our wonderful faculty and staff, make education work daily during a global health pandemic. These are all the people that made this entire situation work. 

Even if it was a false positive.