The Gift of Time

One of my favorite things to do as an educational leader is to give people the gift of time. A tenet that I believe with all my heart is that if you show those who work for you that you value their personal time, they will show you how much they value their professional time. It's fun for me to walk through my office on a random Friday and tell people they can go home a little bit early. There is no particular reason, just giving people a chance to spend a few more minutes with their family or those important to them. 

I learned this lesson from my very first principal, Bridgid Miller. I was a baby teacher on the Near Westside of Chicago, teaching in a building full of families, nearly all of whom were eligible for free or reduced lunch. I was a volunteer, living in a community with other volunteer teachers. We all showed up early and stayed late. It was just what we did. 

And I was a little full of myself. I mentioned how one of the other teachers (a veteran of many years, many more than me) would leave with their students almost every day. Clearly, it was an unnecessary comment, and Ms. Miller pointed that out to me. After I apologized to her, she told me that schools needed to be filled with employees in all different stages of their lives. 

As a recent college graduate, early in my career, the school community was my entire life. Others were contemplating retirement. Others had a family to go home to. Still, others were caring for aging parents, in addition to their teaching duties. I had no idea the story of anyone else's world but my own. Ms. Miller taught me a valuable lesson that day. 

The last part of the lesson is what I still carry with me: everyone deserves the gift of time. She was the principal that would kick us out of our classrooms on a Friday afternoon. She might even stick a $20 in our volunteer pockets and have us buy a beverage or two of our choice on her. "Everyone deserves the gift of time, now and then," she would tell us. So I pay that forward. 

We are almost upon the Winter Holiday Break. At times, it has seemed interminable for a year that started with so much hope and anticipation. And yet, we are teaching, our students are learning. They are making progress, and we are staying open. We offered a vaccine clinic for our five to eleven-year-olds. We have Test to Stay and surveillance testing. We have parent volunteers and employees demonstrating more flexibility than gymnasts. Thanks to our testing protocols, more than 530 times, an asymptomatic student, who is also a close contact, could come to school and stay with us to learn rather than be at home.

And with the onset of this break, I want all of our school community to enjoy the gift of time. No expectations. No work, at least until the new year. Spend time with those who are important to you. Spend time with your family. Spend time by yourselves. 

I'm also mindful that this is not an easy time of year for everyone. Not all families resemble Norman Rockwell. This time of year reminds us of those who have passed away. It can be incredibly challenging, painful, and downright sad. I can't begin to know everyone's story, but I do want everyone to find some peace during this time away from our work. I want everyone to have the gift of time. 

Ms. Miller and I wish for that for everyone this Winter Holiday Break. 

 

Where Does It End?

No, I'm not talking about the pandemic. I'm talking about the list of expectations for educators in 2021. 

This past week, the parents of two sisters who survived the Oxford High School shooting filed a federal lawsuit against the school district. At the district level, that is an expectation, and it has happened after almost every school shooting. Let's pause for a moment to recognize how numb we are to school shootings since Columbine High School in 1999, even as we approach the anniversary of the tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary School. In case you have forgotten, twenty-six people were killed, including twenty first graders. First graders are typically six to seven years old. Our elected officials still believe our right to bear arms is more important than the right to attend school safely. But back to Oxford...

Also named in the lawsuit were the principal, dean of students, two guidance counselors, and two teachers. I have been a professional educator for twenty-five years. I am proud to have earned my licenses and to renew them at regular intervals. It is an honor to shift with the student-based trends in education, notably for proficiency-based learning as well as personalized learning plans. I did not study any of those in my graduate work, and still, it is a privilege to work to make these initiatives a reality for our students. 

But preparing to be named in a lawsuit, post-school shooting might be a bridge too far. 

Consider that before the pandemic began (can you even remember what life was like prior to March of 2020?), schools were already struggling under the weight of the expectations beyond the three "Rs." We were already having thoughtful and serious conversations about the troubling behaviors that were coming to school. After-school programs had grown to be a necessity, not something that was optional. Universal school meals were being debated, as we recognized that students coming to school hungry could not learn. Filling backpacks for the weekend was a way to ensure that students had what they needed when they left our buildings for two days. 

In addition, due to the ineptitude of our elected officials, we remained under threat of weapons being brought to school. So, we worked on active shooter drills, practiced how to barricade classrooms, and learned self-defense techniques. We learned the responses to "clear the halls," "shelter in place," and "secure the building." The Vermont School Crisis Planning Guide is 230 pages. As an aside, we are the only country victimized regularly by school shootings. The only country. 

Now, twenty-two months into the pandemic, educators are berated with learning loss. Our equity issues have been exacerbated. The social-emotional needs have exploded, and I'm not just referring to our students. Teachers have been on a roller coaster, from the highs of being hailed as heroes in the early days of the emergence of this public health crisis to being questioned about whether or not they're working hard enough, despite the paucity of guidance from state leaders in Vermont, and a patchwork of mitigation strategies that have led to a resurgence of this terrible virus. 

On top of all of this, teachers now are asked to accept the reality that they might be sued after a school shooting? I remember precisely what my education law professor told us on our first night of class: the only things needed to initiate a lawsuit are the filing fee and a court clerk. We've seen what might be considered frivolous lawsuits result in a change (see the warning label on your coffee), and plenty of them go nowhere. But I think that we all can agree that suing teachers is a new low in the level of tone-deafness we've experienced? 

Perhaps our elected officials can enact legislation that will shield teachers from litigation after school shootings. If they can't protect us from deadly weapons being brought to school, maybe they can protect us from being sued? 

Or is that too much to ask? 

Photo courtesy of www.forwardky.com, with permission from the artist Al Abbazia

What's In Your Tank?

When I was learning how to drive, I also learned a life lesson. Make sure, especially in the winter, that you have more than a quarter of a tank of gas at any time. For me, I keep this rule year-round. 

As I understand it, running on empty, while a fabulous song by Jackson Browne, is not good for your fuel pump. In addition, even though almost all gas gauges made today are digital, they're not always entirely accurate. Lastly, I was taught sediment collects at the bottom of your tank regularly, and without any gas, the residue will clog your fuel system. So, I never let my tank go below a quarter of a tank for all these reasons. 

My car's gas tank that is. I regularly let my own personal tank go below a quarter. I know plenty of educators who do the same thing. It's not healthy, but we do it anyway. 

Self-care was not something that was taught in any of my graduate school classes. Honestly, I cannot remember it being a word we regularly discussed until a few years ago. We still need to work on it. A lot. 

This week, I had a conversation with a staff member in St. Johnsbury who was absolutely at the end of their rope. This individual has been a part of our school family for many years. And while I'm aware that there are struggles in this individual's personal life, like many of us right now in education, there are struggles in this individual's professional life. 

This person's department is understaffed. There are not enough human beings to do all the work we usually expect them to complete. In addition, the to-do list continues to grow, despite the staff members continuing to decline. 

Our meeting started with a review of a recent interaction with another member of our school family. The other member of our family was asking for something, and realistically, the answer to the question should have been, "No, I can't do this right now." Instead, our kind-hearted, overwhelmed hero said, "OK," and added the request to an overflowing to-do list. 

Saying "no" to someone who you work with, especially if you are in education, and especially if you are in education right now, seems incredibly hard. It would not have been easy to do before March of 2020. Then again, rarely are the right things to do easy. 

In this case, my direct report would have served themself better if they said "no" at that moment. It was not a mission-critical request. It could have been completed before the Winter Holiday Break, not this past week, with no real negative consequences. Yes, the other member of our school family would have had to wait, and that's also OK. 

So as we wrapped up our weekly meeting, I gave that individual permission. Permission to say "no," with compassion. I asked this person to go home and review their to-do list to evaluate what was mission critical in these next few weeks. Prioritize those items for completion, and then judge how many more things their department can take on in that time. When someone came to them with a request that was not reasonable, I asked this individual to practice saying "no," with compassion. 

Education is essential work. I believe that with all of my being. I have committed a quarter of a century to work in it professionally and even more years as a student myself. Setting boundaries and saying "no" is something we all need to improve on. Teachers, paraeducators, facilities, food staff, administrative support staff, leadership - all of our employees need to feel empowered to say "no," with compassion. 

Self-care is not selfish. It is self-care. As an aviation geek and one of the only people who listen to the flight attendants' safety announcements, I know they tell us to put on our own oxygen masks before helping others. That's not a cute phrase. That's real. We cannot help others if we are running on empty. 

No matter how well-intentioned we are. 

Photo courtesy of @gcouros

The Benefit of the Doubt

We return from the Thanksgiving holiday to three and a half weeks of Relationships and Learning in the St. Johnsbury School. In a typical school year, this would be challenging at best. The time between Thanksgiving and the Winter Holiday Break is hard, without a pandemic. Add the unpredictability of our current public health circumstances, and it feels staggering. 

Make no mistake about it, we are up to the task. We have teachers ready for emergency remote days, prepared to teach an entire class or less, depending on the number of close contacts. We have paraeducators who are prepared to substitute and forgo their typical responsibilities to keep our building open. Foodservice employees are covering for vacant positions, and facilities personnel scrambling to ensure we have a clean building without an entire staff. We have administrative support staff covering desks they have never covered before. Our principals are struggling to visit classrooms regularly. Instead, they are making line lists for contact tracing. Our nurses are not nursing; they spend their days on the phones, calling parents, listening to frustrations and anger at our daily circumstances. 

I do not share this for people to feel sorry for us. I share this for perspective. The next three and a half weeks will undoubtedly have difficult moments. There will be misunderstandings, missteps, and miscommunications. We will make mistakes. Please know we are doing the absolute best we can given the less-than-ideal circumstances. 

Our district has already started the test to stay program. We have hosted one vaccine clinic before Thanksgiving and will have a follow-up on Thursday, December 9. Voluntary surveillance testing continues to occur weekly. We are doing absolutely everything that we can to keep our school open while our state struggles to contain the Delta variant. 

At the same time, we understand that our families and the St. Johnsbury community are doing everything possible to keep up with this ever-changing school year. We know these first few months have not been easy on our families. It's also reasonable to think that there is a higher than average level of stress, anxiety, and emotional anticipation going into these next three and a half weeks for families. 

Our focus this year is on Relationships and Learning. The only way our students will learn and grow is if they love coming to school. For some, this is their first time coming to school regularly in more than two years. To love coming to school, our students need to feel safe, welcome, and included. 

We are all doing our best. Our students, their families, and all our employees. All of us. 

We all deserve the benefit of the doubt. 

On Being Thankful

One of the ways I have tried to remain positive during this school year is to be intentional about my gratitude. I have written more handwritten thank you notes already this year than I can remember. I've tried to find specific ways to share meaningful words of thanks with people and honor the circumstances that our faculty, staff, and employees find themselves in this year. 

I'm focusing on gratitude because this year, perhaps more than any other in which I have served in leadership, there is very, very little that I can do to solve the problems brought to my attention. The people who report directly to me are describing circumstances in which there are no solutions. I don't mean that we can't come up with solutions. I mean, there are no solutions. 

We cannot make people magically appear and fill the open positions in our district. We cannot change the fact that the common cold symptoms are also the symptoms of COVID. We cannot make the circumstances of 2021 different. We can only alter our perspective and look through a different lens. 

It's an unenvious position to be in. Leading a school district and learning of problem after problem that no matter how much collective brainpower is put towards it, the best thinking is: "Let's just make the best of it." This is leadership in 2021. 

So I do my best to shift my focus, share this reality, and make myself present. I still can listen, be empathetic, and compassionate. My team can be mindful of this, see what we can do to reduce the non-essential demands on our employees, and move forward together. It's not ideal, but then again, neither are our circumstances. 

This Thanksgiving, I am thankful that our employees keep showing up. Every day. Teachers who are teaching half-full classes. Nurses who bear the brunt of families' frustrations. Paraeducators who have assignments that shift, often daily. Foodservice staff members that do the work of two, sometimes three staff members. Facilities personnel who do not have a consistent assignment or enough colleagues to get the job done. Administrative support staff that find themselves at unfamiliar desks or in unfamiliar positions. Principals that have no time for instructional leadership but instead play a constant game of whack-a-mole. 

My gratitude extends also to our families who are rolling with all of these changes. They have to contend with symptomatic children and the uncertainty of our test to stay program. They wonder if the next e-mail message from me will upend their world, with the notification of a positive case, with close contacts. 

And last but certainly not least, I am abundantly thankful for our students. They smile behind their masks. They put in a hard day's work every weekday. They bounce through our doors because we are focusing on Relationships and Learning this year and making sure every single one of them feels safe, welcome, and included. To paraphrase Hugh Grant's line from the movie Love Actually, when I get gloomy with the state of the world, I go into a classroom. And I remember why I went into education in the first place. 

Presence matters, even if you can't solve people's problems. I was reminded of that earlier this year when I won a raffle for contributing to the St. Johnsbury Sunshine Fund. This fund is a way the adults in our district take care of each other when personal circumstances take a crummy turn. One of the prizes I won was a homemade shirt designed by one of our teachers. The shirt is done in the lettering of the TV Show Friends; the theme song is from The Rembrandts entitled, "I'll Be There For You." 

Presence matters, even if you can't solve people's problems. This year I'm thankful for that. 

Thank you to Tammy MacQueen, 5th Grade Teacher, St. Johnsbury School

On Test Scores

As I started the college process in the early 1990s, I heard a lot about the SATs. So much emphasis was placed on them that I took the PSAT (a practice version) and the SAT exam three times. It took me three tries on the actual exam to break 1,000, and that was back when there were only two sections! When I first showed my college counselor the list of schools I was interested in, I was told I should perhaps expand my list because my SAT scores were not "that good." I didn't expand my list, and I am proud to share that I got into all six schools. Most importantly, I ended up where I belonged and that had very little to do with what I got on my SAT exam. 

This was on my mind because the Smarter Balanced Assessment scores were released on a state-wide basis in Vermont this week. Not surprisingly, the scores fell from 2019, pre-pandemic. But there is a more significant issue when it comes to the emphasis on testing. It is a national law that we test our students every spring to ensure that we receive federal dollars to do our work in public schools. It is conditional. Unless we take these tests, we don't get desperately needed monies to support our work in education. 

In October, I turned forty-seven, and I cannot think of one time - in my entire life - that the results of a standardized test score were meaningful to me. Not one time. I can tell you what I got on the SAT, the third time I took it: 1040. I was enrolled in a course between the second time and my final try. The course taught me only how to take a test - nothing about the content. And even with that 1040, I was told I should consider other colleges. We place too much emphasis on testing. 

I don't remember when, but I do remember how I learned to ride a bike. There was a one-way street behind the home I grew up in. My dad held the back of my bike seat and ran with me to help me get started, and would let go when I had enough balance and momentum. We went back and forth many, many times. I fell, I swerved, I crashed. There were skinned knees, scraped knuckles, and a lot of bruises. And to this day, I still know how to ride a bike. I kept getting up, and we kept practicing. 

How many people failed their driving test the first time they took it? And if you did, were you banned from driving? Of course not. The instructor shared feedback on what you needed to practice, what you did well in, and when you could test again. The goal between the first and the second test is to keep up the driving skills you demonstrated capabilities in and work on those that needed improvement. That sounds an awful lot like life. 

I have had these conversations in Vermont since the move was made toward proficiency-based learning standards in our state. Often, I will hear, "Well, we need to prepare our students for the real world." OK, there's nothing more real-world than paying your taxes. What happens when you don't? You don't get a zero for not turning in your homework. There is a fine and a six-month extension. 

And when was the last time as an adult, we were asked to take a test, that was a condition of the work we do receiving resources. Resources, by the way that are desperately needed. That fund key positions in our schools, so communities are not required to provide additional support with their tax dollars. 

While thinking this through, as I write, I still can't remember a time when a test score was significant in my life. Even my dissertation defense, the culmination of years of work, was not scored. It was pass/fail. And yet, we've accepted the reality that state-wide test scores, from one moment in time, should be newsworthy. Along with it come the snickers and comments questioning the efforts of our educators, paraeducators, and those support staff who are making it possible for teaching and learning to take place. 

We've accepted the reality that standardized testing is something of a necessity. However, ensuring that it is discussed in the appropriate context is the work of education. As a dad and superintendent, I'm much more interested in the progress my own children and my school district's children make, not just the score they earn. There's too much emphasis on the scores and not enough about how we got there. 

If you saw me trying to learn how to ride a bicycle the first time, I would not have inspired confidence. I would not have earned a "passing score." Today I do know how to ride a bike. 

No matter how many times I fell in the beginning. 

Photo courtesy of www.blogs.baylor.edu

You Are Who You Are

When I was growing up, my parents had a set of yellow napkins that they saved, only for when we were eating at the dining room table. They were cloth napkins, not disposable, and we used them only when others came over to eat with us. We used disposable napkins when we ate at our breakfast table (where we had nearly every meal without guests). 

The reason I have such a specific memory of those napkins is because once, when our cousins were over for dinner, one of them helped me make a penalty flag with a yellow cloth napkin. Yes - a penalty flag, the ones used by football officials. A quick google search in 2021 yields the following eight options at the top of the page: 

However, no such internet existed in the early eighties when I was in elementary school, and more interested in the officials when I watched professional sports. Don't worry, I still knew all the names of my favorite Yankee, Giant, Ranger, and Knick players (and I still do). And I also knew the names of my favorite officials in each of the sports. For baseball, it was umpire Joe Brinkman, football it was referee Jerry Markbreit, hockey it was referee Kerry Fraser, and in basketball, it was referee Jake O'Donnell. 

I was not the best athlete growing up. I was good, and I played basketball and baseball. I was on my high school's junior varsity teams for both, but I didn't advance. I never made an all-star team, nor a traveling team. I didn't feel snubbed in any way. I knew the limits of my athletic ability, and I was not gifted in that way. But I did have an interest in officiating. So I pursued that. 

I started with the homemade penalty flag with pickup football games with my friends. I would play in the games, but sometimes I officiated. How could you argue with someone who comes to a neighborhood football game with a whistle around his neck and a legitimate-looking penalty flag? 

I took more of a serious approach after both my baseball and my basketball playing days were over. I started to umpire Little League baseball while in high school and eventually intra-mural basketball when I was in college. I continued to hone my skills on both the court and the baseball diamond, studying the rules of each level I was officiating. I bought my own equipment and made the time to honor my passion. 

Ironically, I've never stepped onto a football field as an official, despite the hard work I put in on the random fields of Mt. Vernon, NY as a ten-year-old amateur official with my friends. There is still time, but currently, I officiate high school basketball through Vermont's International Association of Approved Basketball Officials, Board 105. Our season is just around the corner. 

From time to time, I do think about what would have happened if I had more athletic ability. But I also know that we are in desperate need of officials at all levels of sports, and I take a lot of pride in the work I do as a referee and an umpire, as do my fellow officials. Our hope is always that we are rarely noticed and that the game never comes down to an official's call. 

I do think about the what-ifs. But I also know that I love being an official, and I would not trade it, even if offered the opportunity to be an athlete. It's how I contribute to the games that I love. 

And it's who I am. 

Photo courtesy of www.everypixel.com

You Can't Do That on Zoom

On Wednesday, October 27, the 10th Rowland Foundation Conference was held at the University of Vermont. The keynote speaker this year was Carla Shalaby from the University of Michigan School of Education. Dr. Shalaby's presentation title was "Love and Learning Freedom: Practicing Community in the Classroom." She was engaging, provocative, thoughtful, and challenging. I had tears in my eyes as her presentation ended. 

Her work gave me pause as I reflected on all the issues of compliance that we emphasize in schools. In a push for more freedom in our buildings, not a free-for-all, Dr. Shalaby offered that we need to care more about the people in our classrooms, not just the curriculum. We must make every attempt to find humanness in our classrooms, that is visible to all eyes that are watching us. My favorite quote of the keynote, the one that caused the most contemplation, was this: 

The students that are the most non-compliant can teach us the most. Their sufferings and screams are a warning to the rest of us. It's something we cannot see unless we look through their eyes. 

It feels like now, a lot of our students are asking us to look through their eyes. A lot of our students are giving us warnings, some subtle, some not-so-subtle. A lot of our students, and our adults, are hurting under the weight of expectations of schools during this pandemic. We exist in education to serve our students, and we need to give our adults everything they need to be their best professional selves. 

Perhaps though, just as important to me was the chance to see people again in person. In-person. There were hugs, handshakes, and high-fives. There were long embraces, deep conversations, and meaningful exchanges. We sat on the floor, stood and talked, worked together at tables. We were in person. 

I met people at this conference that I've only interacted with on Twitter for the first time, which is not just social media for celebrities. As Mike Martin, the Executive Director of the Rowland Foundation, told me years ago when we were serving together as colleagues: "Twitter is a way for us to connect with others based on the merit of the ideas." So many people I've learned from and with right here in Vermont, I've never met before. I talked to them that day at the conference. We were in person. 

And high praise to UVM. They got it right. We were all required to show proof of vaccination and to wear masks the entire time. And that did not take away one iota of the joy that I felt and observed at the Davis Center. I was not the only one hugging. I was not the only one shaking hands. I was not the only one giving high-fives. There was no Rowland Conference last year, and rightfully so. But we all missed it, and we made up for the lost time in whatever way we could. 

Lori Lisai picked up on this during the day with the following tweet: 

It was a fantastic day for intense reflection and deep discomfort from Dr. Shalaby's keynote, bringing our awareness to systems that are not serving our students. And it would have been easy to lose ourselves in that work, were it not for the fact that we were in person with others throughout the state of Vermont, committed to disrupting these systems with us. We are better together. 

We've made it work since March of 2020, cobbled together through electronic means, platforms, and networks. We've learned from afar, worked from afar, and connected from afar. The patchwork of relationships without being in person was the best that we could do given the circumstances. 

But there is absolutely nothing in the world that can replicate or replace a hug. Nothing. 

Photo Courtesy of @RowFn (Lori Lisai)

We Can't Talk to Each Other That Way

When I first started my teaching career on the Near West Side of Chicago, there were many, many things I had to learn about being a good educator. One of my earliest lessons came less than a month into my fledgling career when I completely mishandled a phone call from a parent. I can't remember the name of the parent nor the child, just the feeling that I blew it. I walked across the hall to talk to my unofficial mentor teacher, shared my experience, and asked for some advice. It was simple: Listen more. 

At the time, I was not even twenty-two years old. As you might expect, I thought I knew it all. When in fact, I knew very little. I did need to listen more. 

I genuinely believe that my milestones have helped me in my professional world through each stage of my life. The young teacher who blew that first phone call that day was single, with no children, and very few responsibilities outside of the walls of that school building. Years later, I would marry, and I now have children of my own. Learning to navigate the balance (or lack thereof) of family, children, and work has given me insight into and empathy for the lives of others. 

So when I played phone tag earlier this week with a parent, I wanted to be mindful of all that. I know the reality of the Delta variant as we have returned to school has wreaked havoc on everyone. When we finally connected, I wanted to be sure that I remembered that lesson from when I was a very young teacher. Listen more. 

And I did. I listened to this parent's story, and I agreed with almost everything this parent was saying. Yes, it's incredibly frustrating to send children home if they have only one symptom. Yes, we know this means children will miss school. Yes, our staff is struggling to return the volume of phone calls, which is hard for families. Yes, sometimes there is the student version of events, and sometimes there is the adult version of events. We agreed on almost everything that was said. 

Here is where we diverged. In the professional world of this parent, the boss at their workplace wants employees to listen, even when those on the phone are rude and disrespectful, to allow the caller to vent. When the venting is done, the employee is to then connect the caller with their supervisor. That doesn't work for me. 

Yes, we are a public school. Yes, we are in the community to serve. Yes, we welcome any and all students through our doors. And when we welcome our students, we welcome their families as well. 

No, that does not entitle anyone to speak rudely or disrespectfully to our staff. In fairness, I do not expect our staff to speak rudely or disrespectfully either. We earn the respect of our community through our service and our professionalism. We earn the respect of our community through listening to ideas that are different than our own. We earn the respect of our community by having hard conversations, especially when we don't agree. 

And, we set appropriate boundaries to acknowledge that when we are not our best selves, we should take a break and try again later. That is healthy. That promotes positive relationships with two people who do not share the same perspective. That ensures that we don't say something we may regret later. 

There are too many examples in our world of people who are talking past each other. We commit to healthy and respectful relationships in our district. Sometimes that means saying no. Sometimes that means taking a break. Sometimes that means walking away. Especially now, we are all feeling the stress and pressure of the current moment. 

As long as we always come back and try again because we are all in this together. 

Photo courtesy of www.azquotes

Humble and Kind

Admittedly, I am not a huge country music fan. And yet, there are some songs that I do really love to listen to. One was so inspirational that I wrote a blog post about it. So I guess you would have to say this is the second time that the words in a country music song have caused me to want to write. 

According to Wikipedia, it was written by Lori McKenna and first released by Tim McGraw in January 2016. The song won "Best Country Song" at the 59th Grammy Awards, "Video of the Year" at the 2016 CMT Music Awards, "Song of the Year" at the 2016 CMA Awards, and "Country Song of the Year" at the 2016 American Music Awards. Finally, it has been certified platinum and has reached number one on both the Canadian and American country music charts. 

I'm not even sure where or when I heard it first, but it has been a mainstay in my iPhone playlist ever since. Yes, my own children roll their eyes when it starts playing, but I hear them humming along. Once in a while, I even hear a lyric or two escape from their lips. They'll absolutely deny this, of course!

Humility and kindness are two things that are in desperate need these days. The reality is that school this year is so much harder than it was last year. One of the reasons I love being in educational leadership is that I don't have all the answers. That love is being tested. We are in such a reactive mode that it feels more like a game of whack-a-mole than thoughtful, deliberate leadership. 

We lurch from one crisis to the next, and I wonder if the next phone call I receive will be telling me that we have another positive case in our district. Once that call comes in, the first questions are, "What grade?" and "Are there close contacts?" The answers to both of those questions will determine our next steps and how many students and teachers will quarantine as a result. 

OK - I said that humility is desperately needed these days. I'll start: I don't have all the answers. I have found myself needing to be more empathetic than ever when a parent calls me, frustrated that their child has been sent home (again). I rely on active listening as I can in those moments, trying to be honest about what I'm hearing that parent say and repeating their frustrations. When parents get off the phone with me, I'm proud that they feel heard, even if they disagree with what I'm saying. And I'll return to where I started; I don't have all the answers. 

I also mentioned that we need kindness. During my classroom visits last week, at least four adults in my building stopped me to tell me how hard their professional (and I'm guessing their personal) world feels. After they described how challenging things were, I asked them, "What can I do?" None of them were able to articulate a tangible step I could take on their behalf. 

I began serving in education more than twenty-five years ago, hoping to make a difference in the lives of children, and now in leadership, for adults as well. I see my colleague superintendents doing contact tracing, substitute teaching, and in some cases, mowing lawns. We are trying to do our part to make the worlds we are responsible for a little bit better for the adults, who are trying to do their part to make their students' worlds a little bit better. 

It's a two-way street. Humility begets more humility. Kindness begets more kindness. Take away our titles, and we are all just humans, putting our pants on, one leg at a time, trying to manage our way through this mess. 

Don't take for granted the love this life gives you
When you get where you're going, don't forget turn back around
Help the next one in line
Always stay humble and kind. 

Photo courtesy of www.truenorthcf.org

The Courage of Letting Go

We are within striking distance, if not already reaching peak foliage season in the Green Mountain State. Our home is surrounded by trees in the backyard, and some have already begun shedding their leaves. I first noticed some of the changing colors in late August-early September in our yard, and shortly after that, some began falling. We have plenty of more to go, but our grass is starting to show signs of the impending autumn ritual of leaves falling. 

Typically, I welcome the fall with the crisp air because it means cider doughnuts, apple picking, and post-season baseball. While my beloved Yankees bowed to the Red Sox and are no longer playing, there is still plenty of great action to watch. It is a trade-off as the days get shorter, and I know the winter is not far behind. This year though feels different. 

It's our second year of experiencing COVID in the fall, but it is so substantially harder. The Delta variant has wreaked havoc on the opening of our school year, once viewed with so much hope of normalcy. Our students, especially those not eligible for vaccines, are struggling with community spread, and that is impacting everything we are trying to do. Our focus this year is Relationships and Learning. It's tough to build relationships consistently when there are so many disruptions. 

Schools are the only places where mitigation strategies exist in our state. Despite medical experts, politicians, parents, and educators pleading with our state leadership, we continue to hear only the good news about adult vaccinations. Schools are being offered many testing strategies that we do not have the human capacity to fully accept. It is backbreaking work, and we are being told to just make the best of it. 

And that is exactly what our employees are doing. Our employees are showing up every day. In some cases, they are not doing the same job more than once a week. Our Co-Principals are reassigning people regularly trying to staff all positions due to absences, whether those absences are the result of COVID in our building or the result of COVID in other school buildings throughout the NEK. Our employees are being told to make the best of it, and that's what they are doing. 

How? I'm honestly not sure. My best guess is that our adults are letting go of everything that is not mission-critical when it comes to their work. Some are letting go of the predictability of our students showing up every day. Some are letting go of a regular work assignment. Some are letting go of classroom visits. Some are letting go of instructional leadership. There is a lot of letting go. 

No, this is not the year we had hoped for yet. Vaccines are on the horizon but are not in the arms of our five to eleven-year-olds yet. We don't quite know what the future holds. Our employees can't look there yet, since their focus must be the unpredictable nature of day-to-day. 

So if you see, know, or love someone who works in a school building, please say thank you. Maybe even give them a hug if they're open to it. They've let go of so much to make these first seven weeks. There is so much they cannot change, and every day there are bright eyes behind those masks, yearning for connection and stability. While this year has been nothing like we wanted, it's demonstrated something that I've come to know as a certainty in twenty-five years of serving in education. 

To serve in education takes courage, regardless of the role. It involves a vulnerability that I cannot explain unless you've stood in front of a classroom and tried to teach a lesson. Or unless you've sat one on one with a child who needed a moment. Or unless you've sat in a classroom as an instructional leader, observing the lesson from the perspective of the teacher and the students. Or unless you've needed to call a parent whose child needed to go home. To serve in education take courage, regardless of the role. 

Never more so than in a pandemic. 

Photo courtesy of www.emilysquotes.com

Who Shares Your Joy?

When I was five years old, I took my first trip ever on an airplane. We have family that lives in a suburb of Chicago, and My Dad and I went to visit them. It was my first of many times at New York's LaGuardia Airport, and aboard an American Airlines McDonnell-Douglas Super 80, we flew to Chicago's O'Hare International Airport. I was hooked from the moment I stepped out of the car and into the airport, let alone once I was on the plane itself.

Of course, this was before September 11, so I was allowed to go up to the cockpit during the flight. I was presented with the customary wings, pilot's hat, and other trinkets that I can't remember now. It was magical. I loved every single minute of it. 

That love has stayed with me well into my adult life. I am what most would call an aviation geek. I know the three-letter codes for most, if not all domestic, airports in the United States. I can usually identify the type of plane in the air while looking at it from the ground. Our home is adjacent to the approach path to Burlington International Airport if runway 33 is in use. Finally, when we lived in our first house, and My Wife needed to work with a client with some peace and quiet, I was only too happy to take Our Boys to the BTV to watch the "men with the sticks" as they marshaled planes into their gates. 

Over the years, my family has gifted me flight lessons. Sightseeing flights, practice flights, even a "chunk" of flight hours after I earned my dissertation from my entire extended family. When I look back to the first entry in my pilot logbook, the year is 2006. That changed drastically this past Valentine's Day. 

The gift I received from My Wife was not more lessons per se; the gift I received was the time to earn a private pilot's license. She did a substantial amount of research and found Learn to Fly VT and my flight instructor Bob Desmarais. Beginning in April of this year, I was gifted the time to pursue my dream. 

From the first time flying, more than thirty-two years ago, I always wanted to fly and learn how to fly. I never wanted to be a commercial airline pilot; there was too much time away from family. And I often talked myself out of actually pursuing a pilot's license by making excuses about cost, but mainly about the time, it would take. My Wife found the time for me. 

I would fly on Thursday evenings and Saturday mornings as often as I could. There were weeks when I missed one or both of my lessons due to family conflicts, or sometimes Bob could not fly. But I kept at it. 

After months of hard work, this past Thursday, September 30, was a milestone. The lesson began with three maneuvers called "touch-and-go." That is when the plane touches down on the runway, we immediately take off again to practice another landing. After the third landing, I announced on the local frequency "full stop," meaning we were not going up in the air again. At least not right away. 

Bob turned to me in the plane and said, "I think you're ready for your solo flight. Do you think you're ready?" 

After a pause, I responded, "I absolutely am!" 

While I taxied the plane over to the fuel pumps, Bob reminded me of a critical part of landing a plane: "There are no points off for a go-around. If you are landing and it doesn't feel right, go back up in the air and try again." There's a lot of wisdom in that statement that goes far beyond aviation. 

Bob prepared to get out at the fuel pumps, and before he did, he asked if I had any last questions. I responded, "When you get to the observation area, will you check to make sure your radio works so that if I need to, I can talk to you?" 

"I absolutely will. You've got this." With that, he unplugged his headset, stepped out of the plane, and shut the door. I was alone in the cockpit of the airplane. 

True to his word, when he reached the observation area, Bob raised his radio to his mouth and said, "Can you hear me?" His voice was crystal clear in my headset. When I responded, "I sure can," he told me, "Then off you go." 

I taxied the plane to the active runway, lined up in the center, and after a deep breath, pushed the throttle all the way in. When I reached the appropriate speed, I pulled back gently on the yoke, and I was airborne! I climbed to the correct altitude and entered the pattern for landing. I landed the plane successfully three times that day, all by myself. Here's my second landing, recorded by Bob, which I'm proudest of: 

I am a solo pilot! I can fly by myself, without a flight instructor! 

The five-year-old in me was so full of joy that day. But there was someone who was perhaps more excited than I was: My Wife. I could not wait to call her and tell her what I did or show her my landings. The excitement in her voice was palpable.

This coming Friday, October 8, is the anniversary of the last first date either of us has ever had. Twenty-one years ago, we spent more than three hours at Bruna's Ristorante, a small restaurant in the Italian Village section of Chicago. We've been together ever since. 

The life we've made over the past two decades is dotted with ups and downs. It's not cliche to say that Michal Gendron Ricca halves my sorrow and more than doubles my joy because that is the truth. She sees potential when I see a brick wall. She sees possibilities when I see limits. She sees my dreams more clearly than I do. 

The five-year-old in me is so grateful I finally took the time. The five-year-old in me was elated when I left the runway and landed safely back on it. The five-year-old in me is so grateful I was given the gift of time by someone who shares my dreams. 

This solo flight is for you, Beautiful Girl. 

What It's Really Like

There has been a great deal of discussion in the abstract about the impact of the Delta variant in Vermont schools since the year began. Here in the real world, with real students, faculty, staff, and families, it's been excruciating. To give a real sense of what it has meant, consider these actual numbers in the St. Johnsbury School District. 

Thus far, we have had seventeen positive cases in our PK - 8 building through September 24, where more than three-quarters of our students are not yet able to receive a vaccine. There was promising news on a vaccine for 5 - 11-year-olds this week, and still, there's a way to go until it's available and our students are actually vaccinated. Of the cases we've had, thirteen are in PK - 6, where most if not all of our students are not yet eligible for a vaccine. We have had two positive cases in 7th and 8th grade, where some of our students are vaccinated. Finally, we had two cases where the individuals were not physically in school when they contracted the virus. 

Working with our Data Manager, I found that we average approximately fifteen students in each classroom, on the low side. The thirteen cases that have occurred so far in our PK - 6 classrooms affect almost two hundred families. Almost two hundred families.  

Nearly two hundred families have to pivot to remote learning. This is almost one-third of our student population. They all have to find child care or work from home. They all have to get to a testing center, get tested, and wait for the results. They all have to manage their lives differently since nowhere else in the state are masks mandatory. In addition, this could mean loss of wages for families and a ripple effect on businesses with vaccinated parents needing to take additional time off. 

Since none of these children can be vaccinated, the entire class needs to quarantine when there is a positive case. To give some perspective, with the two instances in our 7th and 8th grades, the impact is not nearly as significant. When close contacts are vaccinated, they do not need to miss school. We have a considerable number of our 7th and 8th graders vaccinated, so the impact on their learning was minimal. The disruptive effect on our PK - 6 students and their families is much worse. 

It is laudable that more than 87% of our adults have received at least one dose of a vaccine. Unfortunately, that does no good for the children who cannot get the vaccine yet and who realistically won't get the vaccine and be fully vaccinated until early December. And that is a very hopeful and optimistic timeline. 

Seventeen cases impacting almost two hundred families in the first five weeks of our school year in St. Johnsbury. In these late summer, early fall months, we can be outdoors often. We can spend time out of the building on our campus grounds. We also know that as the weather turns colder, that will get more and more challenging. 

It already feels hard, and the weather is cooperating with us. It feels like we are doing this alone. It feels like the rest of the state has moved on. The rest of the state, eligible for vaccination, has decided that school cases are not their problem, even though one of the best ways to bring down school transmission is to reduce community transmission. Schools should not be doing this alone. 

Seventeen cases impacting nearly two hundred families in the first five weeks of our school year. Despite the calls of medical experts, politicians, and educators for the current administration to do more. We need more. We cannot do it alone. 

Seventeen cases impacting nearly two hundred families in the first five weeks of our school year. 

In addition, this burden is falling on school principals, nurses, teachers, and staff. Principals are unable to be instructional leaders. Instead, they are making phone calls to families and assessing whether or not classrooms can stay open. Nurses are spending hours and hours contact tracing, as well as correcting misinformation being shared through the state COVID hotline. Teachers are juggling the responsibilities of remote and in-person learning, trying to thoughtfully and carefully build relationships that have been frayed over the past nineteen months. Staff members are being reassigned to different coverage areas on a daily basis as our need for substitute teachers dramatically increases. 

How much more can schools be expected to bear on their own? Asking for a friend...

Photo courtesy of www.cargocollective.com

Taking Turns

Our oldest son Patrick started high school in August. Having been in leadership in two different high schools, in two different states, and having a district office located in another high school, I can tell you one thing with confidence: parking lots are unique places. That means that arrival and dismissal times end up taking on a life of their own. If you've ever been in a high school parking lot, you know what I mean. 

As I headed to CVU to pick up Patrick one afternoon, I wondered what my first parking lot experience would be like. While juniors and seniors have parking privileges, freshmen and sophomores rely on others for their transportation. Teen drivers with less than two years experience, plus parents in a rush to pick up their children and get to the item on their "To Do" list (myself included), plus buses. What could go wrong? 

I arrived shortly before 3:00 (dismissal is at 3:15) and found a long line of cars waiting. As students began trickling out, the cars inched forward. With a steadier flow of students leaving the building, the parking lot began to get more crowded, with some students driving their own cars and other being driven by parents or caregivers. I thought to myself, "I know what this is going to look like" because I've seen this before at other high schools. 

I prepared myself for a race to each intersection. No one giving way, everyone trying to gain the slightest edge. With that edge, you get in front of the next vehicle for your turn to sit in line and wait at the stop sign. It's the hurry up and wait mentality of the high school parking lots that I've experienced both as a student, and as an adult. 

So after Patrick got into the car, we joined the conga line of cars all heading for the parking lot exit. I approached the first intersection and made eye contact with the young person approaching me on my right. I expected them to move ahead aggressively and instead was surprised when they gave the right of way to me. At the next turn, another young person, again gave me the right of way. At the third intersection, the individual did move ahead in a more aggressive manner but to my surprise, it was a parent. For our final two turns until we were in line for the stop sign, two other young people took what I considered to be appropriate turns in the lines of traffic. 

I was stunned and so impressed by how well the young people at CVU handled the parking lot. They actually took turns, a lesson that has been implicitly and explicitly taught since they were in early elementary classrooms. One person from one line of traffic gets to go, then someone else from the other line, and so on. If we follow that, we really can all get to where we are going. 

Our children are teaching us again. The only question is, are we open to learning from them? 

It's About Relationships - Even with Red Sox Fans

I like to wear my Yankee shirts all the time, even when I'm in Boston. I've been a fan of the Yankees for as long as I can remember, and despite the rivalry (which clearly has waned in recent years), I proudly wear the interlocking NY in Beantown. No, I don't wear it to Fenway, but essentially everywhere else, I display my pride in my team. 

We visited my in-laws for Labor Day weekend for one last gasp at summer. On the way to the Cape, we stopped in the North End neighborhood of Boston and found a table at a nice Italian restaurant. The service was great, the dinners were delicious, but the dessert was something special. 

The owner and chef came to the table and sat down. He asked if I was really a Yankees fan, and of course, I said I was. He asked the rest of the family their affiliation. My Wife is neutral. Our oldest son Patrick is a Yankees fan, and our youngest son Brendan roots for the Red Sox. We do, after all, live in Vermont, and I routinely tell anyone who asks that I dropped Brendan on his head when he was younger. 

When our host heard this, he quickly got up from the table and promised to bring us back something special. We watched him disappear down a flight of circular stairs. When he returned, he was holding a rectangular box. When he put the box on the table, I could see it had a glass top, but as I tried to see what was inside, he opened the box. A light came on as the box opened, and I could finally see what was inside: it was a World Series ring. 

Specifically, it was the World Series ring from 2013, the year the Red Sox defeated the St. Louis Cardinals. I've never seen a World Series ring in person before, and this one did not disappoint. Our host showed us all the details, let us hold it, and even let one of us put it on. 

My Favorite Red Sox fan with the 2013 World Series ring

I love baseball so much that when my high school playing days were over, I began umpiring just so that I could continue to be a part of the game. And while I will always root for the Yankees to beat the Red Sox, I have enough respect for the game itself to honor what the Sox accomplished in 2013. Do I wish the Yankees had won it then (or any year since 2009)? Absolutely. But I was not going to let that spoil this night. 

We sat at the table and listened to our host tell stories about that Red Sox team. He has had players, team executives, and fans alike at his restaurant. This was our dessert. Sitting while our host regaled us with his tales of the Red Sox made our night in the North End magical, even for a Yankees fan. 

This would not have happened had I not worn my Yankee shirt that night. It would not have happened if a die-hard Red Sox fan hadn't seen it, came over, sat down, and started a conversation. I know there's a rivalry but at the heart of it are just fans, all of whom put their pants on one leg at a time. I'm so grateful to have eaten at Piccolo Nido, and to have met Pino Irano, the owner and chef. 

The next time you're in the North End, please stop in, say hi, and have a meal. Tell Pino his favorite Yankee Fan sent you.  

It Starts at the Top

On Monday, August 30, I received an e-mail from a professor at Tulane University in New Orleans, LA. The professor and her family were asking about the possibility of relocating to St. Johnsbury, where they own a second home. The family was forced to evacuate their primary home because of Hurricane Ida, and they were in search of opportunities for their children to continue to be educated. 

I consulted the residency statute with our attorney, and one of the safeguards to that statute is that residents must intend to stay for an indefinite period of time. That may not be the case here. At the same time, the family is not leaving their home by choice either. They are victims of a natural disaster. 

Fortunately, I serve a Board with a students-first attitude, and this was no exception. I reached out to my Chair and Vice-Chair and explained the situation. I shared with both of them my hope to extend the opportunity to educate this family's children - in an emergency situation - until the Board meets later in September. At that time, we would add an agenda item for the Board to review and discuss the "Admission of Resident Students" Policy, and the Board would be able to make a final decision for this family. 

That's what I did, and that is what we are going to do. I've connected the family with our Data Manager and the Co-Principal for the Upper House. We hope to see the family in our building this week, meeting with the children and letting them try to put their lives back together from the Green Mountain State. 

I told our Faculty and Staff on their first employment day this year that I believe I have the best job in the state of Vermont. I serve a Board that puts students first - not just during natural disasters, not just during pandemics, not just during states of emergency. I serve a Board that understands the connection between employee morale and better outcomes. I serve a Board that makes policies work for them, not making us work for the policies. 

When you have that kind of freedom as a Superintendent when your Chair asks routinely at meetings, "Is that best for students?" you get to do the work that you know will cultivate a safe, welcome, and inclusive place for students to grow and learn. That is my promise to our students. When I have that kind of freedom, I can make good on my promise to the adults: I want them to be their best professional selves for our students and for their colleagues. When I have that kind of freedom, I can honor the values of the community and reflect those values in the public education they support annually. 

Too often, there are times when we cannot do anything tangible for people who have suffered from the tragedy of a natural disaster. In this case, I know the St. Johnsbury School will allow a family from New Orleans to continue learning. In this case, we can make a difference in the lives of two children. In this case, we can be our best professional selves and add to our safe, welcome, and inclusive environment. 

It's because I serve a Board that puts students first. Every single time. 

Photo courtesy of www.lushin.com

Time Waits for No One

I've had difficulty placing events in order since March of 2020. The end of the 2019 - 2020 school year was a blur. Almost the entirety of the 2020 - 20201 school year is fuzzy, except I can remember starting to bring more and more students back to in-person education around the February break. I know we ended the year with almost our entire student body in the building. 

Yet periodically, I'll try to place other events in my mind, and I can't remember exactly when it happened. Was that during the immediate closure during the initial portion of the pandemic? Or did that happen during the hybrid education portion of the program? Did that happen before we even heard about the word Covid? And while I often cannot place the exact time that something happened over the past almost- eighteen months, I do know one thing for sure: the Earth continues to rotate on its axis. 

This past Tuesday, our oldest son turned fifteen, and he started high school. It seems like this cannot be possible because it was just about an hour and a half ago that I was giving him his first bath in the hospital. But Patrick was born in another time zone, so I can almost accept that fifteen years have passed since he was born. Our youngest son is in eighth grade, and I know that cannot be correct because Brendan was born here in Vermont. It's hard to believe that we have been living year for all of his years at Allen Brook School and almost all of his years at Williston Central School. 

Over the weekend, one of my dear friends dropped his oldest child off at Holy Cross. I met him and his wife at Holy Cross. We were in each other's weddings. How is it possible that my friends are now parents of a Holy Cross student?  

Countless milestones have happened since March of 2020. There have been birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays. Children have been born, men and women have passed away, people have fallen in love, and made career changes. There have been downpours of rain, significant snowfalls, gorgeous full moons, and breathtaking sunsets. The Earth continues to rotate on its axis. 

Time waits for no one. It certainly is not waiting for me. There was a lump in my throat when I drove Brendan to what I know is his last first day at Williston Central School. The same day I know Patrick was being driven to CVU for his first day of high school. I suspect time is not waiting for anyone else either. 

Yes, we are living through another surge in Vermont. We do need to take precautions. Get vaccinated. Wear a mask. And keep living your best life. Don't wait for this delta variant to run its course. 

There is no time like the present. We have Covid in our world, and we may have it in our world for a while. Time is precious. 

The Earth continues to rotate on its axis. 

Photo courtesy of www.csii.net

On Relationships and Learning

It wasn't supposed to be this way. It was supposed to be different. It was supposed to be better. 

We did the whole pandemic thing since March of 2020. We re-invented what education looked like. We made it work. 

We vaccinated. We vaccinated again. We lead the United States in vaccination rates. 

And yet, here we are, faced with another daunting school year. Particularly for us in St. Johnsbury, one in which more than seventy percent of our student population is at greater risk since they are not old enough to be eligible for vaccines yet. Still, on Wednesday, August 25, we will welcome our first through eighth graders back; six days later, our pre-kindergarten and kindergarten students will return to make our school family complete. 

We are universally masking. Every student, teacher, staff member, employee, visitor will be required to wear a mask when in our building. We are following the science that tells us that this current variant is twice as transmissible. We are following the science that tells us that masking prevents transmission. We encourage all eligible students in our district to get vaccinated because we follow the science that tells us how effective vaccines are. (References: https://www.cdc.gov/coronavirus/2019-ncov/variants/delta-variant.html; https://www.aap.org/en/pages/2019-novel-coronavirus-covid-19-infections/children-and-covid-19-state-level-data-report/)

We are doing all this because we want all of our students - every single one of them - back in our building, rebuilding relationships with our adults, to feel safe, welcome, and included. We know that when students feel safe, welcome, and included, they can learn to their individual potential. Almost universally, children learn best when they are in our building, with their teachers and friends. We want that, in person, every day in St. Johnsbury. 

I know what you're saying: we did this last year. And we did. Our community rose in support of our students, faculty, staff, and employees. You supported hybrid learning, a remote schedule, and smaller cohorts to support physical distancing. From the bottom of my heart, I am grateful beyond words for your efforts to keep us safe and healthy. 

So as we return to this nearly normal, not quite pre-pandemic school year, we will need more grace and understanding from our community again. This is not the situation we wanted to be in this year, and we will make the most of it. We will do that by focusing on relationships and learning. We will not be worried about "catching up" from the past year and a half. I wrote about this very notion in this very blog earlier this year: 

We will not presume anything about our students' experience over the past year except one thing: they've lived through a global health pandemic. 

There is plenty of work ahead. And, yes, our students have not had the year any of us had planned. But we will take on the next steps in the same way we have always approached education in St. Johnsbury: by meeting every student where she or he is. 

We will not presume anything about this year. We will only welcome our students back with open arms, delighted to have them learning with us again. 

Here we are, on the cusp of another school year. We had hoped for something different but this virus has other plans for us. Still, we will welcome our students back with open arms, masked faces, delighted to have them learning with us in person again. 

That's it. That's the list. 

Photo courtesy of teacherspayteachers.com

On Drive-Bys

Twenty years ago, I was in the final months of my Master's Program at Fordham University. I had taken a year off to earn the degree and get back to the classroom as quickly as possible. I had applied for and earned a first-grade teaching position that I was excited to begin. It would be my first time teaching an early elementary class, and while I was nervous, the opportunity to be in the lives of five and six-year-olds while they learned was exhilarating. 

I struggled that year - not so much with the students or the education, but with the leadership in the school. Typical visits from my principal included what I like to call "drive-bys" or brief moment walk-throughs, very little interaction with me or my students, and plenty of scribbling on a notepad. It was 2001, after all, and there was very little that would resemble today in terms of technology. Bottom line, there was no feedback. I had no idea what was being written down, and I heard very little from my immediate supervisor, positive or negative. 

I do remember hearing something positive on the day before our winter holiday break in December. It was another drive-by, but on the way out of the room, this individual paused, leaned down, and said, "You have a nice rapport with your students." I barely looked up and almost didn't hear what was said. Now please understand, I did not go into teaching to hear compliments and praise from others. And as someone who was in his first year of a new teaching assignment, I was yearning for some kind of feedback. 

There was a seminal moment that year, with my then-girlfriend, now wife. We had just bought bagel sandwiches and coffee at Bagel Rising on Commonwealth Avenue in Allston. The shop was full, and we took our food outside and sat down on the curb. Since she's also an educator, we were talking through my struggles with leadership. In the middle of the conversation, she stopped and said, "Ricca, you're going to be a superintendent one day." The words were not even out of her mouth for a second when I responded, "No way. Superintendents are so far away from the classroom, pushing papers and working with boards. They are totally disconnected from students." 

How little did I know...

About a week ago, one of my teachers in St. Johnsbury reached out to me and shared that a student had been making significant growth in school. As a part of the celebration, this teacher asked the student who this information should be shared with. Quickly came, other teachers, family members, "and the guy who walks around our building and sits down to talk to us. You know the one with the tie and the spiky hair?"

I found the teacher and connected with the student. It was humbling. I will be honest, I didn't remember the specific conversation that I had with this student before this moment pictured below. 

What I do know is that for the last ten years serving as a superintendent has been nothing like what the first-grade teacher in 2001 thought would be like. Yes, I work with boards. Yes, there is a lot of paperwork, especially this year. Yes, I am physically far away from classrooms. 

And yet, I'm grateful that the board that I serve encourages and supports my time in the building. In the classrooms, in the offices, in the spaces where the real work of our district takes place. Making time to be present to the people, both adults and students, who show up every day, even during a global health pandemic, to build the relationships that allow the full potential and possibility of education. 

Twenty years ago, I had no idea what the superintendency would be like. I had one version in my head, from the only superintendent I knew as a student growing up. I never saw him, barely knew his name, and can't remember seeing him once in our school. That was just my experience. 

What I knew then and experience now is that our work has to be so much more than just drive-bys. 

Photo courtesy of @JoshShipp

Memorial Day

I recently learned that it was not until 1971 that Memorial Day became a federal holiday. Before that, it was Decoration Day, originating in the years following the Civil War. The day is intended for us to pause and honor the men and women of our military who gave their lives for others in service to this country. I feel incredibly fortunate that the people I know personally who have served this country all came home to their loved ones. Many other families are not so fortunate and mourn specific people who they've lost. 

I was thinking about this recently when I came across a Twitter post about the power of "and." I can't credit the author, as I didn't even retweet it, so it's not in my timeline. Still, the message was one that I've been sitting with: in this ever-polarized world, why can't we be both? Why can't we see both sides? Why does it have to be one or the other? Here's how I'm grappling with this. 

I am decidedly non-violent and anti-war. If there had been a draft when I was in that age range, I would have registered as a conscious objector and not participated. I have never held a weapon in my life, and I don't plan to. This is not to say that I won't defend myself or my family, but so far, in forty-six years on this planet, I've thrown only two punches. 

While I am non-violent and anti-war, I am pro-soldier. How can this be? Aren't those ideas in conflict? Not for me, and here's why. 

My Dad served in the military. He was in Vietnam. The only way he could afford to go to college was through ROTC and the United States government. As I shared above, he came home safely, long before I was a twinkle in his eye. After his military service, with his college degree, he was able to find a job. He met my Mom, and the rest is Ricca Family History. 

We don't know the reasons why men and women enlist in the service. Some do so out of a sense of duty. Some do so to find direction. Some do so because of patriotism. Some do so because they want a college degree and cannot afford it on their own. And if we start to investigate the reasons for college affordability, I'll need to write an entirely different blog post. 

We are living in incredibly polarized times. I offer that the gift of the word "and" can help us steer closer to the grey places where true connections can be found. There are the rare instances when we can all agree there is an absolute right and an absolute wrong; for the rest, there are shades of grey. 

Those shades of grey are begging for people to engage, to listen, to learn. Those shades of grey will cause us to be uncomfortable, to grow, to find out more about others. Those shades of grey will test who we are as people, open us to other perspectives, and enhance our humanity. 

To honor those who have given their lives in service to our country, I ask us to find the shades of grey in our own lives with those closest to us. Practice using the word "and" with friends and family. With practice, we can learn to engage others in these difficult conversations. 

Thank you to Norman Watson, My Wife's grandfather. 

Thank you to Keith "Gino" Gendron, My Wife's brother. 

Thank you to Peter Ricca, My Dad. 

I am non-violent, I am anti-war. AND I am pro-soldier. Can we learn together? 

Photo courtesy of www.signalsaz.com