Learning From Others

In July of 1996, I stepped into the building at the corner of Washington Boulevard and Oakley Street in Chicago, IL. It would be my professional home for at least the next two years. Upon graduation from the College of the Holy Cross, I joined a volunteer program called Inner-City Teaching Corps (ICTC), which sadly no longer exists. The program was modeled after the Jesuit Volunteer Corps, which places recent college graduates into high-need professional roles in socio-economically challenging parts of the country. Two ways ICTC was different: 1) It was a two-year commitment, and 2) It was exclusively a teaching program. 

We were trained in July and August, with coursework from Loyola University Chicago, and student-taught alongside permanent teachers teaching summer school. It was definitely baptism by fire, and while first-year teachers rarely feel ready to start the school year, we all (there were eleven other volunteers in my house) felt unsettled as we approached the opening day in our own classrooms. 

Upstairs from me, there was a veteran teacher, John Minor, who was teaching seventh grade. We shook hands on the first day back for all teachers, and he offered something to me that changed the arc of my teaching career: "Come by anytime to observe me in my classroom. Copy me and make it your own." I joked with him about how copying is not allowed in schools. His response was, "Then make it your own." 

I will admit that in the first few months, I was so overwhelmed with my own work that my prep periods were simply a respite from the day. They were a chance for me to catch my breath. But after the new year, in the early part of 1997, since I was still struggling, I made the time to get into Mr. Minor's classroom to see how he ran his room. I wish I had gone in sooner. 

While I don't remember the specifics, I know I spent a great deal of time in the back, scribbling on a legal pad what I saw him do that worked in his classroom. When I got back to my room and my students, some of it worked, and some of it didn't. However, I took his advice and made it my own. It wasn't perfect, but I was not looking for perfect. I needed something different from what I was doing because what I was doing was not working. It wasn't working for me. It wasn't working for my students. 

Fortunately, as part of ICTC, we had professional development along the way, in addition to what was offered at our own buildings. We had people come to observe us and share feedback from ICTC in addition to our building principal's observations. There was a great deal of support offered for a position in education that, while surrounded by students, is often lonely and isolated from other adults. It's hard to get better when you don't see what "better" is. 

I am a far cry from that baby teacher from more than twenty-seven years ago. It is only because of teachers like John Minor who let me learn from him. There have been plenty of others who have shared wisdom, who have mentored, who have opened their classroom and office doors. I hope for this to be the norm for all levels of education, for teachers, and for students. Learning is a messy, clumsy process. Think about a toddler learning to walk. How many times does one fall down before mastering the balance and dexterity needed for that critical skill of life? That process is often characterized by tremendous support, family and friends, encouraging even the slightest improvement, the single first step by a baby. 

Why should learning in school be any different? Yes, I know assessments are different, as they should be. For the last two weeks, I've written about the importance of grades and second chances. The process of learning is one that does not stop once one has "graduated into the real world." The number of times in a week that I reach out to a colleague in EGPS, a colleague superintendent, a School Committee member, legal counsel, an EG Town Official, or an educator from another state marks the moments when I've come across something that I've not encountered before. That's because the work of education is done by humans, on behalf of younger humans, who will make mistakes throughout the process. We can learn from others how to manage and navigate these unchartered waters. 

A life lesson I first learned from John Minor. 

Photo courtesy of www.learnfromothers.skillsforcare.org.uk

On Second Chances

As a result of last week's post, I had many conversations about grading and zeroes. I'm genuinely humbled anytime something I've written sparks further reflection and dialogue. I was inspired to write further based on what I heard from others and talked about in the past few days. 

One of the questions people raised with me was the idea of the "real world" regarding grading and evaluation. Some of the feedback I got was that this kind of consideration (giving someone the numerical equivalent of a failing grade instead of a zero) is not consistent with what students will face when they graduate and have a real job. I humbly disagree. 

I don't remember how old I was when I learned to ride a bike; I remember the experience. My dad would run behind me on a side street behind my childhood home, and after a while, he would let go. Undoubtedly, I fell many, many times, but I got back up on my bike and tried again. My dad would reset his position behind me, firmly holding the seat, ask me to start pedaling, and ultimately let go so that I could learn the correct balance. Skinned knees, scraped knuckles, and bruised ego aside, I can ride a bike today. I repeated those exact steps with my two boys and passed that life lesson on to them. They both can ride a bike, and I hope they will use the same method with their children someday. 

Consider this as well: driving a car. I feel fortunate that I passed my driver's test on the first try. The lessons came from my Driver's Education Teacher, my parents, and being in cars with others. Some of my friends did not pass their driver's test the first time... but today, they are licensed drivers! How? When they failed their driver's test, they were given precise feedback about the parts of the test they did not do well on. One of my friends, who struggled with three-point turns, asked his parents to take him driving and literally spent hours practicing only three-point turns. He maintained all the other skills he was proficient in and perfected a three-point turn, passing his driver's test on the second try. 

My final example is something we can all relate to paying taxes. If you fail to pay your federal taxes, the Internal Revenue Service does not give you a zero and asks you to do better next time. The IRS gives you a six-month extension, including a financial penalty, and expects payment by October 15. 

The "real world" is full of second chances we experience as adults. I've had uncomfortable conversations with employers during my professional career when I've made a poor choice. The reality of any leader (educational or otherwise) is that having hard conversations with employees shows where the institution's values are. The situation is a rarity when a single incident ends someone's employment. 

My favorite musical is Les Miserables; I've seen it several times and know most of the words by heart. When cooking, I like to put on the 25th Anniversary Concert to keep me company. Those who know the story know that the protagonist, Jean Valjean's redemption, comes from the altruism and kindness of a Catholic Bishop, who lies on Valjean's behalf. 

Valjean had served nineteen years in prison for stealing bread to feed his family. Upon his release, his "yellow ticket of leave" shows his employer that he is a former convict, and thus, Valjean is paid less than the other workers. The bishop shows mercy and invites him in for a warm meal and a bed. Valjean repays him by stealing some silver in the middle of the night. When caught by the local police, they bring Valjean back to the bishop. 

The bishop realizes that the real injustice is the fact that Valjean lost nineteen years because he was trying to protect his family. The handful of silver Valjean was caught stealing could not come close to making a difference for the years he spent in prison. In fact, the bishop gave Valjean two additional candlesticks in front of the police that Valjean "forgot" when he left. This fictional second chance would be the transformation Valjean needed, and he would pass that gift on to others throughout the remainder of his life. 

Second chances allow us to pay it forward and make others' lives better, even in the real world. 

Photo courtesy of www.quotefancy.com

How Important Are Grades?

Occasionally, friends of mine bring me "educational questions" about their own children's experience of teaching and learning. Recently, I was asked what I thought about a kiddo being given a zero for a missing assignment. I followed up with several questions about the project, the teacher's grading system, and this zero's impact. This entire conversation brought me back to my own educational journey with grades, both as a student and as a teacher. 

Long ago, when I was in elementary school, grades were distributed by envelopes that we brought home to our parents as students. We would bring our report cards to my dad. He would pull the paper out and cover my grades with a different piece of paper. He was more focused on the effort column. In my home, any grade was acceptable as long as the effort was "E" for excellent or "S" for satisfactory. Once the effort grades were scanned, and after reviewing the comments written by my teachers, only then did he look at the grade I earned in that class. That has stayed with me to this day. 

As a first-year student at Holy Cross, I was overwhelmed with the workload. So much so that I earned a "C-" on my first blue book exam. I was crushed and sure that this meant I would not be successful as a student there. With my tail between my legs, I went to the office hours of Professor Jim Powers in the Department of History. He was an intimidating individual, and I barely knew what to ask. Fortunately, this was not his first rodeo, and he started the conversation by saying, "I'm thinking this is one of the lowest grades you've seen in your academic career." When I confirmed that indeed it was, he took out a legal pad and started to sketch out how he conceives of his exams, how it relates to the way he teaches the course, and finally, how it connects to the reading he assigns. 

I was grateful for all this and said as much. But when I stood to leave, I was stunned by what he said next: "Mr. Ricca, I will make a deal with you. If you ensure that all your grades for the remainder of this class are better than this first exam, I'll forget about this grade since it was your first college blue book." I continued to go to office hours with Dr. Powers regularly, kept all my remaining grades above that C-, and he kept his word. That C- was never factored into my final grade for that first semester. 

Despite the lessons from my dad and Dr. Powers, when I first started teaching, I was utterly ridiculous about grades. I harped on my students about them. I was thoughtless about calculating percentages. I recorded zeroes if students did not turn in assignments. If I could go back to my early years of teaching, I would tell that baby teacher to keep grades in perspective. They're not the be-all and end-all. They have their place, of course. 

Fortunately, I did evolve in my thinking as an educator. When I taught high school, I often asked my students what they thought I earned when I took this course on the first day of classes. A handful would offer "an A," one or two would suggest I failed it, and after a few minutes, every letter grade was mentioned. I would then lower my voice and say, "Do you really want to know my grade when I was in high school.?" After an affirmative answer, I would whisper, "OK, if you want to know what my grade was when I took this class..." and then, in a regular voice, say, "Ask my mom, who has all my report cards in a shoebox in the attic!" 

Finally, I reflect on the fact that I've been in educational leadership since 2003, and as a result, I've been hiring people for twenty years. In twenty years of hiring people, I've never, not once, looked at a transcript when trying to determine whether or not to hire someone. Other than verifying that the academic record is authentic, I've never looked further at the details. Even once, in another district, when we were hiring a teacher for Irish Literature, which is very specialized, I did not look to see what the final candidates earned in that class. 

So, back to my friend. I was honest and shared that giving a zero for a missing assignment was inappropriate. It's more appropriate to enter a failing grade instead because the impact of one zero is almost irrecoverable in the course of a semester, especially if you are being graded out of 100. Giving a numerical "fail" (perhaps a 60) is reasonable but not a zero. 

Fortunately for me, I serve in East Greenwich Public Schools, and our Vision of a Graduate aligns with my professional views on grading. Our graduates will be knowledgeable, skilled, connected, and reflective. It does not say our graduates will earn top grades. It does not say our graduates will have high GPAs. It does not say our graduates will have all As. 

When it comes to grades, they are only meaningful if they reflect what our students know. To that end, we must work diligently to ensure that our students, all our students, can show us what they have learned. Not just on a quiz or a test. Not just in a five-paragraph essay. Not just in any of the traditional means we have to assess. We have to work to make certain that our grades demonstrate the growth, learning, and content we hope our students have mastered. 

So I ask you, how important are grades? 

Photo courtesy of www.newsandviewsonline.wordpress.com

The Three Most Important Words

Our work is about relationships. 

That's it. That's the list. 

I try to live by these words. I am at my best as a person, a husband, a father, and as a superintendent when these words are in the forefront of my mind. But as a human, life happens, and there are many times when I am not at my best, and I forget these words. Let me tell you about one of these moments that happened recently. 

This past summer, I learned that someone in East Greenwich had contacted the Rhode Island Department of Education (RIDE) asking questions about residency. After a quick check of my inbox and e-mail folders, I realized that this person did not reach out to me or any EG team members with their questions. There were no specifics from RIDE about the circumstances, the family themselves, or the questions this individual had. 

One of the portions of the superintendency that I like the least is dealing with residency issues. We have a reputation for excellence in education, with a Strategic Plan entitled "All Means All," and I'm proud of the ways that we continue to improve and grow when it comes to teaching and learning. For all those reasons and more, I occasionally need to make a determination about whether or not a family is residing in East Greenwich, per the School Committee policy. 

As I tried to wrap my mind around all the unknowns of this situation, it made the most sense to reach out to the individual who had contacted RIDE. It felt like this person was going over my head, instead of coming to me directly with questions. I pride myself on being approachable, open, and accessible to the EG community. With this in mind, I called the individual who contacted RIDE. 

The conversation started off well enough. The individual brought me up to speed on the circumstances that necessitated them contacting RIDE. I had also done a fair amount of homework, figured out the family in question, and had some information about what was going on in their lives. I thought I had it figured out. And that's when our discussion started to take a negative turn. 

As it did, I forgot that our work is about relationships. As it did, I forgot that I pledged to stay curious, not judgemental. As it did, I just flat-out blew it. 

I heatedly explained that it felt like this person was going over my head by not coming directly to me. This person responded that they wanted to have all the information before them when they first approached me to see if what they were asking was even possible. I took a breath, slowed down, and listened to what this person was saying. It made sense. That's actually something I would do. 

We both paused. "I am sorry," I said. "I rushed to judgment. I can appreciate you wanted to get information ahead of time and then come to me." And with that, we were back on the right track. 

I shared my plan for how to handle the information I had, the information the individual had, and the reality of the family's situation. What I proposed was reasonable, and the individual assured me they would have the family reach out to me to confirm the next steps. I apologized again and asked if I could buy this person a cup of coffee when school started back up again this fall. 

This past week, we got that cup of coffee. I got a chance to learn more about this individual, look them in the eyes, shake their hands, and say, "I am sorry," in person. To their credit, this person was gracious and accepted my apology (again). I'm grateful they did and gave me the opportunity to make up for my mistake so we both could move on. 

All because of the three most important words. 

Photo Courtesy of www.greatergood.berkeley.edu

Beyond Differences

On Sunday, October 1, at Comerica Park, the baseball season will come to an end for the home team, the Detroit Tigers, and the visiting team, the Cleveland Guardians. It's an unremarkable season for both teams; both will finish with losing records, and neither will make the playoffs. For several people, this will be their last major league baseball game. In this case, I'm focusing on the manager of the Cleveland Guardians, Terry Francona. 

Francona himself had an unremarkable career in MLB as a player; he batted .274 with 16 home runs and 143 runs-batted-in while playing for five different teams over ten years throughout the 1980s. He returned to baseball in 1996, coaching for the Detroit Tigers, and perhaps is best known for being the manager for the Red Sox when they broke "The Curse" and won the World Series in 2004. He was also their manager for their win in 2007. As a die-hard New York Yankees fan, that particular run in 2004 was painful, as the Sox became the first team ever - EVER - to overcome a 3-0 series deficit by beating my New York Yankees in the American League Championship Series. 

Needless to say, I was aware of Francona's managerial talents but really grew to admire him after I heard an interview with Joe Torre. Torre was the manager of my Yankees during their run of the late 90s and was at the helm when the Sox defeated the Yankees in 2004. When Torre and the Yankees parted ways in 2007, he did an interview on ESPN. As part of the interview, Torre was asked about the Yankees/Red Sox rivalry and the 2004 playoffs. 

Torre was the consummate baseball professional, describing what it was like to make baseball history, albeit on the wrong side of it. He talked about how when the Yankees/Red Sox rivalry is at its best, that is good for baseball. But the Torre pivoted to his perspective on Francona, and he shared something I was unaware of. Torre said that outside of the games, when the Yankees played the Red Sox, Torre would often call Francona after the Yankees game was over and pick Francona's brain about Torre's managerial decisions. The two of them would replay situations from that evening's game and the decisions they made throughout. To say the least, I was a little skeptical. 

That skepticism was erased when Francona was interviewed a few months later about Torre's departure from the Yankees. They played the clip from Torre's interview, hoping that Francona would deny it. Not only did he not deny it, he leaned into it. The deep respect these two managers had for each other was palpable, despite the contention of the rivalry. Indeed they did reach out and connect after games, as long as they weren't playing each other. At one point, one of them mentioned they'd hug at home plate exchanging lineup cards, if they thought the fans would accept it. This validation from Francona led me to read his book. And I'm proud to admit, I loved it and my admiration for Francona grew even further!

These two men were the leaders of two teams that, to put it mildly, don't get along. There have been bench clearing brawls, bean balls, and a history of bad blood. Yet their mutual admiration allowed them to rise above their differences for the love of the game. If the managers of one of the most heated rivalries in all of professional sports can find mutual respect, we can too. 

More often than not, we are choosing to identify with the differences we see in others. More often than not, we are focusing on what others are doing, and judging that. More often than not, we are finding all the ways that others have flaws, rather than honoring and celebrating their strengths. This doesn't mean we can't have hard conversations about values that are integral to who we are, because those are important and critical to our humanity. But that's the key word, humanity. 

We don't have to identify with whom we voted for in the last election. We don't have to identify with our political party. We don't have to identify with polarized partisan politics. We can choose to identify with the humanity others. We can choose to see the value of those humans. We can choose to be decent (and dare I say kind) to others. 

Choose carefully and wisely. 

Photo Courtesy of The Deseret News