Learning From Our Students

After graduating from the College of the Holy Cross in May 1996, I joined a volunteer program that no longer exists: Inner-City Teaching Corps. The program placed recent college graduates in classrooms in Chicago's forgotten neighborhoods. It was modeled after the Jesuit Volunteer Corps, which was much more broad in terms of the volunteer opportunities. We lived in a small community with a limited budget, but we all taught. 

Without a degree in education or certification to teach, the program partnered with Loyola University Chicago to obtain temporary licensure for us. When I left Chicago in 2000, I knew I wanted to be a teacher. However, all I had was four years of teaching under my belt. 

I found a thirteen-month program at Fordham University that came with a New York State teaching certificate, along with a Master of Science in Teaching degree. I was a full-time student, but because of the program's duration, we were required to complete a portfolio of our work instead of writing a lengthy final project. The title of my portfolio was "Learning From My Students." 

Fast forward twenty-three years, and I was at the Hanaford School for classroom visits last week when Ms. Colleen Hanrahan invited me to the front of the room to complete a challenging math problem. The class read the question aloud to me, and I started to show my work. I knew immediately that I was going down the wrong path, as there was an almost instant buzz in the room. Fortunately, the students and the teacher were more than happy to help. With the right prompts from both Ms. Hanrahan and her students, I was able to find my way back to the correct answer. 

It was so important for Ms. Hanrahan and her students to see that we don't have all the answers. Often, when I ask students what the superintendent does, the response is: "You're the boss of the principals." Technically, that's correct. However, this is my answer: 

• My job is to ensure that every student who comes to school feels safe, welcomed, and included so they can learn to their potential. When students feel those things, they have the freedom to make mistakes, which is the best way for us to learn. 

Just by the fact that we have degrees in education and licenses to teach, does not mean we have all the answers. Just because we stand in front of the class, with a well-thought-out lesson plan, does not mean we won't be stumped. Just because we are adults does not mean we know it all. 

But let's be honest, we sometimes slip into that mindset. Adults know more than children. It's just nature's way. We've been around the block more than once or twice. We've been in their chairs. We've completed our education.  We have college and advanced degrees. We pay mortgages. We pay taxes. We are adults!

In 2022, I wrote about a colleague whose humility in education was inspirational. Frank Raispis was committed to staying in education, as long as he continued to learn. He wasn't interested in titles, degrees, or teaching licenses. Mr. Raispis was interested in learning and had a life full of it. 

I love being a Superintendent of Schools. Whenever I'm discouraged by the work of my office, I leave and visit a classroom. Whether it's on the floor with a first grade at Frenchtown or Meadowbrook. Or perhaps it's in an advanced science classroom at EGHS. Maybe it's wandering into a foreign language lesson at Cole. Or finding my way into a self-contained class at Eldredge or Hanaford. It energizes me. It inspires me. It reminds me why I went into education in the first place. 

After last week, my Fordham portfolio needs a few more pages. For Ms. Colleen Hanrahan. For her students. 

For teaching me that I still have plenty to learn and so much more to grow. 

Photo courtesy of www.medium.com

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

At least, that's what Andy Williams said. The popular Christmas song was written in 1963 by Edward Pola and George Wyle, and I have distinct memories of it playing on my parent's record player during the holiday season. Yes, a record player. I currently have that song, along with many others, on my iPhone playlist. I have fond memories of Christmas in our home, for almost every year except one. 

My grandfather passed away in the spring of 1983. That Christmas was different. It was somehow muted and slightly less "bright" than the others. There was an empty seat at the table that would have been his. 

In the East Greenwich Community this holiday season, there will be three empty seats that families will experience for the first time. Dr. Steven Arnoff, our former Director of Technology, passed away on November 24 last year. Ryan Casey passed away on November 18. Bob Houghtaling passed away on December 8. None of those deaths were expected, and each person left an indelible imprint on many, many people. 

When My Wife was eight years old, her dad passed away. Since then, almost forty years ago, every holiday season has been bittersweet. Patrick Gendron missed all of the significant milestones in her life: sweet sixteen, high school and college graduation, first job, our wedding, the birth of our children, and all of the celebratory moments in the lives of his grandchildren. 

I never got to meet My Wife's father. In his honor, we named our oldest son Patrick Michael. His pictures are in frames in our home. 

Not every family will be decking the halls merry and bright this holiday season. For some, the losses of loved ones are fresh and still tangibly painful. For some, the losses of others are distant memories, but the feelings are so close that we could almost touch them. For me, I can go nearly eleven months of the year knowing that my grandfather passed away forty-one years ago, and I can accept that. Yet, I wanted him to be at the table with us Thanksgiving and to have had the opportunity to meet his great-grandchildren. And I will want him to be a part of this year's holiday traditions, which are dotted with the ones I grew up with that he was a part of. 

But the show must go on. There is the business of Teaching and Learning. There is the work of building the budget for next year. The families of East Greenwich Public Schools expect us to be ready to engage, instruct, assess, and meet the social-emotional needs of our students in this hectic time between Thanksgiving and the Winter Holiday Recess. 

Whether the 2024 holiday season is causing us to miss loved ones who just passed away, those who have been gone for decades, or perhaps some people are fortunate to not be grieving any loss at all. They might be aching to be reunited with estranged loved ones. They might be dealing with a family member struggling with mental illness or an addiction. Or any myriad of items that impact families. 

We can be kind. We can be gentle. We can be compassionate. We can be empathetic. We can listen. We can withhold judgment. We can create safe spaces for people to not be OK. 

Then it can be the most wonderful time of the year. 

Photo Courtesy of Steph Edwards (@toyoufromsteph)

Comparison is the Thief of Joy

One of the ways that the winter months impact me is the lack of daylight. It's not the cold, I grew up outside of New York City, and experienced real winters. I also lived for ten years in Chicago, and it's called the Windy City for good reasons. Wind chills there were the real thing. It's not the snow either, as I lived in Vermont for fifteen years, where I owned a snowblower and learned to ski as an adult!

It really is the lack of daylight. It's hard to go to work in the dark and leave in the dark. While there is brilliant light in every one of our school buildings, thanks to the tremendous faculty, staff, and students in East Greenwich Public Schools, we are seeing more and more darkness. That reality will continue until Saturday, December 21, 2024. That day has the shortest amount of daylight in the northern hemisphere. Just days after that, we will start seeing more light until the peak on Saturday, June 21, 2025. 

But I read something from The Washington Post (free article, with e-mail registration) in November that put all this into perspective. I read about the town of Utqiagvik, Alaska, located 330 miles north of the Arctic Circle. On Monday, November 18, at 1:27 PM, the sun set, and it won't rise again until January 22, 2025. For sixty-four days, residents will be essentially living at night. They will not see the sun for more than two months. There is not less and less sun, as we experience, but no sun. None. I don't know how I would feel about that. 

However, the article pointed out that the people who live in Utqiagvik will have the same amount of daylight as those of us in East Greenwich, Rhode Island. We all experience the same number of hours of sunlight over 365 days. How do I know this? Per the article, on May 11, 2025, those living in Utqiagvik will see the sun rise, and it won't set again until August 19! Honestly, I'm not sure how I would feel about that either. 

Sometimes it's about our perspective. Sometimes, it's how we think about another person. Sometimes, we have our blind spots. Sometimes, we can't see the whole picture. 

We are just coming off of the Thanksgiving Break, and whether it was a festive celebration or celebrated quietly, it is a time to be thankful. Thankful for what we have, even if we don't think it's much. Somewhere, someone else might not share that same perspective. Comparison really is the thief of joy because, in the end, we all get the same amount of sunlight.