Trending? Or Timeless?

            In the section on journalism in his World Without Mind,Franklin Foer argues the primary force now is “trending.” Even more than clicks and views and likes and reposts, journalists worry about what’s trending and react accordingly. It almost seems the reverse of the time-honored notion of the scoop. This, in turn, drastically affects one’s perceptions and even larger understandings. I’ve been wondering if the same focus isn’t part of what’s been haunting independent education.

            If you know me, whether personally or through this blog and my Twitter stream, you know I believe strongly in progressive, innovative movement in education. For years I’ve preached, “Evolve or die.” While rather dramatic, it also strikes me as too patient. Somewhere is that sweet spot at which we move forward with due haste…and with due thoughtfulness.

            Many schools are doing some extraordinary work, keeping their DNA while still significantly adapting programs and practices to meet student’s needs right now and in the future. For example, many schools have “academic excellence” as part of their mission statements. Just what does that mean, especially in 2018? What are the implications of our conclusions? What should change? How far are we willing to go? How honestly are we answering these questions?

            It often seems that school are, like those journalists, reacting to trends. In some ways it’s a form of silver bullet, latest and greatest thinking born of a desire to improve. That’s been a long-term practice in education. (Should I have said trend?) Recall when television and filmstrips were the greatest? Individualized reading packets with leveled comprehension tests? More current examples are makerspaces and mindfulness. So many schools have rushed to create specific makerspaces and to incorporate mindfulness. Both have value, but we need to think very deeply about these ideas big picture. For example, if a school believes in the principles of a maker space—and they are exciting—they should not be limited to a space if the rest of the program remains much the same. Instead, it should flow throughout the school. (I’ve written more extensively about this idea here.) As for mindfulness, given the increased rates of anxiety among our students, I’m glad we’re doing something. But there is a very pressing, further reaching question: what is our role in creating the need for mindfulness programs and what do we do to change that?

I wonder, just as media grabs onto what’s trending to gain an audience, whether schools sometime do the same because of legitimate fears of financial sustainability. It certainly explains some other current, perhaps unhealthy, things occurring in many schools. They are primarily part of how we operate as businesses. For example, I hear more references to our customers. I see it in some of the ways we brand and market ourselves. I’m not opposed to these things; and while hopelessly romantic idealist in some ways, I fully accept that independent schools are businesses. The question lies in how we do that business. How have we, as one head wrote, moved to such a contractual relationship in our communities? Meanwhile, are we plumbing our souls? Baring them? Or selling them?

I don’t think it’s the latter. At least not very much. Quality educators remain committed to mission and ideals and kids. But I’m not sure we have enough of the first two. After all, we scream, there isn’t time for all that reflection. Perhaps that is because we’re so busy grabbing on to the next best thing, whatever is trending at the time. Ironically, and this is where I draw the significant hope, at this point in time, so much of what’s trending harkens to the timeless, most precious elements of human learning.

My Election Day 2018 Message

The following is the note I shared with employees at St. John's Episcopal School today. People's responses prompt me to post it here.

                Yesterday at the ISAS Heads of School meeting, I was talking with a friend about the state of our nation right now. We shared a fear: that no matter the results of today’s election, no one wins. We see the potential for (perhaps the likelihood of) wider division, increased vitriol, and more aggressive lashing out.
                I think, individually and collectively, our nation is tired. Bone tired. Our souls are pleading for rest and healing. Psychic and spiritual health suffers when we are battered with negative energy jolts that drive us to fear and fret rather than aspire and hope. We thrive on love, yet the air feels filled with hate.
                Hatred comes out in humans in a unique fashion. In other species hatred arises out of a survival instinct. In humans, while there is some of that, hatred often spews out of a desire to express supremacy. In current times both notions seem applicable. Whatever the cause, hatred in any form directly contradicts one of the main tenets we preach at St. John’s, which beseeches us to be a community where we respect the dignity of every human being. One of the things I most appreciate about our school is that we strive to do this.
                Always keep that ideal in mind. Do so especially on days like today and tomorrow, when people will be feeling the gamut of emotions. Some may feel nothing. You may, as I do feel particularly vulnerable at such times, when it feels as if any encounter could spin out of control. Whatever you may feel, such times challenge us to suppress our primal instincts and to invoke our higher angels.
                When you find that difficult, think of this. We are among the lucky ones. Our calling as educators empowers us to positively influence the next generation, helping them grow into the type of leaders we need, mainly by demanding and modeling the right behavior. Speaking to the heads this morning, Brene Brown pointed out that education is the most important inflection point for meaningful change on a large scale. It’s where leadership matters most. That’s truly awesome—as in great and as in awe inspiring.

The "Important" Versus the Important

     One aspect of education that makes it particularly challenging work is that everything potentially has greater gravity than it may seem at the moment. For example, every interaction with another person, whether a colleague or especially a student, holds amazing potential energy, either positive or negative. Each class can turn off or turn on one or more learners. I don't recall the exact number, but I remember reading somewhere how educators make an incredible number of potentially impactful decisions each day--many more so than most people.That's quite awesome. It's also both invigorating and exhausting.
     It's also why I think we need to reflect on another real challenge tied to this first one: discerning the "important" from the important. The former are those things that we tend to hold out as crucial, even vital, far beyond their real value. The latter are what truly matters.
     For example, let's consider a typical English curriculum and ask some big questions. What is the purpose? Is it to study literature, meaning the general canon and genres and literary elements and how authors speak to each other across generations? In other words, it is to study literature (pronounced with suitably snooty tone)? Or is it for us to consider aspects of the human condition as they play out in myriad ways across cultures? Or, even simpler, is it supposed to keep alive--spark?--a love of reading deeply? Why is it so heavily focused on literature? Why is the overwhelming majority of writing based on formulaic essays and standard literary criticism? Why do we even have English classes rather than Communications classes?
     One can raise similar questions, of course, about other disciplines. In chemistry classes students struggle to memorize elements of the periodic table. But does that really help them to understand how that table works or the relationships between elements? Currently some healthy debate is raging about algebra. Why is that the one almost universally-required math course when it seems to be the one that turns many kids off from math? I don't have definite answers to these questions, but I certainly have opinions. And I do know we need to be considering such notions.
     However one answers these questions, we put misplaced faith in curricula, imparting upon it unjustified importance. Despite what I have to see as the  bald marketing attempts in the use of this label, there is no teacher-proof curriculum. Conversely, a great teacher can bring a terrible curriculum alive. Similarly, we place too much faith in assessment, whether standardized or teacher-generated. That naturally then leads to grades, perhaps the currency whose value we have most inflated.
     I could keep going. Any thoughtful reader can add to the list. A list can help us keep focus on the right issues--and deem what is truly important.
     We also must ask another key question: Why do so many of us become so overwrought about the "important"?
     One reason is a positive one. It's that we have many passionate, caring, dedicated people concerned about education. That can also be a challenge in that sometimes our lizard brain, despite being primitive and small, overwhelms the cerebral cortex. In less scientific terms, we react emotionally to the immediate. Further, as humans we prefer the tangible, the measurable; they are easier for us to grasp, to manage, even to manipulate. We become more vulnerable to the traps of fast thinking. Our vision can become myopic, monochromatic, one-dimensional. Rigid even. The sort of outlook that promotes pure rigor. Which often means just more of the same.
     Learning at its best, though, is scintillating, imaginative, speculative, kaleidoscopic. It revels in the process, both in the here and now and wherever it may be going, knowing it never really arrives at a certain destination. But hoping. It's that insatiable curiosity innate in us at birth, optimally raging for the rest of our lives.
     We assign much of what we deem "important" that status because of short-term thinking.But as one of my mentors regularly encouraged, we need to "take the long view--the longest view possible." At the risk of seeming melodramatic, perhaps we should consider education in the same way David Brooks encouraged to consider living our lives for building a resume or a eulogy. To capture that notion, I'll defer to one of my former students, who graduated high school in 1988. In a comment on a blog post I wrote in 2012 after a beloved educator passed away, he wrote:

ESA was never about the location. It is a sugar cane field in between Lafayette and New Iberia. The population of Cade, LA doubles every morning and halves every night. It was always about the teachers. Coach Rhoades, Madame Garboushian, Ms. Dobkins, Mr. Olverson, Dr. White, Mr. Tutwiler and, yes, you, Mr. Crotty, taught us more about what the journey we had in front of us than any of the lessons and tests we had to pass. Prep school for once meant more than learning what we needed to know to succeed in college. It also prepared us for the challenges we faced outside the classroom. I remember very little of the books that I read back then (enjoyed Watership Down, couldn't summarize it for you if I tried). I do not remember a specific PE class Coach Rhoades taught. I do remember many of the conversations we had over 24 years ago --- conversations that stay with me and continually educate me to this day. May Coach Rhoades rest in peace with the knowledge that his lessons were always destined to outlive him --- and us.

   
   

Hope at Start of School Year...and Beyond

     The beginning of a new year is special because of how it captures such a sense of hope and possibility. The adults sense it in each student, and the kids trust in us to help them discover all the ways their innate sense of it can turn into startling realities. When it works right, it stokes that joyful sense of learning.Then you have students wanting to return to school.
     Of course, those who've never been harbor some trepidation, no matter what they've been told. It's why one of my favorite scenes during the opening couple of weeks is at morning carpool. A pre-K or K child will be reluctant, barely inching along the sidewalk, eyes bulging and sometimes a bit moist. Then an older child--usually a sibling, sometimes a family friend, sometimes just an empathetic upper elementary or middle schooler--will clasp the small child's hand or drape an arm around their shoulders, smile and whisper some encouragement, and walk them in. A small but giant kindness.
     When I see such scenes, ones that children re-create in myriad ways without really thinking, I feel hopeful. They are why why we see them, to be cliched, as the hope for the future. At the same time, it reminds us that at our core people are basically kind and helpful, something we can forget as we suffer what feel like daily blizzards of vitriol in these turbulent, divisive times.
     Last week I had a five-day period during which I had quite a bit of travel, pinging around different time zones. Between travel and appointments, I decided to observe and reflect on random human behavior, particularly how we treat strangers. Other than one guy yelling over the phone at a service agent about a flight situation, I saw nothing I would describe as rude. Instead, I saw general niceness. Here's just a partial list of incidents which stand out: 

• People helping others stow and take down carry-on luggage on an airplane.
• My son's college roommate waiting for him to arrive before setting anything up so they could decide how to arrange things together.
• The lady who helped a struggling mom fold up a stroller as her toddler screamed.
• Drivers letting each other in during a rush hour traffic jam.
• The hotel clerk who had our room cleaned in a tight time frame as we requested.
• A teen helping an older couple figure out how to check in at the airport.
• Incredible patience by many with a person who kept getting buzzed in the metal detector.
• The clerk who helped with my luggage when I returned my rental car and double-checked to make sure I knew the way to the terminal.
• The man who told his aisle-mate on the plan, "You got stuck in the middle. Take the arm rest."
• The stranger who complimented my t-shirt.
• The gate agent who smiled broadly and thanked every person boarding my early Sunday morning flight.
• The person who helped me figure out the card system on my hotel's elevator.

I could add several others, many directed at me and my family. It was an encouraging and affirming. They reminded me of those opening of school scenes.
    In the current political climate, many from both ends of the spectrum are putting all their hope in the mid-term elections. Yes, they matter greatly. But the more I experience and learn, the more I believe solutions and meaningful, positive won't be found in elected leaders or systems, though they can help. Not just in politics, but in any complex human endeavor, including schools. Instead, it's up to each individual and the multiple choices we make each day. We have it in us. As in so many other things, we can lead the children lead us. They embody hope.

Powerful Reminder(s) in a Phone Call

     The last couple of days,  I've come to school kind of grumpy. It's fatigue, physical and mental, more than anything. In-service is always an invigorating time, but also draining for all the reasons imaginable. Plus plenty going on away from school, including my older child entering her senior year in college and my younger about to start his first. The prospect of empty nesthood is exciting, but comes with a tinge of sadness.
     Today, though, the funk began to lift. I had one of those moments that educators dream about. It brought with it inspiration in the form of key reminders.
     Yesterday I'd had a voice mail from a student I taught back in the late 80s. We'd had no contact since then, and she said she wasn't sure I would remember her but she wanted to speak with me for a few minutes. I did recall her quite well. She'd been a very bright, lively kid who I really liked. She just never seemed to get her stuff together. Soon after I left, she flunked out of the school. I had no idea what had become of her.
     This morning I called her back. She told me she had been talking with her daughter, who asked her about teachers who mattered. That inspired her to call me. She said she couldn't remember anything from my classes, but she remembered my kindness to her, my belief in her, and everything I did to try to help her, especially having her call me in the evenings to hold her accountable for doing her work. I knew her home life was a wreck, but I learned just how bad on this call.
     The beauty is that now she's doing great: married for twenty years, three great kids, has a graduate degree. So perhaps not only great, but better than most, despite how things started. Plus, for me the best of all--and here's where you may get the goose bumps I felt--she's a middle school English teacher. She chooses to work with underprivileged kids. She tells them if they take nothing else away from her class, she wants them to know she loves them.
     Thirty years ago I was trying to save this young woman. Now she's become one of my heroes. Of course, heroic tales always come with morals. As we begin another school year, the story reminds us about what we're really teaching. Impressionable young people, ones who may be carrying things they are simply not equipped to handle. Sensitive, trusting souls who make themselves vulnerable to us. It's why no matter how skilled we become in pedagogy or well-versed in curricula, the most powerful thing we can do with any student is forge a relationship. We never know what the lasting lesson may be. Indeed, we may wonder if it really matters. Most of the time, educators do not get to revel in the long-term successes of their students. When we do, it's amazing. Today was one of the most amazing. I wish such an experience for every educator. But even if you don't have one quite so awesome, know your impact.

Back-to-School Inspiration: A Strengths-Finder Approach to Educational Progress

     Criticizing schools--or at least aspects of them--is easy. It's one of those subjects about which everyone seems to hold an opinion, usually focused on something that's wrong. Sometimes they have a valid point; sometimes they don't. Among the loudest and most negative can be prominent reform advocates, and something about human nature makes that approach work.
     Certainly I've been vocal about some ways I believe education should change, and I can be a bit idealistic, even pollyannaish, about the power of a meaningful education. I also realize my perspective comes from inside that independent school bubble, a lens which certainly skews my perspective. I don't think it lessens the point I hope to make here. Lately I've been wondering about how we sometimes go about trying to improve things.
     Typically we snatch onto the latest and greatest and preach about it being transformational. Then we do it again. And again. I suspect that happens for many related reasons. We hear something is broken, and we want it fixed. We're entranced by newness. We want the best for students. We want to believe in the promise.
     I still believe in the promise. But I don't believe true, lasting transformation occurs through just one thing or very quickly. Either the change has to burrow into one's soul, or it's already there and needs ways to emerge. Plus any single approach seldom works for everyone at one time, or for anyone at all times.
     There may be exceptions, but transformation seems to happen like innovation: assorted bits and pieces come together over time, eventually combining in something new (as explained in Steven Johnson's Where Good Ideas Come From). It's made me wonder if we should be taking sort of a strengths-finder approach to educational progress, working to scale all the promising work being done in schools. That generates positive energy.
     With that in mind, here is a list of exciting things which are trending in schools currently. It's what occurs to me as I'm typing, so certainly incomplete. But perhaps you'll feel affirmed and/or inspired by something on it.

• Project-based learning
• Increased concern with student's holistic well-being
• Blended learning
• Coding and robotics
• Schools dropping APs
• Colleges eliminating testing requirements
• Design thinking
• Community gardens and outdoor learning spaces
• Flexible learning spaces
• Social-emotional learning
• Mastery and competency based standards
• Real-world connections and internships
• Service learning
• Alternate/authentic assessment
• Brain-based learning
• Emphasis on creativity
• Wider, deeper understanding and acceptance of diversity

Some of these can have a larger impact more quickly than others. Some naturally work together. The real power, though, lies in the cumulative effect. What also matters greatly, maybe most importantly, are the conversations surrounding them. I hope this may inspire some of your own learning and growth for the year.

     Whichever path you choose, keep in mind the most vital, potentially transformative aspect of being an educator. The lationship with a student. Nothing else works or really matters without that.

Picture of Graduate and Control of Learning

     Recently I've noticed quite a few comments in Dr. Tony Wagner's Twitter stream in which he is encouraging schools to develop their Portrait of a Graduate (PoG). For the past few months, I've also, without as much focus, seen more and more tweets referencing students' being in control of the learning. Naturally, I've been juxtaposing the two in my thoughts.
     While I appreciate the idea behind the calls to grant them more control, I've written in the past that I believe students already are in control of their learning, no matter what we may like to think. What teachers can control is creating a certain environment. In doing that, they can help students fulfill one of the most essential qualities in a PoG that really matters--controlling their learning in the right ways. Certainly doing that involves the grasping of some knowledge and developing particular skills. But the key lies in attitude.The qualities necessary include an insatiable curiosity, a skepticism that never disintegrates into cynicism, amazement with the unique, and an optimistic embracing of the possible.
     Unfortunately, large segments of society have lost sight of this. It goes much deeper than the rigid, misguided standards and frameworks  that drive so much of education, leading to the wrong measures of success. It's how people are exercising the control over their learning. They're thickening the membranes of their filter bubbles. Thus the extremes become even more so, with those who disagree becoming threats rather than potential sources of wisdom. The obvious problems exacerbate themselves.
     Of course, one could argue those people are not really learning. I'd agree. With how much is at stake, we need to make sure this ideal drives anything else in a Portrait of the Graduate. So much else of value is at stake.

Doughnut Learning?

     Recently I read Doughnut Economics by Kate Raworth. While much of the economic theory went over my head, it prompted some thoughts about how the same view of humans which determined economics for hundreds of years has affected how we view learning.
     Basically economic theory has been driven by the idea of homo economicus. This assumes that humans are rational, linear thinkers who always pursue their optimal interests. We would thus operate per simple patterns of input and output, which aligns with the notion of supply and demand.
     Doughnut economics presents a different perspective, one which is fluid and dynamic. Rather than independent, self-interested actors, humans (and really the rest of the ecosystem) interact in a web. Feelings influence us as much as thoughts, and it is not a zero-sum game with distinct winners and losers.
     Clearly the former view has influenced much of our education system. It goes beyond the factory model, beyond our utilitarian beliefs, beyond the desire for a return on investment. It does, however, lie at the root of those things. It drives right at how we view people as learners--that learning is a simple matter of measurable cognitive input and output.
     We're finally beginning to understand that learning doesn't happen that way. Increased knowledge of the brain has revealed how amazingly diverse we are as learners, based on myriad factors that have shaped our neurological pathways. Among those factors are emotions, previously ignored in educational design. Flow has shown that joyful learning need not--and often isn't--purely utilitarian.
     As the world continues to morph, rendering many old models obsolete, education needs to be creating new models of learning so we all--not just students--can thrive. I'm wondering what Doughnut Learning would look like...

Autodidactic Leadership Development

                The spring 2018 issue of Independent School magazine focused on leadership. As always, the articles highlighted the excellent work going on in many schools while prompting thoughts about ways to improve one’s own school. The story highlighted on the cover is “How Did You Learn to Be a Leader?” Naturally the question prompted some reflection.

                The question implies a professional development angle—or at least I jump to that conclusion because of how we often think of adults’ growth in schools. We assign mentors, talk about training, sit through workshops, attend conferences. Often it’s done in doses of varying sizes; sometimes it’s a single shot. I think this has been particularly true when it comes to leadership, particularly because the idea of distributed leadership is fairly new in most of our cultures. Unless someone were tapped as having leadership potential and quite intentionally mentored, or the person went to certain programs, I don’t think they received much leadership training.

                Even for those who received more extensive leadership training, it is limited. I don’t mean limited in its effectiveness or potential help. I mean limited in that it’s not enough. I assert that as one who has benefited greatly from attentive mentors and quality workshops. I also say this because I’ve come to believe everyone is ultimately responsible for their own development. Optimal learning requires some degree of autodidactic impulse.

                If you accept my premise, you’re likely wondering what are some practices that can enhance one’s leadership training. I’m going to offer some ideas, but with the caveat that you need to design an intentional program per your own needs.

• Observation—Even if you have a fantastic mentor, that person can teach you only so much because of both human and practical limitations. To augment the mentoring, you can use other people as quasi-mentors without their even being aware through observation. Watch people you both admire and question as leaders. Study where they shine and where they misstep. Pay attention to not just large moments, but also the little things.
•  Read—Neurological studies have shown the brain lights up during reading the same way it does when we dream. That’s fitting, as one of the main things a leader must do is dream. Reading can help inspire those dreams through the sort of extensive exposure we cannot gain any other way. In a more immediate sense, reading allows for another form of mentoring as you encounter unique situations and people/characters. Also, extend your leadership reading beyond the typical leadership books. Many are much too simplistic. Instead, read history, biography, memoir, autobiography, fiction, poetry, social sciences, hard sciences—anything that is going to extend your learning.
•  Self-Awareness—We all have our strengths and weaknesses. But how aware of them are we? How much do we accept them? Work on them? Leaders need people who will challenge them, whether regarding ideas or behavior. Professional coaches, good friends, therapists—each can play a vital role in a leader’s development by prompting deeper reflection about one’s personal qualities and how they affect relationships on every level. Also, the point is not to change your essential core. It’s about growing as a person so you can grow as a leader.
• Proactivity—You may be given clear opportunities to develop your leadership. It may be some sort of position, the chance to run a project, to serve as a peer-evaluator. It could be just about anything. The key is to take the chance and make the most of it. Even if you have this chance—and especially if you don’t—it’s vital to be pro-active and seek opportunities to exercise leadership. Perhaps you see a need and have some ideas on how to address it. Perhaps you foster greater collaboration among colleagues. Whatever it is, show that you are committed to helping your institution improve.

                 These are just some ideas, ones which have served me well. They may or may not help you. Despite what often seems like popular belief, leadership isn’t limited to a certain type of person. In fact, studies have shown that often the most effective leaders for long-term success do not fit the stereotypical image.  Effective leadership often comes down to being a particular type of person in a particular place at a particular time for a particular purpose, all in alignment.

                Finally, no matter what type of person you are, reflect deeply and honestly about why you want to lead.  Yes, most leaders feel called in some regard. The question is why. If it’s about pumping up your ego, think some more. The best leadership is about some higher meaning and purpose. It’s about moving towards some ideal. Thus, in a way this entire post becomes somewhat ironic given its focus on the self. Great leaders learn to shrink themselves so that others may grow.

               

In Search of Excellence

     I've stolen the title of this post from the classic Tom Peters work. I've been thinking about this idea because he recently published his fantastic The Excellence Dividend, which pulls together myriad points from his long career. If you've read this blog and followed my Twitter feed, you know my thoughts on the excellence dividend of education are clear: when one's endless learning becomes part of a life with distinct meaning and purpose. I hope, to use Tom's standard, that provokes a bit of a "Wow!" response.
     I'm more interested in pondering here why completing that search proves so elusive. Reasons abound, ranging from the pragmatic to the philosophical. I think the latter are the more suppressive ones in that we tend not to think of education in such idealistic terms. Instead, we focus on the utilitarian, the practical. Then the process becomes rather mechanical, overly reliant on systems and measurement. We somewhat de-humanize what should be the most human of endeavors.
     Ironically, or perhaps paradoxically, even when people share my philosophical position, true academic excellence becomes even more difficult. It's because we have to cede most of the time-honored forms of control. We have to rethink the markers of short- and long-term success. We have to trust.
     But it's even more complicated than that. For an education to be truly responsive, it must evolve continually, responding to the vagaries of human nature and culture. Yes, certain questions and topics possess an eternal quality; yet we must consider them in the light of the emerging world. There lies little value in examining the past without using it to figure out the present and shape the future.
     Even then, the challenge remains great because excellence ultimately will mean something different for each individual. It demands the ultimate differentiation. It insists we react, reflect, readjust...over and over and over.  It changes as each student changes. It changes as the teacher changes.
     At its best, it also remains an ongoing search, a quest for a mythical grail. Certainly it is that noble.

A Quick Thought on #Leadership

     During a conversation a few days ago, I was asked to talk about a leader who had influenced me. The question threw me for a moment, mainly because I'm fortunate to have many people I could have cited. I settled on one, and after sharing some qualities and anecdotes, I concluded by saying, "What ultimately has stayed with me was how he carried himself with such an air of integrity."
     Yes, I mean integrity in the way we often use the word, meaning ethical, essentially good. But I meant more than that. I also was referring to a sense of wholeness, the way in which the disparate parts of something add up to a distinct and discernable unit true unto itself. That requires a genuineness; it radiates from an inner core.
     Meanwhile, I regularly see Tweets about different formulas for leadership, whether in books or workshops or videos. I don't dismiss them at all; in fact, I have tapped into them for my entire career. But they don't work...at least not by themselves. Leadership is not a series of steps to follow. It is not a persona one can throw on like a cloak. All those experiences must be part of continual growth, reflected upon and rejected or internalized gradually as we sculpt ourselves. Becoming a stronger leader does not mean being/becoming a certain type of person. It means becoming the best possible person. Your best self. One others want to follow in some sense.
     This essential truth can be lost in our culture, particularly in schools.We can become so caught up in producing the best academic, the best athlete, the best artists, the best student council president--usually per some sharp criteria--that we forget we should be about helping each person develop. That's going to mean different things for each. It also means that each person has the potential to become a leader in some fashion, in some circumstances, if we allow for the possibility.

Making the Right Choice about Student Choice

     For the past few years, I keep thinking that I'm going to learn some things about physics. Such as gain some basic understandings. I didn't have to take physics in high school or college, and I'm quite aware of this gap in my knowledge.Sometimes I even feel rather embarrassed about it. After all, I am the head of a school. Yet, despite my best intentions--I've even held copies of Physics for Dummies in bookstores--I haven't pursued this study.
     I'm not sure why. Perhaps the motivation isn't strong enough. Perhaps there's too much else to learn. Perhaps other things hold more appeal. Perhaps I fear I won't grasp the material. Most likely it's some combination of all these factors.
     At the same time, such a pursuit would fit my preferred way of learning. I've always leaned towards autodidactism. As a young soccer player, I read the few coaching guides available in this country at the time over and over, analyzed broadcasts from Europe on the local PBS affiliates and then ran into the yard to practice new moves, and studied the history of the sport. Whenever I became interested in a topic or certain author, I checked out all the small local library had. In college the syllabi served mainly as springboards for my own exploration. My favorite academic experience was the independent study that led to my senior thesis, during which my advisor encouraged me to dive into any rabbit hole I spotted.
     This introductory reflection is a means of moving towards a larger point. It's an issue that I've been struggling with for quite a while, and it was captured in a Tweet in my stream this morning.

It’s a delicate balance: teaching students mandated content while also developing their skills. How to prioritize when you can't cover everything. https://t.co/gJwvvJXa6b pic.twitter.com/LogrluWb2R

— edutopia (@edutopia) March 23, 2018

The article to which the Tweet refers makes many fine points, but my dilemma reaches further than the content versus skills debate. For me, that's an easy one: emphasize skills. I believe this holds not matter hat the course or age of the student. Things become murkier when you consider the idea of student choice, whether within a course or a full curriculum. I'm certainly no adherent to the dictates of cultural literacy as promoted by the E.D. Hirsch's of the world, and I've constantly called for more student choice. But that choice has to be guided to a certain degree. After all, someone should have realized that a basic grasp of physics is part of being wholly educated. Not necessarily a whole course, but a primer of sorts. As much as I want to give students greater and greater autonomy and thus perhaps thus see more relevance and draw inspiration from their learning, doing so begs questions which give me some pause. When does a student have enough perspective and maturity to make these decisions? What key pieces of knowledge can build the scaffold to facilitate such autonomy? Isn't this more of a pedagogical issue than a curricular issue, in that we need to give much more emphasize on how we often teach things? Is what matters really a debate between content and skills, or should it be more about a mindset regarding learning? While wisdom is what ultimately matters more--and always has, not just in this age of Google--isn't some knowledge (perhaps even common knowledge) worth having in our brains and not just at our fingertips?
       Someone reading this, particularly if they've read my other work or heard me speak, may wonder if I'm becoming more of an educational conservative or traditionalist because of the caution expressed in here. But I'm not yelling at any progressives to get off my lawn. Actually, I'm hoping my questions are ones they ask themselves. In doing so, they can better address legitimate concerns and maybe convert some skeptics. Maybe not. No matter what, though, our asking better and harder questions about our work can only befit our students. That must be our choice.

Off to #NAISAC 2018--A Different Approach

     The 2018 NAIS Annual Conference begins Wednesday in Atlanta. Every year I write a post about my hopes going into the conference, and they've remained fairly similar for the past few years. But this year I'm taking a different approach to my conference experience. That's a bit ironic and/or coincidental as, while I haven't spent much time in Atlanta, but it was the location of the very first one of these I attended, some time back in the 1980s.
     Like any conference, this one depends almost entirely on the people attending and presenting. For me NAIS is usually a great time to catch up with people I've known a long time, perhaps used to work with, whether over a meal or when we happen to bump into each other. I hope some of that still happens.
     But my real goal this year is to strengthen some loose connections and make some new ones. Perhaps they will be people I know only through social media; maybe they will be people I know only through reputation or role. It was kind of magical when I met some actual flesh-and-blood folks I knew mainly through Twitter the last couple of years. I've already scheduled time with several folks, and I hope to encounter some others. If I see a familiar name on an ID badge, I may even fight through my shyness and go up to that person.
     It feels strange--and rather un-conference-like--to be planning my NAIS experience this way. Usually I've studied the program and struggled with choosing which sessions to attend. Following on Twitter while there, I'll rue missing certain ones. Yet I suspect I will gain much more.

An Educator's Hopes after #Parkland

     As a reader of this blog, surely you've been inspired by the teens driving the #NeverAgain movement which has since flourished since the massacre at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High in Parkland, Florida. In the aftermath of such a traumatic experience, these students have displayed incredible grace, respect, intelligence, wisdom, determination, and maturity. Surely any school, especially the more mission-driven among independent schools, would want to claim them as students. In fact, I've wondered about what a fantastic place MSD must be to produce such students.
     The students have drawn the admiring support of other students, adults, celebrities, journalists, businesses. Some of that is due to who they are and how they are conducting themselves. Much of it is due to our having finally had enough with school shootings I think it's also snapped our eyes more fully open to what these school shootings--and all the tangential issues connected to them--say about our nation.
     As I've watched these kids in amazement, I've also found myself worrying about them. Right now they are surfing along on a crest of adrenaline, which all of the media attention keeps refueling.  While it has lasted longer than usual, at some point it will end. What then? Even if it were not to end for a long time, at some point these people--not just the kids, but the adults there--will have to stop long enough to grieve and mourn and recover, likely with ongoing therapeutic assistance. When the overwhelming support becomes more muted, how will they handle the despicable vitriol some were already spewing towards them?  I want them to grow into the healthy, passionate, thriving adults they show all the potential of becoming--the adults our culture needs.
     What if their movement fails to make significant difference? What if another school massacre happens? (Sadly, I feel as if I should write "when another one happens.") Would that deepen the psycho-spiritual wounds? Will it steel their resolve, or will it burst their optimism? Will it say to these kids that once again the older generations have failed them? While we may feel as if a tide has turned, resolving tough issues in times of extreme rancor is a gargantuan task.
     So I hope we remember that these are kids. They are rising to this occasion, partially because they lack the life experience to know that they aren't supposed to be able to make all this happen. That lets them operate with a certain derring-do, but they are going to slip at times.  (Yes, they are acting better than many adults.) Meanwhile, are we, in our guilt and desperation, putting too much on them? Yes, follow their leadership; revel in their passion; voice your admiration. But please don't make them into messiahs who are going to resolve the sins of older generations. They don't need that at a time they are determining the destiny of their own generation. We can't abdicate our responsibilities for the past, the present, or the future.
     So, yes, I want their movement to work. I want new, effective legislation. I want it not just about guns, but about many things. And it's more than new laws. I want us regain our civility and our virtues. I crave leadership that unites and inspires. I want equity and justice. I hope we can discern the light shining in each person. 
     Even after all the school shootings since Columbine, kids still believe our world can become better and better and better. If education is really going to matter, we have to support them in those efforts. That's true not just for the Parkland kids. It's true for all kids.

Take a Bullet?

       Throughout most of my career--I began teaching in 1983--the question would have seemed absurd. I don't think it would ever have come up in an education class, and I can't see undergraduates chewing on it during a bull session in the dorm. Perhaps the only place I could have imagined it would have been contemplated is in a philosophy class focused on ethics, one of those topics such as "Is it wrong to steal if your family is starving?"

       The question: Would you take a bullet for a student?

       Once again, people who work in education must struggle with that gut-wrenching question as we grieve over yet another school shooting where an adult did just that.

       Is there a right or wrong answer? If there is, it eludes me. At one of the schools where my wife worked, they were told to decide on their answer to this question so they would have the choice made in case the situation ever arose. I doubt that works. We can believe something intellectually, but I'm not sure it would hold in such a terrifying, adrenaline-packed event. Instinct likely would kick in. Plus I think the details of one's one life shift in ways that affect the answer. Before I was married and had children, I probably would have said yes. Once I had children, likely not. Now that they are 18 and 21, well on their way, perhaps. I want to believe that I would. That I could. But I'm not so sure.            Do any of these answers make me a lesser person? Would I expect more of another educator for my kids than this? What should we expect? The work, when done right, already wrings plenty of raw emotion out of caring people. Now this former nightmare has become a common reality, so much so that it fades from the headlines more quickly than Columbine did. There was an entire book written about that tragedy; now the media moves on after a few days...until the next one. We drill and train, hoping that it might help, telling our students it's just a drill and they don't need to be scared, knowing they know the truth. Each time we practice, each time the tragedy strikes, it feels even more possible that it could happen to us.

       I don't know how one erases that fear. Arming teachers is not the answer. Even greater, stricter security measures might help, but I don't think it's an answer. We don't want our schools beginning to resemble prisons. Providing resources for how to talk to children about tragedy feels like mere salve on much deeper wounds. With the number of guns already available through various means, I think that only lessens the odds somewhat.The political system seems so gridlocked and self-serving that we can't count on anyone there.

       In the wake of the Parkland shootings, some have argued that "things feel different this time." I agree in some ways. Much of that has to do with the reaction of the students, who have responded with fierce determination to bring about change. It's pictures and videos of gun advocates destroying their weapons. Of course, we've seen various hashtag movements through the years that eventually simply echoed through the vastness of cyberspace. And already some have begun trolling survivors and their family. I've even seen some invoking conspiracy theories. It's all too reminiscent of Sandy Hook--the school shooting which was supposed to be the final straw.

       Meanwhile, when educators should be focused on figuring how to help their students become their best possible selves, we have to think about survival tactics. We have to ask ourselves, Would you take a bullet for a student? Could you? That no longer just seems absurd. It is absurd. And we risk school becoming another performance in the Theater of the Absurd.

       

Coherence amid Dissonance

       We could argue about whether we live in a time of continuous change, discontinuous change, extreme disruption, accelerated change, disequilibrium, volatility...no matter what term we apply, the reality holds. The new normal would seem to demand that we count on nothing as normal. We're having to reconsider most of our assumptions, although perhaps we're not actually acting fast enough. But many feel as if they are adapting as quickly as they can. In schools we're asking questions about all sorts of time-honored practices, many of them the more technical aspects of education, such as curriculum design and assessment.
       Lately I've been thinking about a deeper question, one I'm not sure I've seen explored extensively (although I'm certain it has been). From the start of my career, I've heard about the importance of curricular coherence. When I was a curriculum person, I focused on it. Now, I'm struggling with the concept. Indeed, struggling that may lead to this post being anything but coherent.
       Before I go any further, I should clarify that I'm not talking about coherence in the traditional scope-and-sequence sense. I've never believed in that for some simple reasons. It assumes that once a teacher presents something, a student has learned it. It fosters anxiety within a heightened pace, the idea being that so much must be "covered" by year's end, a student in a sense "finished." It negates  flexibility in response to student needs and interests. It also adds to what may be the difficult part of innovating, which is forgetting what's already in place. Every new idea becomes measured versus what exists.
       Somewhat ironically, that ties to the strongest argument for a coherent and firm scope-and sequence. Learning involves, both literally and metaphorically, constructing schema in which new pieces fit onto existing frameworks that create sense. We also have to think about developmental readiness. In its essence, learning means developing a sense of coherence.
       Creating a coherent curriculum used to be a fairly simple endeavor, really. Yes, it took time and a certain degree of expertise. Well, simple at least in relative terms. But think about some of the ways things have changed, particularly over the last thirty years, with increasing rapidity. School used to be about content; now it should be about learning skills and conceptual understanding. Success pointed at standardized measures; now it should be about softer things. Closed cultures could focus on a canon; now we should be considering diversity, equity, and inclusion. Paper and pencil were the timeless tools; now we should be harnessing ever-more-powerful technology. The schoolhouse used to be an intellectual sanctuary; now we should be connecting students to the real world. Overall, we have to rethink everything. And then remake everything. Continually.
       In such a world, how does one achieve a coherent program? How do students piece things together in a way that works? What holds it all together? Can anything? What should? Does something need to? I think so...but we must think of that in different ways also. It's why we have to be reconsidering not just all the usual minutiae of schooling, but the very essence of our missions and what they now should mean.
       Besides, sometimes I wonder who really craves the coherent scope-and-sequence. Perhaps the adults want it more than the students. For us it's a convenience that in many ways makes teaching easier, like the student who wants to know exactly what will be on the test. It provides a degree of certainty, of clear direction, of control. We can delude ourselves with the notion that coverage equates success.
       Most schools, especially now, say they want to instill a love of learning for a lifetime (or some similar aspiration). They explain that learning how to learn is the real goal. I don't disagree. But sometimes learning is easier than at other times, particularly when tings have been laid out too clearly and predictably for you. Perhaps the truer--and likely more fun--challenge is discovering how to create one's own coherence when less and less seems to make sense.
     

What Really Matters about Youth Athletics

     My son. Stephen, loves sports--everything about them. Of course, he mainly loves playing them. Now a high school senior, since he could join school athletics beginning in seventh grade, he has been in a sport every trimester: volleyball in the fall; soccer in the winter; track--pole vaulting--in the spring. When not doing school sports, he may go to the driving range or the climbing gym, and in the summer goes on long hiking trips. He's very fit, and while he's unlikely to play anything on the collegiate level, he certainly will play intramurals and perhaps club sports.
     Last Wednesday Stephen came home from soccer practice in a great deal of pain, limping badly. A lingering injury seemed to have exploded into something worse. The initial diagnosis was that he might have torn the labrum in his left hip. The next day he went to the orthopedist and received the relatively good news that the problem is a badly inflamed hip flexor. He was told to use ice, take ibuprofen, and totally rest for three weeks. That's where the real pain hit. Only three weeks remained in the season, when the championship tournament would take place. Yes, the physical pain was great. But the real agony sat much deeper than that. Between punches on a pillow, Stephen kept groaning, "I've been playing with most of these guys since kindergarten. It isn't supposed to end this way."
     In that moment Stephen captured the real reason playing school sports matters. It's the relationships that come with being part of a team. The joy of being a contributor in some fashion. The camaraderie which buoys you through struggles and lifts you even higher during moments of exultation. Teammates who understand, even if they don't really know what to say. Learning how to work with others towards a common goal. A coach who talks with you about ways you can still help the team through your presence...and holds out the carrot of maybe a few minutes in the tourney if you do what you're supposed to do to heal.
     In this era of what's been called the professionalization of youth sports* in our culture, I fear we've lost sight of that, even though we still say all the right things. We ask kids to specialize at younger and younger ages; we have them play more and more intense matches; we spend increasing amounts of money; and we travel further and more often. To what end, exactly? A college scholarship? A shot at the pros? In some cases even studying the odds does not shatter the dream delusion. Whether a kid shows it outwardly or not, with all this comes increased pressure. Yes a few thrive on it. Some aren't fazed by it. But many feel tremendous anxiety. Meanwhile, we see more catastrophic injuries at younger ages. We see kids burning out, forever done with a sport they once may have loved.
     The problem is not just club sports. At games at all levels, in any sport I've observed, there's an edge, almost a nastiness, among the fans, primarily parents. Yelling at officials has always occurred, but it's become more regular and sometimes abusive. Recently I've observed parents singling out players on opposing teams and taunting them. Once all this behavior reaches a certain level, players become keenly aware. It's not exactly positive role modeling.
     As a former athlete, I wonder how I would have fared in today's environment. I don't think I would have liked it nearly as much as I did. As competitive as I am with my self, my personality and values might have led me to crumble under the external pressure. Plus I revel as much in the process as any product. And that would have been a shame, because I attribute so much of what serves me well know in all aspects of my life to what I learned through my soccer "career."
     My athletic dream for Stephen has never been more than he love sports as much as I did, that he gain the sort of timeless and boundless lessons I did. Athletics should be an essential part of a holistic education, one which helps us become more fully human. That, and fun. Especially fun.


*See "How Kids Sports Turned Pro" in the September 4, 2017, issue of Time.

Seth Godin Needs to (Re)Consider...

     Seth Godin is one of my favorite thinkers, his daily blog post being among my few absolute must reads. Part of what makes his writing so powerful is his ability to boil down big, sometimes complex thoughts to their essence and drive home the key point. So I'm shocked to find myself taking real exception to one of his recent assertions.
     On January 26, 2018, Godin posted, "Where did you go to school?" One paragraph--which has been quoted in some form all over Twitter and, I suspect, other social media--reads, "The campus you spent four years on thirty years ago makes very little contribution to the job you're going to do. Here's what matters: The way you approach your work." (Full post.)
     On a quick, gut level, I understand his point. Plus there's a certain long-run, big picture, -education-needs-rethinking aspect to it which resonates with me. I even hear echoes of comments I've made.
       At the same time, I have to ask Godin a key question. Isn't it likely that the campus on which one spent those four years--often more, in the case of independent schools--affects the way a person approaches their work?
     I have to believe so. That's why we do the work. It's why we have to keep doing it better and better.

Making What?

     I'm very excited that next week our middle school is having a special Make!@St.John's day. Faculty have been planning really special events, and the kids are all fired up. The hands-on, creative work will fill the building with even more energy than usual.
    I've written before about some really big-picture, idealistic thoughts about the idea of making. You can read the whole post here. The key passage is the following about makerspaces:

I love the philosophy behind them--that hands-on, make-a-mess, take-chances sort of experiential learning. I love the active engagement of makerspaces. I love that they are places where kids do rather than get done. So I don't deliberative because of any pedagogical reasons. I just want us to take five or ten and think about a big question.       Shouldn't the entire school be a makerspace? Either literally or metaphorically?

With that in mind, I've been brainstorming about the many and varied things students can make in the right sort of school:

• Meaning.
• Sense.
• Inquiries.
• Models (Real, Scale, Theoretical).
• Friends.
• A Difference.
• Decisions.
• Progress.
• Course Corrections.
• A Case.
• Wishes Come True.
• Someone's Day.
• A Contribution.
• Assertions.
• Educated Guesses.
• Their Mark.
• A Statement.
• Objects.
• Apps.
• Art.
• Connections.

     The list is incomplete. Even so, it suggests the most important thing a student makes in the right school. A Life.

Essays to Blogs to Tweets to One Word?

     I get it. I even like the idea of it. I've tried to make it work for me. I love the inspiration it seems to provide others. But the #oneword craze just doesn't jazz me. In simple terms, I'm reminded (as I Tweeted recently) of a former student's yearbook quotation: "My life cannot be captured in a single quotation." I suspect the irony was intentional in how well this line captured the student. I'm certain there was also some teen and intellectual rebellion happening. It also fits a worrisome trend of reductive thinking, one in which less is not more.
     The earliest essays of the 16th and 17th centuries were not the sort of formulaic expositions that have become standard school assignments. In both Europe and Japan, the essay began as explorations, often consisting of fragmented ideas the author was attempting to piece together in some sort of understanding. Indeed, the thesis, if there were one, often remained unclear until the very end. The term essay comes from the French infinitive essayer, which means "to try" or "to attempt." Montaigne, the first to use the term for his works, described them as attempts to capture his thoughts in writing. Since then, essays have varied greatly in terms of content and purpose, from light-hearted fare to political polemics. Now we find them mainly in certain magazines, and op-ed columns seem to fit the genre.
     One positive aspect of the blogging phenomenon is was that it had many people, without necessarily being aware of it engaging in the sort of intellectual exploration associated with the original essay. This idea holds particularly true in what many called "process posts." I often begin with just a seed of an idea, unsure exactly where the post may end up. I do almost no drafting, editing, or revising. In a way it's like journalling publically. The quality of writing in blogs is not always high quality; it can sometimes be rather poor. But that's besides the point. More people were struggling to capture their ideas via the written word, which often sharpens one's thoughts and leads to unforeseen conclusions. Many notable authors have said something about the notion of not knowing what they thought until they wrote it down. The back-and-forth in comments can extend that thinking. This reason, more than anything else, is why I keep blogging.
       Then along came Twitter with its original 140-character limitation. Try capturing the complexity of your thoughts in that. Yes, some would create threads and thus micro-blog (I think those are the same thing...). And while I love Twitter and have marvelled at some incredible Tweeters, it simply isn't the same. Points come across as definitive rather than speculative. It was interesting to watch as people who first scoffed at the character limit gradually embraced it. When Twitter recently doubled the limit, many folks were unhappy, talking about the forced concision as being the point. Certainly. But is there not also great value in the process that led to such concision, especially in really fine Tweets? Yes, I know that's not really the point of Twitter. Especially not when one has just 280 characters, which is the equivalent of 46.67 words if using the standard measure of five letters and a space.
     Now, a current fad is choosing one word as a yearly theme. It can serve as reminder of one's resolution, becoming a sort of mantra. It becomes very personal, and it's interesting to see what people choose. But what we don't necessarily know is why--unless the person sends out a series of Tweets or publishes a blog post. Words also pack incredible power while remaining quite limited. Context, nuance, connotation, tone--all these matter greatly. Yet they don't exist when a word dangles out there by its lonesome self.
     You may be thinking I need to lighten up, and you're probably right. But I want to be clear that I think all of these are often-powerful things, especially when used together. Still, the linguist/epistemologist/educator parts of me worries that we're reducing life's beautiful, enchanting complexity to over-simplicity. This, in turn, impacts how we read, question, think, feel. Without realizing it, we can find ourselves effortlessly skimming along. To live fully, we have to ponder deeply the intricacies of ourselves and others, individually and collectively. Of every aspect of our existence. That's the heartbeat of great learning.

*An aside: it's interesting that this is counter to so much of what I've long believed about writing, in that you must be incredibly cognizant of writing for your audience. This is almost all about the author. I'm not sure how many people actually read blogs any more.