No Words

(Note: I wrote this blog entry a few weeks ago... but just didn't bring myself to share our experience from that week just yet. I think it's ok now. Thanks for reading.)

I don't have the words to describe last week.

It started with a random news alert that a plane had crashed in Riverside, California. It was a Monday. My wife and I had been discussing our challenging days at each of our middle schools. I quickly skimmed the news report of the place crash and slightly paused as I read that they were traveling back to San Jose. Weird, I thought, that's pretty close to where I work.

I then read a bit more about the story. The individuals on the plane had been at a cheerleading competition over the weekend. This was another odd coincidence; our two middle schools had just performed at a cheerleading competition. 

The news shared that the competition had been at Disneyland. Again, a weird coincidence. Our cheerleaders had just performed at Disneyland and had actually finished first out of seven teams. Perhaps there were other divisions or other teams who participated in the competition that I didn't know about. 

Then I received a text from our cheerleading coach. 

A bit of backstory on our cheerleading coach.

First, she's awesome. She "gets" kids. She's also our Mental Health Counselor at Union Middle. We're very lucky to have her on our site. As far as irreplaceable staff members go, she's definitely on that list.

She shared her beliefs on what had happened. That the crash may involve families from our school. That while she didn't have any facts, she was just as worried as I was. I asked her to repeat to me more than just a few times: None of our students were on the plane. All of our students came home on the bus. All of our students were safe.

Despite a flurry of false information from our new organizations, the picture started to become a bit clearer. Names of the victims were eventually confirmed. Based on what we heard, it became very clear, very quickly that two UMS families were going to need a lot of support from us and our community.

The following day at school was a challenge. Our district sent extra administrators and mental health services to our site for as long as we needed them to stay for the week. Our superintendent graciously sent breakfast and lunch for our staff. It was an "all hands on deck" type of day for our staff. We were all on the lookout for that student or students who may need support.

And it wasn't just students we were worried about. It was our staff too. The teacher who had all of the siblings in her class over the past few years. The other staff member who spent countless hours with the family, discussing how to best support their student. Or perhaps our mental health therapist herself, now having to serve as a mental health support for the students in need but also needing time to grieve herself.

For the most part, it was our cheerleading team who were struggling throughout the day, the week, the month... and rightfully so. Our cheerleading team is comprised of a very tight group of friends first, students second. They practice everyday. They hang out together. Most of their free time is spent with each other. These emotional events were not something we'd want any middle school student should have to endure. It was only with the support of our staff and each other that we were able to progress through the week.

More news about the tragic loss within our community spread on Wednesday. Our cheerleading coach and I reached out to the families throughout the week. Both affected families have former UMS students, all of which I spent lots of time working with during their UMS tenure. All of the kids involved are just flat out amazing. None of this seemed fair. It just doesn't seem fair.

We have a community who wants to help. Gofundme (included below) and meal support accounts were set up to support the families. Neighbors and friends have taken over car rides to school, homework help, and just a listening ear as students transition through these difficult times.

A week later, things still feel unsettled. The funerals for the family members are upcoming. I try to check in with the students myself every single day. When our eyes connect, I can see a level of sadness that no 11 year old should ever have to endure. I wish there is more I could do. I wish I had the words to help them.

But I don't.

I don't have the words to help.

Instead, I listen.

I offer my time, my heart, and everything else they need to help them get through the day.

If you want to join in and help as well, there are links below.

Take care of yourself and each other.

-Todd

https://www.gofundme.com/stacey-pierce-family-relief-fund
https://www.gofundme.com/farelas-family-fund

Being Replaced and then Forgotten

(just reposting. Not new, but had been pulled down for a bit. It's not about me. I'm happy. It's just what I was thinking about at the time.)


One of the hardest truths of an educator is how quickly we are replaced and how easily we are forgotten. 

My first teaching position in the classroom setting was in an opportunity classroom, mid-year, hired the school day before, and given very little "this is how you do it" support to begin. With three grade levels in my classroom and each student varied in their ability from 2nd grade to 11th grade, it was often a challenge to effectively teach all four core subjects. Given that my students arrived with significantly more challenges than the average student, each day could easily be derailed by a student's explosive evening the night before or just their "living in chemistry" not working out for them that day.

I was actually the fourth official teacher of the classroom that year when I joined in early January. The previous three had thrown up their arms and quit. Sometimes, I didn't blame them for escaping; some days were physically challenging (such as the day one student took a swing at me, body checked me into the whiteboards, and then pulled the fire alarm en route to the office) and other days were emotionally draining (as one student cried and cried after walking 2 miles to school after a morning fight with his mother). I quickly learned how important relationships with our students were for their success and often our sanity as well.

I finished five years in the classroom as I then departed for an administrative role at a nearby out-of-district middle school. The transition happened at the end of the school year and I left my school, where I had actually attended middle school myself, as silently as possible. I worried about how my students would do the following year without me. I struggled with the change, as I had built a classroom where kids who had been discarded from their mainstream classrooms could find success and hopefully venture back to join their grade level peers. I wasn't sure how I'd be replaced.

The school was able to find an educator to take my former spot rather easily, in fact. The person they hired had close to two decades of classroom experience and was looking exactly for a program as the one I had just left. They joined and upon a visit a few months into the school year to reconnect with the students, I realized that the switch was the best thing for my former students: they needed someone new... someone who had fresh eyes on how to improve a few things in the classroom for them... someone who would show them that there were other people who cared for them, just like I did.

I had been replaced and shortly thereafter, with the new crop of 6th and 7th graders joining the classroom, forgotten after my five years in the opportunity classrooms.

My next position was at a rival middle school where I served as the Dean of Students for the next two years. I worked with an amazing principal and assistant principal during my first two years. During the summer after my second year, the principal had retired and the assistant principal had left for a principalship closer to their home. As I moved up to assistant principal, our school community and I adjusted to a new Dean of Students and Principal. They were both very talented and so... the year continued. 

As the sole remaining administrator, I found that a lot of the tradition and job responsibilities fell on me, the sole administrative survivor. I felt like I was doing the job of many. The master schedule. Discipline. Curriculum. Everything. It was a busy but quite the fulfilling year. 

When an opportunity to join my alma mater as an administrator came that following Summer, I felt very challenged about leaving my principal (as the Dean of Student wasn't returning to the school) with a whole new administrative team. I didn't know how they'd be able to figure out all of the little bits of daily action items I had worked through the previous three years. 

Nevertheless, I packed up my office in relative silence that Summer. It was eerily quiet. Everyone had left for the vacation and there were no goodbye hugs or high fives. I felt like I had done so much for the school and that there was no way the school would survive the following year without me. I felt I had done the job of a dozen admins and they were up the creek, no paddle, next year. 

Weird thing happened: they were fine. Sure, maybe some things didn't run smoothly, but in the end, everything was fine. I had done what I felt was a pretty solid job but I was replaceable. Aside from a few teachers who I am "Facebook friends" with and a dozen students who I have on "lockdown friend mode" on Facebook, I've been completely forgotten. 

Twice, I had poured my heart and soul into the school and I was just easily forgotten the following Fall.

These experiences made me realize just how we educators overestimate the chaos that would happen to our organizations if we were to vanish. A principal of 25 years left their school a few years ago. She was greatly missed but school opened that fall and everything just continued along. A dozen teachers (give or take six or so) left an elementary school one year. They're fine. A superintendent retired. She was great and had led our district from the levels of average to one of the top in the county. A new superintendent stepped in and has been just as amazing, if not magically better, as we continue to grow from good to great as a district.

Point being: it's a job where we get to have fun, be around awesome people, deal with silly stuff that's never the same, and have the opportunity to positively affect the lives of our neighborhood's and society's future. None of us are bigger than the entity of all of us (teachers and community) together. And even if we are, school communities have amazingly short memories.

And if we remember how tenuous our time may be at any given school site, the interactions with our students have the opportunity to be significantly more positive, causing the work we do will be have a stronger impact. Essentially... Be kind. Be happy. Have fun. Recognize how lucky we all are... because this doesn't last forever and one day, after we've moved on, we'll be a distant memory as the new group of students enter our halls the following year. 

Be Kind

I cannot express enough how important it is for educators to be kind.

Kind to our students.

Kind to our parent community.

Kind to each other.

Sometimes, this is not easy.

We are confronted with the daily task for somehow preparing our students to become life-long learners despite the troubles they've momentarily left behind at home. We create engaging lessons plans with the best intentions. We build relationships with our students that show our compassion and our concern for their well-being. And yet sometimes everything falls apart.

Sometimes, it is our fault for the errant, sarcastic comment that we shouldn't have made to our students.

Sometimes, it is out of our control due to student issues from the weekend.

Sometimes, it is an interruption from an helicoptering parent who falsely believes that their student actually did turn in their 7 missing assignments and wants to know why PowerSchool isn't immediately updated by the classroom teacher.

Sometimes, the magic just doesn't happen.

There is an expectation that educators will sacrifice our evenings and weekends to provide just a bit more support and feedback for our students and the school community. Close to half of our teaching staff had spent more than just a few nights out at various school events prior to the past holiday break, not only to support our kids but also each other. Our front office spent much of that same week preparing for staff holiday lunch. The effort by so many of our staff members during one of the busiest weeks of the year was not only noticeable but significantly appreciated by all involved.

It is during these moments where we have so little left to give where educators somehow find a bit more within ourselves to make a bit of magic happen for others. It all comes back to being kind.

One of our students spent most of the first two weeks of December with dilapidated shoes. Finally, just before the holiday break, this student showed up with "new" shoes. Our front office spoke with the student to talk about their new shoes. The student complained how tight these shoes were on their toes. I reached down and felt their toe pushing up against the end of the shoe. He had already outgrown these shoes. Our front office staff agreed; this was a great opportunity to be kind.

Just before break, his new shoes arrived.

This student had been called into the office. They assumed that they were in trouble for what they said "could have been a lot of reasons". Instead, we handed them their new shoes. Their face lit up.

This student loved the shoes and yet did not want to accept them. They actively refused to accept the gift. We heard no less than ten different reasons why they couldn't accept the gift. Perhaps, they didn't know how to accept a gift. Maybe they don't get gifts that often.

The student was a bit of a mess during our conversation. I almost had to force the shoes upon them, carefully making sure they truly wanted them. It was eventually very clear they did. The reluctance we saw was centered around how challenged they were with someone being kind.

And that's why we always need to refocus on being kind.

Kind to our students.

Kind to our parent community.

Kind to each other.

Especially when it isn't easy to do.

What I Wish...

In my previous blog entry, I shared some specifics of an email correspondence between myself and a staff member. We had discussed what important things needed to be fixed at Union Middle School. I shared with them a list but I didn't feel complete in my response.

To be blunt, the "fixit list" didn't feel like an all-inclusive vision of what I wanted to truly share and what I hoped to build as the principal of Union Middle School.

And as I ended my email to this staff member, I quickly sent a second follow up communication. It wasn't about fixing everything... instead it had a list of things that I, as a the site principal, wished our students, our parents, our staff, and our school community knew.

It was about what I wished for.

I shared that...

I wished everyone knew how much work our front office staff and administrative team put into helping make the school day at Union Middle run as smoothly as possible.

I wished everyone knew how much I appreciated the hard efforts of our staff and the work they do on a daily basis with our kids.

I wished our students knew how all of the adults at Union Middle are on their side and working to best support them during their middle school years.

I wished our teaching staff knew how much I value their positive interactions with our students.

I wished our teaching staff knew how relentlessly I support, highlight, and brag to our parents, our district office, and our school community about the work I see that they put into their lesson design and classroom experience, all with the focus on their students.

I wished that our students would trust the adults on our campus a bit more, that they would trust that we are here to help them, to listen, and to best support them grow into the amazing young adults they're destined to be.

I wished that our parents knew how much we treasured having their students during the school day, how much joy they brought us, and how much we recognized even the smallest bits of their academic and social progress.

I wished that everyone knew how much I enjoyed coming to work each and every day. (Disclaimer: I have four kids.)

I wished that our staff could see our administrative team as an ally, no matter the situation.

And I wished that our parent community, our students, our staff, and our school community knew that just because I disagreed with something they believed in and spoke up for, it didn't mean that my decision to go in a different direction was personal. It never is. It just means that I, as principal, have a different vision on how to best support our students and school community.

At the end of the day, I'm the principal and I have to make some really hard decisions. It may anger a few community members, but I make every decision with the "what's best for our kids? what's best for our school community" in mind.

I wish everyone understood that we put kids first, no matter what.

I wish everyone trusted in the work we're doing.

And I wish the best for everyone over the upcoming holiday breaks and sprints of school days in-between.

If you're a student, be nice to your parents and don't forget to thank your teachers.

If you're a parent, be certain to give a bit of grace to your student and consider sending a nice message to a staff member who has helped make the middle school journey a bit less hectic.

If you're an educator, don't forget to give your students a second chance and to lead with trust and best intentions in your interactions with your peers and parent community.

If you're an administrator, don't forget to realize how blessed you are to work with your silly students, talented teachers, and supportive parents -- you can't fix everything but you can recognize how wonderful so many things truly are.

That's all I wish.

Fixing Everything is Impossible

It's the Friday night on the cusp of 9 days of Thanksgiving vacation.

As my wife and I start a new show on Netflix (she nixed Daredevil, Jessica Jones, and Luke Cage -- we compromised on the Blacklist), I begin to fiddle through my daily emails that I haven't had a chance yet to answer.

As a site principal, I am constantly communicating with various teachers via email, Google chat, and text threads throughout the day. I think my staff knows that they can contact me and receive a high level of responsiveness, no matter the time of day or holiday break. It's something I actually enjoy: checking in with our teaching staff and seeing what I can do to help. Their insight has actually provided some of the more reflective moments of my educational practice.

Tonight, in one of my dialogues with a staff member, my blog was brought up in the conversation. We were kidding around, discussing various topics for future blog entries. They had just emailed some kind words my way and I responded with: "thanks for the nice words. I just wish I could fix everything."

In their response, they suggested the following shift of perspective in my journey as a middle school principal: "Fixing everything is impossible, my journey to find balance in middle school."

Wow. I was floored.

With just a few words, I had my inspiration for tonight's blog topic: Fixing everything is impossible.

And just for the record, this teacher, as usual, is absolutely correct.

We administrators cannot fix everything.

As I shared with this staff member, I actually don't want to fix everything. After all, I can't change how unhappy some students, teachers, or parents are with the hard work we all put into making Union Middle the amazing place it has become. That's not on my to-do list. Some people are just unhappy people.  

However, even if i can't fix everything, I do want to fix the important things. Specifically, I want our students to have the best school experience possible. I want for our students what I want for my own children: to have a safe, learning environment with the constant, relentless support of a teaching staff who work tirelessly to best support our kids each and every day.

I shared these thoughts with this staff member.

A bit brief, they responded: what are the important things you think need fixing?

Wow. Another good question.

Here's the thing about Union Middle School: we have fantastic kids who are in classrooms with top notch educators and supported by an amazing parent community. It is an amazing place to spend our days. Easily the best place I've ever worked.

So what are the important things that I, as the site principal, think need fixing?

In typical Friday night fashion, I responded with a rather lengthy reply.

Here are some of my main points from the email correspondence:

-I would like to fix how members of our school community interact with one another.

-I expect our adults to always lead with kindness and understanding in all scenarios, even if it is difficult.

-I hope to inspire our staff members to give our students extra opportunities to demonstrate their learning.

-I'd like to expect our students to be a bit more inclusive (even though I am constantly impressed with how kind and considerate they are -- there is always room for improvement here).

-I'd like to have clear agreements on how we, as a school staff, agree to work together with our administrative team to support kids, each other, parents, and the school community in general. I don't mind if students, teachers, parents, or whomever are upset with a decision we administrators have made. I don't expect that everyone agrees with the millions of decisions we administrators have to make each and every day. However, some acknowledgement that our administrative team is extremely (and intentionally) fair and thoughtful when it comes to supporting our students, staff, and communities would be appreciated at times. I'm ok if you want to disagree with the decision; just don't disagree with the love and thoughtful care we put into making it.

When we do make a decision, the focal point is quite simple: It's all about what's best for kids.

Always.

Without question.

Some may disagree with the decision we've made on a random topic but when you're putting kids first, I don't hesitate to defend my position. We administrators may make mistakes, but we always put kids and our school first. Every single day.

We work hard to build a school where students are encouraged to develop their learning, teachers want to come to work, and where parents are proud to send their kids.

So no... I can't fix everything... but I think it is my job as a site principal (and the job of every member of our school community) to help fix the most important things: how can we do our best for the kids.

In working together to best support our students and each other, I believe that we can find a certain level of balance in middle school.

They Don't Usually Get Invited

"We understand. Our son never does."

These six little words were said to me as my daughters and I were leaving a birthday party this past Friday night.

We had just attended a birthday celebration for a student at my daughters' school. This student spends most of his school day in a "Learning Center" classroom, code for "Special Day Classroom" (SDC) in my daughters' school district, with other learning disabled students. One student in the class has down's syndrome. Another student does not speak and is performing grade levels below their current age.

My daughters, each with their own significant needs, get academic support in this classroom as we try to fill in very basic content gaps whose absence is preventing them from accessing the general education curriculum.

Being a student in a SDC classroom can be difficult. For most elementary students, they know that they are different but they haven't exactly figured out why everyone else is in a classroom with 20-30 other students and one adult... while their classroom often has more adults than kids.

When you get to middle school, it gets significantly harder for all involved parties. Kids in middle school SDC classes long to be "normal" and in the "regular" classes. The students in these "regular" classes can sometimes be a bit exclusive toward students in need of extra support. Being different is hard. For others, being friends with someone who's different is even more challenging. Middle school can be a rough time.

The birthday celebration itself was a lot of fun. The majority of the students invited were from the SDC classroom. All of the kids had at least one parent present, a distinct difference from the other birthday parties I've attended with my daughters where kids can just be dropped off for the duration of the activity. There were balloon animals, painting activities, silly YouTube videos to sing along to, lots of snacks and birthday cakes, and everything in between. Most of the students did not interact with one another; social skills are a work in process for most elementary students, especially those with special needs. The SDC teacher even showed up for most of the evening. The kids treated her like a celebrity; it was pretty neat to see.

We were walking out the door at the end of the evening. The birthday boy's parents graciously walked us to the front door and all the way to the sidewalk. I thanked them profusely for inviting our daughters and said, "It's hard sometimes... They don't get invited to a lot of birthday parties..." The mom made eye contact and said very clearly, "I understand. Our son never does."

I went home and shared this moment with my wife. She nodded and said, in an understanding way that only a parent of a special needs student can, "I know. It's hard."

It's something that many parents never have to address as their child will at least have acquaintances and classmate friends that they can text, have sleep overs, go to their birthday parties, and sit next to during snack. A parent of a special needs child worries about what will happen when they can't take care of their child any longer. What if something happens to us; who will take care of our daughters? The layers of unpredicted stress that arrive when your child enters the realm of special needs is a challenge for the involved adult and their marriage. Everything about it is difficult.

And one of the hardest things to endure is when your child isn't included in basic age-appropriate activities.... like the birthday parties.

Looking back at my own childhood, my mom made the rules very clear when it came to my birthday parties. I could invite everyone from my class or I could invite no-one. I wasn't aware of these policies at the time (I was 10), but I remember how I would hand out invitations to everyone in my class and then post a list with their names to record their RSVPs when they called over the next week. Yes, this took place in the pre-Evite days.

It's different today.

Out of the 20-25 students in our daughters' general education classroom, I'm anticipating invitations to no more than 5 parties for my girls.

This year is actually better than last year as there are a few more "uniquely normal" kids in this year's kindergarten class with a few more inclusive parents.

I profusely thank every parent for inviting my daughters' to their child's birthday party. Most of the parents say "no problem, glad to have them join us" but very few truly know what it's like to have a child (or two) who's excluded from these birthday parties because their kids are a bit different.

Until...... you find someone who understands.

Odds are they have a special education student too.

Teenagers and Their Tentative Truths

I'll start with a story.

There's a high school student working at their ice cream job. This ice cream employee is not only known for the best peanut butter and chocolate milkshakes in town, but they're a pretty good student and rule follower as well.

This teenager has an hour break between shifts. They know ahead of time about a house party that they want to stop by. Somehow, their mother finds out about the party and says, in no uncertain terms, they are not to attend this party. The teenager agrees that they won't "attend" the party.

However, even though the teenager decides that they're not going to attend the party, they instead choose to just stop by. To the teenager, this is okay... they're not attending the party; they're just stopping by for ten, maybe twenty minutes.

In between their shifts, this teenager gets a ride from a co-worker/friend to the party. They're at the party less than twenty minutes. They don't drink anything they shouldn't. They just say hi to a few friends and then return back to their job for their next shift. It was a brief visit and barely worth a mention.

The next day, the high school student's mother asks the student if they attended the party. He says "no". The parent follows up with a slightly more linear question: "Are you sure you didn't step foot into that house? That you didn't go to the party?" The teenager pauses and thinks to themselves: What exactly am I being asked right now? How can I not lie but still not tell the full truth? No matter the response the teenager gave, unless it was the full truth, the parent already had their answer. It turns out this mom had connected with a family friend who lived across the street from the party and had offered to keep an eye out for the car this responsible student drove.

Eventually, the teenager had to admit that they stopped by the party. The parent grounded the student for not following the parental expectation and also for lying.

The teenager, himself a rather decent honors student and solid son, tried to find a loophole in their parent's mandate and got caught in the web. It's what kids do. It's also something I remember to this day.

Much like the teenager from the above story, let me be blunt and share: your kid will lie to you.

They will lie a little bit about big things.

They will lie a lot about little things.

They will lie for seemingly no reason.

They will lie with intention and purpose.

Your perfect little angel will lie to you.

This is absolutely normal.

In your student's mind, they're not lying. They're just not telling you the full truth. Often, in my conversations with parents, I share that there is a huge bubble of information that we call the "full truth". I'll make a huge circle with my hands to show how large this "truth bubble" truly is. If a child was to tell you everything in the truth bubble, they'd start at the beginning, not leave anything out, have a perfect memory about what transpired, and took full ownership of their decisions. This rarely happens.

Instead, a student will tell you little pockets of truths within this larger bubble. Here is an example:

What you are asking "did you complete your homework?"
What they say: "yes, I did my homework"
What the truth is: "I only did my math homework and not my ELA homework"

To them, they're not lying. They did do their homework. Their math homework is done. You asked if they completed their homework and they have completed their math homework. You didn't ask about the ELA homework though, even though you think you did.

If you asked specifically about their ELA homework, they'd probably counter with another not-a-lie-but-not-the-truth response like "oh, we actually did most of it in class" (not false) or "I only have a few more sentences to write; it's pretty much done" (not false either). Unless you ask directly about the completion of their ELA assignment, you're not going to get the answer to the question you're asking.

The challenge as a parent, as an administrator, is asking the exact simplified question you want an answer to, even if you have to repeat the question over and over again. Instead of asking a broad "is your homework done?" type question, you need to break the request into smaller, much more defined inquiries.

Don't ask "is your homework done?"
Instead, "please show me your math homework"

Don't say "did you talk with your math teacher like we said you would?"
Instead, "tell me about the conversation you had with your math teacher. tell me every word. I'm about to email them, so I want to make sure I have the full story."

Don't say "everything go well today at school?"
Instead, "let's share our favorite part from today and one thing that didn't go as well as we hoped"

As a school administrator, I know that a student's first reaction when they're in our office is to lie. It's just what always happens. Sometimes, I start the conversation with "I know you're not going to tell me the truth when I ask these questions..." followed by "let's restart this conversation again now that we've agreed that we weren't truthful in the beginning."

Personally, I wish that everyone just started with the truth. I wish our students were truthful with their parents about not completing their work. I wish our parents would trust our staff a bit more on certain occasions. I wish every conversation I had with a student started with an agreement of truth.

I understand why our students aren't truthful. They're a little bit scared. They're worried about the truth. Some students are trying to figure out what I know so they can only share that small segment of information. Other students will just continue to lie, even when confronted with an avalanche of facts. A loophole is the friend of every teenager I know.

About 98% of the time, we administrators and parents get to the truth eventually. Odd thing is... any conversation we have with the student often doesn't even involve a consequence. Our students just don't share the full truth because they don't know how to tell the full truth, even if they're told ahead of time that there isn't a consequence attached.

This is actually ok. They're kids. I don't expect the truth right off the bat and neither should our parents. Instead, let's work on asking the questions that can give us the answers we want from our teenagers. Let's understand that our kids won't always tell the truth... and that they need us to provide the structure and possible consequences when they don't live up to our reasonable expectations.

Much like the story shared above, even a responsible honors student can rationalize ways where they feel like they're not lying to their parents. Every student makes a few mistakes. The secret for their growth is to reestablish our adult expectations and make sure a lesson is learned for the next time.

Because there's going to be another party... there's going to be another next time.