Not The Happiest 6th Grader

I was not the happiest 6th grade student. 

My family moved to Atlanta before my 4th grade year. I spent my 4th grade year with Mrs. Scott, joined by most of my friends from my new community that my family had moved into a few months prior. 5th grade was with Mrs. Harms, just down the hall from my 4th grade classroom. Again, somehow all of my friends were grouped together for our 5th grade year. I loved school.

Near the end of the year, all of my friends and I became increasingly excited to move to the local middle school for our 6th grade year in the fall. It was around this time that my parents sat me down and informed me that I'd be attending private school for 6th grade. I was devastated.

While some 11 year olds would handle this news with grace, I did not. Instead, I protested, argued, made the empty threats only an 11 year old can make ("Well, then I'll just live somewhere else!"), and spent every day leading up to 6th grade as a relatively unhappy child. My parents, in looking back, have a few choice words to describe my behaviors during this time. Essentially, I was not a very happy 5th grade student.

And so I entered Westminster not knowing a soul. 

Westminster was at the time (and still is) a high performing K-12 private catholic school. My day started with a 30 minute commute. There were weekly religious church sessions (which was something different for me to sit through). I didn't know anyone. I really didn't make any friends the whole year. 

From my entire year at Westminster, I have four, and only four, distinct memories. 

I remember running in PE twice a week throughout the entire campus. They said the route was approximately 2.2 miles, but I'm pretty sure it was much longer than that. 

I remember playing a lot of foosball and buying candy at break and lunch.

I remember being pooped on by a bird en route to art class one day. 

And I remember Mr. Gardner.

Mr. Gardner was my 6th grade science teacher. Science was my least favorite class. It's important to note that I also had a geography class, art class, a music class, the aforementioned running/PE class... and yet, science was still my least favorite. It was in my science class with Mr. Gardner that I acted out the worst. For whatever reason, Mr. Gardner took the brunt of my frustration about switching schools, from being away from my friends, for just being an angry 11 year old child.

Mr. Gardner did everything a teacher should do. He tried the consequence route. He held parent-student-teacher conferences. He assigned more work. He assigned less work. He graded me a bit harshly. He gave me a lot of grace. Looking back, he tried everything. 

One day, I was being especially challenging in class, and I could tell that Mr. Gardner was equally frustrated with the situation. He stopped his lesson for the class and asked me if I wanted to lead the class since I had so much to say. I told him I'd be glad to teach the class for him. He paused and said calmly that I'd be leading the chapter review lesson the following day for the class and that I best be ready. No problem, I said.

But there was a problem. I hadn't paid attention for the entire chapter and hadn't started preparing for the test in two days. Now, I was responsible for the chapter review to be delivered in 24 hours. This was not good.

I went home and immediately read the chapter. I had collected some notes from a classmate. I treated the teacher-provided study guide as the holy grail. I even referenced the encyclopedia set we had at home. By late that evening, I had cobbled together a Jeopardy style review, even with the hidden daily doubles. I felt prepared. 

The class itself was a blur. It's amazing how much faster the class period goes when you're the one in front of the class, leading the lesson. I put my classmates into three teams and they could, within their groups, respond to each of the answers with the correct question for the points shown. At the end, one team was declared the winner and, as a class, we had reviewed everything from the study guide plus some additional information gleaned from the encyclopedias. 

Mr. Gardner sat off to the side for the entire lesson. At the end, he looked over at me and said "well done." I was very exhausted afterwards and fell asleep early that night. I was not prepared for exactly how challenging and tiring leading a class lesson could be. I also earned an "A" on the chapter test the following day; turns out if you prepare the class review, you learn the material for the test quite well. My main takeaway was how much I enjoyed teaching. A seed was planted.

All of this took place in 1986-87. We moved to California after my 6th grade year and I never looked back at my year at Westminster and Mr. Gardner, even though I credit him with my first teaching experience. I'm not sure I would have ever gone into education without Mr. Gardner taking a chance on letting a knucklehead of a 6th grader lead a chapter review in science class way back when. 

Every so often, I would search online for Mr. Gardner. I only knew his last name and that he worked at Westminster, but I figured it couldn't be that hard... after all, I'm pretty good with my Internet searches. And yet, I had zero luck. 

Until I received a random reply from the dean of students at Westminster. He shared that Mr. Gardner had switched schools a while back and had since retired. He was living in Tennessee and yes, his first name is Warren (but went by Sandy) and he was on Facebook. Off to Facebook I went. A quick message one night was instantly replied to and he provided his email address for me to send a thank you that included my apology for what a challenging student I was for him in 6th grade science.

He replied to my email and shared his life since Westminster. He also kindly shared that he had no recollection of my Jeopardy game nor of me as a student. I'm not sure how this was possible; I had assumed that the year we spent together had permanently scarred his soul. However, his words provided the "why" and the "how" quite well in his email reply: 

"Your story to me, if you'll grant me a religious interpretation, speaks to what many call a 'God moment.' What was for you a seminal event was for me one of a blur of moments (as you know from your own experience being in charge of a class and now a school), but neither you nor I had to appreciate it for what it was at the time. It became something large because of who you are and where IMO God placed you to be influenced in a powerful and life-giving way. I can only imagine how effective that first class was. My daughter, who is now also a teacher, observed recently that kids listen to other kids who step into adult roles better than the adults. And your use of Jeopardy was perfect and outside my box (though it should not have been) and makes recall with more definition the day I turned over a class to a student. I'm sure everyone enjoyed it, including me, and in the process it lit something in you that still burns - yes, a God moment."

While I myself am not a religious person, I appreciated his words and how it best explains that perhaps there was some deliberate destiny involved in my parents' decision to transfer their 6th grade son (against his wishes) into private school back in 1986. 

Perhaps this means that what we endure in the present, even in a year as unbecoming as 2020, does directly spark who we collectively become in our shared future. 

Maybe there's a little bit of hope for us all, especially so for those parents with an unhappy, moody, ever-so-challenging 6th grade student.

Graduation Speech - 2020 - Union Middle School

Below is a video of my promotion speech for the Union Middle School class of 2020. 

Last year, I wrote that my promotion speech was hard to write. Well, obviously I wasn't aware for what 2020 would bring. What an odd race to the end of the school year for all of us. 

The original plan was to allow the two students who ended up in my promotion speech to give their own speech at the in-person ceremony. It would be an off-shoot of my annual speech and I figured it would be pretty silly, given how these two students just finish each other's sentences. 

Then Covid-19 shuttered our schools and then our hopes for an in-person promotion for our students. I told these two students that I wouldn't be able to do what we had talked about for our in-person speech. They were bummed and so was I.

In the following weeks, thanks to one of my former fantasy football friends "zoom-bombing" our annual NFL draft chat, I had an idea: why not have these two students "zoom-bomb" my promotion speech.

I asked them if they were interested. After their screams of excitement, they said "yes" a thousand times. We gathered together via Google Doc a few weeks later and in one sitting, probably no longer than ten minutes, we had gathered our ideas and built the promotion speech. We originally thought we were going to be on the same zoom but I realized how tricky that was going to be. Have you ever tried to coordinate the schedules of two teenagers? It's not pretty.

So we filmed them independently and had the brother of one of our staff members (Ms. Zangwill's Brother Brad) splice everything together. 

I don't think any artist is every happy with their final product. Luckily, I'm not an artist and I'm accepting of what you're about to see. It was a different type of speech to a different type of school year. 

We are going to miss the class of 2020 because I can share that we already do. You brought a lot of light to our campus each day and I'm hopeful you'll continue to shine wherever you stream your high school years. 

As always, thank you parents for your support over the past three years, thank you staff for your continued dedication to our students, and thank you students for just being you. 

Here is the promotion speech video. Enjoy.

Everything is going to be ok

I've always heard that no one is ever given more than they can handle. Whatever your internal max tolerance in these chaotic times might be, you should be able to make it through. This week, however, was one of the books.

We are on week 902 of the covid-19 pandemic. Actually, it has only been about seven weeks, but if you told me it had been nine hundred some odd weeks, I would have believed you. As previously shared, my wife and I have four young children, twins approaching their 5th birthday and another set about to turn ten. The soon-to-be ten year olds have significant special needs to where they have the strength of a twelve year old but the behaviors of a four year old. To say things are the opposite of stable for our household would be accurate.

Our strategy thus far has been to take it one day at a time. My wife and I have chosen to not judge each other on the amount of television we allow our kids to watch, the amount of wine or diet sodas we drink, and the amount of times either of us feel the need to visit Costco for their daily walk.

So far, given all of the imbedded challenges we have in our household, we've survived. It hasn't been without our hourly moments of despair, fear, and frustration. We often wonder what else could happen, what else could go wrong, and what else is going to be just too much for us to handle.

Enter a power outage Wednesday night.

Around 5 pm, everything electronic suddenly turned off. The iPads our daughters were using. The television our sons were watching. The power bank chargers needing a refill. Our garage door somehow half open, unable to close. Our refrigerator with the dinner we hadn't prepared yet not being able to be opened out of fear everything would instantly spoil. We had promised our children a family movie (after watching Despicable Me 1-3, they were quite excited to watch Minions) that evening; now, there was no way to make it happen. Imagine trying to explain a power outage to your special needs children or to your four year old sons. They weren't as agreeable as I had hoped.

My wife and I sat there in the dark, after finally putting all of the kids to bed later than we had hoped. Our phones were slowly draining of their current charge and we had no way to refill them. We just sat in the dark, illuminated by our screens, wondering if the power would ever turn back on. And yes, it did. At 2 am. All of the lights. All of the TVs. All turned on at the same time. It was a very nice wake up call. At 2 am.

But hey we made it through it and survived to another day. Since our social distancing expert slash babysitter was unavailable today, I decided to take all four kids out for a drive in an effort to give my wife some quiet time. We had errands to run plus the kids wanted a milkshake as a special treat. Using the milkshake as the reward for our behavior expectations, the kids did a great job. We went to Costco for gasoline. I got semi-lost trying to find my way from Lawrence Expressway to Picchetti Winery but made it there eventually. The kids were all doing wonderfully. We were passing the reservoir when Molly, from the back of the car, made a sound. It was one of those sounds that every parent knows and every parent fears. It was the pre-vomit sound.

Everything slowed down at that moment. You know what's about to happen. You think about snapping your fingers to freeze time. Maybe some Matrix-style maneuvers that teleport the sick child to the side of the road. Anything to prevent what is seconds away from taking place. But you know that nothing will work. You beg. You plead. And then you see the vomit. It's on their clothes. It's on the seatbelt. It's all over the car. Somehow, it got onto another child, who is now screaming that their sibling's barf is in their mouth. The other two kids are loudly complaining about the smell. It might be their first moment with a vehicle vomit situation. Special moment. It's just a complete mess.

But I looked back at Molly. Her eyes were puffy. She was covered in regurgitated macaroni and cheese with some strawberries mixed in. Tears were falling down her face. Please note that this is the Molly who has become incredibly violent over the years. I have a dozen scratches and bruises made by Molly right now. She often reacts with anger and confusion and screaming. But I looked back at her as I had pulled to the side of the road. She looked right back at me and said in a voice that was intermixed with verbal tears, "I'm sorry, Daddy. I'm sorry, Daddy."

With her clothes completely soaked, Molly was left in her underwear. I harkened back to my wife's voice as we left for our excursion: are you sure you don't want to bring an extra set of clothes? I had said no.  Molly, however, was quite excited as she was allowed to sit in the front seat for the rest of the way home, albeit mostly naked in doing so. The boys seemed to understand that these things happen and they stopped complaining about the smell. Kenna repeatedly told her sister Molly that everything was going to be ok, that she (Kenna) always throws up in the car -and this is true: Kenna is known to vomit about half of the time for any car ride longer than 60 minutes- and that she always gets better after a while.

So here we are, in the middle of a pandemic, seven weeks into shelter in place with no end in sight, driving to get wine that I'm not even going to drink, with all four kids to give my wife a few moments of well deserved quiet, on the side of the road without cell service, after one of the longest weeks of my life, with an entire car reeking of vomit, my Molly thinking that she did something wrong, and I just took a deep breath and realized: everything is going to be ok.

We are going to be ok. You are going to be ok. We are going to get through this, whatever "this" happens to be for each individual in the midst of our chaotic times.

We can handle whatever life throws at us. So you've got a pandemic forcing us to shelter in place with four young children, adding in blackouts and wine-collection road trips filled with vomit explosions? No problem. We can handle it. Everything is going to be ok. Take a few minutes to enjoy the little things in life. Marvel at how your special needs daughter responds with kindness toward her probably food-poisoned sister. Take a moment to relish the special story you can one day share about the blackout ending at 2 am and being awakened by the screaming televisions throughout the house.

We are in incredibly unique times and we are going to get through this. Everything is going to be ok.

Three Long Weeks

It's been three weeks since our schools shut down.

Three weeks in my role as a principal since the decision was made to close down and shift toward online learning for our students. 

I think as a principal that I had a sense that our school campus were going to be closed in the weeks leading up to the actual decision. A lot of our teachers had questions about the "what if" aspects of such a closure and I told them directly that I didn't have the answers. What I did have were some calculated predictions of what could happen if we did close our school campus. Thus, we spent multiple meetings leading up to the campus closures discussing what we might do if our campus closed and had to shift to an online learning model.

It was in these meetings that my already significant appreciation for my staff increased even further. Every question they asked was about how they could support their students, each other, and our school community. There was genuine concern about our more academically prepared and emotionally fragile students. How were we going to ensure all of our students had lunches, internet, access to the curriculum, access to their counselor, everything. Our staff spent countless hours preparing for the inevitable shift before most middle schools had even had their first conversation about the possibility. I even created a FAQ for our parent community to answer common questions that we expected them to have and gave them an opportunity to ask more if need be.

Even with all of our preparation, it's been a hard three weeks. Educating our students online isn't the same as opening their car doors in the morning as they arrive with school, checking in with them as we pass them on our campus, and waving goodbye as they depart at the end of the day. I'm pleasantly surprised at the student turnout in our classes each day, but it's a continued challenge for our staff to not experience diminishing returns therein.

I've also discovered I'm not a very good "online" principal. I might become more comfortable with the role as our time away from the school campus continues, but I'm not so sure. Being an "online" principal is a completely different job than what I've spent the last eight years doing at Union Middle. There's a whole lot less face to face interaction, less walking around and connecting with people, less understanding of who's doing what and who needs help. I miss seeing the staff, our parents, and especially our students.

I miss my normal work day. I really, really miss it.

Three weeks in my role as a parent since my daughters and sons have been unable to attend their own schooling during the day.

Last November, my wife and I pulled our daughters out of the local public school after an incident on campus that led to one of my daughter's arms being significantly bruised. It wasn't the only reason we removed them but it was the final straw for our family. We eventually found a non public school for them and have spent the last few months figuring out the odds and ends of making it work. It hasn't been easy, as we were in a limbo of sorts in making it work for our daughters and our family... but things were just about to be settled when the closures hit.

As shared previously, our daughters have significant special needs. They do much better with set routines and seeing their classmates. While they struggle with transitions, they were beginning to find some stability in their routines with their new school. For them, as special needs students, there is no substitute from in-person support and learning opportunities. It is during these times that our special needs students get overlooked. Even if a school is trying to support them academically, it is rare that an online learning model can truly support a special needs student in need of one to one support. With four kids and me working from home during the day, we just can't provide both of our daughters the one to one support they need.

They miss going to their new school each day and ask when they can go back. They don't understand why not.


Three weeks in my role as a spouse spending every moment of every single day at home with my wife and our four kids. 

I've blogged recently about limiting our time together as a family for a variety of issues, one of which is maintaining a level of safety for all four of our kids. However, with the shelter in place, we have no choice but to all be together. So far, there's only been one hospital visit. It was for one of our sons and unrelated to our daughters. He decided to do a Ric Flair face flop in his bedroom onto a toy truck and split his upper lip open. Of course he decided to do this the night before my school started our online learning schedule. Never a good thing to be in the ER amid a pandemic from 7 pm Sunday to 3 am Monday morning.

Most of our days have been dividing the kids' locations for our mere survival. Separate sides of the table. Separate sides of the house. Separate walks. Separate everything. We don't even watch a movie as a family; it's just too risky. I can't even take my daughters to Costco. If we try to escape for a few minutes and check Facebook or Reddit, we're flooded with depressing Covid-19 news and often something worse. There's no reprieve, no quarter from our daily lives.

My wife and I get about two hours of television and talk each night after the kids go to bed. Netflix has helped greatly but we are down to just a few episodes of Ozark left and have already sped through Tiger King. There's no way to get the kids enough exercise during the day to encourage a better sleep. Longer days mean longer nights somehow for our family. My wife and I are just barely hanging on. Each day is a victory of sorts.

And it's only been three weeks.

Three. Long. Weeks.

Nacho Average Student

One of the most common topics in my conversations with other school principals is about building school culture. How do you do build a positive school culture? How do you know it's working? What more can I do as a principal to improve it? Is there a point where I have to just give up and look for another job? Is there anything specific you do as a middle school principal to improve school culture?

You'd be surprised at the number of questions I'll get that always seem to center around school culture. My answer can easily be summarized in three words: hire nice people.

But simply hiring the nicest people sometimes isn't enough. Often, you have to help create moments for your staff and students to connect. This was how our student recognition events were born.

Prior to my arrival, we held one end of the year student recognition event. It was held during the last week of school. Teachers would often take their favorite student from the current school year. Everyone would sit together for lunch and then quickly depart. The student would be with in the teacher's classroom one or two more days and then most likely depart for good.

One summer, I suggested to our leadership teacher that we should hold more events during the year. I intentionally wanted to have these new events earlier in the school year in an effort to water the relationship between a student and their teacher. My idea was not met with open arms. This was too big of change for some staff members and despite going ahead with the event, there were some teachers who chose not to attend. Even worse, there were some who attended but chose to not select a student. It was a rocky start.

As the odds would have it, a new leadership teacher shortly came on board thereafter and embraced the idea of holding multiple events during the school year. She worked with our intro to leadership teacher to provide more students the opportunity to put on the event. The staff was encouraged to suggest names for each event, such as "Way TOGO" (where we'd have Togo's sandwiches) and "Nacho Average Student" (possibly my favorite selection to date).

Over the past few years, we've refined who our target student is for the event. It's not the student who is the captain of the basketball team nor is it the band student who made sectionals last week. It's not the straight A student who receives heaps of praise on a daily basis. It's for the invisible kid. It's for that student who started the year with huge struggles and has finalized figured out how to manage the 8th grade work load. It's for that one student (and we have all seen this student at our schools) who has an unforgiving home life and just needs an adult on campus they can connect with. And yes, it's for that student who you're proud of for any reason you want.

At the recent event and every event previous, I interrupt the event with the following announcement. I first praise the students for being selected. I make mention that their teachers have anywhere from 25 to 250 students to select from and they were only allowed to select one... and I'll emphasize this last statement for the selected students: "and they chose you!"

This is my favorite moment of the event. I'll scan the students' faces and watch them slowly realize that this one adult that they see for 50 some-odd minutes each day thinks that they're special, that they're worthy, that they're amazing. I'll encourage the students to thank their teachers and every singe time, the students will begin to clap in unison for our staff.

We'll encourage our students to take home their certificate to their families. I'll reminder them that their certificate holds words of encouragement from their teacher. At the event, I'll intentionally circulate around to every student and read their certificate out loud to them. I've found it pretty powerful for each student to hear their teacher's words being said out loud to them by their principal. The student will often blush and then offer their thanks (without any prompting) to their teacher. It's not uncommon to get a few parent emails the following day from the parents of students who attended the event, sharing their gratitude and thanks.

Creating a school culture begins with hiring the very nicest adults you can find to join your staff. However, once you've got your staff, the next important step is cultivating a community where our kids know that we care and recognize each of them individually for just being amazing, for being themselves, and for being Nacho Average Student.

Broccoli & Cauliflower

This might come as a shock to anyone who knows me, but I'm often sarcastic in my conversations. I'm told that I have a pretty good "serious face" during these moments, making it rather difficult to figure out if I'm just joking or not. One teacher once told me that they believed I disliked them with a passion because they couldn't get a read on my thoughts. The irony here is that I only have positive opinions about this educator and they're probably one of the best I'll ever work with in my career.

So you can imagine how challenging it must be for my wife to know if I'm serious or not, as she's around me quite a bit.

While some would offer the advice to just not be so sarcastic (and that's great advice), my wife and I instead decided that we would have a "truth" word that I could add to my conversations that would tell her that I was being serious. The word we chose was Cauliflower.

There is one main rule regarding Cauliflower: my wife can't ask for Cauliflower; it can only be given. If there is a moment where she's unsure if I'm serious, she can't say "is this Cauliflower?" Instead, if I'm serious about something I'm saying, I'll just simply add the word "Cauliflower" to the conversation.

For example, if I've purchased her a spa weekend for just her and her friends and she doesn't believe me that it's actually happening, I'll simply say "honey, Cauliflower" and she now knows it's true. This is incredibly helpful in our relationship. I even utilize "Cauliflower" with some of my staff members. I suspect they appreciate it.

Tonight, my wife and I added a second word: Broccoli.

As previously shared, our daughters have significant special needs. We're trying to make things work in our home, but it's increasingly challenging every single day. We have had more than one therapist recommend a residential placement for them. We just can't envision placing our daughters in such an environment; could anyone imagine doing that to their child? That said, we recognize that it's something that is approaching fast on our family's horizon, if only for the safety of our sons and selves.

Given the special needs of our daughters, of which reactive attachment is a huge component, we don't travel anywhere as a family. Every single time we try, we fail. Breakfasts outside of our house (and even at home) turn into a chaotic mess. I can't think of a single car ride that's gone on for more than 10 minutes with all six of us in the car that didn't involve a significant issue (such as vomit, hitting, yelling, throwing, etc). If you ever want to know what torture feels like, imagine a flight delay with all four kids coming back from a family trip. Please note I said "trip" as we don't ever have vacations.

This is our life now.

The challenge as parents is how to raise our age-appropriate sons with as many wonderful experiences as possible, as our daughters cannot attend these events (too loud, too far, too many people, too few people, animals, Santa Claus, wind, cheering, music, etc...). So we, as parents, either have to split up and only one parent goes with the boys... or we don't go at all... or we try to go as a family, even though we know it won't work.

Tonight, we went as a family. It didn't work.

For those local to the Bay Area, there's the Niles Train of Lights in Fremont. My wife heard it was a great experience and wanted to go as a family. I pushed against the idea (see above) but acquiesced as I share her desire to provide these experiences for our kids. To the surprise of no-one, it was a complete failure.

Horrible weather. Rush hour traffic. Disregulated daughters. Hangry sons. Exhausted parents. Crowds. Lines. Noises. Santa Claus.

During the event, I looked at my wife and said that we needed a new word. If either of us came to the other with an event for our family to attend, their spouse could say "Broccoli" with the understanding that we'd take a step back from the idea we were really excited about and figure out if it really made sense for our family. I shared the example that I wanted to take all four kids to a baseball game this Summer and how my wife kindly expressed all of the ways that it could go wrong with all four. I shared how horribly traumatic our attempt to take the four kids to a sensory-friendly Nutcracker performance last week went. It's just how things are for our family right now.

So now we have two words; one that helps our conversations and one that helps our solidarity in best supporting our family. We hope that things will get better in the future, but for now, it's just a lot of Broccoli. 

It's Not About the Pasta

Every night, my wife and I collectively decide what television show we're going to watch that evening. I always push for The Challenge on MTV. She always votes for anything related to The Bachelor. Together, though, we can agree on Vanderpump Rules.

For those of you not familiar with the (fake) reality show titled Vanderpump Rules, it follows Lisa Vanderpump (of Real Housewife "fame") and the late-twenties servers at one of her restaurants. Many of the main cast of characters have had intertwining relationships and the weekly fallout therein makes for great, mindless television each week. 

In a semi-recent scene (words bleeped out, be careful!), James Kennedy (a "DJ" for the restaurant who calls himself the "White Kanye") and former BFF Lala (who believes she's Tupac reincarnated) have an argument that centers around Lala eating James' girlfriend's pasta. Lala boasted about doing so and James got quite upset. They proceeded to have an argument about the pasta eating in the middle of the street with the cameras rolling. During the argument, James would scream "it's not about the pasta!" but Lala would return the conversation back to the pasta. 

It was fascinating television as they argued back and forth about the pasta incident, but as James said at the end of the clip, it truly wasn't about the pasta. It rarely is.

One thing I've discovered is that when friends, colleagues, spouses, family members argue with one another, it's rarely about the pasta.

Often, the argument is about how someone felt slighted, ignored, excluded, upset about how they were treated. Complicating matters more, the other person is rarely aware of how this person is feeling because there's little to no communication. Thus, someone will suffer in silence, building up their pain until that last little drop of frustration overflows their internal already filled-to-the-brim cup of kindness. 

Part of the problem is that we, as human beings, often shy away from hard conversations with the hope that things will get better on their own.

Newsflash: They don't.

As an educator, I've seen incredibly talented co-workers privately share how hurt they were at the actions or the words of one of their colleagues. I'll listen and always encourage them to seek out that person to discuss. Most times, the person who has hurt them isn't even aware that their words or actions were taken in such a manner. Even more so, there's a miscommunication that led to their feelings and could be easily addressed. 

What's interesting is that I've found many educators will shy away from having these conversations with their colleagues. Perhaps they think things will get better on their own. Maybe they are intimidated by the their co-worker. They might believe that nothing will change if they do bring up their concern. However, by staying silent, nothing improves and one's own mental health can suffer. And when they finally do speak up down the line about a separate incident, it's hard for their co-worker to understand why they're so upset about "the pasta". 

Given that most of these conflicts occur through miscommunications, I'd like to suggest the following for any educator struggling with a colleague:

First, when you see or hear something that upsets you, don't wait too long to respond. If someone says something flippant in the staff room at lunch, let them know right then and there that what they said wasn't nice or accurate. If a teacher says that all of the kids at your school are lazy, speak up and let them know that's (hopefully) not true. Don't let the one teacher's narrative become your story.

Second, if you hear something that a colleague said through the grapevine, try to speak with them directly. Quotes quickly lose their context when shared outside of the original conversation. Just go straight to the source and ask for a clarification. Sarcasm doesn't travel well and is often a signifiant source of colleague conflict in schools. 

Third, assume positivity. Maybe your co-worker is having a rough day, month, year. Maybe their comments are a cry for help and support. Are they a good educator, someone who you'd want your own child to be in their class? If so, perhaps assuming positivity throughout the miscommunication might help fix the minor conflict.

Fourth, don't make the issues of others your own. I believe it is good to support your peers, but there's a saying out there: These mountains you were carrying, you were only supposed to climb. If you absorb the negative emotions of others, you'll find yourself drowning in your days. Acknowledge that sometimes people will just say things they shouldn't and not always be as nice as you'd like them to be. This is ok. 

Fifth, when you do have a hard conversation with a colleague, don't argue about non-issues. Just be kindly blunt and perfectly direct at how you're feeling. Don't expect them to own your feelings, but instead hopefully acknowledge how their words and actions contributed to the conversations you're having now. The hope is to rebuild whatever bridges were broken but it takes both parties to agree to this project. 

And sixth, when you do have the conversation, be ready and willing to let your frustrations over the first incident go. If you harbor these thoughts beyond the initial chat, you haven't truly had a conversation worth having. Make sure when you have that colleague conversation, you're ready to fully clear the air so you're able to walk away anew. Otherwise, you'll just be internally upset while your colleague assumes things are perfectly fine.

Don't assume that things will just magically improve without working to address the concern. Don't wait for a second... or a third event to happen and cause the relationships to further deteriorate. When this happens, it's harder for both parties to address the original concern. After all, as the cast from Vanderpump Rules can confirm, it's not about the pasta.