Surfing in South Dakota

Denver, CO

 

South Dakota reminded me a bit of North Dakota, except it was a bit further south.  My folks both grew up in a little farming town in northeastern North Dakota and we used to visit every couple of summers.  We never could talk them into a Christmas visit for some reason.   Hmmmm.

 

Yesterday, as I walked the streets of Pierre (pronounced “Peer,” by the way), it had a similar feeling to some of the small towns in North Dakota that I’ve visited.  That “slowly drying up” feeling.  Kinda sad.  Granted, it was a Sunday afternoon, but it didn’t have that vibrant bustle that many towns do.

 

I remember my cousins in N. Dakota talking about how the culture always took a few years to get there from the rest of the country.  Movies, fashion, ideas, they all had a lag time.  And it seems that is still somewhat the case, but I think that the time is diminishing rapidly.

 

As I wandered the streets, I wondered how applicable a talk about teaching skills for the future would be.  But I think it might be even more applicable in some ways for small towns across this land.  The future is coming a bit faster because technology is catching them up all that much quicker.

 

Will they rear end the rest of us?  (I say “they” as if I’m from a big city, which I’m not.)  Will they survive the acceleration?  Will they grab onto this charging bull and harness it’s power?  Will they pop up and surf this tsunami of changes?  Will they…

 

Time will tell, and with the exponential growth rate of technology, culture, ideas, commerce and e-communities, it may not take us very long to find out.

P.T.A.

Rapid City, SD

 

John Candy and Steve Martin, eat your heart out.  I think it’s about time for me to rent Planes, Trains and Automobiles again, although this time it might hit a little close to home.

 

I’ve been traveling for over 10 hours already today, and I’m only now about to take off on a plane.  I haven’t even left South Dakota yet!  Thankfully, I haven’t had a rental car catch on fire, no one sang the Flintstones theme song on our bus trip, and I haven’t had to room with any large men who leave their enormous underwear in the sink.  So I should be thankful.

 

Unfortunately, now I won’t be getting the Perfect Attendance Award at the end of the school year.  Due to my flight cancellation today, I won’t be able to make it to Pennsylvania for the Teacher Forum in time to speak.  So I’m heading home.

 

If all goes well, I’ll be home by 10pm tonight, a full 18 hours after I started my journey.  It might have been quicker to drive!  Unless, of course, I let John Candy take the wheel.

I've been replaced by a science teacher named Michael

Redmond, OR

 

“…and the new Oregon Teacher of the Year is… (envelope please)… a science teacher named Michael!”  What a kawinkydink!  Except our 2009 representative, Michael Lampert, teaches high school in West Salem.  And he’s been to Antarctica.

 

I’m thrilled for him, and look forward to meeting and working with him.  From what I’ve read and seen, he sounds like a remarkable guy!  When they announced his selection at a surprise assembly, his students definitely thought so!

 

But I also feel a slight twinge of pain for him, for his life will never quite be the same.  He will meet new people, be exposed to ideas, and be asked to step into a new role that will stretch him like never before.  I think he’ll handle it marvelously.

 

Each state handles their Teacher of the Year program a bit differently.  Some teachers have a yearlong sabbatical (about a dozen states and the national teacher,) while others, like Oregon, remain full-time in the classroom.  Some receive large cash prizes and a car for the year, while others, like Oregon, are more modest (we receive $3,000 dollars from Intel.)  Some are highly scheduled, sought after, and publicized, while others, like Oregon, each make what they want of the position.

 

From the little I know about Michael Lampert, he’ll make the most of it, and I will encourage him to do so.  Teachers and students need to make their voices, stories and ideas heard, and Michael will have an attentive audience this year!

 

Congratulations, Michael, and be bold!

 

Where Grow From Here? [sic]

Salt Lake City, UT

 

Where Do We Grow From Here?  “That’s not a typo, by the way,” reassured Jon Quam, followed by some good-natured ribbing.  (There actually was a rare typo on the cover of our conference binders, however, that said “Where Grow From Here?”  Very Yoda-like, actually.)

 

That was the theme of our weekend retreat as we dove into the personal and professional choices that we all must make as our Teacher of the Year terms officially end, and our longer journey as teacher leaders begins.  As Jon frequently reminds us, “you will always be the 2008 [insert state name here] Teacher of the Year.”  Our voices will be heard, and our words will carry more weight.

 

So what will we say?  What message will we bring to the policy-makers, our fellow educators, and our communities?  Ultimately, what will we say to our students, for they are the ones we must answer to.  And speak up for!

 

Teachers of the Year have taken many paths through the years: instructional coaches, dept. of education employees, consultants, administrators, educational product developers, and yes, even classroom teachers.  In fact, most of us return to the classroom to do what we love most.

 

But we return as different people.  Not only in our pedagogy (which we have reflected upon and collected many new ideas for,) but in our roles as teacher leaders.

 

When a leader continues to prove themselves “in the trenches,” they are more effective and their voice is more respected.  Like my colleague from Montana, Steve Gardiner (see “The Schmuck and the Streakers” post from Sept. 25^th, below), who runs in every practice with his high school cross-county team: when his athletes go to a meet and realize that many coaches don’t run, they tell Steve, “man, that other coach just stands over there and yells really loud!”  He’s a coach that isn’t being as effective as he could be.

 

This year I still feel like I have one foot in the classroom, and now one foot at 30,000 feet.  No wonder I feel stretched!  But it gives me a voice that would fade quickly if I weren’t still a classroom teacher.

 

We need to continue to develop this role of the teacher leader, without over-burdening our already exasperated teachers.  Teaching part-time and finding other ways to lead and share would be an ideal fit for me and for other high quality teachers.  I know there are other creative solutions out there, too.  Just don’t stretch us too far.  Only grow so much we can.

The Fellowship Disperses

New York, NY

 

Well it’s pretty much officially over.  At least for the rest of the Fellowship.  The other 55 state teachers of the year are mostly done with their official reigns by now, and we had our last formal meeting this weekend in Princeton, NJ, and New York City.

 

In my final speech to them, I likened my journey to that of Frodo Baggins in Lord of the Rings (although I’m not really sure what the ring represents, or why I’d need to huck it into a volcano.)  I’ve been selected from my humble little shire in rural Oregon for a monumental task.  The other state teachers are like the elves, humans, dwarves, wizards, and so on that all have different skills and personalities (although I don’t have a freaky looking creature stalking me talking incessantly about his “precioussss.”)  Our final gathering felt sort of like the gathering of the Fellowship in the elf village before Frodo embarks on his quest (although the elf village didn’t have cool wastebaskets that opened automatically when you waved your hand over them.)

After all of the support that my colleagues have given me, and despite the fact that they have shared with me so much, it’s now just down to two of us (although we can all email each other and stuff, which wasn’t available in Middle Earth.)  It’s now just me and Jen, who of course is represented by Sam-wise (although Jen is waaay better looking, has no hair on her feet, and isn’t always saying “if there’s any good left in the world, Mr. Frodo…”)

 

But she’ll be with me until the very end, no matter what.  And while the other teachers may understand the battlefield more completely, no one is more loyal or supportive than my wife.

 

She knows me, and is there for me like no one else can be.  Without Jen, I wouldn’t be here, nor would I have the strength to carry this burden.

 

It’s been a few years since I’ve read the Lord of the Rings (or seen the movies,) so I don’t have a great quote from Frodo to sum it up.  But Jen is now sitting beside me on the plane on the way back from the New Jersey elf village having supported me every step of the way.  And she’ll be beside me until the end.

 

[If you’d like to help her be physically beside me, please donate to the Spouse Of the Year Travel Opportunity Fund Unlimited at SOYTOFU.org)

 

The Schmuck and the Streakers

Salt Lake City, UT

 

Okay, now I’m feeling like a schmuck.  A lazy schmuck.  Jen and I are on our way to New Jersey for the final gathering of all the state teachers of the year, and we get to be on the same flight as Hal Adams (Utah) and Steve Gardiner (Montana).

 

Steve was just telling us about how he wanted to challenge he cross-country athletes to run every day – what he called “consecutive days” (others call it a “streak,” although streaking is something entirely different in my mind.)  So, like good teachers do, he tried it himself.  After a summer of 100 consecutive days running for at least half an hour, he got his athletes started.  Some went 50, some made it 100, one girl went 360, and another went over 600 straight days.

 

One young man clocked over 1000 consecutive days of running during his high school career, and would occasionally e-mail Steve with updates from college: “Hey coach, 1124.  –Dave”

 

He injured himself, though, and broke his consecutive days streak.  When he saw Steve, he disappointedly told him about it.  “But… I’m at 122 now.”  He had started over!  That’s strength of character, commitment, dedication.

 

Steve is currently at 3000+ consecutive days of aerobic workout (he modified it slightly to account for things like pulling a pack sled for 8 hours and then camping on a glacier in northern Greenland.  Tough to go jogging in those conditions.)  He’s an incredible guy.

 

Hal (from Utah) was the first person to suggest that I keep a journal this year.  I’m not really a journaler, or much of a writer, but I so appreciate Hal gently challenging me to go for it.  I decided to write each time I got on a plane.  It would be a good use of my time, and for some reason I feel contemplative and more creative as I ascend into the air.

 

So how many consecutive flights have I journaled now?  20? 40? 60?  Actually, I’m at one.  I’ve been slacking off.  Sometimes I’m just not sure what to write about, but that’s a pretty lame excuse.  I just need to write.

 

As for exercise… that’s a whole ‘nuther story this year.  I’m a double schmuck.

 

[Editor’s note: The word “schmuck” has 6 consonants and only 1 vowel!  Crazy!  Are there any other (non-Russian) words like that?!]

 

[Editor’s 2^nd note:  Just got word that Steve’s cross-country team won it’s sixth straight city championship, and also took 2^nd in the state meet!  Great job, Steve and his athletes!]

Teaching Experience: Several thousand years

Salt Lake City, UT

Several thousand years.  That was the amount of teaching experience in the room this morning at the annual convention of the National Retired Teachers Association.  A couple hundred retired educators (that's the several thousand years part) and me (that'd be seven more.)  I'm not worthy!

Jen sent me a quick message this morning: "Have fun charming the cute old ladies.  You'll drive them crazy."

I think I did, and here's my evidence: I'm fairly certain one gal had her friend fake camera trouble so she could keep her arm around me for a little longer.  :)

But it was a supportive and enthusiastic group, and I was honored to bring a new perspective and some stories from the front lines to these veterans.  They sure appreciated it.

Together, we've touched over half a million lives!  (Them, half a million; me, a wee bit over a thousand.)

First Class

Washington, DC

 

I’m sitting up front in First Class!  Not sure how that happened, but here I am.  I must have surpassed a major milestone in the frequent flyers program or something.

 

So I did what I think you’re supposed to do in first class: read the Wall Street Journal and try not to make eye contact with the steerage filing toward the back of the plane (of which I was a part yesterday, and will be again this afternoon.)  I think I played it off, but I didn’t have much interest in what I was reading.  I’m not sure too many people do.

 

At some of the district events I’ve been to this year, it was curious that oftentimes the administration and teachers keep their distance from each other.  At one event, I was sequestered with the school board, mayor, and other dignitaries (in a nice room with snacks!) and we were then led in at the last moment to sit in the front row as the program started.  I tried to downplay it in my mind, but I was wearing a tie, so it was hard.

 

Why the separation?  Is it just human nature?  Adult versions of middle school cliques?  An insidious plot by the proletariat to remain in power?  Probably not, but whatever the cause, the divisions need to dissolve.  They only tend to breed mistrust and misunderstanding.  We need to sample each others’ worlds and gain an appreciation of what the other is dealing with.

 

My time here as Teacher of the Year is limited, and so is my time in first class.  I’ll enjoy it while I can, and learn about it, too.  But soon I’ll be back in my class, in the coach cabin with the rest of the travelers, where I belong.  But I’ll be there with a new understanding.

 

Now you must excuse me, I need to finish up my complimentary Bar de Granola and glass of chardonnay.  Then it’s off to the executive washroom to see if the quarters are as cramped as I’m used to in the back of the bus.

 

Constructivism

Redmond, OR

 

Helped some folks build their new home yesterday.  I’m not fast, or even particularly accurate.  But I was successful: I didn’t pierce myself with any of the pneumatic tools!

 

Constructivist, yes.  Construction worker, no.

 

Homecoming

Seattle, WA

 

I was always sort of ambivalent about homecoming.  I never really understood who was supposed to be coming home, or why we were celebrating it.  All I knew was that it involved a football game, a queen, and a dance.  And that was good enough reason to celebrate, I guess.

 

This morning was my own homecoming to my alma mater, Kentridge High School in Kent, WA.  The principal at KR had kept it a secret from the staff so it would be a surprise, though.  When he introduced me and I came out on stage, the reaction was… well… a bit like my reaction to homecoming.

 

There were only a couple of teachers there that I had as teachers 17 years ago (one other, Mr. Walrond, my art teacher that I loved, was gone today.  Although I thought a guy in the darkness of the back row was him and I kept making comments to him back in that direction.  Turns out that after the lights were out of my eyes, I realized that it wasn’t him, it was the only other African-American teacher at the school.  Oops.  I felt like an idiot.)  (Whoa, that was a long parenthetical remark.)  Anyways, no one else really knew me, so the whole surprise was a bit forced.  I didn’t really feel like I connected with anyone.

 

So there I was on stage, with an enormous screen behind me, and a hundred educators to entertain and inspire on their first day back from summer.  Surprise!  I’m not sure it worked too well.

 

I opened it up afterwards for questions and to get a feel for what people would take away from the talk, which went much better.  And the curriculum coach asked for some more info and examples, so that’s good.  A few people came up and complimented me afterward, too.

 

But for the most part, I felt like most of the dancing I did at this homecoming was by myself.  A few people might have picked up a couple of moves, but I didn’t feel like I really worked the dance floor.

 

Oh well.  Maybe at Prom.  (Whatever “prom” means.)

 

 

The Pearl

Memphis, TN

 

Just finished reading “The Pearl” for the first time since high school.  Steinbeck is amazing.  I find both comfort and strife in his writing style, and his themes are powerful.  I’m pretty sure I appreciate him more now than I did in school.

 

Of course, at the end of the story, one must ask “What, if anything, is my pearl?”  Was being awarded National Teacher of the Year akin to Kino stumbling upon the Pearl of Great Price?  Will it affect me in the same ways?  At the end of all this, will Jen and I stand, exhausted, at the edge of the sea and toss it back where it came from?

 

Okay, maybe a bit of a stretch for an analogy, but it had to be made.  I’m ready to move on now.

 

Labels

Nashville, TN

 

I hope the pilot of this plane is at least proficient.  I’ve just finished working for a couple of days on a panel of experts on a small part of an evaluation tool for evaluating principals (they’re my “PALS”, remember?)  We basically just defined the “cut scores” for labeling principals as “Below Basic,” “Basic,” “Proficient,” and “Distinguished.”  A lot of work, I must say, to put labels on folks.

 

Ours was only a small part of the whole project, much like building a house, but only being responsible for the porch.  The rest of the evaluation tool consists of a detailed report on strengths and weaknesses in each of 36 categories.  Pretty handy.

 

But I’m a little concerned that the front porch is the first and most important impression that this house might give.  It’s a bit like, well… giving a student a single grade in your class.  Actually, more like a single grade for all their classes put together.  Like a grade point average, but no number, just labels: Stupid, Almost Average, Pretty Smart, and Nerd.  Except in education we usually use more positive sounding words like Hatching, Emerging, Developing, Pubescing, and so on.

 

Why not just use the GPA?  Or better yet, look at grades for each class.  Or the grades for each of them over time.  Or break each class into an academic grade and a citizenship/effort grade like we do at our middle school.

 

I suppose at some point it just becomes too much information to realistically deal with (although we do have some pretty sophisticated technology, like computers and stuff.)  But a single label is just too simple a metric to describe someone, and I’m a bit concerned how a superintendent or school board might use it.  This could be a powerful tool for improvement, but if it fell into the wrong hands that were not focused on improvement… who knows how they might use it?

 

As for this afternoon, I just hope my pilots are well beyond “hatchling” and somewhere in the vicinity of “eagle.”

Good vibes, red meat, and dental floss

Des Moines, Iowa

 

Lots of laughs this morning.  Not when my alarm went off (three hours after turning in,) but when I presented at the back-to-school kick-off in Ankeny, Iowa.  It was a good crowd, attentive, jovial, and the space felt small for 600 people (the fire marshal winced.)

 

This was my main goal this morning: good vibes with a bit of content thrown in.  A little bit less rigorous on the content than usual, but oftentimes less is more.  One’s brain can only process so much at a time, and it’s much easier to process when you’re enjoying yourself.  Especially after coming off a great summer and having to sit for three hours.

 

But now is when I crash.  Must be the combination of red meat, lack of sleep, and humidity.  I’m wasted.

 

Jen’s grandparents “Big Mommy” and “Big Daddy” had me over for dinner last night, they only live 30 minutes from Ankeny.  Aunt Herky and cousins Abby and Emma were there, too.  It was great to see them and to have a home-cooked meal in their comfy home while on the road.  I love that!

 

Also had some super yummy Iowa corn!  I think I still have pieces stuck in my teeth.  People here must go through kilometers of dental floss!

 

One Man, One Vote

Somewhere over Montana

 

At International Space Camp, we had a  reception one evening to honor and celebrate all of the state teachers of the year.  We mingled, had some hors d’oeuvre, and saw a slideshow of our Washington DC experience together.  Near the end, Jon Quam showed a video of the speech I gave at the White House for President Bush and Secretary Spellings.

 

It was rather humbling to watch this again with my colleagues and friends, but fun to see their reactions as they watched it again with a little less distraction.  Their support was unbelievable, with the general consensus being “you totally nailed it.”  At least that’s what they told me.  It was amazing to feel so supported by such high quality professionals in my field.  It gives me great strength because I know that I’m not alone.

 

But perhaps the most interesting part of the evening came a bit later.  A chef from the kitchen poked his head around the corner and motioned for Diane (Vermont Teacher of the Year) to come talk to him.

 

“I’m 46 years old and have never registered to vote.  I think it’s pointless because they’re all pretty much the same.  But is the guy who just gave that speech here tonight?  ‘Cause I wanna shake his hand.  And if he were ever to run for office, I would register to vote and cast it for him.”

 

Diane grabbed me and told me all this, and I headed into the kitchen to meet this fellow.  The chef, Eric, started to pour out his heart to me.  He had just been transferred from NYC where he grew up, but his wife and children were in Florida because one of his three kids has a very rare genetic condition and needs a specialist’s help.  He only sees them every month or two.  He’s struggling to get by, and hurting pretty badly.

 

But he told me that my words were the most powerful he had ever heard, and that they changed the way he will look at his kids, their education, and even his own life.  We shared a bit more time together talking about how hard it is to be away from our families, shed some tears, then I gave him a big hug.  It was a very powerful and very human moment.

 

I have met many important people in my travels so far, but I made it clear to Eric that his openness and raw emotion about his own story will make him among the most memorable people I have met this year.  I assured him that we are all human, and that we are all equally important, and that life is worth fighting for.

 

Thanks for your vote, Eric.  I’ll count it right alongside those of my students, my family, and my peers.  We all count the same.

Staying Awake in Class

Huntsville, AL

 

Scientific studies have confirmed that getting more than 4 hours of sleep per night is probably a good idea.  However, this week, at Space Camp, I felt like a real astronaut: they have 8-9 hours per day scheduled for sleep time, but usually end up only sleeping for 3 or 4.  They spend the other budgeted hours just looking out the window trying to savor the incredible views and otherworldly experience.  They figure for a week they can just try to get by with much less sleep.  That’s what I did this week.

 

I just didn’t want to sacrifice any time with the other state and international teachers!  It’s just too rich, too intense, too otherworldly.  We all generally choose the route of sleep deprivation.  I’m now fairly worthless.  Sorry if I slur my words a bit.

 

Space Camp itself was, of course, quite fun.  Realistic mission simulations, hands-on laboratory projects, and famous astronauts and engineers.  A bit overscheduled, perhaps, but great fun.  I feel enriched, inspired and more connected with my peers.

 

I did, however, have some difficulty focusing and staying awake during some of the sessions.  These instances had a few things in common:

 

     1.  An external influence on fatigue,

     2.  A long period of time sitting and listening,

     3.  A speaker who is not terribly engaging,

     4.  More than one class like this in a row.

 

As is often the case, I learn more about teaching by sitting in the role of a student.