My Cowboy is Coming Home

After nine months in Colorado, my son is headed home. This gap year has served its purpose—Ian is more mature, focused on his future, and ready to start college in the fall. Hallelujah!

The irony of it taking nine, long months for Ian to “grow up” is not lost on me; after all, that’s the length of a school year and a human pregnancy. When I reflect on it, Ian’s growth really is comparable to the growth a fetus or a student’s growth during the school year. Magic happens in those nine months when someone believes in your capacity to grow and change.

So what happens to students when teachers don’t believe in their capacity to grow? What happens when there are low standards and expectations for some of our students? For these students, magic doesn’t happen; monumental growth does not occur. To be sure, these children do not grow as they should because someone lacks belief in their capacity to grow.

One of the hardest pieces of content to teach in the Skillful Teacher course centers around the Bell Curve and teachers’ beliefs about children’s innate, intellectual abilities. The truth is, innate intelligence accounts for only 25% of a child’s ability to be successful. The other 75% has to do with the amount of effort a child puts into their work and a growth, rather than a fixed mindset (Dweck, 2007).

The lesson is simple: when students work hard, they can get smarter. But children cannot learn how to do this on their own. Effort is something we must teach our students. After all, school (and life) are hard work. To make a difference, we must believe in every child’s capacity to learn and grow. That is when monumental growth occurs. I believe, that’s when the magic happens.

So will Ian make it at VCU’s School of Engineering after this monumental year of growth and self-discovery? I think he can. He knows what real effort looks like and has more of a growth mindset after nine months on a cattle ranch. I believe that the next four years will indeed be magical ones for my son, the former cowboy. 

 

The Right Fit

My son is home for a week. His goal: to find the right fit for next year. Anyone who has been following this blog knows that the fact Ian is going to college next year (and the fact that it’s HIS IDEA) is huge. Now comes the difficult part…finding the right fit.

Ian’s search for the right place to call home for the next four years has made me think about how important it is for all of us to find the right fit. These activities over the past few weeks have caused me to reflect on the importance of a right fit:

* My godson’s fiancee’s bridal shower ~ is she the right fit for him?
* Graduation dress shopping with my daughter ~ is this the right dress for her big day?
* Working with Skillful teacher Cohort 17 ~ is this strategy the right fit for one of your students?
* Assisting a coordinator adopting textbooks ~ is this resource the right fit for our students?

In many ways we never know when we have the right fit. Sure, we can spend time fretting over making a decision or we can dive in, using the best information we have on hand. And when something doesn’t fit quite right, we figure out how to make the situation better. Life doesn’t end when we make a mistake. It’s the reflection on why things went that way that makes things better.

So think of me as I head out on a tour of the great state of Virginia with my precious 19-year-old. Will he find a school that is the right fit? Maybe. But that’s not what I’m hoping for. I’m hoping that he’s grown enough over this past year to change things if he hasn’t.

Driven [Crazy] By Data

In his Ted Talk on the “Beauty of Data Visualization,” David McCandless maintains that we must visualize data in order to see patterns and connections that really matter. McCandless argues that the “Titanic amount of data out there” necessitates putting the data in context, and then using it to tell a story.

In Driven By Data: A Practical Guide to Improve Instruction, Bambrick-Santoyo (2010) believes that teachers and school leaders have mutual responsibilities with respect to school data. Teachers must ask the question “What are the data telling me?” and leaders must respond with professional learning and building by borrowing opportunities.

I believe that our initial experience with our RedCap 360 data may have caused some of us to be driven a little crazy by data. Think about it….all of those columns, running on and on in Excel….hard to forget, I know.

It wasn’t until we cleaned up the data, and then made visual representations, that patterns began to emerge. McCandless says that visual information is “effortless,” and he’s right. But we all know the amount of effort that went into getting the 360 data to the point that it was effortless. Visualizing data may require little to no effort, but getting the data cleaned up enough to look that way is anything but.

All of these experiences caused me to reflect on teachers and the “glut” of data that is available on each student. Think about it: pre-assessments, benchmark tests, PALS scores, F&P levels, AIMS-web. Is any of this data effortless for teachers? Does the data in our teachers’ hands tell a story on each student? How is data changing instruction? How often are we pulling resource teachers from classrooms to gather data?

So the real question is: are teachers being driven crazy by data? Sadly, I think they are. It seems to me, then, that it is up to the leaders of learning to make data effortless for our teachers. Here’s how I think we can start,

• Begin by having empathy for teachers who are on data overload. We must do a better job providing our teachers with the data that they need, not with all the data that they can have.

• We must begin conversations about student achievement by asking: what are the data telling you? Let’s let the data tell a story to our teachers.

• Let’s learn how to clean up data. If we want teachers to alter their practices, they have to see the patterns to make connections.

• We must model reflective practice for teachers. For optimal learning to occur, teachers must plan-teach-and then reflect. As leaders, we can be more reflective in our own practice, reflecting on what data are telling us about our own performance.

On Vulnerability

My son received his first “big envelope” from one of the four colleges he recently applied to. We all know what is said about college acceptances….big envelopes are good news, regular-sized envelopes not so good. For Ian this held true. The “big envelope” held his first college acceptance!

Since Ian is away for his gap year, his parents called him to share this happy news. “Open it, open it” he yelled [of course we already had]. After Ian’s initial whooping and hollering, he very quietly said “I really am going to college.” His words stopped me in my tracks. My amazing son could not believe that he was worthy of a college acceptance. While I know that Ian struggles with issues of self-esteem, he had never been this openly vulnerable with me. And at first, I didn’t know how to feel, other than incredibly sad, about what he had said.

Earlier this month, our cohort viewed a Ted Talk video of Brene Brown speaking on “The Power of Vulnerability.” Brown’s message is clear: we must live a life filled with vulnerability. In fact, she maintains that vulnerability is the birthplace of love, belonging, creativity, and joy. In order for our children be complete, they must be allowed to be imperfect. That is, children must be told that they are worthy of love and belonging and then be permitted to be imperfect.

Ian’s disbelief over whether he was truly worthy of going to college brought Brown’s words back to me. Is this how many of our students feel? How often do we encourage students to struggle…to fail….to be imperfect? Or are we too worried about everyone getting a ribbon and every child feeling good about themselves? Perhaps we all need to know what disappointment, failure, and rejection feel like in order to feel worthy. Certainly that is what Brene Brown would say.

So what does the message of vulnerability mean for teaching and learning? I would argue it means a lot. Our concern for our students must be their journey. The bumpy, unpredictable, disappointments in life are necessary if our students are to feel worthy at the end. It’s about the work. It’s about the effort. It’s about learning to fail, in order to succeed. Not every child should get a ribbon the first time they try, but all children need to know that they are worthy of receiving one.

And my imperfect Ian? His journey is really just beginning. My hope is that soon he will feel worthy of the other acceptances that are sure to come. And the rejections? They will make him feel imperfect all over again. Halleluiah! I want my son to live a life filled with vulnerability. It is the chances that he takes that will make him feel joyful and worthy. And that is all I want for him.

This photo is an example of how vulnerability leads to feelings of worthiness.
It was taken four years ago, the morning after my daughter’s acceptance to the University of Virgina. Everyone went to school dressed as a Wahoo that day.

Fearing Failure

“The biggest risk any person can take is risking failure.” This is the first line of the personal narrative my son included in his college applications. Ian’s narrative is beautiful; in it, he honestly and courageously reflects about the struggles he faced his senior year of high school and the reasons why he took a gap year. I have never been more proud of my son. He decided on his own that college is what he wants and he is not afraid to show the admissions officers who he really is. What an amazing kid.

Ian is not alone when it comes to fearing failure. Prior to his senior year, Ian had no idea what failure looked like. In fact, he was ranked in the top ten in his class. The boy had never come up against anything he couldn’t tackle. But when the content got difficult and his parents stepped out of the mix, Ian did not have the skills or the maturity to persevere. And he failed—big time.

I’ve blogged before about effective effort and the need for schools to teach the six components of effort. But that’s only part of the story. We have to let students fail. That’s right. We have to let them fail so they can learn how to succeed. That’s how children build self-esteem and confidence—by trying and trying and trying. I know that many of Ian’s teachers looked at us during his last year of high school and wondered how we could let him fail so miserably. The truth is that we had to. We knew that he couldn’t go to college with us scaffolding him. Ian’s successes and failures had to be his own.

Think about the times that we (as parents, teachers, and administrators) have solved problems for those around us. It’s the easy thing to do. It is so much easier to tell someone what to do (or to do it for them) than it is to send messages of affirmation. Failure is a negative in public schools and a great deal of blame typically surrounds any failure.

So here’s what I think. I think failure is necessary. I think that if students are to be successful beyond the walls of our classrooms, then they have to learn how to fail. Our job as educators is to encourage parents to step back and let their children fail and succeed. Our job as teachers is to teach students what real effort looks like and how to send positive affirmation messages: This work is important. I believe you can do it. I will never give up on you (Saphir, J. et al, The Skillful Teacher, 2008).

And as for my courageous son? He waits until April 1 to find out what his next steps might be. Is he feeling scared and vulnerable? Of course he is. That’s how we feel when we willingly risk failure. But I know that no single failure will ever get Ian down again. He now knows how to work hard for what he wants. Ian’s closing lines of his narrative say it better than I ever could:

Never in my life did I think that spending eight months working on a cattle ranch would teach me that success really is all about taking risks. I certainly didn’t…..It took moving to a town of one hundred people to discover who I am and what really matters to me. By straying from the norm, I was finally able to slow my life down in a meaningful way. I now set my own expectations for myself (this application is proof of that). I am willingly risking failure—trusting that you will look beyond my senior grades and see someone who has worked hard to grow up. Risking it all on the hope that you will see a cowboy who is no longer afraid of failure—a cowboy who wants to be a college student.
“

Intentionality

As teachers progress through the six-day Skillful Teacher course in Stafford County, they build a repertoire of strategies for use in different teaching and learning scenarios. Repertoire and matching—that’s really what Skillful Teacher is all about; teachers build a repertoire of techniques, activities, and skills to then match with the different needs of learners.

As teachers progress through the course, they begin to see that everything they do in their classrooms must be intentional. It’s fun to watch the teachers in the room get to this place (an “ah ha” moment if there ever was one). They come to the realization that every teaching decision matters, and that they must be intentional if they want to be all about student learning.

I had my own “ah ha” moment the other day, while sitting in the sister class of Skillful Teacher (Observing and Analyzing Teaching II). The first course (OAT I) teaches administrators how to recognize and document teaching and learning through scripting and developing evidence-based narrative reports; this second course teaches administrators how to confront mediocrity.

That’s right, mediocrity. I feel as though I should be whispering. My poor children grew up thinking that calling someone “mediocre” was akin to using the f-word. From the cradle, my children knew that I thought there was nothing worse on this earth than being mediocre–Be a rock star! Die trying something difficult! But just don’t be so-so.

Upon reflection, I realized is that my “ah ha” moment really had nothing to do with mediocrity. It had to do with intentionality. That is, if school leaders really are interested in student learning, then we have to be more intentional when evaluating teachers. If we really want to confront mediocrity, they we have to be intentional about doing so. I am sure it will come as no shock to you that Research for Better Teaching provides administrators with a repertoire of skills to confront mediocre teaching (Saphir, J., 2000. The Skillful Leader: Confronting Mediocre Teaching).

So my New Year’s Resolution is to be more intentional in my work. I can hear my children now: Take on the hard stuff! Help that teacher get stronger! You cannot be just so-so; after all, children’s futures are at stake.

We cannot confront mediocrity without intentionality. It takes work to take on that particular four-letter word.

Someone to Learn From

Several nights ago, I attended a dedication ceremony for a newly-renovated elementary school in Stafford County. As I was leaving the building, I saw my former boss standing in the hallway. This man was my first “real” boss…in my first “real” job (and I hadn’t seen him in more than 20 years). I still wonder why an experienced branch head for the Navy took a chance on hiring a fresh-out-of-college, liberal arts major to manage a classified engineering library. But am I glad he did–Tom Kimbrell was the best boss I ever had.

While I have been fortunate to work for many wonderful people over the years, Tom Kimbrell was different. Tom taught me about good leadership by modeling hard work, honesty, relationship-building, and passionate commitment each and every day. He is the type of leader that his team would do anything for. He is the type of leader that you never forget. He is the type of leader you want to be.

So, what is it about this man that makes him so memorable? Why do I still to this day, hold Tom Kimbrell up as the measure of what a good leader should be?

First, Tom is the hardest worker I know. He zipped around the office moving at a rate of speed that would have him pulled over in most residential neighborhoods. Yet, he never asked anyone to work harder than he did. And, truth be told, he made me want to go the extra mile for him.

With Tom, you always knew where you stood. If you fell short of the mark, he helped you reach it; and if you were successful, his words and actions let you know you were doing a good job. At one point Tom told me that “The reward for good work is more work.” After that, I knew that when he was piling it on, he was proud of the job I was doing.

Personal relationships were Tom’s forte. Even after 20 years, Tom remembered very specific details about my life. He had clearly followed my career and was interested in how my husband and children were doing (keep in mind, I was unmarried when he hired me, and had no children when I left the government). Tom cared about his people, and they, in turn, cared for him. He used his skill at personal relationship-building to assemble teams that worked together collegially and effectively.

Finally, Tom’s passion for his work was contagious. To be honest, I still know almost nothing about the radar systems in-place on a fleet of AEGIS cruisers (I was, after all, a philosophy major); Tom helped me to understand that the classified specifications and documents that I maintained in the library kept the sailors on those ships safe. Tom’s desire to always do the right thing and his true commitment to his work helped me understand that I had an important role as a member of his team.

Tom is retired now. He spends his days making furniture, assisting his wife with her real estate business, and playing with his grandchildren. It’s wonderful to see him enjoying this time of his life. He deserves it. I have to admit, I miss the days of running when he bellowed for me and watching him lead teams of engineers at times of national crisis, going 99 miles per hour. He was something to watch. He was someone to learn from.

Marathon Man

My friend and colleague, Andy Wolfenbarger, ran the Marine Corps Marathon two weeks ago. Running 26.2 miles in a little over 5 hours is an incredible accomplishment. But here’s the really incredible part—Andy doesn’t like to run…at all. So how did he do it?

When you ask Andy why he ran the marathon, he has a number of reasons that would make sense , if it was a 5K or even a half-marathon. But, wanting to spend more time with your wife and doing something just to see if you can doesn’t fully explain why someone would train diligently for 4 months for a race that 30,000 people start and only 23,515 finish? What is it that made Andy so successful at something he doesn’t really like?

To me, Andy’s marathon is analogous to the work teachers ask students to do every day. When students enter our classrooms, we ask them to “do their best” on tests, papers, and projects. What we forget to consider is that most of the time, students don’t care about the work teachers ask them to do. In fact, nine times out of ten, it’s not important to them at all. While it’s true that some students plug away (like Andy did), many more never reach the finish line. How do we get all students to try hard, even when they don’t really want to?

A belief in Effective Effort maintains that you get better at something by working hard and using the right strategies (Dweck, 2007; Howard, 1995; Saphir, 2008). In this case, Andy got better at running, by working hard and using the right training strategies. Andy’s marathon is effective effort in action—you can accomplish anything, if you put forth true, effective effort.

It’s important to teach students how to apply effective effort in our classrooms. In fact, there are six effective-effort strategies to help students get to the finish line.

• Resourcefulness – did I ask for help?
• Time – did I put in sufficient time?
• Focus – did I work efficiently and without distraction?
• Feedback – did I use feedback to help me improve?
• Commitment – did I stick with it, even when it was really, really hard?
• Strategies – did I try different strategies?

When I look at this picture of Andy running, I like to think he’s on mile 14. While he ran, Andy used different strategies to get through each mile. One strategy was to run a specific mile for someone. Andy ran mile 14 for the Fredericksburg Cohort. What other mile would he run for the ten of us? After all, we started this doctoral marathon together; and we’ll finish together in 2014.

Leadership Lessons from the Wild West

My son, Ian, is taking some time after high school to figure things out. It’s funny, Ian used to say he was “taking a year off” when talking about these 12 post-high school months. That’s because my darling boy thought he was going to figure things out in his boxers, on the family room sofa. Not hardly. For his parents, a gap year means taking time to grow and reflect away from home. That’s how my son came to learn that “nothing stinks like a dead cow.”

Ian is working on the Lasater Ranch in Matheson, CO. Ian was fortunate to find such a wonderful gap-year opportunity. The Lasater Ranch is one of the premiere ranches in the west. In fact, the 27,000 acre ranch is run by a former Fulbright Scholar. Interestingly, the ranch operates as close to nature as possible. Hormones and pesticides are not used at all. The ranch operates under the belief that survival of the fittest is “nature’s way.” Consequently, no one carries a gun and predators roam free on the ranch. For the Lasasters, everything (even coyotes) has a purpose, and the ranch’s job is to let nature take its course.

To be sure, Ian is working harder, and learning more, than he ever has before. My son, the cowboy, is growing up. I expected growth to occur, but what I didn’t expect is that many of the lessons Ian is learning in the wild west are really leadership lessons.

• The first bit of wisdom Ian shared with me was his desire to be “seen and not heard.” At first, Ian worked hard to fly under to radar so that he could figure out how things worked. As leaders, we need to remember to listen more and say less. Just like Ian, that’s how we can figure out what’s really going on.

• I asked Ian how he got bulls, weighing thousands of pounds, to do what he wants them to do. “Are you kidding? They’re in charge, but they are getting to know and trust me.” Ian is building relationships—with cows! As leaders, we move teachers forward by building trust and developing relationships.

• During his first few weeks in Colorado, Ian fell into bed, exhausted each night. He had never worked so hard in his life. While it’s true that he is acclimating to life on the ranch, each day is filled with really hard work. This lesson is not unlike our days in schools. We work this hard because it matters.

While Ian might not know the purpose for all he is doing, he is slowly growing into a man. Nature really is taking its course. My beloved son is learning that there really is no easy way and that perhaps college is a good idea after all. Time will tell. But for now, of these two things I am certain: we can all benefit from extra time to figure things out and I couldn’t be more proud of my little cowboy.

The Power of Ten

The members of the Fredericksburg Learning Community are making dinner reservations. That’s right. We are planning a big night out to celebrate a shared milestone—come December, we will be halfway through the EdD program. While this accomplishment is important to each of us individually (as we plan our next steps professionally and think about what pieces of our personal life we will reclaim in May 2014), being “halfway there” really means nothing if we cannot celebrate together.

I have spent some time reflecting on the true power of a cohort. I freely admit that I didn’t get it at first. While it was nice to know your classmates, I didn’t really understand how important these nine people would be to my success in this program. How did this happen? We went from being friends and colleagues, in the same program, to adults who learn from, lean on, and genuinely like one another.

Some might say it’s Survivor’s Syndrome, but I think it’s more than that. I think it’s just like good teaching—the relationships that we are building foster an environment of cooperation and a place where it’s safe to take risks. We are not only in this together, but we are making darn sure that we all get there together. And that hasn’t always been easy. Over the past 14 months life has thrown our cohort some curveballs–new babies, promotions, hospital stays, broken hearts, sick children, long distance relationships, and parenting challenges. Each curveball could have easily derailed an individual doctoral student, but not the Power of Ten. We’ve been there for one another.

So it’s the relationships that are seeing us through. We are stronger together than we are alone. Who else but a cohort member can really understand what it means to travel on this journey? And I, for one, will be forever grateful that I did not have to travel alone. I had Taneshia, Eric, Melanie, John, Andy, Jenn, Andrea, Dawn, and Tammy by my side.

Oh, and our next celebration? That’s already in the works for May 2014. After all, what fun is graduating, if you can’t celebrate together?