Entry # 8: Epiphanies
--and the first gift of Christmas
I believe that a tolerance for paradox is an accomplishment of age and experience.
As a younger person, I painted my worldview in primary colors. Now, it more
closely resembles an impressionist's landscape.
The sharp edges are softer and blurred. The beginnings and endings of things
are not so distinct. The objects themselves are not so obvious. While I
recognize that I am in familiar territory, the original landscape is dramatically
altered. There was no light on the Damascus road that wrought this transformation.
Rather, it is an inexorable artifact of time and life.
The end of the year seems an appropriate time to reflect upon the year's
new learning. And, that is how I define an epiphany, a new understanding
of something I had already mentally filed as a known. Epiphanies come to
us because of a need to know or even a readiness to understand that we did
not possess at an earlier time. On a trip to India, I heard a parable about
one's inability to step into the same river twice. Experience changes both
the river and ourselves. No thought or action can ever be repeated in exactly
the same way it was first experienced.
Those are the grand thoughts that preface the prosaic insights that I have
newly rediscovered.
No more high-stakes whining
Reading about the fallout and insecurities clustering around the consequences
of high stakes testing, my most human reaction is to make excuses for imagined
failings to come. I see these explanations as reasoned, but somehow as they
are spoken or written, they come out as puny whining. My resolve from this
new understanding is accept what is inevitable and do so with determination
and hope.
Instead of lamenting the shortcomings of the plans others have made for
me, I will thank them for the good I can find in them and propose that they
go even farther. For example, our legislature is considering adding three
extra days to each teacher's annual contract for professional development,
while having added five days of extra work to be done to fulfill the mandates
of the new accountability laws. My first reaction is to scoff at the gesture;
my new reaction is to be grateful for the three days and develop an easily
understood plan for even more time added each year.
I know that stakeholders have to be involved in plans that affect them if
they are to be meaningfully engaged, but I have not always done that effectively.
I resolve to ask more questions and more provocative questions, using Socrates'
gadfly approach to influence decision making of a group.
I have tasted the bitter result of having my way without such a process
and will not do so again. A product that results from a too-directed process
is one doomed. This is not an abdication of non-negotiable beliefs, but
recognition that the will of the group cannot be ignored. And, more humbling,
that my ideas may not be the right ones for this particular time and place.
"Inspect and it will be respected"
Everywhere I read of the importance of being "data-driven" in
decision making and goal setting. Thoughtful examination of student work,
reading and discussing the literature, reflection on instruction -- all
three are pillars of a well-defined professional life, yet time continues
to be the enemy. Everyday, I fall short of promoting the community of learners
and the habits of mind necessary to purposely analyze our work with children
that I know should be in place in our school. But, I continue to think about
ways, listen to others in the field, and practice the discipline of reading
and reflection myself before I advocate it for others.
This week, I asked for language arts teachers to select sample writing folders
from students they judged as below grade, on grade, and above grade for
my perusal over the holidays. Most fell to the task of selection. Some were
mightily uncomfortable. "Why would you ask this just before the holidays,"
they wondered. "It is the only time I have to think," I replied.
"Inspect and it will be respected" is a statement that always
made me bristle as a teacher. After all, I am a responsible professional.
And here, as a principal, I am doing what I so disdained as a teacher. Paradox.
But last year during an award-visit, we were cited for lapses in this area.
I am determined this will not be repeated this year. More important, the
review I am conducting is the same one I have asked them to do as a group.
I hope to validate their findings and enter into their discussion with real
examples to bolster my observations about student work in our school.
Get clear about what you want -- then ask for it
Similarly, I've asked the special education staff to reflect upon their
operating beliefs about the way the special education program operates for
children in our school. In January, the administrative staff will begin
observing and after two weeks, we -- teachers and administrators -- will
have a planning meeting to set some goals and identify some strategies for
change that can be supported by all.
In his address to NSDC conference-goers recently, executive director Dennis
Sparks mentioned a lesson learned from his life coach. (A life coach! Now
there's a concept.) He talks to his coach periodically about what he wants
to accomplish and the advice he hears is that he should be clear about what
he wants and then he should ask for it. How simple. How hard to do. Knowing
what you want is the easier part. Knowing what to ask for is harder. But
this is another insight: I will strive to state what I want in clear, unequivocal
terms and set out the means by which it will be achieved in equally clear
terms.
Yes, even at this advanced stage in my life (May it always be so), I have
new insight. And yes, even with insights, I am capable of controlling behavior
that I do not care for in myself or in others. But my reprieve for being
human comes from the child, recently readmitted after an out-of-school suspension,
who accompanied me on my morning rounds to begin the school day.
I greeted, heard problems, developed a "to do" list, and opened
stuck locker doors. She remained mute during my rounds, and as I turned
my attention to her, she began the conversation with the statement, "You
are the hope in the school."
It was the first gift of Christmas.
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