The Missing Avalanche

In the first post in this series, I set out to make the case that public education has fallen into the trap of believing that it is possible to develop great readers (from the struggling readers we often serve) by focusing on reading instruction.  Even when that focus actively crowds out the other half of literacy: independent reading.

While the drive to fix our problem (vis-a-vis low test scores) is understandable, the problem is that we know better.  We know how growing into a strong reader works.

We have known for a long time that

  • in order to become a proficient reader, you have to read a lot. Emerging readers need to read every day. It takes hundreds of books to become a great reader, not dozens.
  • since being different from each other is a key part of being human, readers are interested in different books (from each other). Readers only get better when they read books that aren’t too easy or too hard. As reading ability develops, a reader is able to read increasingly difficult books comfortably. In order to provide students enough options to interest and challenge them, we need a lot of books.  
  • the best way to get a human to read that many books is to let her/him choose her/his own books because humans (particularly emerging readers) will only read lots of books if they find them interesting.

The facts are simple.  We have to let students choose what they read and to do so they need both autonomy and options.

Unfortunately, in far too many cases, our zeal for ensuring student success has allowed us to violate these principles.  We try to quantify and control the art of reading. By degrees, we strip the independence from independent reading. We find ways to put a rank and value on each book. We dictate how much and how often students read. We make reading into a pursuit of points.  For many students, these practices conspire with the honest difficulty of school to make reading a chore to be first dreaded, then avoided, then abandoned at the first opportunity.  Incidentally, it is worth considering the possibility that our fervor to stamp out illiteracy among the young is contributing directly to the precipitous rise of aliteracy in adults.

The reduction of literacy to a science has had another direct impact on our practice in public education.  It has given rise to a climate in which books themselves have become dispensable to the process of developing strong readers.  In an astonishing leap of logic, we have been perfectly content to abandon one of the cardinal rules of this process: ensuring students have access to enough books.  We (most public schools) have stopped buying books at anything near an appropriate rate.  Kelly Gallagher, noted speaker, advocate for effective literacy practice and author of several books including Readicide (a book that examines how schools are systematically killing the love of reading), suggests that students need not hundreds of books to chose from but thousands. He says that only an avalanche of books will do.  But instead of fighting to ensure funding to sustain a school environment that has that many books available to students, we have decided to spend our precious resources elsewhere.  

The problem with diverting funding away from book purchases is that the age of a school’s collection of books matters.  Consider two more things we know:

  • It is important for emerging readers to read both fiction and nonfiction. The recent conventional wisdom is that well more than half of reading should be nonfiction.
  • Nonfiction ages faster than fiction. For example, Magic School Bus and Dr. Seuss books still appeal to young readers just fine. Books with topics like “When We Get to the Moon” and “Today’s Hottest NBA Stars: Magic Johnson and Larry Bird” were probably written later but no longer appeal to young readers.

The science of literacy has starved the art of literacy for resources. When students do not benefit from the emaciated book collections that exist as a result, that fact is taken as further proof that “recreational” reading is not essential to the process of developing as a reader but is a luxury in which those who are already proficient readers may indulge.

So the question is this: how is the balance in your school?

  • Do students get to pick their own books for independent reading?
  • If students are allowed to pick, do they have to follow certain rules (point/level restrictions)?
  • Is your reading system really about scoring points or about reading?
  • How many years in the last five has your school spent more money on books for independent reading than on either a reading program or a reading teacher?
  • What’s the average age of the books your students have access to?

Do your students have an avalanche of books available to them and it is used to nurture a passion for reading?  If we produce students who can read perfectly well but chose not to, we will have failed.  Sadly, the statistics on adult aliteracy suggest that we have already made this mistake.  Even more alarming is the fact that our strategy has done little to reduce the problem it was designed to solve.  We have sacrificed a deep passion for reading in favor of reading “achievement” and have not accomplished even that.

Let’s find the balance that has been missing by tapping into an amazing resource we have always had.


Filed under EdLeadership, education, Libraries and Literacy

The neglected side of literacy

Warning: this series of posts is likely to offend.  Look away if you don’t want that. If you do read on, give the following claims thought before you dismiss them out of hand. Chocolate is usually good for hurt feelings.

This is the first of what is intended to be a four-part series exploring a pretty fantastic “knowing-doing gap” in public education right now.  We know what is right and have always known it; we just act like we don’t know.  To my shame, while I have striven to live and work by the principles I mean to advance here, I have only very recently begun to advocate for a radical change on this issue.  So I include myself in the “responsible party” category.

Next, a disclaimer.  I am not a literacy “specialist” or “expert”.  I have not been trained by my state or a university in the technical knowledge and skills associated with this area of practice.  I am not a librarian, unless you count the work I do to curate my personal and professional libraries.  But I am a non-stop reader.  I have read the literature.  For years I have read the writing of the professionals from all around the world who have written on this topic.  There are more qualified, more polished and more experienced voices making this case.  But their voices are being ignored, willfully misunderstood or given patronizing lip service by far too many in education.  Perhaps by adding my voice to theirs, I can help make the case for just one more educator who can in turn impact just one student.  That will be good enough for me.

We have a problem with literacy in public education.  We can’t get kids to “read at high levels”.  Scores on all manner of standardized tests consistently indicate that high percentages of students fall short of “proficient” attainment, no matter what that mark is.  Much higher percentages of minority students and students who are poor fall short of these marks.  For skeptics of standardized testing (like me), there is still no denying the fact that loads of students in high schools across the country cannot read at all or read so poorly as to make the distinction irrelevant.  We’ve known the problem for a long time. We’ve been trying to fix the problem for a long time and we haven’t.  

It would be disrespectful of me to suggest that there is a silver bullet for this problem that we have simply refused to see.  Our problem is not astigmatism though, it’s myopia. We have been hyper-focused on just one half of what it takes to become a great reader.  

In this age of accountability, we have focused more and more of our energy on reading instruction.  Individuals more experienced that I am can trace this (inappropriate) narrowing of focus in more detail, but the facts of recent trends in education are clear: we believe that the solution to the issue of poor reading is more and better reading instruction.

Recently, I had the opportunity to serve on an interview panel for a position that requires extensive knowledge and expertise in curriculum and teaching.  One question asked applicants to identify the two most important parts of an effective literacy program.  To my great dismay (but not to my surprise), only two applicants event mentioned books.  Every other applicant focused his/her answer on some aspect of reading instruction.  The significance of their answers was not at all lost on me and mirrors our decision-making at all levels of education: a focus on literacy means teaching students how to read.  This is the science of reading.  It breaks the act of reading and learning to read into its component parts and determines the “research-based” way to execute each part.  It tracks student progress against specific metrics meticulously.  It requires teachers to follow the reading program “to fidelity”.  It believes in the power of the basal reader.

And this part of literacy is not wrong.  There is a science to reading.  We can understand how it works and we can apply that understanding to our work to teach young minds how to read.

The problem is that this part of literacy actively seeks to deny the value of the other side of the coin.  The cult of the science of reading is deeply skeptical of the art of reading.  It demands that students’ “independent” reading be tightly controlled – for their own good, of course.  It insists that students document their reading – through a standardized test whenever possible.  It calls time spent in class on independent reading “wasted” if it is not organized and documented.  But mostly, it starves the art of reading but demanding all the resources.  It needs all the personnel, all the funding and all the time.  It is happy to give stickers and cupcakes and even free books to the kids who find a way to read a bunch anyway.  It even makes a show of promoting a “culture of reading” with special events like reading days – which, by the way, also provide amazing photo opportunities for adults.  But on every other day, it is very specific about how many minutes must be spent on reading instruction.

Because science is easier to quantify and measure than art (whether the results are good or bad), we accede to the demands of the science of literacy.  The numbers look bad so we use other numbers to fight the first set of numbers.  We hire more people.  We buy more programs.  We budget more minutes.  We take more reading tests.  

And nothing really changes because that’s not how reading works.  It takes both sides of the equation to grow proficient readers.

Part II: The Missing Avalanche


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Not Rocket Science

Let’s start by conceding that teachers are not among the most respected professions in American society. Perhaps they used to be. Perhaps they are in other cultures. They are not in ours. In case you are tempted to disagree, stop to consider the following: teacher award programs (and there are many) get light press coverage and are not broadcast live in primetime to massive television audiences. Movie and television awards shows are covered in that way. Speaking of, how many television shows do you watch about lawyers or detectives or singing or cooking or real estate improvement/sales? How many shows about teaching?  And how many of those few shows about school portray teachers as the admirable protagonists? Instead of pointing out more evidence let me trust that you already know that teachers are not respected throughout our society in the way that professions and the professionals in them that require similar training and skills are.

We say teaching “is not rocket science!” When we are frustrated that our kid’s teacher hasn’t responded to our request for a conference. Or when we hear that local teachers are asking for a raise. Or when the teacher across the hall does not make it to the team meeting. Or when (as administrators) we discover a mistake a teacher has made. For most teachers, this attitude comes at you from all around – from parents, from colleagues, from administrators.

Setting aside the rhetoric for a moment, that attitude is demoralizing. The attitude that says “quit messing around and get it right” and “if there’s a problem, it’s either because you aren’t good enough or aren’t trying hard enough”. The problem with treating an entire profession this way – from the outside and from the inside – is that that is the perfect way to destroy the profession. Highly talented, bright, passionate young people don’t have to become teachers. More and more of the great ones are deciding not to. Enrollment in the college of education in the town where I live is down 50% since 2010. What’s not rocket science is what will happen when all the teachers who have been teaching more than fifteen or twenty years retire. The capacity of us all to ignore or simply not care about this issue is astonishing. Education is not a luxury commodity. It is not, for example, collegiate or professional sports. But we venerate our athletes and care enough about what they have to say to debate whether or not they should say it. The voices of teachers generally do not matter at all.

The great irony is that teaching is, in fact, more cognitively and emotionally demanding and more complex work that rocket science or brain surgery.  I mean this literally.  Consider for a moment a partial list of what is expected of every teacher every day:

  • Create a written plan for teaching and learning for that day (subject to review and approval by administrators and others).
  • “Build relationships” with students: use their names (pronounced correctly), interact with them about things that matter to them, learn and keep in mind any factor that might impact how they learn – learning styles, cultural background, physical or cognitive disability, etc.
  • Conduct lessons that provide students multiple opportunities to apply what they learn, problem-solving, critical thinking, and collaboration. The lessons must also be engaging, hands-on, developmentally appropriate, and technology-rich.
  • Have a plan that is “differentiated”. Plan to teach a group of students whose readiness to learn the skill, concept, or content varies widely. “Individualizing” instruction to meet the very different learning needs of each student is the responsibility of the teacher.
  • Maintain a positive and safe learning environment. Take a room full of children, young adolescents or teenagers and set conditions wherein they ignore all the distractions that are part of being alive, focus on the learning activities, and interact only in productive and positive ways with each other. Keep all social and emotional burdens the students are carrying from interfering with learning.
  • Keep up on your recordkeeping. Record grades in a timely manner. Document progress on a huge range of data points for a variety of purposes. Provide students descriptive feedback on their work.
  • Attend one or more meeting. Faculty meetings. Team meetings. Data meetings. Committee meetings. Planning meetings. Professional development. Etc
  • Supervise students in a non-instructional setting. Lunch duty. Bus duty. Hall duty. Etc.
  • Communicate clearly and frequently with everybody: students, parents, administrators, colleagues, etc.

If you are not an educator, you probably think this list is exaggerated or does not represent a set of daily responsibilities that is particularly demanding. If you are an educator, you will doubtlessly point out that the list is missing more than it includes.

Here’s my whole point: we should all start acting like teaching is a profession that sets insanely unreasonable expectations. This is not even to argue that teaching should be less complex; merely to argue that our actions should demonstrate that we recognize and respect the complexity. To that end, I have a handful of recommendations.

1. Treat your colleagues with the respect they deserve. The greenest, strugglingest teacher is great at some part of teaching. Approach each encounter with your peers as if they have something to teach you – because they do. That type of respect rubs off. Worse case scenario, you will create a culture inside your school in which every member of the team goes through the day knowing they are held in esteem by their peers.

2. Find ways to make your work visible.  When someone is upset with you, it is pointless to complain about your workload – that comes across as deflection or whining. Consider a more proactive approach such as using a class social media account to highlight the learning (and range of activity) that goes on in your class every day.

1. Take time to consider your interactions with teachers. You write them thank you notes. You give them gifts. But do you treat them with the honor you afford your child’s doctor? When your child gets a bad grade or into trouble at school what assumptions do you make – that you need to know how to help your child correct a mistake or that you need to find and fix the school’s mistake? Please don’t tolerate inappropriate behavior from educators; just give them the same benefit of the doubt you give other professionals you trust.

2. Watch how you talk about school. Life is messy. Life is frustrating. Your child is not perfect. Don’t let your frustration shade the way you talk about your child’s teachers. What we say influences what we think. What we think becomes what we believe. What we collectively believe about teachers matters.

1. Act like teachers are the most important adults in your building. They are. Please, I beg you, stop treating teachers like minions and worker bees. This is a problem not merely because it is hurtful to them, it’s a problem because it doesn’t work. If you are getting indignant right now with thoughts like “I would never treat a teacher that way”, I am probably talking to you. Let me ask a few questions. Do you work for “buy-in” from teachers when you are implementing something new or do your school’s best ideas and plans come from teachers in response to problems you identified together? How often do you use the words “to fidelity”? Which list is longer, the teachers who have left your school in the last three years or the list of teachers waiting for a spot to open up so they can join your team? Yes, you are legally responsible for everything that goes on in the school. I’m clear on the respect I have for principals. But telling people what to do – even when it is disguised as “training” and “consensus building” and “creating consistency” – never works. It might get you a bump in standardized test scores for a couple of years but it does not create success that is sustainable. And it stifles the potential even of the teachers who support you most loyally.

2. Hold the complexity of the job in your mind when you interact with teachers. When you “support” a teacher (or reprimand or put her/him on an action plan), you are probably not wrong about the facts. They probably didn’t post their lesson plans or objectives. They probably did handle the student behavior issue awkwardly. But was your response in proportion to the complexity of the job? If teaching really is vastly complex, how is it productive to treat single issues (or even multiple issues) as grounds for a “get better quick” plan. Approaches like this imply that this issue at hand is so important that it outweighs all the strengths the teacher has. Saying “You are doing a lot of things well but … [action plan]” is the same as saying “Nothing matters except/as much as the thing you aren’t great at yet”.

We are all conspiring together to threaten the future of public education in the way we think about, talk about and treat teachers. But it does not have to be this way. You are only responsible for you. So be different. Begin (or renew your commitment) to treat teachers like they deserve more than platitudes. Treat them like they have earned your deepest respect and admiration. Your great-grandchildren deserve it.

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Why Middle School?

After spending the first twelve years of my professional career working at the high school level, I finally found my way home six years ago. It turns out I should have been a middle school teacher all along.  Allow me a Lorax moment here.

Thought experiment: when you read the words “middle school” in the last paragraph and the title, did your heart leap or lurch? Does thinking about middle school fill you with dread or dreams? If you are like most people, there is no middle ground (puns always intended): your reaction to anything to do with middle school is probably extreme. Without knowing who you are, I feel perfectly safe to bet that your reaction was laced through with negativity. That reaction is part of the body of evidence that public education must turn its attention to the middle level.  Allow me to make the case.

For decades, middle school (and middle schoolers) has been greatly misunderstood. As former young adolescents, we adults do not look back fondly on those years. We remember best the personal discomfort and awkwardness of that time. Our attitudes now are at best patronizingly sympathetic, at worst (and far more commonly) irritably impatient with the young humans struggling through this period of their life. Middle school is cast as a hopeless, mindless seething vat of uncontrollable bodies and emotions that can not be understood, merely contained and survived. The attitude of our society seems to be “keep them from killing each other in middle school and we’ll get them fixed in high school”. Too often, this misunderstanding results in nearly hostile attitudes, postures, and even policies towards middle schools and the students they serve. Students very easily read between the lines of the way they are treated in school as a result: you can’t think for yourself (condescension) but we will have to punish you for your mistakes (injustice).

Perhaps worse than being misunderstood and probably as a direct result of some of the factors listed above, middle school is often simply forgotten. School “reform” efforts are almost always focused on early education and/or college & career readiness. We pump resources into elementary schools for the former and high schools for the later; we work hard to understand the developmental nature of students at those ages and what works for education in those settings. And we ignore middle schools – when we are not fussing at them about their discipline rates, test scores, and attendance rates. In many states, including my own, the middle grades receive the lowest rates of funding for teachers. For every middle-grades specific program, initiative, and grant opportunity, there are twenty or more designated specifically for elementary or high school.

I propose three reasons to buck this trend and make middle school a significant priority.

  1. Evidence of the need is clear. Student performance on most standardized tests does drop sharply in the middle grades. Students do tend to face disciplinary action at a much higher rate than in elementary school and upper high school grades. Depending on how your district/state defines “middle school”, these are the last institutions to which education is compulsory throughout. Most high schoolers are legally permitted to quit in their second year. Research has determined that certain factors (such as being suspended from school) are predictive of future failure to complete high school when they occur as early as sixth grade. Where middle grades educational outcomes are weak, they are so specifically because the span has been neglected, misunderstood, and subjected to practices known to be most effective at different levels.
  2. Another reality research has demonstrated with absolute clarity is that young adolescence represents the greatest cognitive opportunity experienced at any age. Research in the last decade indicates the human brain develops more during adolescence than during any other time, surpassing the first year of life (as previously thought). This rate of change can be very frustrating for individuals not experiencing such change themselves. Great middle-level educators resist the temptation to confuse “forgets things easily” with “can’t think”.
  3.  Young adolescence provides the most promising blend of flexibility and capacity. Students’ brains are literally transformed during their time in middle school. Most middle schoolers begin to grapple with truly complex ideas – Who am I? What do I believe? How do others view and understand the world? Middle school provides an incredible opportunity for learning. Instead of railing against and trying to contain the variability and seeming chaos, we should embrace it. Call it flexibility, not ADD; call it resilience, not emotional instability; call it determination, not stubbornness.

As adults, we need to remember that we were young adolescents once too. We have been studying young adolescence for decades; to speak and act as if it were a mystery greater than so many others around us is deeply disrespectful to the amazing young women and men who are passing through this phase of their lives. We must make middle school a priority in public education. Doing so begins with a commitment to understanding young adolescence.

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Galactica Actual

October is Principal Appreciation Month.  This post is dedicated to all the amazing principals I have had the privilege to work with as a teacher and colleague.  

The best metaphor I know to explain what it is like to be a principal comes from the show Battlestar Galactica.

In the pantheon of sci-fi television series, Battlestar Galactica must surely deserve consideration as one of the greats.  In case you have forgotten, the series depicts the odyssey of the last remnants of the human race as they are pursued through the universe by a race of humanoid “cylons” they had created. The ragtag fleet of ships is lead by Laura Roslin – who is promoted from Secretary of Education to President (of the human race) when the 42 government officials ahead of her in succession to that position are killed in the initial attack by the cylons, and by Commander William Adama – captain of the only surviving vessel of war: the battlestar Galactica.

Commander Adama’s ship has a squadron of “Vipers” – flying machines that function in space the way fighter planes function in terrestrial conflicts.  The command of military maneuvers is coordinated between the Galactica and the Vipers by radio transmission.  As with naval ships and fighter galacticaplanes on Earth, each has a call sign.  For example, Commander Adama’s son Lee Adama flies under the call sign “Apollo”.  Pilots attempting to communicate with the battlestar address their communication to “Galactica”.  As in “Galactica, this is Apollo.  I have made visual contact with the enemy.”  In a practice that mirrors that of battleships in the United States Navy, a junior officer on the Galactica is the one who operates the radio and speaks to the pilots most of the time.  When they hear from Galactica, it is his voice that comes over the airwaves.  

But he is only the voice of the ship.  When pilots need to discuss something very important, unorthodox or otherwise unusual, they ask for permission to speak to the Commander himself.  They say “Give me Galactical Actual”.  They are saying, in effect, ‘I have been speaking to the voice of the ship but now I need to speak to the ship itself’.  When Commander Adama says “This is Galactica Actual”, he is is saying ‘Go ahead, you are speaking to the ship’.  

When I saw the show for the first time, I was a principal and I made an instant connection to that concept.  You see, psychologically, it is is the same for a principal.  You are the school.  If you are (or have been) a principal, you know what I am talking about.  On the other hand, if you have never been a principal, you can only understand what I am saying theoretically.  To be the principal of a school is to be the school.  Of course, you are legally and professionally responsible for every detail in the school.  But beyond that, your personal identity becomes entwined with the school.  When your school is mentioned in the paper because a frozen pipe flooded the school or because there was a fight at the football game or because test scores were released last week, you were in the paper – whether your name is mentioned or not.  There are plenty of factors that make the principalship a difficult job – an ever evolving set of expectations, pressure to create change quickly, a steady barrage of deadlines and due dates, and an endless stream of decisions big and small that must be made.  The one that is most difficult to understand until you have experienced it yourself though is the psychological weight the job carries.  It is as if you must become the school.  Whether the individual in the office is a great leader or not, the school begins to take on the personality of the principal; and the principal assumes the identity of the school.  Whether it is more accurate to describe it as being the school or carrying the school, it is a heavy task either way.

Metaphors aren’t useful unless they lead to greater understanding.  Here are just a few hints and suggestions to help make this one worthwhile.


  • You are your school but you are not alone.  Wear the mantle of leadership loosely.  Build a team that works together.  You do have to be a heat shield to protect the folks around you but they can keep you sane by strengthening your hands for the work you do together.
  • Do everything you can to keep your work out of your home.  If you do not take a single task home, you are still carrying hundreds of people and their problems and needs home on your back.  Don’t make it worse by stealing time from your family or personal time to catch up on paperwork or any other tasks.
  • Keep perspective.  Either your school got along fine for a long time before you came along or it will for a long time after you leave.  Or both.  Education certainly did and will.  You are valuable and important but a healthy perspective (from the lens of history especially) will help you stay grounded.


  • When you get frustrated with your principal, keep in mind that they are people too and that this phenomenon I am describing has an impact on how they do the job.  This is not an excuse for poor practice but it might help you understand how to relate to your principal.  
  • Being a principal is not synonymous with having a huge ego.  Admittedly some school leaders appear to be engaged simply in the pursuit of power.  For most though, it is a monumental task to fulfill all the requirements and expectations they face every day.  What looks like ego is often just an attempt to make enough good decisions every day.  
  • On more than one occasion I sat in my office and cried because someone took a few minutes to write me a personal thank you note.  Have you thanked your principal lately?  If not, think about taking five minutes to write a quick note for just one thing he/she does well.  You will make their day (or maybe their week)!

Galactica out.

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Supercell on the Power of Purpose

I play Clash of Clans.

The main reason I don’t often bring that fact up in professional settings is that imagethe game does not make me better at my work.  “I play games” provides common ground with students but not very many adults.  I could make a connection to the power of applying the “rules” of gaming to learning, but that case has been very well made by others already. I see oodles of opportunities for application and professional reflection in many of the in-game features, the psychology of the game and the social interactions it facilitates. Ask me for those insights next time you see me if you are interested.

Supercell is the name of the company that created Clash of Clans. I visited their website today for the first time.  What I read in the section titled Our Story inspired this post.  In the words of a colleague, here are my two “takeaways”.

1.  “…the sole mission of the founders and management [is] to acquire the best talent, create the best possible environment for them, and then get out of the way.”

Is it possible that this approach could work for schools too? What if we spent time hunting down the very best folks, recruited them to be on our team, equipped them for their work and then let them do it?  Supercell leaves no illusion that their employees are free from oversight. In fact, the piece talks about how they “kill” projects that are not working (and how they celebrate their failures and then move on).  But between the point of starting a project and its ultimate launch or abandonment, their very small, very talented “cells” of people “have complete control over their own roadmap.”  Autonomy does not mean freedom from responsibility, high standards, or direction. It does mean the ability to do excellent work by finding the best path. Supercell seems to think that approach is part of what makes them successful.

2. “…the best people … make the best possible impact and nothing [stands] in their way. Everything else, including financial goals, [is] secondary.

Most people would say that the purpose of establishing a company that makes games is to make money. Success is determined by how much money the games earn. Supercell, however, seems to be saying that the only way to be successful is to refuse to be driven by the bottom line.

The measure of the success of a school today is its performance on standardized test scores. We are great at offering endless reasons and rationales for that fact but ultimately “improvement”, “growth”, and “success” are all essentially synonymous with higher test scores. What if we took our cue from Supercell in this as well? What if we began acting like the only way to get test scores up is to stop trying to get test scores up? What if we focused on producing more learning instead?

Public education is not a business and our work is not a game but I believe we have something to learn from Supercell about priorities.

By the way, even though “financial goals” are “secondary” for Supercell, they do just fine in that department too. They take in about $5M (five million) dollars every day.

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Don’t Call it a Promotion

Tomorrow is the first day of my 17th year as a professional educator.  For the first time, I will not work in a school building.  I was transferred to the position of “Director of Middle School Education” several weeks ago.  I asked for this job, am deeply honored to have been selected and am looking forward to working with the principals and faculties at all seven middle schools in our system.

There is one thing I need to address though. Almost everyone to whom I have spoken since my transfer was announced has congratulated me on my “promotion”.  To all of the well-wishers (including the ones I have not yet seen), I make this request: please don’t call it a promotion.  I am delighted to be in my new role and can not wait to see what the future holds.  But I am very uncomfortable calling this move a promotion.

Here are two reasons why:

  • It underscores and perpetuates the “just a teacher” mid-set.  We live in a culture that has largely lost its respect for teachers and generally work in organizations where teachers are treated as problems to be fixed rather than as unimaginably valuable resources.  If people who stop being teachers are “promoted”, what does that say about the educators who chose to continue being teachers?  By extension, what are we implying about principals when individuals who accept Central Office jobs are “promoted”?
  • I became an educator because I love young people.  I did not discover that I get along okay with teenagers after I chose to be a teacher; I became a teacher because I knew I needed to be in a career that allows me to interact with lots of folks all the time.  And to try to enrich their lives in the process.  My new job will require me to make up excuses to interact with students: calling that change a “promotion” seems at least a little bit insulting to them.

I could go on but my entire point is very simple: education is about teaching and learning.  Both happen as a result of interactions between human beings.  Describing career steps that move away from those interactions as “promotions” is backwards thinking in my book.  Longer list of stuff to think about?  Sure.  More responsibility?  Maybe.  Promotion?  No.

imageThere is no need for you to feel uncomfortable or avoid mentioning my new role when we see each other.  I have a suggestion for what to call this transition: I have been exiled.  Feel free to offer either condolences or congratulations on my recent exile.  From what I can tell so far, that imagery works just fine.

I have been removed from where the students learn and taken to another place.  I might be allowed to go back some day, but for now that is not my home any more.  I am allowed to cultivate relationships, maintain strong lines of communication, and work to influence what happens where the students are from where I am.  I can even get away with sneaking back for very brief visits.  But I don’t get to live there any more.  Someone else will be there every day and will build relationships and will fan sparks of curiosity into intellectual flame and will change young lives one interaction at a time.  Like Aaron and Hur, I will spend my days strengthening the hands of the heroes who do that work.  And I will rejoice in the privilege to do so.

Just don’t call my move a promotion.

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