Not Everybody Has a Bowling

Yesterday afternoon I joined the Bowling Book Club, an after-hours gathering for students of Lincoln High School in Tacoma, guided by 2016 WA State Teacher of the Year, Nathan Gibbs Bowling.

Teachers and students sat down together to talk about the Fair Housing Act through the lens of the book Living Apart by Nikole Hannah-Jones. Teachers mostly listened as students led the discussion. To say these young people impressed me would be a gross understatement.  

They spoke eloquently about American politics and society over the last fifty years. They filled the room with humor and humility through delicate topics of segregation, equity, and institutional racism. They remained respectful in moments of tension.

Meanwhile, my mind wandered to my own high school social studies classes. I imagined myself as a student at Lincoln High today.

“Not everybody has a Bowling.” A student’s voice snapped me back to reality. She said exactly what I was thinking.

How few high school students dig into books like Living Apart, or Anthem by Ayn Rand? How many adults have ever grappled with, or even heard of, these texts? Are those “without a Bowling” responsible for understanding the depths of issues they’ve never had space to explore? This question continually plagues me--in a million different contexts with a million different details.

The rest of the afternoon’s conversation centered on this idea of responsibility.  Education is opportunity. It demands responsibility. To act. To share what we’ve learned. To move the conversation forward.

This year I am walking an inner journey much like the one that the students traveled yesterday. I have been given the space to question, think, process, reflect, listen, read, research, and see. I’ve learned how to have a public voice for students.  I have a platform from which to project that voice. I’ve found partners in the issues I care most about. I understand the scope of education far beyond my classroom walls.

I expected to go back to life as I know it when this year was over. I didn’t realize the experience would change me. Educate me. Inspire me. Compel me. Now I have a head full of ideas, for my school, my community, my state. I also have little patience for bringing others up to speed. I want to do, NOW!

In the final question of the day, Mr. Bowling asked the group about this responsibility. What did it mean going forward? As I reflected on the students in front of me, I realized responsibility requires more than just honesty and courage.  Opportunity demands empathy.

The teachers in the room yesterday understood it. They sat back quietly, letting student voices fill the room with questions and suggestions.  The students understood it. They treated each other with respect and grace, and the group moved forward together.

Not everybody has a Bowling.

We must be aware of the experiences, opportunities, and background knowledge that inform our perspective. We must be sensitive to how our situation differs from that of the people around us. We must be brave enough to be honest, and honest enough to be gracious.

The Very Best Part

I’m in travel mode today. Headed to Dallas for the National Teacher of the Year Program Induction.  It is the first meeting of the 2017 State Teachers of the Year.  Over the next three days, we will learn lessons in leadership, storytelling, and communication from past Teachers of the Year and other national education leaders.

I have been told that the very best part of the week will be the relationships I’m about to begin with these teachers. I am convinced that this is true, because over the last four-ish months it already has proven so.  The very best part of this year so far has been the teachers I’ve gotten to know around Washington State.

The intensity of this experience—how it stretches and challenges—bound me to my fellow Regional Teachers of the Year from the moment we met back in September.  We came to the Leadership Retreat from different regional areas, grade levels, subject matter, and personal backgrounds.  We left a family. 

The Great Eight - 2017 Washington State Regional Teachers of the Year

I left inspired. No, that doesn’t begin to cover it.  I felt almost crushed by the honor of being selected from among them.  I wished I could be them! I wished I had Mr. Gallagher as a science teacher, showing me the wonders of astronomy.  I wished I had known Ms. Loftus, an Emotional-Behavioral specialist, when I was a young teacher. I would have soaked up her wisdom, energy, and positive outlook as I struggled to support challenging students.

That weekend was a crash course. It has only gotten better from there. Shortly after, I met a true kindred spirit in Northwest Washington’s 2016 Teacher of the Year. We make an unlikely pair, Michael Werner and I. He, a Swiss-born aeronautics mechanic turned high school mechanics shop teacher from Granite falls, and me, a Millennial farm kid turned elementary school teacher.

Visiting Michael's Mechanics shop in Granite Falls. Pictured on the table: my students' UN Global Goal Superhero project designs.  He and his students are now bringing these to life in mechanical automata projects (see right).

Our collaboration is called #360509K12. We envision globally-relevant, future-focused, authentic education for all kids.  In every school district and every grade level.  Already we have spent hours via phone and email, scheming. We’ve engaged our elementary and high school students in collaborative problem solving projects. We’ve taken turns driving across the mountains to spend days in each other’s classrooms.

We’re on the brink of something. There is a sense of urgency, that this thing, a big idea, is hidden just out of sight. Is it something curricular? A program model? Professional development? Advocacy? We impatiently wait to find out. But with every conversation and connection, the vision reveals itself a little more.  We’re bringing in allies, and building a team.  We hope you’ll join us when the time comes.

I expect I will find many more kindred spirits this week.  I am curious to discover how these yet undiscovered friendships and partnerships will impact the course of my thoughts and actions well beyond 2017. My mind is anxious to continue learning.

I’m so thankful for this experience. But. There are over 60,000 teachers in Washington State.  And my journey is unique to just one of us each year.  There are so many teachers with so much potential. What if each of them had a supportive professional family that made them feel connected and empowered beyond their classroom and district, and even state? What impact could that have on our schools? On our students? On our country?

My Resolution: Do Hard Things.

I made my New Year’s resolution in September. The day after I became Washington’s Teacher of the Year. I walked in to school, and the first thing one of my second graders said was, “I hope you don’t meet Donald Trump. He’s going to kick me out of the country!”

All at once, a rush of different emotions came over me. I knew there would be no escaping the conflict and controversy that this year would bring. I almost panicked. Then the phrases I use in my classroom began to echo in my mind. Use your grit. Hard things make your brain grow! Don’t give up.

That day I made an ACTIVE choice to lean in to the personal and professional challenges I would face this year. To do hard things. On purpose. Just as I teach my students to do.

All fall, I struggled to figure out how to be a teacher leader in a politicized time. I usually live in the gray, seeing truths and flaws on both sides of complex issues.

Now I’m called on to be a voice for teachers, students, and their families. But how do I represent a population that grows increasingly polarized? Today, there is no neutral—action and silence are both divisive. All that remains is honesty. And honestly, I’m still trying to figure it out.

The truth is, many of my students, or their families, are undocumented. My brain constantly relives the moment I shared above. I teach to inspire my students with curiosity about the world and to prepare them to shape the future. But I keep wondering—how can I do that, if their little brains are filled with fears about today?

The truth is, I come from a deep red town, in a deep blue state. Rural life is often criticized, but growing up here has been a gift. Instead of self-selecting our friends, proximity requires us to look for the good and forgive the rest. Quincy has taught me to see the delicate differences between people who seem at first glance to be the same.  I've learned to love and respect people even when we seem to disagree about everything. I know how to stay in the struggle, no matter what.

The truth is, I worry that news silos and social media will continue to fuel the animosity and negativity that is brewing amongst us. I don’t want to believe that Americans are still capable of such hate. The Pulse Nightclub. Police shootings in Dallas. “Go back to Africa.” My heart breaks with each story I hear.

Throughout all this, I keep thinking about how easy it has become to blame others for the problems I see in the world. But I know that my actions and attitudes are the only things I can control. So, I do hard things. On purpose.

I hope my attitude inspires my students as they face their own challenges. I hope my actions challenge you to do hard things, too.

Teachers, the most critical work is up to us. Our students need different skills today than previous generations. STEM. Global Education. Personalized learning. We must adapt.

School and district leaders, the risks associated with change are high. Build cultures that empower us. Provide the professional development that will scaffold this work. Lead by example.

Policymakers, our work is stunted without your sponsorship. Fund competitive salaries for new teachers. Support statewide, K-12 networks that provide career connected learning and advanced opportunities for ALL students.

Our schools must prepare ALL students for the dynamic world we live in, regardless of gender, language, color, income or location.  

That complex task requires a complex solution. We each have a hard thing to do. Find yours, and do it.

Like I always say, bloom where you’re planted.