And I had some victory that was just failure in deceit/ Now the joke’s comin’ up through the soles of my feet/ I been a long time walking on fortune’s cane/ Tonight I’m steppin’ lightly and I’m feelin’ no pain

To say I loved my 20 years at Regis Jesuit High School would be a significant understatement. It is nearly impossible to overstate how much that place meant to me, and, over a decade following my departure, it still does. 

I graduated the school in 1988 and was determined to return four years later. 

It took me six.

I arrived as a professional at age 24, newly married and childless, and left at 44, remarried with three children. That stretch of time – personally and professionally – was filled with what I thought would be the most profound changes of my life. They certainly were at the time. 

20 years. 

I grew up at Regis Jesuit in more ways than one. I grew up not just in age, but in spirit, leadership, and calling. And I did so in my professional hometown, a place where over two decades I became very well known, for better and for worse.

As anyone who stays in a place long enough knows, your story starts to come into a room before you make the door. The way people know you is shaped not just by their personal experiences of you, but by what they hear, assume, or remember whether they remember accurately or not. Over 20 years, I worked hard, I made mistakes, I led boldly and sometimes stupidly. I learned constantly. Most of my efforts were well-intentioned, I wish I could say “all,” but that would be a lie. Some of my intentions landed beautifully. Others, less so. But they are all part of my Regis Jesuit story.

That story changed unexpectedly the year I became Acting Principal of the Boys Division. After 7 years as an administrator in the Girls Division, I was asked one late May to step into the role for the Boys Division. I agreed to do so readily.

The ten months I served as Acting Principal were some of the most demanding and rewarding of my career. I worked hard – truly hard – to serve students, faculty, and staff with integrity and energy. I believed I was making a positive impact. I believed I was on a path toward attaining the permanent position. And I was told, repeatedly and clearly, that I was.

But when the time came to make a final decision, I was not hired.

That moment was among the most painful of my professional life. I want to believe that I did not feel that I was entitled to the position. I struggle with that though in my heart of hearts. I want to believe it was so hard because I had poured myself into the work for over a decade, because I believed in the mission, and had been led to believe I was the right person for the job. 

When I did not get it, I was heartbroken. And I was angry.

To be candid, I did not handle the next moments of my career particularly well. In the immediate aftermath, I was emotionally raw. In moments of frustration, I said things to colleagues I regretted the seconds they left my mouth. I was devastated and had months left in the position, trying to hold myself and others together in a year that suddenly felt like it had unraveled.

One of the more surreal and almost comic moments came when the president and I planned how to tell the faculty and staff that I was not getting the job. We decided to do so at a faculty meeting and determined that he would take the first 15 minutes of that meeting to make the announcement, and I would walk in after to lead the rest of the meeting. Reading that now, I still cannot believe we thought this was a good idea.

When I entered the back of the library where the meeting was being held, 150 backs were turned toward me. The room was quiet and tense. I moved quietly, hoping for a calm, composed entrance. But as I passed through the library’s security gates, an alarm blared, damn loudly. I had nothing on me that should have triggered it, but there it was. The perfect metaphor: unexpected, awkward, and unforgettable. Everyone turned. All I could do was laugh. And, thankfully, they did, too.

That might have been the last time I laughed that year.

Following this rejection, I returned to the Girls Division as Assistant Principal, a role I had once loved. But I was not the same. The school was changing, and so was I. I found myself increasingly at odds with decisions being made. Though still in leadership, I was no longer a principal, and I felt – whether accurately or not – that my voice no longer carried the same weight. That perception wore on me.

Eventually, it became clear that it was time for me to go. I did not leave this place I loved with bitterness – though I had felt plenty of it along the way. I left with gratitude, even if it was complicated.

I believed, for a long time, that I would retire from Regis Jesuit. But life had other plans. 

Regis Jesuit will always hold a special place in my story. It is the place where I grew up, professionally and personally. It was the place where I was known, where I was really known. And it was the place where I had to learn, sometimes painfully, that being known can be both a blessing and a burden.

I am a better teacher, a better administrator, and a better person because of those 20 years. What more could anyone ask?

The day I left as a profesional was not the last time I have been at the school, but more on that later…

Next week, Lucky Town – The Jesuit Schools Network

When it comes to luck, you make your own/ Tonight I got dirt on my hands, but I’m building me a new home/ Baby, down in Lucky Town

When I chose my major in college. No, sorry. Far before that. I knew what I wanted to do far before I selected a major or a college.

When I was in high school and asked what I wanted to do with my life, I always offered the same answer: “I want to teach high school English and direct plays.” So, the major I chose at The Catholic University of America was, in fact, the double major of English and Secondary Education. 

That I did not pay enough attention to my credits (nor did my academic counselor, by-the-way) that my achievement of that major was imperiled just before my graduation in May of 1992 is a fun footnote to the idea that I have spent my life doing what I wanted to do. While I have not directed high school plays, I have taught at least one high school English course in 25 of the 27 years I have been in direct service to secondary schools and there is still time for me to realize the other part of that goal. I will, someday, direct plays.

During the spring of 1992, knowing that my fiancée and I were going to stay in the Washington, DC area after our graduation, I was wrapping up my coursework, planning for my marriage, and looking for jobs. I mailed a resume to every school at which I wanted to teach in the Washington, DC area. I received two interviews at Catholic high schools (I very much wanted to be in Catholic education even then): one teaching English at Gonzaga College High School (a Jesuit school) and one teaching theology at Archbishop Carroll High School, both in DC. I was not offered the position at Gonzaga. I was offered the position at Archbishop Carroll. For reasons I cannot remember, I turned that position down. Most likely it was because I felt nervous about my first teaching position and I did not want to combine that nervousness with teaching out of my subject matter. 

Regardless, I found a job at the National Conference of Catechetical Leadership as an Executive Secretary and settled in until the next job cycle rolled around.

It rolled around more quickly than I anticipated. 

In October 1992, Bishop McNamara High School reached out to me. Mr. Al Odierno – a man to whom I still owe much of who I am as an educator – called and asked me if I would come in on a Saturday to interview for an English teacher position that had just come open. I readily agreed. 

I do not remember much of the interview but I do remember (I think) that Al called me and left a message on the answering machine offering me the job while I was driving home from the school. I was offered the job on a Friday and they asked if I could start that Monday.

I did. 

Looking back over three plus decades, I know that I romanticize the two years I spent at Bishop McNamara High School. I remember my first classroom as my favorite ever. I remember serving as Student Council Moderator for the first time in my career (not the last) and loving it. I remember my colleagues as becoming my community very quickly. I remember learning much of what I would come to believe as what it means to be a good teacher. 

I remember those days so very, very fondly.

• The school had just merged an all boys school and an all girls school the year I came. That experience would mean a lot years later in my career.
• On my very first day, a student passed out during one of my classes. Unbelievably to me now, I had a bigger student carry her to the Main Office.
• A parent punched a student during my first Parent/Teacher Conference the second week I was at the school. I had no idea what to do.
• I taught with a nun who championed bringing the novel A Prayer for Owen Meany into the curriculum. My God, how influential those conversations were!
• I played stand up bass with the student band.
• I forgot my graduation robes for the first graduation I was part of as a teacher and my then wife rushed them to me. Thank you, Amy.
• I got to serve as acting department chair, which I thought was a big deal.
• I remember (and I may be making this up) a full five-day sequence of missing school following a brutal northeast ice storm.
• I won “Teacher of the Year” – an award voted on by the senior class – following my second year at the school. Do not ever let me tell you that I do not think this was a big deal. It was.
• I got a ham for my first ever Christmas Bonus. A. Ham. And I had to pick it up from the walk-in freezer myself!
• My best friend at the time came to teach at the school the year I left. I believe he replaced me! 

I loved my two years at McNamara and I have often – very often – thought of going back. The draw is very strong.

It is a very different school now, and it should be after over 30 years, but it will always remain in my heart as the place that confirmed for me that I had chosen the right path for my life – the right vocation had chosen me.

I still have a “McNamara Faculty” v-neck sweater, though I suspect it no longer fits!

 My love for the place will always fit.

Thank you, Bishop McNamara. I was lucky to be there.

Next week: Lucky Town – Regis Jesuit High School

If you have been a faithful reader of this volume of Teach and Serve, you know that, in the tenth year of this blog, I find myself in a very reflective mood. Seeing the counter running down on this volume of the blog, I have decided to do a series of posts entitled “Lucky Town.”

I have been lucky enough to serve five high schools and one national network over the course of these 30 plus years. Each experience has left its marks. Each experience has left its gifts. Each experience has left me changed. 

Over the next six posts, I plan to share a story or two that typified my time at the institution and explains a bit about what I learned on my leadership journey. 

I would not be the educator I am without the stops in these six places. 

• Bishop McNamara High School, Forestville, MD
• Regis Jesuit High School, Aurora, CO
• The Jesuit Schools Network, Washington, DC
• Mullen High School, Denver, CO
• KIPP Northeast Denver Leadership Academy, Denver, CO
• Xavier College Preparatory High School, Palm Desert, CA

For me, each has been its own lucky town. Bruce Springsteen’s song Lucky Town (from the album of the same name), speaks to how I feel about the stops along the road for me:

Well, here’s to your good looks, baby, now here’s to my health

Here’s to the loaded places that we take ourselves

When it comes to luck, you make your own

Tonight I got dirt on my hands, but I’m building me a new home

Baby, down in Lucky Town

I hope you will take the journey with me.

Next week, Lucky Town – Bishop McNamara High School.

As readers of this blog know, I have been an educator for over 30 years. I have had time to walk alongside a great many people. I have gotten to know a multitude of them. I have liked most of them. I have valued many of them. I have loved some of them. (I know I sound like Bilbo Bobbins here, but my Tolkien quote comes later.)

I am grateful for all of my companions on the journey. I am grateful for the support and the conflict and the laughter and the fun. I am grateful to have worked with hundreds of dedicated individuals who have changed my life in ways I cannot begin to comprehend. Listing those who have been true companions, bringing these people to mind to thank God for the role they played in specific moments of my life, in making me the person I am seems a good exercise. As I write this post, I have their names on sticky notes around me. My hope is they know who they are and that I have played a similar role in their lives.

The reality of my career is that I have been blessed beyond measure and undeservedly with a handful of relationships that transcend friendship. These relationships are more those of sisters and brothers. Of these, there is a quote from J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Fellowship of the Ring that expresses how I feel about who these sisters and brothers are for me better than I ever could: 

You can trust us to stick to you through thick and thin- to the bitter end. And you can trust us to keep any secret of yours- closer than you keep it yourself. But you cannot trust us to let you face trouble alone and go off without a word. We are your friends.

I have said their names aloud as I have written this post. I have prayed for them, thanked God for them. I am so aware I do not deserve the blessing they are. 

I can only hope that I have given them the same kind of love and support I have received from them. If they do not know who they are for me, I have conducted my life horribly wrong.

The gifts of my life in education have been many. These sisters and brothers are the blessings I treasure most.

As we celebrate Women’s History Month, I find myself reflecting on the remarkable women who have shaped my journey as an educator. From my first-grade teacher to the incredible colleagues I’ve worked alongside, and most importantly, my grandmother, a life-long teacher, the influence of women in education has been a significant and transformative force in my life.

Here is a true story (see the photo!) and one I should have shared when I was writing about superheroes and education: my first grade teacher’s name was Janet Batman. That is God’s honest truth. Mrs. Batman. Wow. Did she set me on a course that would define my life!

I remember Mrs. Batman, one of my kindergarten teachers. Mrs. Batman was the epitome of warmth, patience, and dedication. She had an uncanny ability to make each student feel seen and valued before those were educational buzz words. She taught me that the heart of teaching lies in fostering a supportive and inspiring environment where every child can thrive. As it turns out, Mrs. Batman was nothing like the actual Batman!

Throughout my career, I have had the privilege of working with numerous extraordinary women (more on my colleagues in next week’s post). These women have been sources of inspiration, collaboration, and mentorship. They have shown me that education is not just about imparting knowledge; it is about empowering students to become thoughtful and compassionate.

Of all the influential women in my life as an educator, my grandmother stands out as a beacon of dedication and passion for education. She was a life-long elementary school teacher and some of my earliest memories of her involve me and my sisters going to her classroom in the last days of summer to decorate her walls. She was devoted. She was passionate. And she was Grandma. Though she has passed on, I hope she is proud that she started a legacy of educators as many of her children and grandchildren are teachers.

These women have not only enriched my life but have also made a lasting impact on countless students. We are truly blessed in education to live our lives with the future.