Teach Boldly

With the close of last school year, I completed my 30th campaign in education. Each of those years has been filled with joy and sorrow, challenges and successes, ups and downs and a ton of stories worth sharing. My (True) Life in Education Thus Far will detail 30 or so of those stories. I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoyed living (most) of them!

I shared this very post in the last volume of Teach and Serve, but is Dad’s birthday today, and it bears repeating.

My father was a massive influence on my educational career. He still is, even a decade after his death.

At this point in my life, I have come to understand that we tend to idealize those people who have come and gone in our lives. By this I mean those we’ve lost to death or to movements and flows of life or to other circumstances both within and beyond our control. When those we love move out of our lives, we have a tendency to idealize them – who they were, what they stood for and what they said.

I guard against this temptation when I think of my father, though I am sure that a bit of idealization sneaks in. How could it not? I loved him.

Dad, if you asked, would have said terrible things about school. He may have even said terrible things about teachers. Strike “may have.” Dad did say terrible things about some teachers and those things may even have been true.

Dad attended the same Jesuit high school I did and he told great stories about it, including the undated, signed notes my grandmother would give him of the “Please excuse Mickey from class…” variety and the tale of a teacher picking up a talkative student’s desk and throwing that student, desk and all, through the door of the classroom without skipping a beat of his lesson.

Dad could tell stories.

Dad could also give advice, when asked, so, like a good son I never really asked him his advice about teaching. Terrible, isn’t it? Dad wasn’t a professional teacher, didn’t seem to have adored his educational life and I didn’t turn to him for advice when I chose the vocation.

Looking back on who he was and how he lived and, perhaps, idealizing him a bit, I think I can discern what he may have told me had I asked him.

Dad never took himself too seriously. Seriously. Though he was involved in a serious profession and found himself, in his work as a deacon, dealing with people in challenging times of life, he never let the moments get the best of him. He also never let himself think he was any better than anyone else. I remember him telling the story of when, during a baptism he was performing, he continually referred to the child – let’s call the baby “Chris” – as a boy when, in fact, she was a girl. “It’s a girl, dummy!” the baby’s grandmother finally corrected him during the ceremony. Dad loved to tell that story.

Teachers and administrators need a healthy dose of self-deprecation. If they take themselves too seriously, the work can become burdensome. They are public figures whose mistakes are going to be critiqued and scrutinized. If educators live and die with every challenging moment, the work can take a deeper emotional toll. Educators are well served by stepping back and smiling at themselves. Often.

Dad was very decisive. There may have been a lot of internal debate going on with my father and, surely, he and my mom talked about big decisions in their lives but, professionally and personally, Dad struck me as very decisive. Once he had made a decision, he didn’t spend too much time looking back.

Educators are called upon to make decisions minute-by-minute. While not all of these decisions are filled with import, many need to be made with confidence. This doesn’t necessarily imply that decisions must all be made quickly, but, once decisions are made, dwelling on and second guessing them as a matter of course can be very draining.

Dad had a great sense of humor. He could make fun of almost anything and could be highly irreverent.

Teachers and administrators who cannot laugh and who do not have a sense of humor can certainly do the job. They can do it at a high level, even. But I have found that those who don’t have a sense of humor simply don’t enjoy the work as much as those who do. If you’re not going to enjoy being in a school, the other rewards of the vocation may not be enough for you.

Dad connected with people. When Dad died, I spoke in the eulogy about his “guys.” Dad had many, many “guys,” people whose lives and his had intertwined over the course of his work with the Church and simply because of the man he was. There was a great number of people who called Dad “friend” and a lot more whose lives had been touched by him and, surely, who had touched his life in turn.

Much like not having a well-developed sense of humor, it is possible for educators – teachers and administrators – to do the work without connecting with kids and with parents and with their colleagues. It is possible. I am just not sure how well the work is done by people who don’t enjoy connecting with others. Actually, I am pretty sure that those people don’t do the work nearly as well. Teachers and administrators must connect. It’s part of the job description.

Dad had a terrific sense of justice. I suppose having a strong sense of justice was part of Dad’s job description as a deacon. He was very in tune with this, could sense an imbalance of power or a bad situation readily and reacted strongly to them. He was motivated by those who had been abused by any system, inspired by David vs. Goliath stories, championed those who had less. The homeless came to Dad. He worked hard for those with less. He never stopped fighting in this area. He also, from the pulpit, didn’t shy away from talking about issues of justice, even when such homilies made people uncomfortable.

Educators are called to not only be fair and just, they are called to highlight injustice around them. They are called to act in a just manner and to point out to developing young minds the injustice that exists in the world. Further, they are compelled to help students understand that they can be part of changing unjust systems. If we’re not about this as we teach, we’re simply doing a disservice to students.

Dad was a great storyteller and loved to listen to others’ stories. I miss a lot about being able to talk with and listen to my Dad. I try to emulate much of what he was in my own life. Yes, as I have written above, I know that I idealize my father in many ways, but not in this one. Dad was a terrific storyteller and could command “the room” so to speak. He told wonderfully engaging and funny stories. He also loved to listen to others telling stories and would often ask for the same story to be told over-and-over again. He would want to hear about the same moment, the same incident, the same funny instance. And, when he listened, his reactions and smile and attention validated the storyteller and made that person feel very special.

Shouldn’t educators tell great stories? Beyond delivering content and inspiring skills in our students, shouldn’t we also be able to tell them great stories about our subject matter and convey or love of it? Shouldn’t we also listen to those around us at least as much as we speak to them?

My father, who professed a dislike of school and who I never heard anyone call “teacher” was one of the greatest teachers I ever had. He should have written a book about education. If he had, it would been titled Lessons about Teaching from a Guy Who Didn’t Like School.

I would have bought that book.

With the close of last school year, I completed my 30th campaign in education. Each of those years has been filled with joy and sorrow, challenges and successes, ups and downs and a ton of stories worth sharing. My (True) Life in Education Thus Far will detail 30 or so of those stories. I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoyed living (most) of them!

Serving as an administrator in the later part of my career has been a wonderful experience. I have suggested since I first received my initial administrative position as Dean of Students at Regis Jesuit HIgh School Girls Division that the role of an administrator is to support the adults so that the adults can support the students. 

I still believe that. Strongly.

Moreover, I hope that I do that – that I provide for the faculty and staff a foundation of support that enables them to do their work, to support our students, to feel safe and secure in their vocation. That is the first responsibility I currently hold as principal of Mullen High School.

Over the years in these administrative roles, I have interfaced with teachers and coaches and staff members in all kinds of different situations and scenarios, the overwhelming majority of which have been wonderful. There have been some, however, that have been more challenging. 

Here is the truth: sometimes adults do inexplicable things. I choose that word intentionally. There are times that adults with whom I have worked have done things that simply defy – in my mind – rational explanation. 

There was the time a teacher lost control of his class and he simply turned them loose into the hallways. There was the time a teacher who was on a remediation plan read her remediation plan to her class. There was the time a teacher took his class on a field trip without telling the administration he was going. There was the time… okay, you get the picture. Sometimes people do inexplicable things.

When that happens and when the stakes are not particularly high in that there does not need to be some corrective action taken or some significant personnel lesson imparted, I find myself doing something that, perhaps, I should not do.

I find myself making up stories.

It seems to me that, when a teacher or staff member feels embarrassed by a bad decision, a mistake or an inexplicable lack of judgment, I can turn down the temperature. I can help. I can do this by suggesting I have made the same or a similar mistake.

The first example of this which I can remember of doing this in my career is, perhaps, the best. A young teacher came to me and to my good friend who was also an administrator and confessed she had lost a complete set of final exams. Lost. Gone. A full set of finals. 

My friend and I looked at each other. We took deep breaths. We gave advice. 

At some point, one of us said: “when I lost a full set of exams…” and we were off and running.

She felt immeasurably better and we felt we had helped her. No lasting educational harm done.

When she left my friend’s office, we looked at each other and smiled.

Neither of us had ever lost a set of exams. 

Sometimes, stretching the truth is a good thing to do. It is supportive. It makes a situation better.

With the close of last school year, I completed my 30th campaign in education. Each of those years has been filled with joy and sorrow, challenges and successes, ups and downs and a ton of stories worth sharing. My (True) Life in Education Thus Far will detail 30 or so of those stories. I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoyed living (most) of them!

The majority of teachers with whom I have worked do so much more than teach. They moderate and direct and coach. The majority of teachers with whom I have worked are so deeply dedicated to our schools that I run out of words to praise them. What I once approached as roles to either advance my career or to put a few more dollars in my pocket, I now see quite differently.

Yearbook Moderator, Student Council Moderator, Chapel Choir Moderator, Service Co-Director, Bookstore Manager. I have served in all of these capacities in my 30 years working in schools. 

Being a moderator was, for me, part-in-parcel to being a teacher, especially early in my career before I moved into administration. Perhaps I did these things because I needed extra money and these positions all had associated stipends. Perhaps I did these things because I wanted to spend time with students in different contexts. Perhaps I did these things because I was good at some of them.

Likely I did them for a combination of the reasons listed above.

Being a moderator of a club or activity engaged me in a different way than being a classroom teacher engaged me and that was often fun. I look fondly back on being up against deadlines for the yearbook and working late into the night – sometimes with students, more often with my co-moderator – and writing copy and cropping photos. I remember setting up for dances and blood drives and mission weeks as student council co-moderator and smile. I remember coordinating sign ups for students to meet their graduation requirements in service. I remember setting up two full gymnasiums of books back in the paper books days for over 1000 students to get their texts purchased.

What I have done longest and continue to do to this day at Mullen High School is sing and play guitar in the choir. Making music with students and with my colleagues for liturgies at school has been the most life-giving of all of the work I have done outside the classroom and outside the role of administrator. I will not suggest that everyone who has heard the music made by groups in which I have participated would say that it has all been wonderful. It has not always been. But what it has been – for me – is a reminder of the great gifts of the vocation I have had and the work I get to do. 

Periodically, I get to leave a meeting and go strum my guitar. Periodically, I get to – with my colleagues and students – lead communities in sung prayer. Periodically, I get to sing. What an amazing blessing this is. 

What an amazing blessing all of these opportunities, in their own ways, have been. Each day and every moment of being a moderator was not a delight, but the overall impression of all the work I did in those roles is that I am glad I had them. Very glad.

With the close of last school year, I completed my 30th campaign in education. Each of those years has been filled with joy and sorrow, challenges and successes, ups and downs and a ton of stories worth sharing. My (True) Life in Education Thus Far will detail 30 or so of those stories. I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoyed living (most) of them!

I may have suggested elsewhere in this volume of Teach and Serve that I cannot single out my favorite memory of the last 30 years doing this work of high school education.

That is actually not true.

I do have a favorite memory.

Over the summer between the 2006-2007 and 2007-2008 school years, a secret that I had been keeping for over a year reached its culmination. I got remarried. My wife is a person whose sole flaw is that she was silly enough to choose me to spend the rest of her life with.

She and I were very circumspect in our relationship, our courtship, our engagement. Very, very few people knew about it and we wanted to keep it very quiet. 

We worked at the same Catholic high school, after all.

In the summer of 2007, we married.

In the fall of 2006, many were shocked as they did not even know we were dating. Best decision of my life.

So, in truth, I do have a favorite memory and, in this time of year where we consider gifts, I know that my wonderful wife (who I am working with again) is the best “gift” my work in education ever bestowed on me.

Without question.