It is Halloween Week. This is the 13th installment of this volume of the blog. These are two signs of mystic and dreadful portent.

EEk!

This past summer, I was lucky to take a vacation with one of my best friends through upstate New York. As we drove on our pilgrimage, we had hours in the car to speak about any and all kinds of topics. We are both educators and he is one of the few I can say is more veteran than I. We both have opinions about the work we do, both as individual professionals and as educators who are part of a broader professional community. We both have strong opinions.

My good friend has a much, much longer view of things than I do and he embraces salvific history as philosophy for his life in a way that I can only admire and love. But, in the short term, I am the more optimistic of us. I can, typically, find more immediate silver linings.

On the topic of education our short term and long term perspectives – our every perspective – seem aligned.

Modern education is broken and we are not sure it can be fixed.

The list of the challenges faced by educators is long, complex, and thorny. 

• Students have changed.
• Parents are too involved.
• Parents are not involved enough.
• Teachers are not as good as they once were.
• Curriculum is far more complicated than ever.
• There are complexities around race.
• There are complexities around gender
• Funding is down.
• Confidence is down.
• Teachers are not respected.
• Cell phones and technology overall make the work impossible.
• Cultural values have shifted.
• There is a sharp generational divide between faculty and staff.
• Respect is missing from almost all stakeholders.

And on, and on, and on. This list is off the top of my cursor. Surely there are more issues and more of them are more difficult to solve.

The horror of education.

There is much here to force cursing of the darkness. There is much here to lament. There is much that is horrible.

This is year 34 for me. 34 years of this work. 34 years of this horror. 

And I come back, excited, ready, smiling. I come back for more and more and more.

As does my good friend, and he’s been doing this longer than I.

To me, the horror of education is like the horror found in a good Stephen King story – the challenge of overcoming it is ALWAYS met by ordinary folks doing extraordinary things. Stephen King stories are scary, but they end, almost always, in hope.

Working in education can be scary but it is hope that inspires us to come back for more.

It is a shared hope.

It is a grounded hope.

It is a steadfast hope.

It may not solve the horror of education, but it certainly does not hurt.

I watched the first three seasons of the shocking, smash hit Succession and hung in until it got to be just a bit much for me. It seems there is only so much reprehensible behavior I can stomach, even when it is fictional. 

For the uninitiated, the premise of the show concerns the passing of the proverbial torch from one generation of a family to the next. The patriarch of the family is the mega-wealthy owner of a multimedia empire and discerning which of his children will take over the company is the grist that grinds the show’s mill. 

Great concept and one that – stripped of the hyper-histrionics – has something to say to many of us in the world of education. 

In my experience, schools are not particularly great at succession planning. The schools in which I have served have not had solid structures in place to ensure that the next generation of leaders are training for the roles as the current generation are doing them.

This is, perhaps, because schools – especially private schools – tend to have fairly flat hierarchies. There is also a stigma associated with going from the classroom to administration. Surely many in the education field have heard (or shared) the adage: “Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach. Those who can’t teach, administrate.” 

As an administrator, please allow me to say “ouch.”

For whatever reason, schools in which I have worked do not have systems in place to ensure leaders are getting on-the-job training.

This often means that, when hiring upper level administrators, in particular principals and presidents, schools look outside their own ranks. Of the four private, Catholic schools I have served, this has been the case in my tenure more often than not.

I did the math. In my career, I have worked for 11 principals and five presidents. 16 different upper level administrators. Of those 16, only four have been internal hires.

Four. 

We are not developing from within. Our successors are coming from outside our ranks. Most, but not all, are coming from within our networks, but not within our halls.

Perhaps this is not a problem and, if it is, given national trends in tenures of administrators, perhaps it is not solvable.

But I think it is a problem. I think our schools should foster leadership and encourage people to serve. I think our schools should develop the next generation of leaders. I think it is incumbent upon current leaders to ensure this happens.

Hiring leaders from outside is like hiring anyone: It is something of a crapshoot. You truly do not know what you are getting until the hire in is place. If you have hired well, terrific. If you have not, oh boy.

As a principal, I have the ability to put structures around succession in place.

This needs to be a goal of mine and I think it should be a goal of all educational leaders.

I liked to be liked.

This may be my most defining characteristic. In my personal life and in my professional life, I like to be liked.

I very much like to be liked.

Personally, this is a desire that I would like to manage better.

Professionally, it is a desire that I need to manage much better.

Wanting to be liked is not inherently a bad thing. I have worked with many people – teachers and administrators alike – who do not seem to care if they are liked. Some seem to revel in not being liked. Try as I might, I have never understood that perspective. I have a significantly negative reaction to it.

I have a strong reaction to my own desire to be liked as well. I wonder if it makes me a weaker leader. I wonder this often. 

Professionally, in my desire to be liked, I find myself slow-playing difficult information. I find myself avoiding saying hard things to others. I find myself equivocating when I should be direct.

These are not strong traits in a leader. 

My desire to be liked means I want everyone to be happy. That leads to a desire to be all things to all people. 

I know that I cannot be all things to all people and I tell myself trying to lead in this manner can result in my being all things to no one but myself. 

I believe my awareness of this challenge helps. But it only helps when I push myself through it to do hard things.

In these cases, the hard things typically involve disappointing others or letting others down. These are the hardest things for me.

I can do hard things. Pushing myself to do the hardest will make me a better leader.

I have served on many, many committees in my 30 plus years in education, some compulsory (new teacher cohorts), some formal (task forces, department chair teams, focus groups), and some informal (collections of teachers combining to fight whatever power needed to be fought). Over all that time, one committee stands out as the longest standing, the oddest, and the most fun of any of which I was ever a part. It is a committee whose membership rotated over the almost 20 years it was extant. It is a committee that, like most on which I have served, took itself way too seriously. It is a committee that I have been trying to reform years after its dissolution.

It is called The Facultones.

I remember Mike Capone, a teacher I worked with over 30 years ago, naming this particular committee. I remember (I think!) every member who has ever served on it. I remember the joy it brought – at least it brought joy to me. I remember humble beginnings. I remember moments of big aspiration. I remember guest members. I remember it annoying the hell out of a lot of people.

I remember so very much about The Facultones. 

I should. I wrote a highly fictionalized novel about it.

The Facultones was a faculty cover band started sometime in the 1990s by teachers at Regis Jesuit High School, though I think we were still calling the place “Regis” at that point. It spun out of a series of poetry slam/coffee house parties attended by faculty members and their spouses which can only survive when the participants are twentysomethings without children. We all were. 

The band went through iteration after iteration as members dropped in and dropped out, returned and departed. It played parties and weddings, at churches and coffee houses and theme parks. It cut a demo tape. It spawned spin off groups, side projects and the aforementioned novel.

The Facultones is my favorite committee of all time because the goal was simply to have fun – fun making music and fun playing for others. 

Being a part of it was a joy I truly miss.

This past spring, as I was sitting with faculty members for end of year conversations, I was asked, point blank, where I stood on cell phones in classrooms. The person asking me is a serious educator and deserved a serious and well considered answer.

Would that I had one.

We talked about the negatives. We talked about the positives. We talked about the distractions and the challenges. We talked about the practicalities. We talked about how they have changed our work. 

We talked. It was a great conversation. 

I did not take a stand on the issue in that chat. I am in my first year as principal at my school and I determined that I did not want my principalship defined by this issue.

This is not my principalship. This is my blog. This is a place that I write about what I believe to be true whether or not I am in a position to enact what I believe to be true.

Cell phones. Students should be allowed to have them on their persons in school.

In no particular order, this is what I think:

• Cell phones are crucial in emergencies. 
• Cell phones can be valuable educational tools and many apps our teachers require (yes, require) our students to use are designed for phones. Likewise, our digital platforms are accessible on their phones and enable students to be updated on school announcements, assignments, and other important communications.
• Allowing students to carry cell phones can teach them responsibility and self-discipline. We have a responsibility to help students learn how to use their phones appropriately.
• In an increasingly digital world, familiarity with technology is essential.  
• In some cases (in many cases?), having a phone can help students manage anxiety and stay connected with their support systems. It can provide a sense of security, knowing they can reach out to loved ones if needed.

These phones are tools. They are tools that are a part of our students’ lives. They are part of ours. 

I believe we have a responsibility to help our students engage appropriately with them. 

Should students have unfettered access? No. There should be guidelines. There should be times when phones are not in hands. There should be breaks from them. There should be restrictions. 

Phones should not be banned. They should be used. Effectively.

I understand this is easier written than done.