Teacher Evaluations

What's the point? My district is spending a significant (rather exorbitant) amount of time discussing the evaluation process. Yes, we've adopted the Danielson Framework. Many of the conversations help me to learn the lingo, understand the mechanics, recognize the legalities and brainstorm potential standard operating procedures. This is all necessary for me. And others. But it's a rare occasion when we set aside the same significant amount of time to have in depth conversations about why we evaluate teachers, what we sincerely hope to gain, and—most of all—how we use best practice pedagogy as a part of our evaluative process to help teachers grow. I don't think any district does enough of this.

The majority of my teaching colleagues would tell you that being evaluated is a hoop to jump through, an annoyance, paperwork that needs to get done. And now, they would add one new twist. It helps districts end up with rankings. A condition that nurtures competition and isolation. How do I know? Because I've asked all of my former colleagues. And I was one of them...So we need to do better than these experiences.

The mechanical pieces of evaluations are necessary. I know that. However, there are so many parallels between teacher evaluations and student assessments that I hope we capitalize on them; I think they can help guide this journey. Concerned and effective teachers spend the majority of their careers trying to tip the balance for students from thinking about "points" to focusing on "learning." If students spend their time concentrating on points, they open the door to a number of educational traps—anxiety, ignorance, missed opportunities, and creative suffocation. But if they concentrate on learning, the appropriate grade follows and an unexpected world of adventure and connection surfaces along the way. The same is true for how we evaluate teachers. We need to tip the balance of focus for teachers from evaluations (ranks) to true professional development (pushing practice).

So as an administrator, I feel a self-prescribed, appropriate level of responsibility to help teachers do this. To grow, not just exist or survive. This requires experience, differentiation, risk-taking, presence, intelligence, time, joy and support. (That's all!) So I need to develop an "SOP" that uses what I want teachers to gain from the evaluative process as the foundation of the mechanics. Here's what I want for them:

• To Enjoy Teaching
• To Push Practice
• To Stay Current
• To Remain (or learn to be) Creative
• To Nurture Connections
• To Balance Personal and Professional Worlds
• I want them to want to come to work and play...

If teachers focus on the above, any rubric used to assess their practice will lead to an appropriate evaluation. But if they focus on the rubric (grade), the prescribed outcomes (rewards) may surface, but all of the above will slowly die out.

So as I try to develop a means to tip this balance, I know for certain that one way to tap into the language of the above is to model the joy of being an educator. And I really do love this arena. I see the weight lifted from the shoulders of teachers who spend every daylight hour trying to nurture student growth when I simply smile.

So here's a suggestion. We want teachers to practice all of the above. Because in the end, if they do, what a singularly exceptional experience our students will have in their classrooms. So let go of the mechanics a bit. Practice the above as a leader. Let your hair down, so to speak. Vulnerability permits honesty to surface. And growth follows.

Develop a lesson plan. Together.
Make mistakes. Together.
Have a serious discussion. Together.
Write on the wall. Together.
Dance. Together.
Sing. Together.
Play music. Together. (I mean seriously...if you can sing or play an instrument, how are you NOT using this as a means to connect or create. Coming from someone who would give her right arm to be able to do this...)
Create an artistic piece. Together.
Perform. Together.
Get laughed at. Together.
Get yelled at. Together.
Share stories. Together.
Challenge each other's positions. Together.
Fall. And Rise. Together.
Protest. And Fundraise. Together.
Forgive. And Celebrate. Together.
More than anything else, break bread together. Often.

Then, and only then, will teachers feel the freedom to let go. And fly. (And yes, I'm still searching for the time to do a lot of the above. But I am doing as much of it as I can.)

We all know that every child deserves a champion to advocate on their behalf. We have those aplenty at my district. That's a given.

I contend every teacher deserves a champion too.

One Look Is All It Takes

As I shared in a recent post, my attendance at a conference in New Orleans last month has put me on a journey of rediscovery. I love this self-exploration. I'm challenged by it. I like myself better because of it. And I'm now fully aware of why I'm haunted by an incident that occurred while out one evening. I haven't shared this story with anyone yet; I just didn't want to believe. But ever since the Ferguson verdict, I shiver...

A group of us arrived in NOLA late Friday night, and we had a few hiccups getting out of the airport. My luggage was lost, there were lines, and the shuttle took FOREVER. Eventually, though, after checking into our hotel, a group of us went in search of food and fun. In tragic fashion, hunger won out and we ate at a fast-food place rather than visit a local establishment for edible cuisine. I had no chance of winning this fight; it was me and six men. Six, big, hungry men.

After they consumed approximately 20 pounds of deep fried padding, we all set out down Bourbon Street. Within 2 minutes, one of my colleagues was challenged to a fight. Something about his shoes. Strange. But true. Regardless, we kept walking, his shoes intact.

Music and street performers met us around the first corner. We all stopped to gape. And sway. And laugh. We kept walking down the street. Costumes and dancing and singing greeted us at every block. There's no place like NOLA. No place. So. Much. Fun!

It was at this moment I remembered something my best friend had said to me years earlier when we were presenting at a conference in NOLA. "Joan, we've been to a dozen cities together over the years. I'll tell you. If I had to pick one city, this is the place I'd never let you walk alone. So stay close to me, okay?" He had lived in this city years prior, so I listened. And felt comfortable that my 6'4" friend was watching over me.

And I thought reassuringly to myself, "Well, you're surrounded by six, big, still hungry men. You're fine now, too."

And then it happened. I was trying to be stealthy and take a picture (above, blurry) of 5 police officers standing on a corner in a circle as some sort of "How-is-this-protecting-and-serving?" sarcastic statement, when one of them looked at my friend—the same colleague who had been challenged to a fight about his shoes not 10 minutes earlier—and yelled, "What are you staring at? What the fuck are you all staring at? Huh?!"

I don't know if my friend heard it or saw it. Or if the rest of them heard it or saw it. None of them had done anything to provoke any sort of interaction with the police. And the officers had no idea I was even with these guys, let alone that I had taken a picture of their posse. But when this cop yelled, I stopped dead in my tracks. The look on his face was frightening. The posture that the rest of the policemen took was jarring. His expression was not just angry. It was hateful. He was looking for a fight. They were looking for this fight.

Yes. It's my interpretation. It's biased. But I hadn't yet been to a single session at this conference, so I wasn't influenced by rhetoric. I hadn't started my transformation. I was still walking around with my central-Illinois, farm-town, white-Irish-Catholic, girl lens. And this was a hateful look.

My entire insides churned. My heart skipped a few beats. I still felt safe. But I now felt nervous for him. For them. And they all kept walking like nothing happened. So I followed. They were my escorts. But what if they hadn't just kept walking? What if just one of them had reacted, even benignly?

What race do you think he is? What race do you think the rest of them are?

Yep. That happened. And I can't help but feel my stomach churn each time I think about that young boy—yes, 18 is young and a boy—pleading, "Don't shoot."

How & Why I Play @ Work

"We don't stop playing because we grow older; we grow older because we stop playing."

Play. Such a lost, needed pastime. In my new leadership role, I find it more necessary than ever to model playing and having unstructured, adventurous time. Making time for it. Yes, here at work. I have written about play in the past. I've shared the reward of reconnecting with my inner child. And I've seen the positive consequence of the virus of play infecting my new department. And I couldn't be happier about it.

I'll be honest, though. As much as I'd like to say that I do this as a means of being a really effective leader...that's not altogether honest. I do it because, quite simply, I don't know how to function without play. It's a part of who I am and how I exist on a daily basis. Every day...a little play.

I have so many posts to add to my blog; more intellectual, introspective, reflective posts. Things that will generate conversation about how to effect positive educational change regarding racism and narrowing the racial achievement gap. Posts that will share the journey I'm on rediscovering myself...huge. You have no idea; I have no idea. ;)

But today I'd like to share more lighthearted information. (Because I'm not ready for the above.) So, the one type of play that has helped me through the last few months is listening to music, dancing and singing to some of my favorite tunes.

I'm not an actual singer or dancer...which is obvious to anyone who catches me in my office listening to music, dancing around the room, singing as IF I knew what I was doing, as if I knew all the lyrics. :) BUT, I have learned I am a much more creative, constructive problem solver and leader...when I move. I have to move to think. I really do. I used to read textbooks and edit papers in college by walking up and down the dorm hallways reading things out loud. I continue that tradition here at work. People can see that I'm having fun with the process of figuring out challenges, staying hopeful that there is a constructive path, and sharing the brainstorms that cross my mind along the way...all because I'm "moving" about my office.

So this is one small token I offer to anyone out there looking for a small, positive change in daily routine. Let your creative process free. Allow yourself to reconnect with your natural inclination to PLAY. Whatever form that takes. And LIVE IT. It's contagious. And when others see it, the entire atmosphere of thinking and learning changes for the better.

Courageous Conversations—A First Timer's Account

“As we work together to restore hope to the future, we need to include a new and strange ally—our willingness to be disturbed.” ~Margaret Wheatley, Willing to Be Disturbed. (A quick read, and worth it.)

These past five days, I jumped in with both feet. I was willing to be disturbed. Too willing, perhaps. Because I am disturbed. Deeply, to-the-core disturbed. But the good kind!

I was lucky enough to attend the National Summit for Courageous Conversations 2014. The focus? To begin, or continue to have, meaningful dialogue about race. Racial Equity. As the founder and president Glenn Singleton shares,

We must continue to engage in honest, unapologetic conversations about racial disparities in education and effective ways in which to unlock the untapped potential of children of color.

After the first day, I entered a state of thorough disequilibrium. I have always loved the idea of Wheatley's excerpt (above), but I haven't been this "disturbed" in a very long time. If ever. Without a doubt, I have returned home a changed person.

The choreography of the event was both inspirational and effective. Each moment was exceptionally deliberate, done to nudge you—sometimes push you—into the next challenge. Titled a conference or a summit, in my experience, this was part of a movement. To be in a room with 900 global representatives, all equally eager and committed to making positive change in our children's educational experiences was powerful! I felt the effects, the growth, of what happens being in a room where everyone has the space to be honest, and to be supported when falling and encouraged when flying. And I more deeply understood the tragedy of continuing to ignore issues of race in education. Because they permeate every nook and cranny of our buildings.

I consider myself a reflective person. Very reflective. So it's no surprise to me that I'm processing my thoughts in this post immediately upon arriving home. I'm flipping between quadrants and learning something new each hour about myself. That's where the work needs to begin. And it's not easy.

I was given multiple opportunities for safe, personal exploration. About race. About white privilege. About a host of other topics, personal and educational. I reflected on difficult scenarios, prompted by a facilitator, a colleague, a stranger or myself. I shared mysteriously moving moments. And I realized that my belief system in many ways is flawed and ignorant. That I surprised myself many times these past five days. And I feel somewhat lost in my own skin, but better equipped to do something about it.

And I wasn't alone. My school district sent a large and diverse representative group of people, all creating their own unique stories. I believe my district has both a rare opportunity, as well as an unambiguous responsibility, to use the momentum of our courageous conversations together as the genesis of substantive change. By attending this summit, we did not just go through professional development. We lived a shared experience while gaining personal insights. I believe we established some level of self-actualization as a district, defining the foundational theme that should and must steer our district’s every conversation. All other dialogue benefits and extends from this one. ALL.

My take-aways as a first time attendee:

• Learning about yourself is the only way to grow.
• I contribute to the structure of the status quo.
• I will model positive change by continuing to learn how to participate in courageous conversations.
• This responsibility begins with me. I need not wait for "directions."
• As I reflect on the experiences of the past five days, I will be gentle with myself.

Anyway, it's a start.