My Teaching Friends, This is YOUR Moment...

...and it's about damn time, too. :)

We finally (and unfortunately) know what it might take for the world to get a tiny glimpse into the selflessness, endurance, empathy, and compassion necessary to live the life of a teacher.

A pandemic.

The last few weeks have been intense, with a plethora of uncontrollable circumstances surfacing quickly. There have been a great many mysterious meetings held in governmental "offices." Many follow-ups in superintendency-led Zooms. All with the hopes that some familiar problem-solving strategy would help guide the way in determining what the next couple weeks (and months) ought to look like. Based on the resulting swirling questions, ever-changing decrees, constant uncertainties, and increasing variables, clearly we are experiencing a first. And routine problem-solving was quickly exhausted.

And yet there's something about this horrible health crisis that I believe has the potential to profoundly and positively change the way U.S. society views our profession. Just as health care professionals literally hold our lives in their hands, teachers are now being called upon to hold the hearts and minds of our youth in theirs, in a collective manner like never before.

This, my dearest colleagues, is a moment in history where teachers will no longer remain as an invisible backdrop to society's emotional infrastructure.

The things that you do every single day—instinctually, selflessly, consistently—will no longer remain in the shadows. How you compassionately and skillfully hold the well-being of 140 individuals in your head and heart every day, five days a week, will now be seen and felt by the masses. Unlike any other time in history...

...because you are bridging school with home, teacher with family, learning with life.

During this remote learning experience, you may be in a purposeful or serendipitous moment: you may meet other family members, perhaps grandparents, aunties, baby siblings, even pets; you may eat a meal with your students, because that's the only time you or they have to eat; you may get to see your student as a daughter or son, as a sister or brother, in a responsible role. (That's a very different identity than what you typically get to interact with at school, no matter how well you get to know your students.) First year teacher? Thirtieth year veteran? Doesn't matter. This is the Apollo 13 version of fixing the LM's carbon dioxide filter: no textbook or simulation has prepared us for this.

In the midst of a health crisis, teachers are entering homes to carry families through it.

And this will be tough. Joy and Pain will live side by side for a long while. And we aren't being asked to move gently into a new way of being to meet this new "normal." And neither are our students or their families. We've been catapulted there. Inequities will become in-your-face apparent. Survival needs, health problems and job losses will be part of our daily conversations. (Perhaps this might explain some of the discombobulation we already feel.)


This provides us with an opportunity to balance these tough moments with Affirmation. Compassion. Innovation. Joy.


So in the midst of all this, I urge you—I beg of you—to play. PLAY! Push your practice to a new dimension. You may never have this opportunity again. To literally launch a new way for schools to function, rooted in the teachers' and students' lived experiences. What will you do with this chance? What will you learn? What does your class look like, feel like, sound like, when no one is there giving you traditional boundaries, requiring content objectives? When students' lives dictate the direction of the educational experiences, what's the curricular result?

How will students remember this moment in time with you? Because THIS IS one of those moments in their lives that they'll remember. For life. YOU ARE THAT teacher.

And as I stated, I think the teaching profession will be looked at differently from now on. Our communities might gain a deeper understanding of why teaching has been described as one of the noblest of professions. I share this not as pressure. It's something I've always believed. I always will. And now, others will get to see it, too. And they'll picture your face behind this newfound understanding.

Please know that I'm here to support you on this journey! I'm looking forward to intentionally and awkwardly walking through it with you. And helping to provide healing spaces for us to be together. Because we'll need that, too. Thank you in advance for all you do. It's an honor to be a part of this collective.

No matter how we've connected in the past—any content, any level, any continent—happy to brainstorm interactions you're developing with and for your students.

And above all, #StayHome, #StayConnected, #StayHealthy

Rush University Med School Awards Ceremony

(They told me 90 seconds. Yikes!)

Good evening everyone. It is my distinct pleasure to be here to award the Daniel Welsh MD Memorial Scholarship. Quickly, I’d like to share a bit about the man behind the award’s name. Dan and I grew up together; we went to grade school, high school, and college together. Dan possessed an effortless charm and indomitable spirit. Energy permeated the room when he walked through the door. You could feel it. You see, Dan lived every moment with incomparable intensity and integrity. Whatever experience life was offering him, he jumped in full throttle. In fact, he was quite exhausting to be around! Pleasantly exhausting, but exhausting nonetheless. And it was this passion for life that drove Dan to become the best doctor he could be. To have his very purpose be rooted in authentic personal relationships and to take care of those around him. That may sound cliché, but I have stories to support it (as does Mrs. Welsh who is here tonight) and never tire of telling them. Just ask my daughters and students.

I’ve had the privilege to read through today’s award recipient’s application. It is so heartwarming for me to see such similarities in his words and Dan’s legacy. “Beyond the sophisticated craft and intellectual stimulation, the most meaningful aspects of General Surgery are the patients I have had the privilege to serve...I have tried to be a source of support to our patients...and to make their hospitalization as comfortable as possible.”

To this year’s recipient, when you look at this plaque, may it help fuel you with “Dan-like energy” and may it consistently remind you of your own passions to “provide meaningful and definitive care to patients” and “to work with compassion and empathy every day.”

On behalf of the Welsh family, my sincerest congratulations to Dr. Raghav Chandra.


Dr. Daniel Welsh

"Hey All You White People..." Women's March St. Louis 2018

Last January, I trekked to DC on a bus with one of my daughters and with 100+ other women from my community. We all bonded. We shared stories of #Laughter and #Love and #Truths and #MeToo and so much more. And I learned so much. I posted. My daughter posted. And we all vowed to stand in solidarity. To do our part. Because #Times Up. #NoMore.

This year, I marched in St. Louis. And I learned so much more. In listening to some extraordinary women of color speak and perform, to hear them share their truth, I was moved and awed and touched. Not only are they in it, I was reminded just how deeply they've BEEN IN IT. For a very long time.

And then a white woman took the stage. Reverend Ranita Lamkin. A preacher from Cape Girardeau's St. James African Methodist Episcopal Church. 

And she let us white people have it. Appropriately so.

"I'm gonna talk to the white people for a minute, if that's okay." She paused. And then she let out a penetrating laugh. It was part witch, part hyena, and part big sister. You know, the big sister that you simply can't lie to? Hide from? She's gonna use it as leverage. And you never win. That kind of laugh. (Of course this is not a transcript, but it's close.)

"Hey all you white people taking selfies with Black people just so you can post it on Facebook to show you were a part of something. You're not allowed to do that. You can't do that! That's not right. Shame on you. Stop it."

"Hey all you white people. Going to church and hoping and marching and praying? Thhpptpt" She let out raspberry sounds. A few times. "That ain't enough! Prayin' ain't gonna change policy. Open doors. Prevent injury. Provide food, clothing, shelter, health care. Prayin' ain't enough."

"Hey all you white people. I know. There are laws. And you like to follow the rules. But when the rules are wrong, when people are struggling, when people are dying, you can't keep wondering about when the rules are gonna change. CHANGE THEM! Stop following the rules and push back on the rules. Make things right."

"Hey all you white people. If you're not out here when the confrontations surface, when the tear gas erupts...if you're not out here to protest police brutality arm in arm with all your brothers and sisters, to feel the pain of mace in your face as you protect our youth, then your presence here today is vanity." And she smiled at the women of color, the other speakers, sitting around her. And looked back at us, as if to say, "These women have been doing this for a very long time. For generations. Where have you been? What are you doing? Besides marching?"

"Hey all you white people, if this march is all you're doing, that's being a sloppy human being. Use your position, your skin color, your privilege to make things right. Stop being a sloppy human being."

The overall message of the morning was positive. We are better together. We are effective united. We must #speakourtruth. And we women must also adopt an unapologetic attitude. #NoMore.

This moment spoke to me. My honest reflection on what I've done with my time during the past year is ongoing. As for the upcoming months, my presence will be more than last year's and deeper than the intellectual space I find comfortable. 

March. Act. Vote. #WomensMarch2018

PS It wasn't lost on me that the one year anniversary of the first march also corresponded to a government shut down. And who the greatest victims of that shutdown will be. We have MUCH work to do.

Great American Eclipse, 2017...

...What's My Take?

Here's what I'm sharing with my department. Wanted to share with you, too. Would love to hear about your experience, as well.

I must admit, I was way more excited than I thought I'd be. Being outside the band of totality, I was surprisingly moved. When I finally let go of all the anticipation and allowed myself to absorb the experience, I couldn't help but dance and stare and hug and sing...and wonder...

After a while, serenity set in and my amazement amplified. A calculated shadow gently blanketed our country, one location at a time, carefree and careless of the ongoings of our sometimes empathetic and sometimes shameful behavior, highlighting the magnificence and beauty of the universe. And I was part of it. I was in that shadow. There's a reason why this celestial event is referenced repeatedly over the centuries in history, in science, in literature, in the arts. I believe insightful authors and artists knew that future generations would experience the same event, but with new context. There's faith, even desperation in that wisdom. What do you hope will be cradled in the next eclipse's shadow? And how will you contribute to that vision?

In a way, this is what we've chosen to do for a living. We hope that our students will be able to navigate their life experiences with a deeper understanding of their surroundings. And of themselves. And contribute to their world in a way that makes it better than the way they found it. We use our classrooms as an opportunity to practice and investigate those possibilities. That may seem far-fetched, exaggerated, but I truly believe each teacher does that, in big and small ways, every day. For that, I'm grateful, and in awe. The Great American Eclipse 2017 is committed to my memory, and hopefully yours. Here's hoping the next shadow captures a greater version of ourselves—individually and societally—than who we modeled this time around.