Greetings, fellow educators. As I reflect on a storied and rewarding 40-year career, I feel unfinished. That is, I don’t feel ‘done’ as an educator or leader. I have stories to tell that, if I do a decent enough job, may help others who are at a certain point in their career when what I have to say will resonate. If I really ‘bring it’, the stories will be a combination of poignant, informative, and comical.
For the college student considering education whose parents are saying things like “Why would you want to do that?”, “Why don’t you make some real money so you can take care of yourself?” I offer a non-monetary perspective on the career. For the novice educator, I always advised, “If you aren’t overwhelmed in March, you aren’t doing it right.”. For the more veteran teacher who is tired of the slog, I offer an opportunity to get in touch with your roots in a whimsical ‘what comes around goes around’ manner. As the accomplished educator who embarks on leadership roles, I offer cautionary tales and lessons learned (the hard way). For those who take on the lonely and complex role of special education administrator, I provide opportunities to look beyond the checklist or state compliance obligations and see, really see educators, families, and students. Finally for the ‘fake retiree’ (the new name I gave myself), I offer the freedom sit on a beach and read a book or remodel your bathroom, the courage to get back into the classroom to build relationships with and coach newly minted or even jaded teachers and the the forethought to listen to your spirit and do what is right for you.
Each stage of my career brought excitement, enlightenment, and some heartache. My mother used to say that if there isn’t a little emotion in education, you aren’t trying hard enough. My mother … my inspiration to become an educator. She was an accomplished kindergarten teacher who, after seeing her herculean efforts with hordes of five-year-olds, inspired me to teach middle school. When there were too many of us at home for her to justify continuing to teach school during the day, she tutored in the evenings when my father returned home from work. I remember her hair tied up in a kerchief and a bag of books and puzzles in tow, driving our single-family car up the street after feeding all of us to meet a family and tutor their child, and thinking she was terrific.
As a new teacher, I didn’t know what I didn’t know. I was young and inexperienced in education and life. I was the oldest child and only girl, which translated to overprotected and sheltered. My first cringy moment was the spring of my first year, when I was sitting with a family to discuss the assessment result for their son. I was so proud to rattle off all of the numeric information – raw scores, age-equivalents, percentile rankings, etc. and actually know what they meant. You know the drill … so many cold numbers to refer to a family’s child, a child with needs beyond what they anticipated. The mom of this chronological 18-year-old young man turned to me and, with a tinge of sadness as well as annoyance, looked me square in the eye and said, “Beth, I know that my 18-year-old functions as a two-year-old. He’s done that since he was two. I don’t need to hear those numbers each year.” Well, that was nearly forty years ago, and I still feel the sting of embarrassment on my face when I have the memory. It was my first family engagement lesson learned.
Looking back on my career, I am abundantly aware of all the mistakes I made. With the help of sage advice and warm demanders for mentors, I learned to use those experiences to shape my practice positively. I also remember some of the great advice I received. My first special education team leader job was under an accomplished and veteran special education administrator – often referred to (behind her back) as ‘salty’. I like salty. She helped me so much! She told me never to leave a parent’s side during the IEP process – literally and figuratively. Basic stuff that we rarely do under the guise of ‘being too busy’, like call them the day ahead to make contact, meet them at the door, sit next to them at the table, protect them from the overwhelmingly scary feeling of walking into a room with school staff talking amongst themselves and turning to look when they walk in, and walk them out offering to be available if they have lingering questions once they begin thinking about the experience.
My father, a military man, taught me the importance of having a vision of expected outcomes and a carefully designed plan with just enough ‘structured flexibility’ to manage the unexpected. Who knew his leadership style embodies Universal Design for Learning before it was a researched foundation for learning. My favorite part of being an educational leader is still the rush of seeing a vision realized. The source of that rush helped me to name the core values instilled in me by my family and the opportunities I’ve had to cultivate them. The rush I felt when I would see a student was able to do something on their own for the first time is the same rush as when a novice educator would feel accomplishment in their practice and knowing I may have contributed in a small way to that experience.
As a ‘fake retiree’, I joined the ranks of educational consultants and still enjoy that role today. It is humbling and requires that we lean into our relationship building and body language reading skills. Coaching leaders is a dance of listening for words and meaning – to try and help them discover the underlying needs in their school so that I can be as effective as possible in the shortest amount of time necessary – time is money, and no schools have bunches of it. Coaching educators can be a welcoming and energizing experience, or a tooth-pulling event. It all depends on the circumstances. As with students, educators do better with agency. I like to start with a ‘get to know you’ conversation where we learn about strengths and growing edges, then collaborate to set goals for our time together.
This is my path, it is nobody else’s. I always said that I wanted to write a book – or a four-act play if there is such a thing. An act for each decade of service. All of a sudden, it feels like such a big jump, so let’s start with a blog. I also find my attention span just isn’t as robust as it used to be. Could I be a victim of the technology age like we assume our students are? Do I have a touch of ADHD? Or am I just not that interesting? Any or all could be true. Maybe I don’t really want to know. Perhaps someday, my vision of a storyboard will take shape, and I will publish something worth reading.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this blog post. Feel free to experience it as a podcast while you are hurtling down the highway, hopefully to or from work that is fulfilling for you.
More to come … until next time.
Yours in service to education, ESF