One Chapter Ends, Another Begins

I spent most of the day on Friday packing, sorting through the professional detritus of my career -- books and articles, keepsakes and photographs that have some connection to my working or family/personal life.  Occasionally a colleague stopped by to chat and wish me well.

There was the usual bittersweetness of a Last Day -- the "bitter" manifesting itself as an emotional tug in the gut and throat, suggesting that under the right conditions I could shed a tear for Education Service Center Region 13 and the people there I'll be leaving behind.

And it has been a good run, I must say.  As I stated in the now perfunctory "all-staff" farewell email, my co-workers have been nothing but kind and helpful during my 21 months there.  The place has a great reputation for customer service, due to the people they hire.  I'm proud to have been one of them and grateful for all that I learned.  Now it's time to put the learning to good use in a school.  And who knows?  Maybe I'll work at Region 13 again one day . . .

Where I Work: Taking Great Pride in "Cubicle World"

I returned to Cubicle World yesterday, after yet another three-day absence. This time it was due to two off-site training days and a day off, instead of the monthly flight to Dallas. In fact, during the summer months my travel diminishes, as one might expect, and I spend more time in Cubicle World -- one of the sadder realities of working in the service of schools (as opposed to in the schools themselves).

Don't get me wrong: I love where I work. The Education Service Center at Region 13 is, I believe, considered the flagship of the twenty regional service centers across the state. Because it sits so close to the seat of government, and houses a number of statewide initiatives, ESC 13 needs to be a cut above the rest, which we are.

The first thing one notices about our building is its physical surroundings. Nestled in the rolling hills of northeast Austin, the Service Center commands an imperial post, like a modern bastion, quite literally, of stalwart dedication to improving the educational lives of the young people of our state.

There’s a great deal of institutional pride in our organization and it hits all levels. The maintenance staff keeps the place spotless. The cafeteria and catering services are top-notch. Our Executive Director, Dr. Terry Smith, takes every opportunity to impress upon us the importance of customer service, often sharing positive words that have been passed on to him by a satisfied client.

In the local education world of Central Texas, there’s a certain amount of “cache” one holds in being able to say they work at Region 13. There’s a sense of having arrived at a good place, both figuratively and literally. I’m personally proud of being associated with the organization. It tells me I’ve been paying attention over the course of my career, and that what I’ve learned is being put to good, helpful use.

The cubicle thing, in and of itself, is not ideal, obviously. It’s nice to have a place to hang my proverbial hat in between my monthly flights to Big D. I don’t do well with the Open Concept, however, and as much as I enjoy and understand the emphasis on having access to my colleagues, I’m an easily distracted individual. I wouldn’t say I eavesdrop exactly (although being a writer does have my ears in a constant state of surveillance for an original line), but I do overhear every phone conversation and cross-cubicle chat in my immediate vicinity.

For this reason I do best sitting at my computer, my “iBuds” in my ears, plugged into my iTunes or iPod, minding my own iBusiness, and working my way down my To-Do list as best I can.

Occasionally, when the Fanny Fatigue sets in, I walk over to the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows and look out over the impressive vista. I can, literally, almost see my home from there (nod to Sarah Palin), and watch for a moment as the hawks and buzzards circle below me, and above the impressive stand of trees that stretch for acres. I’m not quite certain how I landed here, or how long it will last, but I smile and take a breath of appreciation, before getting back to the task at hand.

The Loneliness of the Staff Developer

It's been a great conference. The walls are covered with inspired ideas and plans with which to carry them out. We have thought with the end in mind. We have stormed and normed and begun to form. My participants have shared their work with each other and talked about what they'll do next. I thank them, and then ask if they have any final thoughts, questions or comments. They say no, and thank me back, perhaps with a smattering of polite applause thrown in there, and begin to mingle their way to the door.

Then comes that inevitable moment when you're standing there, smiling, and you realize that your subjects are done with you. Done. Already they have started moving on with their lives. They begin making calls and texting. Slowly, you move away from them, back into your staff development space, and you look at the detritus of your profession -- post-it notes, markers of every color and fruity scent, chart paper, laptops connected to LCD projectors, and jump drives you're starting to get confused. Your "Thank You" or "Venture Forth" slide blinks brightly at you, and only you, like an insincere actor's smile. Suddenly, in the silent, empty room, it seems sadly comical, so you turn it off and listen to the sound of the projector cooling down. You begin to critique yourself: Was I too directive? Did I encourage enough participation? Why don't I know everyone's name yet? It's not that big of a group.

When I deliver staff development, I always try to remember what worked for me as a participant: Don't talk at me the whole time. Ask me my opinion. I have things to say, and so do all these other interesting people in the room, who are struggling with all the same things as me. Ask their opinions. Get us talking to each other. My sense is that I've done this for the group these past two days.

Nowadays, when I go to conferences or trainings as a participant, I always make it a point to go up to the presenter at the end and thank them, during that weird time when we make that switch to our real lives and exit the bubble of "what-could-be," because I know what an odd and lonely feeling they have at that moment.

I'm not saying it isn't sometimes a relief to be done; it often is. Sometimes very much so. However, there's this odd shift that occurs, when the stuff you've been discussing for the past however long goes from being the center of the group's universe to being relegated to the stockpile of "things-outside-the-day-to-day" I don't like being in that realm. It's something like living in limbo for me.

Today, as everything winds to a close, and I gather up my materials, a young lady from a school near Houston makes it a point to poke her head in the door, before checking out of the hotel and heading home.

"Listen, Dan, I just wanted to make sure to find you to thank you for a great conference," she smiles, waves and is gone.

"Thank you," I say after her, and wonder if I've made a difference in the life of that young teacher and, consequently, in the lives of her students.

Of course, I have to believe I have. I let her thanks echo in my head as I shake off that strange loneliness and gather up my things, before finding my fellow staff developers and asking that age-old question that educators have been asking since the Dawn of Time: "Who's buying?"

Our Children Are Watching Us: Modeling Partnership for Kids

The following is the transcript of a speech I began writing, in case I was called upon to open up our 2-day conference that starts tomorrow for the 48 schools we serve on the Investment Capital Fund (ICF) grant. Community Action Teams of 5 people from each school -- principal, teacher, parent, business leader, and non-profit partner -- will be coming together to brainstorm and work on their Action Plans. Thankfully, we found a wonderful keynote, Dr. Willie Kimmons, so I never finished the speech. I thought I'd go ahead and post this anyway, since I'm sure many of you share the sentiment:

One of the most exciting aspects of this work for me is the possibilities it presents us to MODEL COOPERATIVE LEARNING for our kids. When children see, or are aware of, a group that looks like yours – when a kid sees their parent, who is sitting next to their teacher, who is sitting next to their principal, who is sitting next to their pastor – all with that young man or woman’s personal success as their common goal, that image has power in their minds. And this empowers us, when we put that child into a group to work on a project, or a problem, or a science lab, and we tell them, “Use the minds you have around this table to really struggle with this. Bat it around. Turn it over. Take it apart and put it back together. AS A GROUP.” Not only will they hear in your voice the fact that you yourself are engaged in a similar process, but you, as the adult in this situation will have a newfound sympathy, as you realize that what this child is telling you is true: “Working in groups is HARD!”

It is sometimes hard, but it is also immensely satisfying. Nothing goes farther to bring about a desired change than good, trusting, courageous partnership. It’s true in all aspects of life – from the classroom to the athletic arena, to families and marriages. I’ve been lucky enough to have played all of the roles that each of you now find yourself playing – teacher, principal, parent, community-based representative, and I’ve seen the work pay great dividends in the lives of young people who now call themselves my “friends.” (on Facebook, at least.) They tell me story after story about how grateful they are for the help and caring I, along with my partners, provided for them at a time in their life that they now realize they may not have survived otherwise.

Among the most classic "conversation-enders" in public education is “It’s not about you, it’s ABOUT THE KIDS.” But I’m going to amend that: “It’s not about you, it’s about you AND THE KIDS.” Don’t forget that they’re the other partner in this work. What you do matters to them. They may not say it now, but they will. That’s why I’d ask you to continue to keep a particular child in mind as you do this work, and ask yourself how all this partnership might serve to change the life of that one person.

On behalf of the ICF team at TEA and Region XIII, we hope you enjoy your time here with us.

Thank you.