Choose Joy

#ColleagueCorner is an occasional series which reminds us that our greatest resource is each other. Through human connection and shared experience, these stories provide us a glimpse into our colleagues’ world, a world we all share as educators. 

Sarah Whitman is not a miserable cow. In fact, she is so effusively positive that she committed to a one-minute daily dance party, which she posts to her social media accounts, just to remind people that joy is a choice. An amazing middle school ELA teacher and aspiring school leader, I would be lying if I said I didn’t have her in mind when I came up with #ColleagueCorner. Boooooo the moooooooo.


Every year on the first day of school, I direct my students’ attention to a framed sign in the front of my classroom.  The sign contains a single sentence:

Awesome things will happen today if you choose not to be a miserable cow.

I inform my students that this sentence will be our mantra for the year ahead (and then I explain what the heck a mantra is so they stop looking at me like I’m nuts).  I then ask the students to tell me which word in our mantra is the most important.

Typically, a few over-eager students will immediately blurt out words.  

“Miserable!”  

“Today!”  

“Awesome!”  

Sometimes I’ll even get an enthusiastic cry of “things!”

But every year, there is at least one student who takes a few moments to reflect on each word in the sentence before ultimately uttering the one I’ve been waiting for:

Choose.

Because the truth is, cliche as it may sound, our attitude is something we choose every day.  And our students need us to choose well.

I know that my students are watching me even when I’m not officially “teaching,” and that they can learn much by watching me repeatedly choose happiness, choose kindness, and choose integrity.

I know that my attitude in the classroom can directly influence not only my students’ attitudes, but also their achievement.

Most importantly, I know that some of my students rely on me to offer encouragement and positivity that they may not be receiving from the other adults in their lives.  I know that some of my kids don’t go home to happy, peaceful havens, and that for some of them, my joy might be the only joy they see in the course of a regular day. I can’t think of a more compelling case on behalf of optimism.

I try to keep my miserable cow days–and even my miserable cow moments–to a minimum.

But I’m also a human, and sometimes I fail.  Sometimes I fail impressively. Therefore, my students know that I am permitted a maximum of three “miserable cow days” per school year.  I don’t think I’ve ever used all three, but I’ve also never made it through a school year without at least using one. Every teacher, and every student, is different, so while three days is my self-imposed limit, others may need to give themselves a little more, or a little less, leeway.  Know yourself and what you can handle, and try not to judge others if they need a few more miserable cow days than you.

My best advice for those days (and we all have them) is this: if you do decide to take a miserable cow day, or a miserable cow moment, own it.  Take steps to relieve the stress that’s caused it, whether by way of a few mindful breaths, a walk outside, a good cry (my method of choice), or a few intense punches into a pillow.  Do what you need to do, but don’t take it out on students. Don’t give students a reason to mistrust you or doubt your continuing love and care for them. If you fall short in this regard, apologize.  Occasionally, I’ve made a sarcastic remark to a student, or given a detention too hastily, and when it happens, I’m instantly regretful. Instead of just shrugging and moving on, I make a point of apologizing.  My students know that I’m human, and a sincere apology goes a long way.

Multiple times each day, we are all faced with challenging situations, challenging colleagues, and challenging students.  The more we choose to respond to these challenges with joy and love, the easier it becomes to do it again, and the further away we move from the land of the miserable cows.  

Choose to be the “happy cow” your kids so desperately need in their lives, and you will leave a legacy that lasts well beyond the last day of school.

Sarah Whitman (@wonderwhitman) is a sixth grade language arts teacher at Collingswood Middle School.  Prior to becoming a teacher, she worked in the study abroad industry.  Sarah is passionate about teaching her students to communicate well, demonstrate kindness, and “embrace their weird”!  She is also passionate about Jesus, her family, Anne of Green Gables, and finding the world’s best scone.

Having A Catch

Currently not in a leadership program text, in the coursework, or on the exam:

Having a catch with a six-year old little boy who doesn’t know his father will die later that day. The fight is over, and his father lost.

So we had a catch. Just the two of us.

Each tight spiral or miraculous grab was stamped with his smile and expert analysis on how to throw and catch a football.

Sometimes we ran one-man patterns toward the end zone. Sometimes we talked about how oddly a football bounces when we miss it. One time he made a fingertip catch while tiptoeing around the sweatshirt he shed to show me his Eagles jersey.

A couple of times my throws were really awful. I think I was distracted.

A couple of times his throws were way off the mark. I don’t think he was distracted at all. Not yet.

When we finished, he asked to have lunch together. So we did.

Eventually, his mom came to pick him up. He had no idea why.

Remind me again about the importance of lateness policy, homework, and state testing.

I’m all ears.

Little Fish

#formerstudentFriday is an occasional series in which former students and I team up on topics of their choosing. Through their voices and perspectives, we can level up in everything we do

We’ve all taught someone like Emily Grassi. Quietly confident, constantly smiling, and effusively positive, Emily sat in my English IV (H) class ready to graduate when the year began. Like many of my former students, she was prepared, academically and emotionally, for college long before her peers. But first, she had to put up with me for a year. Her post, and her success, are completely unsurprising to those who know her.


I am the cliche of the small town girl in the big city, but how did I get here?

When I was younger, I was eager to leave my small town high school and go away to college. In my second year at West Chester University of Pennsylvania, my friends pushed me to go out for the campus radio station, so once a week I would share two hours of air-time with someone that would ultimately become a very good friend. We were both in the marching band, and had similar tastes in music, so during our show we would play our favorite songs and talk about campus events. It was just fun.

A couple of years later I would hear an advertisement on Radio 104.5 urging college students to apply for an internship with iHeartMedia. I was completely shocked that they actually called me in for an interview, let alone hired me. It did seem logical for me to work with stations like Q102 (WIOQ) and Radio 104.5 (WRFF) though, because I love music and I have always been curious about the industry and media. Every day, that internship felt like one stressful, but fantastic, dream. While there, I was encouraged by my mentors to ask every question I had and to take on every single opportunity with curiosity and excitement.

As my college graduation approached, I applied everywhere, including CBS, NBC, FOX, and Disney. With the internship still fresh, I was not prepared to settle for anything smaller than a major media organization. A couple of months after commencement, FOX News was the first to contact to me, and I jumped on it in fear of no other door opening.

I have been with the company now for a little more than three years, and I have been promoted twice while expanding my network in unexpected ways. Each new position has come with its own challenges, and sometimes the weeks go by so quickly that it doesn’t feel real. With encouragement from my producers, I am fearlessly pursuing big name guests, enhancing my writing skills, and developing audio editing skills. My work with the FOX News Rundown podcast has pushed me to understand both sides of an argument, to continue to ask a lot of questions, to sit back and listen carefully to the other person talking, and to stand strong in my beliefs while keeping an open mind.

Recently, I had saved a quote that was in an autobiography by Alan Alda where he wrote, “not knowing what’s coming next can be a pleasant state, if you trust it.” I wasn’t sure why, but I now understand the reason this stood out to me.

I never expected to end up here. I was never interested in spending time in New York City until my best friend was living there, and I never followed politics or news that wasn’t local or directly affecting me until I started working for FOX News. As opportunities bring new challenges, every question asked and every connection made will open new doors and expose places I never expected. My time in New York City has been an unforeseen step for me, but it has opened my eyes to appreciate the friends that I have made throughout my life. Even though I moved away, I feel closer than ever to those that I consider my “home” friends.

Taking this time to reflect on my experiences, I can honestly say that I have become more confident in myself, in my beliefs, and in the people who mean the most to me. I am actively paying attention to the world outside of my bubble through my work and through my own research. I am no longer afraid to ask questions, or to keep pushing until I tackle each challenge in front of me.

Emily Grassi is a Podcast Coordinator for FOX News Radio in New York City where she works closely with the daily FOX News Rundown podcast (FOXNewsRundown.com). She graduated from West Chester University of Pennsylvania in May of 2015 with a Bachelor of Arts in Communications Studies and a minor in Spanish. She is a graduate of the Audubon Jr./Sr. High School class of 2011. In her free time, she loves to travel, find new music, and be with her friends and family. 

You can follow her on Twitter @emilyrosegrassi. 

Friendsy

It’s funny what the brain hears when it’s really only half listening.

The word, a common one, was frenzy.

But what I heard, and believed to be true, was friendsy.

Like many of you, my morning workouts aren’t complete without my earbuds providing the conduit to a Spotify 90s mix, the new National album, or pre-concert prep for, say, the upcoming Psychedelic Furs/James twinbill. But sometimes I’ll give the melodies a break and listen to whatever must-listen podcast to which I’ve been referred.

My wife, a gifted fundraiser for the Temple Lung Center in Philadelphia, recently discovered that podcasts are a thing, and now she’s obsessed to the point to which our two children’s eyelids aren’t yet closed at bedtime before she has her own earbuds in. As a result, she’s constantly sending podcast suggestions my way; oftentimes, she identifies some intersection of health care and education before making the recommendation.

WorkLife with Adam Grant represents such a cross-section, and only three episodes in, I’m already a better leader because of it. Grant, a wunderkind Wharton professor, writer, and organizational psychologist, expertly examines motivation, creativity, and organizational management in a way that is accessible to plebeians like me.

During an episode in which Grant visits the writers’ room at The Daily Show, he describes the experience with the word “frenzy.”

But for some reason, my brain heard the word “friendsy.” The misnomer didn’t even dawn on me until several seconds later because what we hear in the writers’ room sounds like a large group of friends throwing out jokes for that night’s episode. So I didn’t hear frenzy; rather, I heard friendsy.

So, why? Why did I hear a commonly used noun and mistake it for a colloquial slang term which doubles as a hookup app. Ultimately, the answer is simple: I immediately thought of my former students, staff, and colleagues whom I consider friends.

So much of who I am as a leader is rooted in relationships, and while I can certainly draw a line of demarcation between friendly and friends, I’m not turning down a lunch invitation from two amazing teachers who wanted to welcome me to my new role or a wedding invitation from a student I taught 18 years ago.

I’m not going to pass up the chance to send a hilarious meme to a teacher after she finds a swear word scrawled on the wall outside her classroom.

I’m absolutely going to support a colleague who is about to begin IVF treatments because, as she now knows, that’s how my wife and I were blessed with our daughter.

I can’t explain why my brain misheard such a common word, but I’m thankful that it did because it forced me to reflect on 20+ years of a career that may best be categorized as friendsy.

That Was Me

#ColleagueCorner is an occasional series which reminds us that our greatest resource is each other. Through human connection and shared experience, these stories provide us a glimpse into their world, a world we all share as educators. 

Jenna Bruner is going to be okay. Part catharsis and part advice column, Jenna provides a necessary nudge to new and novice teachers who left undergrad with a trove of theory, but little practice, at the ready. She’s reflective, sarcastic, and fiercely protective of her kids. Aside from a disparate taste in music, we are , in fact, very similar.

To new educators:

So…You just graduated college! Congratulations! You’re bright eyed & bushy-tailed, and you’re super eager to go out into the classroom.

Oh boy! What fun this will be! I get to be around kids all day long! I am so passionate about my field! How hard could it be?”

That was me.

I was in your shoes not too long ago. As I write this, I’m reflecting on my seemingly long and arduous college career that began ten years earlier at a southern New Jersey university. I lived in a small, prison-like dormitory on campus with my best friend. I had 8am classes (the worst!), I had to walk to those classes in the pouring rain, and I ate that awful cafeteria food because I had no means to really cook for myself.

Five and a half years later, I’d graduate with two Bachelor’s Degrees in Elementary Education and Spanish, and a minor in International Studies.

Little did I know in May of 2014, I’d be a lost little puppy in a sea of what my university didn’t really prepare me for: “The Real (Teaching) World.”

So, I say unto you, dear reader, there are many, many things that my classes did not teach me:

How to handle a student who cried on my shoulder every day for a month because her father refused to see her.

How to absorb that a sixth grade girl was molested by her uncle and is just starting to be brave enough to tell her family.

How being myself will get my students to respect me.

How parents really just want the best for their kids and not to panic right away when you get an email from them.

That sometimes having a bad day is okay, and that mental health days are necessary sometimes.

That my best resources at school are the custodians and secretaries and I should always treat them extremely well.

That when the autistic student in my classroom interrupts with outbursts to roll with it.

That I would want to take home every child that has told me how horrible their home lives are and feed them and tell them everything is going to be okay.

That sometimes I just have to do things my way.

So even if you think you know it all right now. You don’t.

And that’s good.

You’ll make it.

Promise.

Jenna Bruner grew up in central New Jersey before starting as a freshman at Rowan University in the fall of 2008. She graduated in May 2014 with Bachelor’s degrees in Elementary Education and Spanish. During her time in undergrad, she got to study abroad in Costa Rica for 5 weeks. Jenna has been teaching Spanish since the fall of 2014, working at 3 different schools with the most recent being Collingswood Middle School. She hopes to spend the rest of her career there.

Winning at No Cost

#formerstudentFriday is an occasional series in which former students and I team up on topics of their choosing. Through their voices and perspectives, we can level up in everything we do

This installment’s writer, whom we’ll call Cassandra, prefers to remain anonymous, and I can’t blame her. In that nebulous place between graduation and finding her forever teaching home, Cassandra is stuck. Dubbed “grasshopper” because we always joked that she would replace me in the classroom someday, Cassandra’s post is all at once sad, cathartic, and hopeful.


When I long term subbed in a kindergarten class, I was used to playing games like red light green light and duck duck goose. Sometimes the kids would stumble and fall, but they always kept playing. One lesson I made sure my students knew is that it is perfectly acceptable to fail sometimes, just as long as they keep trying their best.

Fast forward to my current placement—a high school—where instead of tiptoeing to the finish line, I am tiptoeing around administrative politics and instead of running around to crown the next “goose,” I am just running around in circles. Unfortunately, students are just getting pushed through and are not really expected to do or be anything more.

One Friday, I was told by an administrator that I was “not allowed” to fail any seniors because it is bad for retention rates. Unfortunately for me, the few seniors I have, like the majority of my students, just don’t want to do the work. They know they will receive a 50% whether they do it or not. So the solution I was given is to start curving test scores and give out elementary level work. I have to do what I have to do to get them to pass, I was told. It is all about the numbers, both in percentages and dollars, I heard.

This has been a vicious cycle set in motion long before I set up my cheap Target decor along my walls. When students came to me, they expected that I knew the pass and go drill, and, even more so, viewed me as a nervous, little first year teacher not willing to swim against the tide. They know that the more students graduate, the more money the school receives. Moreover, they know that this can be an opportunity to get an upper hand.

When I began to give out reading homework and quizzes weekly, they failed. When I continued to give out reading homework and quizzes (with a few modifications) on a weekly basis, they still failed. Slowly, they began to realize that I would meet them halfway, but not at the cost of my expectations. When I caught a student cheating and gave him a zero, he lashed out because “[his] answers were right and I can’t mark them wrong.” This inflated sense of entitlement is a direct effect of the system and its bastardization of the idea of winning. To them, success is getting as far as they can by doing as little as possible. And it is only hurting the kids that go into the world thinking doing nothing is winning.  

I refuse to just let them slide, to just continue doing what they have been doing since they started school here. I refuse to be a glorified babysitter. I refuse to not give these students a chance to win the right way.

By allowing this “pass at all costs” policy, we are really failing our kids in the long run. While funding is important and a necessary evil, it is costing my kids the education they deserve. Because education extends beyond the classroom. Kids are going to try and they are going to fail; it is a necessary lesson in growing up. There is winning in failure. There is growth in failure.

But this push to “just get them through” is an adult game of duck duck goose: money gets spent, kids “pass,” more money comes in.

There are no winners.


Just Dance

An excerpt from Increase Mather’s 1684 essay, “An Arrow Against Profane and Promiscuous Dancing Drawn out of the Quiver of the Scriptures.”

Now this [dancing] we affirm to be utterly unlawful, and that it cannot be tollerated in such a place as New-England, without great Sin…The Design of Dancing is only to teach Children good Behaviour and decent Carriage.


I wonder what ol’ Increase and his band of merry Puritans would think of the “Orange Justice.”

When I first started teaching in 1999, part of the sophomore ELA curriculum was devoted to the Puritans, so I taught the above essay along with Jonathan Edwards’s sermon, “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God,” among other totally teen relevant fan favorites.  I used such seminal works to teach discourse, persuasion, and syntax, but I couldn’t pass up the chance to open up discussion about life in the 17th and 18th century. Later in the year, we’d read The Crucible, so starting with the real Puritans to prepare for the fictional ones was necessary, foundational work.

As you can imagine, kids were aghast at the idea that people were against dancing. Though we discussed the Biblical interpretation, the cultural climate, and the fundamental fear of God, students in the 20th century just could not grasp the Puritan way of life.

I mean, to be honest, I still don’t.

But that brings us to 2019: new century, same disdain for dancing.

My elementary school kids love Fortnite, and the ones that don’t, including my 9-year old daughter, love the dances associated with game. So from the aforementioned “Orange Justice” to “The Wiggle” to “The Floss” kids are dancing out loud and it’s driving the adults insane.

But, why?

What is it about children dancing that turns us all into residents of Salem, Massachusetts circa 1692?  

Maybe we see junior versions of ourselves in those little, dancing bodies, and we long for the days when we, too, could just stop what we’re doing and dance. Inhibitions be damned (not our souls).

Maybe we conflate dancing with an overt smack to our orderly, Charlotte Danielson fearing faces.

Maybe we, by nature, aren’t dancers, especially in public, so the prospect of children dancing willy-nilly in our halls and in our rooms evokes a primal envy we didn’t know existed (note: if this describes you, please stop reading and seek help).

Maybe we weren’t allowed to watch Footloose or Grease as a kid, so seeing them play out in real life serves as a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Maybe we work for a 21st century version of Increase Mather and fear being smote on the spot, Dunkin’ coffee in hand, for not putting a stop to the wickedness.

But maybe, just maybe, we should let the kids dance if they want to.

Hell, maybe we should join them.

#JurorWoes

#ColleagueCorner is an occasional series which reminds us that our greatest resource is each other. Through human connection and shared experience, these amazing educators provide us a glimpse into their world, a world we all share as educators. 

Tina Olsen was the first person to convince me that everything would be okay. After news broke that I would be switching roles with her former (outstanding) principal, Tina wasted no time in texting me as the spokeswoman for our school. Her message was concise, clear, and wise beyond her years: This is a hard job. Please let me help you

And help me she has. Every day. That’s why I wasted no time in asking her to be the first #ColleagueCorner contributor and why her story, while so common, serves as a cautionary tale for leaders who may forget how good they have it when they work with people like Tina. 

__________________________________________________________

I saw them.

Those dreaded eight black letters staring back at me: JURY DUTY. Naturally, my first reaction was how could three years have passed so quickly. My next thought was convincing myself that it’s part of my official civic duty to serve. So, I put in for the substitute, and off I went to the Hall of Justice with a bag full of books that were never read.

What in the world does this have to do with education? Well, I’m getting there.

What I anticipated to be a one-day-I’ll-just-read-for-seven-hours sort of juror experience turned into quite the opposite. I was instantly called up and put in a pool to serve on a three-month long case. Immediately, the lyrics, “You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone,” from Joni Mitchell’s “Big Yellow Taxi” popped into my head. How on earth could I leave my students for three months? I panic leaving them for a 30-minute special period let alone 90 consecutive days! The thought of not seeing my kids (yes they become your kids when you spend almost more time with them than their own parents) gave me a panic attack in my seat.

I was never forced to think about teaching coming to an absolute halt, especially one that was completely out of my control, and it was scary. Thoughts flooded my head: Who will replace me? How will my kids react to a new teacher? Will he or she undo all of the progress I made with my kids? How am I going to survive without seeing my colleagues-turned-closest-friends?

Even on the hardest days of teaching there is always something bright that shines through. If chosen, I would not see my kids learning, laughing, smiling, joking, and blossoming into the amazing people they are destined to be. There was NO WAY I could be picked for the trial; I had more impactful things to do in my own classroom.

Luckily, after what seemed like the longest two days of my life, I was officially dismissed from the case. The whole experience really forced me to put my career as an educator into perspective. I did miss my crazy classroom for those two days. I do love teaching, and sometimes I take for granted just how lucky I am to educate, nurture, and learn from my students every day. I breathed a sigh of relief when I walked back into MY classroom, my sanctuary of chaos. Let the learning begin again!

Until the next summons…

Tina Olsen is a first grade teacher in Collingswood, NJ. She is also a K-12 graduate of the Collingswood School District. Following high school, Tina went to Stonehill College in Massachusetts, only to return to the beloved town where her academic journey started! She has her Masters in Special Education and one day hopes to obtain an academic supervisor or principal certification. She is currently studying to obtain her certification as a Group Fitness Instructor. Tina loves to bake, work out, and travel with her husband Ray.

When The Pen Isn’t Mightier

#formerstudentFriday is an occasional series in which former students and I team up on topics of their choosing. Through their voices and perspectives, we can level up in everything we do

Kyle Phillippi is a far better writer than I’ll ever be. He’s also the stepbrother of my best friend, who was the best man in my wedding, and a former student to whom I aspired while his writing career was taking off. Still, like so many #formerstudentFriday posts, his path was all at once direct and winding, with a destination that is still unclear.


You know that cliche movie scene where the main character boards a train or a bus, grabs a window seat on an otherwise empty cabin and enters a deep, contemplating stare out into the distance? Oh, and it begins to rain while an overused song by The Fray plays over the background, don’t forget that part

That moment – sans ‘How to Save a Life’- was reality for me as I boarded a NJ Transit train in New York City at 1:30 a.m.

I had just finished my shift at the Major League Baseball media offices in Chelsea Market when I realized how close to the needle I was cutting it… I had approximately 15 minutes to travel about 15 blocks and catch the final train of the night to The Garden State.

Naturally, I flung my backpack over my shoulder, hustled down four flights of stairs and – seeing no taxi at initial glance – put my head down and entered a sprint.

Fast forward 15 minutes, I was the last passenger to board as the doors closed behind me. I found a quiet spot fittingly by a window, drenched in perspiration, and that’s where the aforementioned ‘a-ha’ ‘moment came about as a light drizzle lathered the sides of the train.

What was that moment?

It was time for me to change careers – to put aside my goal of becoming a national sports reporter – and to take my first step into adulthood.

From a young age, I knew what I wanted and knew what I enjoyed. That was writing for me, and specifically sports writing. I found success fairly early, mostly because I kicked down the door on any and all opportunities that I came across. I found my byline appearing everywhere from The Press of AC to Sports Illustrated from covering events like the Winter Classic to Philadelphia Eagles training camp.

Failure never was an option for me. Yet, a brief conversation with a professor of mine at Rowan University opened my eyes to something when she asked, “What’s your back-up plan?”

I stared blankly… navigating through my thoughts trying to grasp at something, only to come to a realization that I never had a back-up plan.

Like I said previously, I never considered failure. I’m not someone who prepares for the worst, I prefer taking things in strides. I told my professor just that, “I’ll cross that bridge if it ever comes up.”

Well — surprise — it did come up. Despite being featured in major newspapers and media outlets, none of them offered full-time status which meant no salary, no benefits, and no way of truly beginning my adulthood.

That was my bridge and I had two options: continue trudging through the up-and-down nature of a freelance journalist or veer of the road and find a new path.

I chose the latter, entering the business world, and now having been in it for over a year and a half, I can proudly say I made the right decision.

Don’t get me wrong, there still are moments where I wish I was still perched somewhere in a press box overlooking a Flyers-Penguins game or standing behind the net taking in the Phillies batting practice. I’ll always feel like I was born to be a writer, but sometimes — I’ve learned — there can be a second avenue.

I always wonder that had it not been for that conversation with my advisor as a freshman, would I have ever truly considered a back-up plan? It was in that moment in which the wheels spun ever so slightly on what life after journalism would be for me. While that previous career went on for a good five years after that encounter, I owe a lot of where I’m at today to that moment.

No matter where you’re at currently, things can change in a hurry. Whether it’s internally or from forces you can’t control, change is inevitable. How often do you ever hear of someone sticking with their first job out of college for life?


Never.

Writing is my passion — always will be — but I learned that sometimes a passion doesn’t always lead to a career, and that the best path of travel can sometimes be your back-up plan.

Kyle Phillippi has a BA in journalism from Rowan University. Prior to switching careers, he currently works as a Territory Manager at Swisher International, Kyle saw his byline across numerous publications. His sports writing path saw him make stops at Sports Illustrated, NBC Sports, Major League Baseball, The Philadelphia Inquirer and various newspapers across New Jersey, including The Star-Ledger and NJ.com

Skipping Along

It’s been a while since there’s been a new discovery.

In those early days, they come in waves: recognizing parents’ faces, playing with the dog’s tail, babbling full of gobbledygook. But, eventually, discoveries begin to spread themselves out, like points on a scatter plot.

So when my five-year old son began to skip as his preferred means of travel while on a weekend trip to Baltimore, I took notice. To that point, he hadn’t skipped once and hadn’t shown any interest in learning, but somewhere between the beginning of kindergarten and the winter holidays, he learned. And to his credit, there was no fanfare, no showing off, no all-too-typical, “Daddy, watch this!”

Dude just discovered he could skip and started skipping.

One of the truly magical parts of being in education is the two-way mirror through which we get to observe discovery. Though more prevalent in elementary school, our kids are perpetually discovering. For little ones, like my son, they discover a new skill, a new way to add, a new way to start a sentence, and a new way to communicate daily. For the older ones, discovery is both academic and personal. They’ll discover a love for music, an interest in the same sex, an eventual college major.

And we get to witness it all. It’s an immense responsibility, indeed. Because we are so often  privy to our students’ discoveries before their parents are, we need to celebrate with our kids. In fact, in too many cases, our kids have no one with whom to celebrate discovery, so it becomes paramount that we do.

Observe mindfully as a little one correctly spells a sight word. Then spell it with her.

Listen intently for the I did it in your classroom. Then celebrate it.

Watch closely for the wry smile during a moment of intense concentration. Then acknowledge it.

Accept graciously the Can I talk to you request. Then protect it.

Discovery happens more frequently and more rapidly than we can keep up with. It comes in small moments and on grand scales. It awakens in isolation, and it manifests over time. It invites an audience, and it prefers solemnity. It charts a path, and it provides a signpost for growth.

When was the last time you discovered?