This is a story about change. It’s a
story about new journeys, and about goodbyes. It’s not a sad story at all, but it’s
not an easy one, either.
In a matter of a few weeks this
spring, I learned a few things: One, that a student of mine had been named high
school journalist of the year for the state of New Jersey; two, that I’d been
given a distinguished teaching award from my school; three, that I’d been hired
as the newest assistant principal in my school; and, lastly, that this new job
would preclude me from continuing to serve as the adviser of our school’s
newspaper.
It was a lot for one spring, and it
definitely kept me on my toes. I joined my award-winning student and her
parents in late April at the New Jersey Press Foundation’s spring banquet, and
watched as journalists from across the state applauded her
ambitious reporting on teen e-cigarette smoking. She had covered this topic
so well that a reporter quoted her and her article in a New
York Times story. In the days
that followed, I shared the news of her success with anyone who would listen,
and there were a lot of people excited to hear about it.
As April leaned into May, I found
myself moving through the detailed interview process for our school’s open
assistant principal position. Just as that position was offered to me, then
approved by the Board of Education, I also learned of the teaching award. It
might have seemed strange to some that a “distinguished teacher” was leaving
classroom teaching. For me, though, the goal was clear: To see if some of the
cool stuff that goes on in my classroom can be passed along on a school-wide
level. I can only learn if this is possible by trying it out, and this seemed
like the ideal time to give it a try. So I did.
Once I became an
administrator-in-waiting, it was also time to find a replacement for me as
newspaper adviser, due to the justified concerns over an administrator having
any prior review over an uncensored, student-run newspaper. My students were
crushed to learn that I wouldn’t be their adviser, but students and staff have
worked through this together, through communication, determination and
aggressive hiring. I’ve spent hours making sure all the pieces of our
journalism program are detailed on paper, and will continue communicating the
nuts and bolts of our program to those replacing me throughout the weeks and months
ahead.
While I will continue interacting
with students every day, I’ve willingly taken on a position that removes me
from classroom teaching. Earlier in my career, I vowed that as long as I
remained in education, I would never leave the classroom. Now, as I prepare for
my 20th year as an educator, I am willing to broaden my definition
of “the classroom” to include the school as a whole. It feels bittersweet right
now, of course, but that’s because goodbyes can be hard.
When I left reporting for teaching in
the summer of 1999, I moved to a different state, and worked in an entirely different
venue. I missed reporting, but I was surrounded by all the stimuli of
education. Now, as I embark on another career switch, I will not be moving far.
In fact, I’ll walk past my classroom every day and will see all that I left
behind. It will be like looking out the classroom door back in 1999 and seeing
the newsroom across the hall. Change is tough, but it’s even tougher when the
pieces of your goodbye remain in your line of sight. Of course, that classroom –
and the newsroom that preceded it – will also serve to remind me of what I’m
aspiring to do, and why my experience as a reporter and teacher might just translate
into an effective school administrator.
June is a bittersweet month for
students; they draw the logos of their colleges on graduation caps, then toss
those caps in the air with glee – only to retrieve the caps in tears, hugging
those friends to whom they must now say goodbye. I usually stand on the
periphery of that scene every June, retrieving a few stray beach balls and
packing my things for the summer. This year, though, I’m right in the midst of
the bittersweet. I’m ready for what’s next.
After our seniors tossed their caps
in the air this past Friday at the football stadium down the street from our
school, I wasn’t sure what to do. I found some car keys that a student had left
behind, and held onto those until a teacher said he could bring them to the
kid. I helped the custodians fold some chairs. I smiled for some student
photos, and even took a snapshot of a family. As I prepared to leave, a student
with whom I’d worked throughout the past four years ran over to me. He’d been
the president of our school’s Community Service Club, and I’ve been that club’s
adviser for a dozen years. This young man has grown into the type of leader who
can change the world, and I can’t tell you how proud I am of him. In some small
way, I’ve tried to help nurture his leadership and compassion for the past four
years. Wishing him the best was bittersweet, but also a reminder of the reason
I’m making this transition: To try and make more of those connections, in as
many ways as I can.
Educating children is a leap of
faith: You don’t necessarily get to see the end results of the impact you’re trying
to make on students’ lives. They may not recognize it, and certainly may not
run across a field to give you a goodbye hug. But you do the work anyway, modeling
the kind of thinking, caring, leading and inquiring that you hope they’ll take
with them into this crazy world. Sometimes we get a bonus, and some students
tell us we made a difference in their lives. But we don’t ask for that. We just
ask for the opportunity to step into the school and do our best.
After departing the graduation, I walked
back to the school and stepped into the classroom that is no longer mine. I
packed up some boxes and brought them to my car. In one hand, I carried a small
bag with a few gifts and cards from students. I would read the cards when I got
home, and the tears would be there. But for now, I was just clocking out on my
19th year of teaching, ready for
another chance to make a difference
in September.
