A few days after our Thanksgiving break during writing workshop I noticed the frustration on the face of one of my seventh grade writers as she stared intently at her computer screen. As I walked over to her, I began to plan what I was going to say to her as we began what I hoped would be a very quick conference.

My list of “Must Check-in With” kids was large and the deadline for the project was looming and this student is one of the strongest writers in my room. I did not think I had the time to sit with her. To be honest, I didn’t even want to sit with her. I just want to say as I walked by her table, “How is going?” followed by a “I am sure you will figure it out, let’s meet later in the week, but I need to check in with Josh right now.” The quick fly-by conference did not happen.

“Hey, how’s it going?” I asked as I was already moving past her table.

“I hate this narrative, there is no plot, it is pointless. It is crap and I don’t know what to do!!”

Stopping immediately, I looked at her, really looked at her, and when I saw the vulnerability of her expression, I knew Josh could wait. Her frustration was way beyond what I expected. She was well past the stage of “productive struggle”, “growth mindset”, “grit”,  “perseverance” or whatever phrase we might use to push kids to the ‘next level.’ This girl probably didn’t need any writing instruction. At this moment she needed someone to listen and someone to remind her that writing, like life isn’t always perfect.

I grabbed a nearby stool and sat down next to her.

“OK, do you want me to look at the part that is frustrating you?”

“It is all frustrating!! I can’t figure out what how to fix it, it is due in three days.”

“Well, I know that sometimes having someone else give you feedback is helpful to me. I often think my writing is bad, but usually somebody else can see the good in it. Can I look for some good?”

“Sure, but there really isn’t any good, my partner (feedback partners are an integral part of our writing workshop) keeps telling me my description is great but, there is no plot. How can fix ‘no plot’ when my short story is already six pages long?”

I let that comment linger for a few seconds. There were many paths I could have taken, but I went with the idea of reading a little bit of the story with her and hopefully finding a way to nudge her off the idea that her writing is awful.

“So, maybe we can’t find a way for you to revise this story, but I think it is worth shot. You have put too much effort into this piece of writing to dismiss it completely. Do you want me to read it over? Would you like me to suggest some things that might help you?

“Sure, I guess.”

Over the next seven to eight minutes I read over about a page and a half of her writing and we talked a great deal about the story. I really did not give her any writing tips, I affirmed her writing skill and shared some of my thinking about why her ‘bad’ writing had a tremendous amount of very strong writing. There were parts to her narrative that were almost lyrical.

At that moment in time, she didn’t need her writing fixed, she needed someone to listen to frustration. She needed someone to appreciate she was frustrated. She needed someone to remind her realize that it is ok to not have a ‘perfect’ product.

The students we work with come from a variety of lives. Their worlds outside of school are vastly different. The kids in my school may have different struggles than the kids in your school. But, they all have some struggle in their story. I also think our kids have many things in common. One thing that I believe they have in common is the need to have someone actually listen to them. Authentically and empathetically listen to them. We all need someone to be willing to see us for who we are and to accept that what we have to offer is enough.

There are times in our classrooms that we are pushing so hard because we have so many things to accomplish in such little time. I get wrapped up in this as well, but I work hard to create time and space to just listen to my students when they need someone to just be there for them.

The other day I tweeted about StoryCorps and how easy it is to capture relatives’ stories during the holidays. I still have the recording of my grandfather saved, where he recounts growing up in Fowlerville, Michigan, as an orphan.

And remembering this, made me remember the time that one of my Creative Writing classes was at war. Some students would frequently volunteer to share their writing after Sacred Writing Time, and a small faction of students began expressing their frustration at repeated topics. No matter how many times I assured that them it is okay to “write what we know,” the same small group of students would still mumble and disengage, subtracting from the safe environment that I had hoped to create. I knew that I had to repair the sense of community before we could move on, before we could share our StoryCorps recordings from the holiday season. If not, no student would be willing to take the risk necessary to put their families, their histories, their cultures and traditions on display.

I can’t remember what was said that day, but I remember the tears and shouting from students. Had I been observed, I am sure that from the outside my classroom management skills would have been considered incredibly weak. The classroom had reached a point so divided that I knew that what I had planned would never come to fruition if we did not address our sense of community.

So I stopped. The writing for that day? Moved. The mini lesson I had planned? Postponed. We needed to get to know each other even more. We needed to understand our similarities and our differences. We needed to focus on interacting as people before we could fully interact as writers.

So I used a tool that was shared with me by the Michigan Roundtable for Diversity and Inclusion. This “Cultural Sharing Sheet” became the foundation of our next few days, including an exploration of “Life’s Lessons,” the verbal and non-verbal lessons that were imparted to us about nationalities, genders, races, socio-economic status, and education levels.

It was awkwardly slow at first. I had to begin by sharing the messages that were shared with me growing up: Hard work is the solution for everything. You will go to college and be the first person in our family to graduate from a university. No one is better than anyone else.

As we went around the group, first sharing safer categories and then others not so safe, students began to see each other in a different light. While we are not inherently the beliefs that raised us, we are influenced by them. Sometimes we want to embrace them, and other times we need to actively work to distance ourselves from them.

I wish I could say that everyone got along from then on out, but that would be a lie. The tension dissipated, sure. There were still disagreements and misunderstandings. But when they did happen, everyone was a lot more willing to pause and think, recognizing that we aren’t necessarily the beliefs and actions of our families, but we are definitely shaped by them.

One of the things that I am still adjusting to as a new assistant principal is managing my time and being able to build positive relationships with students. When I first assumed my position, I had big plans of regularly scheduled blocks of time to meet with students, especially the ones that I had grown quite close to over the years. And then I quickly realized that there are days that I have much less control over my schedule and sometimes more fires to put out than I imagined. Despite that, I still actively work to develop stronger relationships with students because spending time up front building a relationship will pay dividends later. Although small, I’ve tried to be intentional about:

Reading a book that I know a kid will like and then give it to them. Just the other day I read Jason Reynolds’ Long Way Down, and I knew right away that I had to get it into a student’s hands. The internal conflict that the main character faces is similar to this student’s very decision he is making in regards to his own life. I was so excited to get this book into this young man’s hands, and I could tell from his reaction that he was surprised. And he soon indicated to me that he’d never before had an adult read a book and think of him.

Sending a positive post card. Working with teenagers truly is wonderful. There are so many small things that can go unnoticed throughout the day, but I can assure you that I am surrounded by so many young people who will make truly great adults. From volunteering to help a student carry her backpack as she heals physically to helping another student out who has collapsed, young people amaze me. I really enjoy sending out these small notes to parents and guardians who don’t get the pleasure of seeing such great behavior on a nearly daily basis.

Calling a student down to celebrate positive news and achievement. I don’t like to call students to my office during class, but I have quickly realized that for some students, it has been a really—and I mean really—long time since they have heard something positive about themselves. Every now and then when I “drop in” to check on students’ grades and I notice something positive, I have to let them know. Small reminders of hard work and progress matter, and it’s even a bigger deal for a principal to recognize that hard work.

Just saying, “Hi.” I truly believe that every young person who walks in our doors should be spoken to at least once each day, but I know that there are some students who probably are not spoken to at all. When I pass students in the hallway, I intentionally try to model good behavior and friendliness, saying “Hi” to many students, even the ones I don’t know. I may not know a student that well, but I can show that I care about their success and well-being by just saying something so simple.

Noticing small changes in behavior and mannerisms. This is similar to the move directly before, but a little more complicated. When we see young people every day, even if it’s only in passing, we can begin to notice patterns of behavior and mannerisms. If a student is usually smiling every day when you pass them in the hall and today they are not, then I have found it makes a huge difference to talk to them about this. By acknowledging that you have noticed a change, it signals to the student that you see them every day, even if you don’t talk to them. And when you notice a change, you care.

Following up, even when it’s easier not to. Even if it might not seem a big deal to us, students appreciate when we follow up on what seems like a big deal to them. If they’re sick, we can ask them if they’re feeling better. If they’re having a rough time, we can ask if things have improved. If they mention an upcoming test, we can ask how they did. I’ve found that when I follow up with a student, it shows that I really listened to the small details they’ve shared with me and that I’ve really “heard” them.

What are some small things that you do that you think really signal to students you care?

A while ago I saw a new post in one of my educational Facebook groups. The author wrote something like, “Does anyone else get frustrated with the fact ELA teachers teach the same basic concepts year after year, but high school students still can’t write a paragraph?” To be honest, I initially sympathized with the individual who was brave enough to share this with the group. It can be frustrating to work with students year after year who can’t seem to consolidate learning. Even though I could see there were many comments, I felt like I had nothing to add. It is hard for me to engage in online discussions that on a surface level disparage kids. Normally, I don’t check the comments on a post like this, but I wondered if there were any ground-breaking ideas shared. I was hoping to see something to push my thinking, but sadly there were over 200 ‘amens’ or other rants about how texting, technology, and/or previous teachers or curriculum coordinators were not doing their jobs.

I kept thinking about this thread and rereading it over during the next few days. It was like a car accident on the side of the road. I didn’t want to acknowledge it, but I could not help myself from looking.  After more rereading and thinking I noticed something about the cumulative nature of the comments. There wasn’t a single comment I read that dug into the “Why?” As in “Why do we expect kids to write a cohesive formulaic paragraph?”. There were lots of “why can’t they …” comments, but I couldn’t find one that even scraped the surface of “why” the kids should be writing this way. Before we go any further, please know I could rattle off lots of reasons why writers use paragraphs, even ones I don’t think are sound reasons. I also want you to know the topic of this comment thread doesn’t really matter to me. I can imagine a different stream of frustrated educators venting about mathematical thinking, behavior, lack of parent support, administrators, etc. I think this thread was a prime example of one of the biggest concerns I have about education. We expect kids to do things, but I think we don’t explore the purpose of doing those things on a regular basis.

If we want our classrooms communities filled with engaged learners, we need to “invest in the why” we are doing what we do frequently. And the “why” needs more relevancy than because I said so, because it is in the standards, or a general because it will help you in the future. No matter what age of learners in our classrooms, I believe they are capable of processing highly complex tasks if they invested in why they are completing it. Even if the “why” is a self-motivating, “because it is fun.” I have seen preschoolers build complex towers with Legos and high schoolers use design software and 3-D printers to prototype and evolution of the  soccer shin guard. I have seen 2nd graders write a compelling persuasive letter to a principal and middle schoolers write an in-depth character analysis essay. These examples don’t even scratch the surface of what our students are capable of doing. Look at all they do outside of our classrooms. They perform ballet, create Youtube channels, memorize play books for football teams, teach themselves fly fishing, build skateboard ramps, the list goes on forever.

When I started teaching in 1995 one of the first educational authors I read was Brian Cambourne. If you do not know Cambourne, google his name and “Seven Conditions of Learning.” After 20 years Cambourne influences my thinking. I have worked diligently to create classroom learning experience that are engaging and empowering for my students. Cambourne’s conditions include ideas like immersion, demonstration, expectation, and response in order help students learn while working. Cambourne believes that learners will engage in highly complex learning if they see “some potential value, purpose, and use for them.” (The Reading Teacher; Vol. 49, No. 3; November 1995) As Cambourne’s work influenced my work, I realized in order for learners to grow, they needed to invest in why they were doing the work expected of them.

The core of my work is now letting the kids know, discover or choose the “why” they are doing something. Currently some of my 7th grade students are taking up the challenge of writing a novel in 30 days (NaNoWrimo) and others are working on shorter narrative pieces during the month. Yes, we have targets, guidelines and daily goals. And the kids know our district curriculum expects them to work on narratives in the second quarter of the year, so if my administrator walks through the classroom and asks the kids what are you doing, they will be able to explain the “what”, but they will also be able to explain a “why” or two. For some of my students the current “why” is to challenge themselves to write something “big”, for others the “why” is to make their audience cry or to become better at writing dialogue.

I know their narrative work may not directly connect with the Facebook thread I mentioned earlier, but my students passionately invest in the work they are doing. In all my classes today, the only frustration I saw was when it was time to leave the room. Sure, there will be kids I work with who won’t be able to write a paragraph the way their teacher might expect a few years down the road, but all of them know that one reason writers organize thinking into paragraphs is to make a piece of writing easier for a reader to understand. So hopefully, if they move to another state and get one of those teachers who vented in that Facebook group, their teacher will be able to tap into a “why” for them. I am pretty sure if the teacher does, the students will want to become better.