#englishteacherheart

I have been an Innovation Specialist for one year. In this time, I have only scratched the surface of what it means to have this role. I am beginning to understand teachers and students at higher levels. On a given day, I have brief moments in which I believe I have cracked the code: I know what to do and I know how to help and I can acutely see how one small pivot will make a difference in our school district. And then, a little hiccup hits the next day and I realize just how little I know. In the past year, I have been in 5 schools, dozens and dozens of classrooms, and held individualized learning sessions with teachers and teachers and teachers. I love it. I work in Google Drive and Facebook and Twitter. I work from my phone, and my MacBook, and my iPad. Every day is different because every day is focused on meeting the needs of my teachers. There are quiet days where I can focus on the projects that are on my to-do list and days that extend well beyond contract hours. There are ...

Two weeks ago I traveled to Baltimore County Public Schools as part of the League of Innovative Schools. The visit was phenomenal. I walked away with hundreds of pictures on my phone, ideas that inspired, and a to-do list of at least 347 things that I want to get started with. Students were amazing. Teachers were impressive. Learning was at the center of what I saw, and I feel beyond blessed to have experienced it. While walking through a hallway during a school visit, a colleague from Utah turned to me and said, “You’re doing these things in Juab. This is why people tour YOUR schools. I realized in that moment that OUR schools are more amazing than people realize. There are good things happening in classrooms every day that no-one knows about — that I don’t know about. We too-often talk about classrooms based on anecdotal evidence instead of actual observations. I also realized that I am not spending enough time in our schools. The next Monday, I began the process of correcting...

I’m so grateful for the many students I have had the honor to teach. Relationships matter. I miss teaching teenagers. Tonight is School Eve, the night before all the students arrive. In years past, on this night, I have been frantic. I rearrange desks at the last minute. I wait to make copies until my contract hours are at their end because I know I want to tweak my disclosure statement right until the last moment. In years past, I have seen that same disclosure statement morph into something entirely new. Add a wiki address. Add a QR code. Delete my late work policy. Delete my cell phone policy. Simplify it to one page. Take away the signature spot. Email it to parents and forgo photocopies altogether. The first day, too, has shifted. Go over rules, policies and procedure? Yes. Once. It seemed most important. Talk about me? Yes. I had plenty to say, just out of college. Most recently: a writing pre-assessment. On day one. A Nearpod that lets students reflect on their proficiency on...

During my ten years as a classroom teacher, I kept a bright orange poster on display that asked two critical questions: Do you know it? Can you show it? Part of my new job as Innovation Specialist includes rethinking professional development for our school district. At the forefront of this conversation is that of micro-credentials; the platform being offered by Digital Promise is most interesting to me because it allows teachers to show what they know in a public way. In February, as I was preparing to apply for my new job, I started exploring. I signed up for an account at Bloomboard and tagged credentials of interest. I started a few. And then stopped. I was overwhelmed. I doubted myself. I ran out of time. I originally read the details of each micro-credential and felt confident that I could demonstrate my proficiency. Then I became scared. Today, my office is quiet. Most of the staff has gone to a conference. This morning, I sat down at my computer and completed the three m...

  Each year as I finish teaching, I have a group of (sometimes surprising) students who want me to sign their yearbooks. In the busy end of year bustle, they slowly walk to my desk and ask me to add my signature along those of their friends. It’s endearing, and I always consider it the highest of compliments. For each student, I stop what I am doing and focus on that student, for those moments. I think of what I can tell them, if this is the last time I am able to interact. Almost always, I want to tell the student how wonderful I think he is. Or how smart she is. Or how impressed and thankful I am for the effort he has put into the class. I keep the entries small. No more than a paragraph, and then I let the ink dry and close the book. This year, as I signed yearbooks, I realized that I had a yearbook entry in mind for each of my 164 students. Had they asked, I could have easily encapsulated my celebrations, my advice, and my gratitude, into an entry for each. That is, I believe...