I distinctly remember that day. After meeting with the principal, I walked the short walk across the hall to my very first classroom. The building smelled of fresh wax, carpet cleaner, and summer (there weren't any air conditioners). The walls of my room were a nice baby blue color as if somehow the school was expecting to give birth soon. And as I stood in the doorway, I remember being overwhelmed with all the thoughts, emotions, and possibilities that swirled in my naïve head. At that moment, all the excitement of graduation and having my first job melted into a puddle of anxiety as I thought, "Will I be good enough? Will the students like me? Will I fit in with the faculty?"

Over the next couple of weeks, I got to know my students. Jason, who wore the ankle bracelet for juvenile detention, was outgoing and wanted everyone to like him. This often got him into trouble because he didn't realize where the line was until he was well past it. Mark was quiet, confident, and intelligent. When his dad got drunk, he received the brunt of it. Sammi loved art and didn't think she was smart enough for science. She couldn't understand why she had to take it.

It was during this time that I learned a lesson they can't really teach you in your education classes: relationships in education are a cornerstone to learning. When you find out what makes your students tick, you find out what inspires them, what motivates them, and ultimately, what drives them. As we began studying the solar system in Astronomy, Sammi and I began dreaming of what we could do with the baby blue walls. She enlisted the help of some friends and the support of the art teacher. By the end of the year, not only did I have a beautiful mural of the solar system on one of my walls, but Sammi found a way to value science and incorporate it into her passion!

Mark and I steadily plugged through. We would often talk about life and how it wasn't what either of us had expected. Many times I thought I had the easy end of the deal as I listened to him describe his home life. More often than not, he just needed someone to say, "You can do it. You are going to make something of yourself. This is just temporary." He went on to join the Air Force and managed to escape the family cycle he had been trapped in.

And, Jason was one that got away. I struggled all year to connect him to the wonderful world of science that I love so much. To find out what made him tick. To connect with him personally. But it never happened. Being a new teacher, my toolbox was inadequately and woefully empty. Looking back at Jason through the lens of the experience I have now, there are so many things I would have done differently with him. I still wonder where he is and if someone else was able to do better than I.

Sometimes learning the lesson of empathy was easy, other times, like with Jason, I struggled. Empathy is the ability to understand and share the feelings of others. To find a common ground when it doesn't look like there is one and build a relationship from it. When we find ways to connect with our students and connect them with each other, we find ways to inspire them beyond what they ever thought they were capable of. And amazingly, each of them will impact and inspire us in ways we'll never forget. Whether it is all the Jasons I've had saying, "I don't know what I need. Help me." Or, all the Marks saying, "Thank you for believing in me." Each of them inspire me to develop better relationships and promote empathy in my classroom.

The second lesson came several years later. When my wife and I decided to start a family, we wanted to move closer to one of our parents. Again, stepping out of the principal's office I walked the short distance to my new classroom. The building had that slightly musty smell that schools often get when the air conditioner just can't keep up. The walls of my new classroom were a nice brown and orange color that looked like the school might be getting ready to throw up a hippy. And as I stood in this doorway, I found myself having much the same anxieties as before, "Will I measure up? Will the lessons I taught (and learned) in my former school be enough in this new school? Will I be a good fit for these students and faculty?"

And again, over the next couple of weeks I began intently getting to know my students. What I found was this new school was about as opposite as you could get. It graduated over 500 students; whereas, my first school graduated 80. It was pure suburban; the other was pure rural (They even had a "Drive Your Combine to School Day!" in which some of them would get up as early as 3 in the morning in order to drive their combines to school! If you think your commute is bad, keep in mind a combine runs about an average of 5 mph!) Where my first school had students in fairly similar economic statuses, this new school had students that ran the gamut from upper, middle, and lower classes. My first school was 99% Caucasian. This new school was filled with all sorts of diversity from African American to Serbian to Macedonian to Pakistani students.

The more I looked at my experiences in both schools, the more I came to realize the value in the cry for equity. Equity in education isn't giving everyone the same education; it's making it fair by giving everyone a quality education. My students in this new school didn't need the same things that my former students needed in order to be successful. In order to give them a quality education, there were a lot of things I had to change about the way I interacted with them, presented the material, and motivated them. My rural students had very different needs than my suburban students, or even urban students. They each don't need the same curricular resources, social emotional resources, etc. But they do each need access to high quality educators and a system of education that provides them opportunities to succeed in whatever field they choose… no matter where they come from. It became my responsibility to provide an equitable education to my students no matter what their background.

As the 2018 Indiana Teacher of the Year, I have the privilege of completing a Year of Service during the 18-19 school year. During this year, I'm humbled to work with our DOE on Indiana's STEM Council developing our statewide STEM Plan. I'm grateful for the incredible opportunity to visit colleges speaking to pre-service teachers. And, I'm honored to be an ambassador for education across our great state. As this year begins, I stand opening a different door into a different classroom. My walls aren't painted blue. And, it doesn't smell like wax. But this time, my toolbox is full, and my courage is strong. Because, I learned a long time ago that the battle for equity and empathy provides a foundation for every student that will catapult them to become the next generation of educators, scientists, company owners, medical professionals, etc. Will you open the door with me?

Though I haven’t fully processed all that has occurred within the last week–and it’s quite possible that I never will–I feel like I am ready to divulge my random takeaways from what was both the most incredible and the most challenging week of my life. And here they are…

The 2018 STOYs are a mighty collective group. We navigated some very complicated situations this week with grace and dignity. And when we fumbled, we learned quickly. Personally, I have learned more in this week than I’ve learned in my entire life. Additionally, the lessons that I’ve learned have fueled me to keep fighting the good fight. I’ll never know what I did to deserve my place in the ranks of the most powerful, passionate educators in the country, but I have left D.C. with a sense of purpose that I’ve never felt before and it’s all because of the Class of 2018. For this, I thank you all.

Furthermore, I want to thank CCSSO (Council of Chief State School Officers) for providing me with the opportunities of a lifetime. Few people get to experience all that I did. There is very little left on my bucket list after this week, and it’s all because of CCSSO.
I’ve learned about the power of pressing pause. There are moments when it’s so tempting to be reactionary rather than responsive, and it’s important to know the difference between the two. Reacting to a situation from a place of high emotion isn’t always the best option. Moreover, when we’re responsive we take the time to fully evaluate situations so that we can best respond to challenges. As someone who wears my heart on my sleeve, this is a real challenge for me. When I see injustice, my first reaction is typically one from a place of high emotion. Nonetheless, I’m working to cultivate patience and reflection so that I can become more responsive, and this is a skill that served me well this week.
As a devoted teacher and active member of my community, I thought that I knew what “exhaustion” meant. Turns out, I didn’t until this week. It’s going to take some time to fully recover from the physical and emotional toil last week took on my body and mind. And that’s okay.

Sometimes people surprise us. I went into my visit to the Vice-President’s residence with some discomfort due to my own preconceived notions. And while I still fundamentally disagree with him on a considerable number of issues, I have to admit that he was so gracious with his time–despite the fact that it infuriated the Secret Service, which was so cool to witness–and he was incredibly invested in ensuring that the 2018 STOYs had a memorable experience. Furthermore, Karen Pence was such a gracious host. She was so lovely. She is a former school teacher, and the two of them made such an effort to make us feel welcome. Additionally, I do believe that they value teachers. They expressed such gratitude for the important work that we’re doing, which I appreciated.

Sometimes people don’t surprise us. I think this speaks for itself.

The media perpetuates the narratives that best serve them, AND IT HAPPENS ON BOTH SIDES. I experienced this first-hand, ON BOTH SIDES, this week. The importance of responsiveness served me well, as it allowed me to respond to the narratives that I supported and to recognize when a story that I didn’t necessarily agree with had already been written. I’m very careful about commenting when I can’t control the narrative, and when it’s clear that a journalist has a very specific agenda–but more importantly, one that is entirely false–I tend to pass on the opportunity to speak. And to be clear, it’s not because I’m afraid. But when I reflect on my true objectives in this role, my greater purpose, contributing to the aforementioned narratives does nothing to improve education. It does nothing to improve the lives’ of my students. And I will continue to have a fierce, unapologetic voice when advocating for education. But I refuse to play politics with my students. And we have to stop playing politics with our children. Period.

Having said that, there is an overwhelming amount of hatred and bigotry in our country. It can be fueled by inaccurate headlines, cleverly crafted videos, and even something as innocent as a lapel pin. With this in mind, we have to be diligent in our efforts to combat hatred. We have to work incessantly to combat violence, and to inspire empathy and compassion in the world. While touring the Martin Luther King Jr. Monument yesterday, I had an emotional moment. I was–and still am–exhausted. And I was experiencing a moment of deflation, one where I questioned how I would travel home from D.C. and make the change I want to see in the world. Then, the following words–his words–resonated with me: “Make a career of humanity. Commit yourself to the noble struggle for equal rights. You will make a greater person of yourself, a greater nation of your country, and a finer world to live in.” This is now my mission statement.

Mandy Manning is perfection, and she captivates every room she walks into with her message about taking risks and building connections. She is the epitome of grace. She oozes love, acceptance, and respect for others. She is selfless and fearless. And she is the perfect person to represent teachers at this politically and socially divisive moment in our nation’s history. To illustrate, consider the moments that were intended to celebrate her National Teacher of the Year recognition. Rather than talk about herself, she shared the stories of her students. Furthermore, she capitalized on the moment–HER moment–to share the spotlight with her fellow STOYs by illuminating the powerful work we’re doing in our classrooms and communities. Simply put, she is a class act. And any false video or headline that suggests otherwise is laughable and inaccurate. Know that.

Policy work is messy. And did I mention it’s exhausting? Without question, it is uncomfortable to be in a room conversing with people who harbor ideas that are fundamentally and diametrically in contrast with our own. And it requires immense and unimaginable restraint. Nevertheless, I’ve also learned that “If you’re not at the table, you’re on the menu.” And in order to have a seat at the table, we have to be willing to play the game. This doesn’t mean we must abandon our beliefs. However, we must be willing to listen. Even when it hurts. Even when we disagree. Compromise requires both sides finding middle ground. I refuse to believe that each and every single issue has to be so polarizing. And if we want our side to be heard, we have to be diligent and know when to make our voices heard. But we also have to know when to listen in order to ensure that we have the opportunity to speak in the future. And our students’ futures depend on our ability to garner a seat at the proverbial table. Burning bridges only robs us of that ability, which could potentially have devastating consequences for our students. It’s a dance that is so complex. But make no mistake, I’m ready to tango.

I miss my students. Like, a lot. In the past week, I missed prom. I missed them finishing up the tail end of two novels. I missed out on AP Test preparation. And it broke my heart. However, they emailed me pictures in their gorgeous gowns and tuxes, which made me feel like I was still experiencing a bit of their memorable evening with all of them. They are why I do what I do. They are why I cannot rest. They are why I get up every morning, and they give my life such purpose. And I will continue to fight for each and every single one of them. Simply put, I cannot wait to see them on Monday.

Finally, I have realized the importance of community. It’s not easy to pick up and leave my Dwight life behind for an entire week to engage in politics. There are an endless list of people who make it possible for me to represent Illinois teachers. While I’ll never be able to fully thank them for all that they do to support me in my endeavors, I will spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to them. This includes people like Debra Howell Karch and Allen Karch, who watch and care for our menagerie of animals for days and weeks on end. It includes Alan Presswood, Amy Pfeifer Jensen, and Monte Jensen who regularly check in with me to see how I’m doing, emotionally. Truly, I cannot thank our parents enough. It includes my inner circle of friends–you know who you are–who text me funny and inappropriate messages that make me smile because they instinctively know that I need them. It includes our neighbors, Michael E. Wolinski and Valerie Smith-Wolinski, as well as Mark Moser and Samantha Moser, who regularly feed our fish and visit our cat. It includes Tim Henson, who vows to keep an eye on our home every single time we travel (Because the Chief of Police doesn’t have other things to worry about, right?). It includes my colleagues who send me words of encouragement because they instinctively know that I’m wrestling with self-doubt and questioning my own capabilities. It includes my administrators who allow me the flexibility to do what I need to do in this role. It includes Stephanie Flott, who single-handedly manages my classroom and my day-to-day schedule by filling in for me every single time I have to travel, and who scolds me for responding to innocuous emails when I’m away doing other important work (I will seriously never be able to thank you enough, but I promise that I’m going to try). It includes my beautiful friend, Sarah Windham, who is fighting cancer and, ironically, checking in with me daily to see how I am doing. And to Ashli Banks, our short Facetime chats keep me sane. I can’t do life without you, but you already know this. To my husband, I have no words. As someone who didn’t sign up for this crazy life, you help me to navigate it and you remind me daily of what truly matters. I could NEVER do this work without all of you. And as I sit in my kitchen this morning drinking coffee and reflecting on the week, I am reminded of the following: There is no place like home.

I enjoy the walk from my classroom out of the building at the end of the day. It is refreshing for me to see kids so relaxed and happy in the moment. They are reconnecting with friends and enjoying time together before heading off to home or work or after school activities. The paths they take after leaving school are often very different; these final moments of the day are their chance to touch base before beginning those journeys. School is their home base – and as much as they love to bemoan it, it is their shared community and there is much power in that. 

Walking out of school on Thursday, Feb. 15, the attitude was a lot different. The day before, a gunman murdered 17 people at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Fla. This was the 18th gun-related incident in a school since Jan. 1 alone. 

As I walked down the hall, I overheard one student say to another, “It is just scary to think that one day you could go to school and then never come home.” My heart broke as I heard her friend reply, “It’s so unsettling; it just could happen anywhere.”

These bright and thoughtful young people, just on the precipice of adulthood, were not worrying about running off to a sports practice, they were worrying about being murdered while they attended school. School, the place that is the cornerstone of a community, has become a place where parents squeeze their children extra hard in the drop-off line, and where a loud noise sends kids into a panic. 

How we can prevent these tragedies from happening again feels overwhelming for the average citizen. These issues intersect so complexly – they are social, moral, civic and, unfortunately, political.

There are many options: We can march, we can challenge our elected officials on issues of gun access and support of mental health services, we can encourage political engagement in the November elections, we can support our students when they speak out. 

A common response to these tragedies from teachers nationwide has become a viral social media trend to #ArmMeWith the resources to support students who struggle. For example, to: Arm me with funding for enough mental health providers in every school; arm me with time during the school day to connect with those students who don’t have support at home; arm me with smaller class sizes so I can target the learning needs of my students. We aren’t talking about giving superfluous perks to teachers or schools, we are talking about having enough resources in a building so that the professionals can actually do their job. One of the most important jobs in our world today: Arming our young people with the support and tools they need to make our world a better place.

And yet it all still feels so hopeless. I want something more tangible, I want something that can help now. I know that I am not alone in this desire. 

In New Hampshire, we do have something we can do. We can support our public schools, and we can do it right now. It’s town meeting/school budget season and this very minute local school boards are grappling with what they want to happen in their schools and how they will fund it. They base many of these decisions on the voices who reach out to them and speak up about their concerns. I do not believe that our school boards don’t want things like smaller class sizes, lower student-school counselor ratios than the established minimum of 1:500, full-day kindergarten, secure buildings and competitive teacher contracts. They just aren’t always able to pay for those things because they have to make devastatingly hard decisions. 

We can’t have it both ways – we can’t complain about our taxes going up and then also complain that our public schools aren’t offering enough. Of course our school boards should be fiscally responsible, but remember that the reason our property taxes are so significantly impacted by school budgets is because of how school funding is distributed. Our state pits property rich towns against property poor towns. This in turn affects the equitable education that each town is trying to offer to its young people. 
​
There are no easy answers, but if we want to arm our schools with resources to support its young people, we have to pay for it. The words of Shanna Peeples, the 2015 National Teacher of the Year, sum this up perfectly: “A school is a promise that a community makes to itself that it will invest in its young people.”

​Some might argue that the connection between preventing school violence and showing up to support schools at a town meeting is rather farfetched. One of the greatest lessons I have learned as a teacher is that I cannot control what goes on outside the four walls of my classroom, but I can control what goes on inside of it. The same holds true for us in New Hampshire right now. We cannot make major changes in gun legislation or public policy right now – but we can show up and make that promise to ourselves that the young people in our community matter and that we are arming their schools with the tools they need so that they can change the world.

Last weekend, I sat in bed talking with my husband. Tears ran down my face. I asked him tough questions. "Tell me about an AR-15. What makes it different than the other guns and rifles? What is a bump stock? Do we need large capacity magazines? Is there a need for a gun like an AR-15 in the hands of a common citizen?" I asked him these questions because I need to hear what the other side has to say. I wanted to listen. I wanted to learn. I come from a family of hunters and soldiers. I have my hunter's safety license. I was trained as a child to safely handle guns. I am not scared of them. I would be lying if I said that I didn't already know how I felt about weapons that are commonly used for mass shootings, but I believe in the importance of civil discourse. If I am going to teach it to my students, I am going to practice it at home, at school, at church, and in public.

Tonight a family member posted on Facebook wanting to hear from teachers who were willing to be armed. My response was, "Not a chance." I do not typically try to engage in this type of discussion online, but I have a great deal of respect for this family member and saw an opportunity to provide my thoughts on the subject. While I could tell that both of us had different opinions, I felt like I could share my side in a respectful way and she could share hers. Another family member joined the conversation and brought up the fact that we are all concerned about the welfare of our children. That is true. This is one fact in which we can agree.

Being prepared to react in a crisis situation is part of my job as a teacher. I walk into a building and see an AED, I take note. I know how to use it, and I may be called upon to do so should someone go into cardiac arrest. When I walk into a store, I look to see where the exit signs are in case I have to use my "teacher voice" to move my children or a crowd to safety. I know how to use an EPIpen. I can check a person's blood sugar. I am CPR/ First Aid certified. I am always watching. I know I have a responsibility in society that does not come with every job. I am always ready to jump in because it is what I do. However, I am not comfortable being armed, in my classroom. I am a teacher.

All of the schools in my county follow the protocol put in place by our local law enforcement officers and sheriff's department. This protocol should allow an armed officer to locate and take down an active shooter in a way that does not put more lives at risk. As hard as it is for me to say this, having an armed person on campus would most likely not stop the initial loss of life. I also know that it takes about a minute for the adults in my school to lock down a 600+ person building. This plan is a "reaction" to an active shooter.  Right now, all schools have a reactionary plan. Do we need legislation on guns? Yes. We need to have tough conversations on background checks, age requirements, and whether or not certain guns should be accessible to the public. But I feel like we are missing something here. We need to look at both sides of this issue. I spend my days teaching my students to think proactively. I ask them to think about how we can prevent situations from happening and not wait to respond once they do. In the discussion about active shooters, we are missing the what ifs.

• What if we had trained mental health professionals working within our buildings who could help our isolated students work through their emotions and give them coping skills that they could use throughout the rest of their lives? I have no doubt that our administrators, counselors and teachers do the best we can with the knowledge we have, but we are not trained mental health workers.

• What if every teacher was trauma-informed and could better meet the needs of students who are struggling in their classes? The needs of our students are changing so drastically. Many educators, myself included, simply cannot identify with the struggles our students bring to class each day. We must be formally trained to identify trauma and how to help students' brains process what is causing them to be in a constant state of distress.

• What if class sizes were smaller so that teachers would be able to better identify students who are struggling? This one seems self-explanatory. I cannot reach a class of 24 the same way I can reach a class of 14.

• What if we used restorative justice practices in our schools rather than decades-old discipline practices that simply do not work? Many schools are already starting this transition - from discipline being solely centered around punishment to discipline that is centered around learning. Teaching students to talk through their struggles and own their emotions in order to improve their actions and behaviors.

• What if instead of suspending for a student for 1-5 days, we had programs in place to put positive mentors in their lives such as local law enforcement, firemen, business owners - just to name a few? I think of how powerful it would be for a student to ride-along with a local police officer or work with a local fireman in a fire station for a morning. I think of how much a student might learn from a local carpenter or businessman. I can only imagine the conversation and soft skills that could be learned from this. It would take a village, but isn't that what our children need?

• What if instead of expelling students and sending them home to fester in anger, we were able to get them into the treatment facilities that they need - be it for anger management, mental health, or substance abuse? This one speaks for itself. I am not condoning bad choices, but most of the time, children do not have the ability or financial means to seek out the treatment they need. And let's be honest, if a student is being expelled from school, issues need to be addressed.

There are so many what ifs, and there is no simple answer. Every answer that will take a large amount of resources to sustain. These answers cannot just happen after a mass shooting, but sadly that is what drives this conversation. This is not a one-size-fits-all solution. No two communities are the same. No two schools are the same. This is an adaptive problem that will not be solved overnight; however, we cannot afford the loss of another student life. We need adults from all walks of life who are willing to sit down at the table and listen to each other. Truly listen. A few weeks ago, I was reminded that listening is leadership. Our students deserve better than adults yelling at each other through social media. Our students deserve adults sitting around a table saying, "Imagine if," and then ours students deserve action. ​

This may have worked well in our world 50 years ago, but the world has changed. Our world demands a community of diverse and individualized thinkers in order to solve complex issues. And we need to start cultivating these problem-solvers in our classrooms right now … using Craft Education.

Here are the top 3 strategies for achieving this outcome:
1. Provide students with choice in their learning. Each individual student has their own interests, passions and struggles. Each has their own motivation for success. Each has their own method for constructing new learning. Providing choice for students allows each to connect with their own natural curiosity and to create their own individual path to understanding.

• Design a project where students get to decide the topic.
• Give your class two options for the context that you will use to teach the next unit.
• Allow multiple types of assessment (tests, presentations, videos, paper, etc.) and allow each student to choose their own method for assessment.
• Give a homework assignment with parts that are optional.

2. Develop lesson plans that are interesting and relevant. We must stay in touch with our students’ interests and goals so that we can develop learning opportunities that can connect with each student. What are your students doing outside of school? What movies and shows are they watching? What do your students want out of their future? Answers to these questions can help us to design better lessons.

• Survey students at the beginning of the school year to get an interest inventory.
• Let students pose the questions to be answered for a lesson (inquiry-based science instruction, Dan Meyer 3-act math)
• Be willing to modify or let go of a lesson plan that you really like in favor of one that is more relevant to students.
• Use context whenever possible. Tell a story that goes with the learning.
• Google search “lesson plan for _____” to find out what other teachers are doing.
• Ask Twitter for ideas on a lesson that you would like to improve.

3. Use a variety of instructional methods. Each student constructs knowledge in a different way. It is important for us to provide a variety of instructional methods to be sure that we are connecting with each student. Some students do best by reading some text and then writing about it. Other students need to have engaging discussion with their classmates before they can fully understand a new idea. The bottom line is that we need to abandon the lecture-only classroom.

• Use direct instruction in small time chunks.
• Pose a question to the class and have them discuss in pairs.
• Start class with a question and let students work in groups to work towards a solution.
• Use technology to help engage student interest, enhance their understanding and extend their opportunity to learn.
• Consider “flipping” part of your class, where students watch videos at home and then engage in problem solving in class.
• Provide students with optional additional resources. Those students who need additional support have access to what they need.