I have less than two weeks on the job as a vice principal. I work until noon troubleshooting issues in the school and then hurry off to grade two to deliver math and social studies lessons that fall far short of my gold standard. They might not even be bronze. I keep getting asked by other administrators how my year is going, and my reply is “We have the best job! But I might not be the best at my job.”
In his book “Start With Why”, author Simon Sinek argues that charismatic leadership grows from purpose. What we do is merely evidence of the “why” that motivates us. I never set out to be known as the administrator who was really proficient at clearing his emails, but I find myself wading through the torrent of my inbox, trying to find bottom. Fighting off the flood of emails is sometimes what I’m doing. It’s certainly not my why.
I thought about my why — and not just the cliche “deliver quality learning opportunities”. That’s what we do. I need to open the umbrella wider to find my why. We (our school) exists to help others transcend themselves, that is, to exceed or surpass the self that they were before. This is our purpose. It applies to each person who come into our building, from the kindergarten students to the custodians.
Public education has become increasingly complex. Einstein is attributed with saying, “We can not solve our problems with the same level of thinking that created them.” We cannot lament the good old days when we just taught students reading, writing, and arithmetic. The reality of that reductionist view of education watched as students fell through the cracks and disengaged with learning.
Collective teacher efficacy, the belief that a team of educators can positively affect student learning is the single largest factor in student success. I need to be in the classroom, conversing and learning alongside teachers, who are transcending their former knowledge or experience because they know that their choices in learning design will reach a student who hasn’t yet connected with learning.
During a safety inspection with Rod, a seasoned administrator and head of our safety department, we stopped in a kindergarten classroom. He smiled as he gazed at the posters of letters and numbers the adorned the walls, and I could tell that what he saw was someplace years ago.
“Joe,” he said, “When I’d had a terrible day, I used to come to the kindergarten classroom and just sit for a while. This was my happy place.” Rod looked at me, back in the present. “Every day’s a holiday,” he grinned, and strode into the hallway.
