Minnesota Teacher of the Year

I had the honor of giving a speech at the District 287 school year kick-off in late August. I chose to speak about why teachers teach. Click on the image below to see a Quicktime video of the 12-minute speech.

I’d welcome other teachers and readers to share their comments as well. Why do you teach? What brings you back each fall to do what you do?

Below is the text of the speech:

Why I Teach
Since getting this award, a lot of people in the media and private sector have asked me why I became a teacher. Why do I teach? You don’t have much time to think then, when people ask you a direct question in front of a lot of other people. Generally I said the first thing that came to my mind. “Well, I like it.” “I like helping people learn.” “I think it’s important.” But those answers didn’t feel right. There was something missing there, something bigger. Why do I teach? Why do we all teach? The real answer is something that can’t be summed up in a single sentence. I’ve had a chance to think more about this, to reflect on this, on why I teach, why all of us here work with education, we why all teach. I thought I would share with you my answer, with the thought that parts of this answer may resonate within you.

Why do I teach?

I teach because I believe. I teach because I believe that education is the way up and the way out. I teach because I believe that anyone can learn, and that in doing so they can become more than they currently are. I teach because I believe that a society rises or falls in equal measure to the quality of its educational system, and that it’s rare for an educated person to be a killer, a drug dealer, or a rapist. I teach because even after all these years, I still believe in the joy of learning, and that if I do my job right, others can share in that.

I teach because of the influence teachers had on me. I teach because of Will Collins, my high school English teacher, who showed me how incredibly fun learning can be. I teach because of Pete Skipper, another teacher. At a time when I was making a lot of bad choices in life, he took the time to get to know me, to treat me like a human being first, and a student second. I teach because he listened, and in listening so well, inspired me to try to be like him.

I teach because I forgive myself, because somehow I’ve come to grips with my faults, my failures, the kids I lost, the kids who didn’t learn, the kids who never did their homework and failed my class, the broken angry kid that I never connected with. The importance of our job compels me to accept my imperfections, to still care, to still try, to still believe in every single student who will walk into my classroom next week. I can only do that if I overlook past failures.

I teach because of the awesome pay, the perks, the low-stress work environment, and the incredible social prestige that comes with being a teacher. Whoops, that’s from my rock star speech. I remember when I was first teaching and I’d drive to a party in my beat-up, ten-year-old “teacher” car. Talk about a chick magnet. Yeah, baby, I’m a teacher. Come get some! Ok, That’s not why I teach.

I teach because I have found peace in a balance of work and privacy. I will give you much of who I am, but not all of it. I enjoy myself, my family, my individual pursuits. Being a whole person makes me a better teacher, and I am still teaching because I’ve been able to define limits to how much I give, and be comfortable with those limits.

I teach because of the good days, the days when everything works right, when I hear students laughing, when I see students learning. I teach for those special moments, those moments when it all clicks and you see a classroom crackling with energy and focus, when the bell rings at the end of class and catches everyone by surprise, and students look at the clock and say, “Wow, that was fast.” I teach because I don’t need a thank you, a handshake, or a compliment when that happens. It’s good enough for me that it happened.

A few years ago, I was at a dinner party, and acquaintances nearby me were talking about a man that one of the women had starting dating. When asked how the relationship was going, the woman replied that things were going well but she wasn’t sure if it would amount to anything. “He’s nice,” she said. “We have fun and all. I like him, but you know, he’s just a teacher.”

That one hurts. “Just a teacher,” and everything it implies. But the more I think about “just a teacher”, the more I realize this: Just because something is that way, doesn’t mean it should be that way. So perhaps I teach because I hold out hope that if we do our jobs well, with passion and professionalism, that somewhere down the line, a decade or two in the future, the educational climate in the United States will be different, that we’ll have a United States culture similar to that of some Asian countries, where the word for teacher—sensei—is the same word used for medical doctors.

I teach because of the students and their stories. Stories so incredible that they can’t be fiction. Stories of individual achievement and effort that border on heroic.

I teach because of a kid in my Japanese class a few years ago. A kid who comes from a background with every statistical indicator for a troubled life. Single mom. Low income. Living in an apartment. Minority. A kid who has never met his dad. A kid who comes up to me as a freshman in Japanese 1 a few months into class and says, “I want to go to Japan. How can I do it?” I point him to the scholarships that are available to Japan, but I mention that you’ve got to be good at Japanese to get one. This kid gets to work. And he works. And over the course of the next few months he works more than I’ve seen anyone work at anything. At times it was painful to watch, because this is a kid who had to grind things down by effort, who really had to work to get it. By the time scholarship applications are due, he’s got a solid A in Japanese, and I thought he had a decent chance to get one. He came in a few weeks later, at the point of tears. He didn’t get the scholarship. I thought it would be impossible for him, for anyone, to try so hard for something and fail, and have the strength to try again, but he did.

The next year he came back, worked just as hard, applied again, and failed again. This time, I asked him to ask the exchange organization, Youth For Understanding, if they could give him some areas to work on for next year’s application. He came back and said they thought he could work on his English writing in the essays. I asked him to show them to me. After looking at them, to put it politely, they were right. He needed to be a better writer. I offered to help him over the summer with his English writing. I figured that I could email him an assignment once a week, and that he could do the writing in the upcoming week, and that we could go over that a couple of times in the summer. What happened instead was that I’d send an email with about three or four hours’ worth of writing to do on a Monday afternoon, and he would invariably send it back to me the same day, fully done. He wanted this thing that badly. By now, I was noticing things about him that hadn’t been there before. He was learning faster. He was getting concepts more quickly. Simply put, he was getting smarter.

You can’t apply for the scholarships as a Senior, so his Junior year was his last chance. Once again, he worked incredibly hard. Once again, he applied. Once again, he came back with tears in his eyes. But this time, they were tears of happiness. He won.

He spent a full year in Japan, came back, and graduated from high school. Last fall he got accepted to the University of Wisconsin in Madison. Next week, he’ll be entering his sophomore year. That’s why I teach.

I teach because of a nervously trembling Alternative Learning Center student who stands up in front of the District 287 board and talks about how she is emailing her new friends in China, because Paul Bennett and Bill Jepson—despite being told they are crazy for even attempting such a trip with “those kind of kids”—take a group of ALC students to China over spring break, and in doing so change kids’ lives forever. I teach because of the embarrassed smiles on students’ faces when John Awsumb stands at the door to North Vista at the end of every school day and enthusiastically sends each student home with unique words of praise and encouragement, because he knows the power of words, and that one word can sometimes be enough to tip a life to the good. I teach because of the tears of joy in students faces at a graduation ceremony at Ridgedale Alternative Program, tears that bear witness to the incredible power that arises when an entire staff believes that all good teaching centers on human relationships. Yes, I teach because I’m surrounded by so many great teachers.

You can call me “just a teacher”. I’m still going to teach. There are days when I fail miserably at what I do. There are days when I lose my confidence, days when I get bone tired, days when I get overwhelmed, stressed, and struggle. I am still going to teach. I’m still going to bring it every single day because in the end, one smile, one laugh, one more kid who gets through high school, one more kid who gets into college, can wipe away all that frustration in an instant. These are not our accomplishments, these students that achieve because of their determination and intelligence, but in the deepest corner of my heart, I teach because I allow myself one small indulgence, one small indulgence that lets me believe that perhaps some of those smiles would not have existed if I weren’t there, that perhaps one former student with a degree, a good job, and a happy family, might have traveled a lesser road if I had traveled a different one. And that’s enough for me. I teach because somewhere, deep down inside, I’d like to think that sometimes, just sometimes, we make a difference.

I always compare Labor Day weekend to the that silent spot at the top of a rollercoaster, right before the coaster makes its first big drop. The stark contrast of pace in a teacher’s life is never so pronounced as it is on that September weekend before the first classes start.

For me, I always have a mix of nervousness, fear, and excitement on that last Monday night. I think some of the fear comes from a heightened sense of how important a good start to the year is. All teachers will tell you how important the first week is, and how important the first month is. However, the more I teach, the more I’ve come to realize that September is even more important than I ever imagined it to be. Everything is magnified in September. So many elements of the class take shape: pace, energy, focus, motivation, belief, work habits. Knowing how important the start is always gives me a bit of a knot in my stomach as things start out, because if things go well in September, generally they’ll be going well in April and May. Mess up September, and you can be looking up at a long year.

Once classes start, however, I’m reminded of how much I like the energy of the classroom. So many of my concerns about the nuances of classroom management can be addressed most effectively if I simply focus my energy on making my classroom fun, challenging, and engaging. This isn’t to say that classroom management isn’t important—it’s incredibly important—but it’s always a powerful realization for me the degree to which effective classroom management centers on engaging classes, and I always seem to have to relearn this each fall in order for the knot in my stomach to vanish. This year has been no exception. As we enter the second week of school now, my fear and nervousness have largely faded away, and I can concentrate on teaching.

My Teacher of the Year responsibilities have shown me a different side of education—a side that is incredibly exciting and rewarding to experience—but the core of my experience is still the classroom, and it feels good to be back.

Whoops. Sorry it’s been a while since I’ve updated. With the flurry of activity at the end of school, things got fairly busy during the first half of June. By the time things wrapped up, I was fairly spent. After a week of playing with my children, entertaining visiting friends, and watching some movies, I’ve gotten back to work this past week.

This summer I’ll be working on a new online Japanese course for Northern Star Online, revamping our two existing online Japanese courses, teaching Japanese online, and helping some Chinese teachers learn about constructing/teaching online courses. These projects started in earnest this past week.

This still will leave quite a bit of time still to spend with family, recharge, and enjoy myself. As a teacher, I love the revitalizing that I can do during the summer months. I try to swim outside on a daily basis, get outside as much as possible, and spend a lot of time with family and friends.

Teacher of the Year events are relatively light in the next two months, but pick up again around the middle of August. I did have an interview this past week with Plymouth Magazine, who will be doing a feature article during September. Early in July, I’ll be doing a seminar on Active Learning for a group of administrators at Intermediate District 287.

I’ll be traveling on vacation this upcoming week, but am aiming to write more consistently in a couple of weeks. I still have a list of topics I’d like to address and a half dozen or so topics I’d like to wrap up.

I’ve spent some time in the past week over at Scott McLeod’s Dangerously Irrelevant blog. I’m impressed at the consistently interesting posts he puts up. This week, for example, is Change Week. It focuses on elements of technological change in K-12 education. This post is a good example of the quality of stuff he puts up. It discusses elements of the spread of innovation through a group or organization.

I would argue that one of the biggest obstacles to technological innovation in high schools is the current work conditions in schools. Class sizes have crept to extraordinarily high levels in many schools, putting extreme workloads on many teachers. Based on experience and observation I’d say that the average high school teacher has at most one hour of contract time per day that is free (after responsibilities such as meetings, phone calls, helping students, etc., have been addressed). During this time the teacher must prepare and grade for an average of five classes. With class sizes often exceeding 35 students, an hour is hardly enough time to cover this. This leaves scant time to play with technology, unless the teacher is willing to do so on his or her own time.

The complexity and transience of technology create more obstacles for a teacher. Learning the necessary skills to use a new piece of software and create lessons for it can take a significant investment of time for an already overloaded teacher. Furthermore, this investment is top heavy. It can often take 10-20 hours of work before a teacher will have anything tangible and ready for use in the classroom. Also, good teachers develop units and lessons they can design once and use numerous times. Technology-based units, however, are never finished. Software and websites often change, and change quickly. Maintenance time must be factored into development plans. I’ve seen teachers work hard over the summer building online courses reliant on external websites, only to then see the teachers struggle to put out fires over the course of the school year as websites move, disappear, or change links.

As another example, just this winter I trained a number of teachers on the excellent (and at the time, free of charge) QuizStar program, which is a website that allows teachers to set up class lists online and build online quizzes for them. This is a slick, easy-to-use program that teachers can dig right in and use. Several teachers (myself included) were building libraries of quizzes for use in their courses. Then, this spring QuizStar changed to a fee-based format ($36/year for individual teachers). Argh. Our district didn’t have money to pay the fee. Teachers who weren’t willing to pay out of their pockets felt that their work in learning the program and building up quizzes was largely wasted, as they no longer could access their quizzes without paying the fee.

This doesn’t mean to say that technological change can’t be implemented in schools. It can be done and it is being done. But I think that the strategies to implementing change take careful consideration, and often it is this level where technological innovation in schools goes askew. At some point in the upcoming week, I’ll try to outline some of the strategies and programs that we’ve found effective in implementing technological change at some of our Alternative Learning Centers in Intermediate District 287.

Technorati Tags: Dangerously Irrelevant, education, technology, innovation, class size, QuizStar, Mike Smart

Finally catching up on that list of things to write about…

(This is the second part of three that describes the Teacher of the Year Selection Weekend. Here is a link to Part I)

The Saturday morning of the interview—although I had set my alarm for 8:00 a.m. in hopes of catching up on sleep—I snapped wide-awake at 5:00 a.m., ready to go. This would have been fine if I had my interview at 5:30, but my interview wasn’t until 11:30. This also would have been fine if I had gotten to sleep at a reasonable hour the night before, but I don’t think I fell asleep until after 1:00 a.m. Yes, I was just a bit nervous. Fortunately, adrenaline rocks: I had plenty of energy. I got up, read for a bit, ate breakfast, and jogged. As the time drew near, I surprisingly found myself getting calmer and calmer.

One of the neat aspects of the Teacher of the Year interview day, which in our case started at 8:30 a.m. and stretched until 4 p.m., is the “waiting room”, which was a room set off at the hotel for finalists to relax in before and after their interviews. I spent a good bit of the day there, as did all of the other finalists. The time spent in the waiting room became one of the highlights of the weekend. You get a chance to get to know the other finalists, cheer them on before their interviews, and congratulate them afterwards. We spent a good part of the day laughing, talking about the process, and simply sharing stories. I was also surprised to hear that several of the finalists had equal or greater trouble sleeping as I did the night before. I can’t say enough how much I enjoyed this time, this getting to know the other 10 finalists, and how each of them were equally deserving of the Teacher of the Year award.

As the morning grew short, my interview time drew closer. Before I knew it, I was sitting on the sofa outside the interview room, waiting to be called in. By this time, I had crossed the point of no return. The nervousness was gone, replaced by an excitement stemming from a realization that long awaited interview was right in front of me. Regardless of outcome, the process was drawing to a close. And then it was time.

Gwen Rudney, the Teacher of the Year Committee Chairperson, brought me into the large interview room. Tables formed a large rectangle in the room. On three sides sat the 22 members of the selection panel. The interviewee’s chair sat on the empty end of the rectangle. My first impression of the group was that they were all smiling. Amazingly, there were no intimidating stares, dark robes, or ominous devices of torture. Before I knew it, I was answering questions that spanned a wide range of educational issues, most of them centering on my educational career and my thoughts on education. The selection panel was so appreciative, so affirming, and so genuinely interested in what I had to say that any residue of nervousness I felt before the interview was washed away in their enthusiasm. They made the 30-minute interview one of the most enjoyable half hours of my teaching career. Several of the other finalists felt that the “interview” should be renamed “dialog” to give a better impression of what actually happens in the room, and I would generally agree. There were some challenging questions, of course, but by and large, “dialog” might be a better way to describe my time with the selection panel: it was fun. I should also add that time flew during the interview; the 30 minutes felt like ten minutes.

I’m not going to discuss specific questions, as the intent of the interview is to get spontaneous answers, and putting down questions here would hurt the process next year. However, out of the kindness of my heart in helping next year’s finalists, I have decided to spill the beans on one question. By doing this, I’ll give future finalists something to prepare for as their interview draws near. Please keep in mind the risks I am taking in giving away such highly classified information.

Here is one of the questions: Could you tell us a little bit about what you did in Japan?

There you go. I’m fairly certain that every finalist gets asked that question, so now you can prepare for your interview with a bit more confidence. Just don’t tell anyone at Education Minnesota that I gave away such top-secret information, ok?

After my interview, the finalists and the selection panel gathered for lunch in one of the hotel restaurants. Seating was pre-arranged, and again, the event was an enjoyable hour talking with people who are passionate about education.

I spent the remainder of the afternoon at the hotel. My brother and sister-in-law had arrived from Connecticut, and I spent some time with them, as well as spending more time in the waiting room talking with the other finalists.

After the final interview ended, the selection panel met behind closed doors to determine the Teacher of the Year. While this went on, Doug Dooher, the Program Coordinator for the Teacher of the Year Program, ran an outstanding Media Training seminar for the finalists that helped orient us to some of the things to consider when interacting with the press. Before the Media Training session was half over, the panel had made their decision on the next Teacher of the Year, but that information is kept tightly guarded until the official announcement at the Sunday banquet.

Saturday evening, another brother and sister-in-law arrived from New Hampshire. My wife, my children, my brothers and sisters-in-law, and I had a wonderful dinner at a nearby restaurant. As I went to sleep at the Northland Inn on Saturday night, I felt relieved that the interview was behind me. I looked forward to catching up on sleep.

By this time, psychologically I was feeling good. I had given my best to the process. There is no loser in something like this. I was ecstatic to have been nominated. Making the semi-finals was sufficient honor for me. Being selected a finalist, getting to be part of the selection weekend, and getting to meet such wonderful people was an incredible experience. I went to sleep calm, knowing that I was content with any outcome the following day.

(Part III forthcoming)

This morning, I had the honor of giving the commencement address at the Ridgedale Alternative Program (RAP) in St. Louis Park, Minnesota. RAP is one of the several alternative learning centers that Intermediate District 287 administers.

An Alternative Learning Center (ALC) is generally a place where students come after they have had difficulties with traditional educational settings. At an ALC, students get smaller classes, individualized programs, and lots of interaction with teachers and staff. Graduates have overcome incredible obstacles and challenges in reaching commencement.

If you’d like, you can listen to the speech:
Learning to Bounce (MP3 format, 7.5MB, 13 minutes)

P.S. A special thanks to Eric Michelsen and the RAP staff for the invitation.

Technorati Tags: education, commencement speech, speech, alternative learning center, ALC, Minnesota teacher of the year, mp3, Mike Smart

A few people have asked to see the essays that I wrote for the Teacher of the Year application. They have been included in the official press release, but for the sake of easy access, I’m posting them here in PDF format. Clicking on the links below will allow you to save them to your computer.

Education Message

Philosophy of Teaching

Two quick comments…

The tricky part with these essays was fitting them onto two pages each. I ended up chopping out a lot of content. Over the course of the year, I hope to be posting more detailed thoughts on some of the topics mentioned in the essays.

On of the nice things about the Teacher of the Year application process is that it gets you to think in great detail about your philosophy of teaching and your educational message. These essays were written five months ago, at the beginning of the process. I would modify some areas if I were to write them now.

My grading backlog is gone! Every single paper I’ve gotten over the last three weeks is now graded and entered into the computer. To be honest, it didn’t take as long as I thought it would. I had been grading parts of stuff when I had some free time over the past three weeks, and a surprising amount of the material had sections already complete.

With that cleared, I now hope to start posting more in the blog about some of the events of the past three weeks, and finally answering the remainder of the regular mail that has come in.

Lee-Ann Stephens, the 2006 Minnesota Teacher of the Year, said that she thought her teaching suffered due to responsibilities from the Teacher of the Year title. I’m starting to get an idea of what she meant. Over the past three weeks, there have been meetings, recognitions, interviews, and events almost every weekday. Time has flown, and in the midst of the activity, I’ve still had all my teaching responsibilities.

So far, though, I’d have to say that what’s happened in the classroom has probably benefited from Teacher of the Year related matters. The Japanese classes have had some interesting visits and events, and it’s been an exciting time. One area that has clearly suffered however, is my ability to get papers back to students. The pile has grown to five inches high. Yikes.

I’ve got a three-day weekend to catch up. I want to get through the pile by Monday night. I usually grade about 5-10 hours/week, and this is about a three-week pile. Finishing the pile by Monday night could be a stretch, as I want to spend time with my family too. Life wouldn’t be any fun if it were easy, though.

The most moving aspect of receiving the Teacher of the Year award has been the emails and letters that I’ve received from former students. For two weeks, letters and emails have been coming in from everywhere. I’ve gotten calls from Japan, emails from New Zealand, and letters from all over the United States. Many of them go beyond simple congratulations to tell a story of gratitude that makes me feel like the luckiest teacher on earth. If I ever get frustrated with a bad day now, I have a stack of letters I can read to pick me up, to keep me going. To all of you who have gotten in touch: thank you.

I wish, however, that more teachers could experience this, that it didn’t take a reason for former students to get in touch with their teachers. A teacher generally comes into the profession wanting to make a difference, and a letter from a former student telling a teacher that they did make a difference in a student’s life is incredibly uplifting. I am no less guilty of not writing to former teachers than anyone else is. I have three teachers that I have always wanted to say thank you to but for some reason I never have. I’ve resolved to write them in the next few weeks.

So I encourage you, if you’ve got a teacher that made a difference in your life, let him or her know. Get in touch. Most teacher email addresses can be gotten from a little poking around on school websites. It doesn’t have to be a formal letter, an email is fine. It doesn’t have to be long, just a short thank you with a reason does fine. The teacher’s level doesn’t matter: teachers at all levels would love to get such a letter. It doesn’t matter if you think the teacher doesn’t remember you. You’d be surprised how often they do remember, and the fact that they may have forgotten you doesn’t lessen the impact they had on your life. So make some time to say thank you to a teacher that helped you. Make a teacher’s month.