So, Which Way Next?

My wife (a Massachusetts transplant from Connecticut) always marvels at how well I know the roadways of my home state and how - even if I don't know quite where I am - I am able to get us home without the assistance of our Garmin. She is also keenly aware that I have inherited my mother's ability to tell the same story 3, 4, even 5 times, so a smile flickers across her face every time she mentions my directional proclivity because she knows what's coming next. I ALWAYS share stories about how my dad - on our way back from hockey games or family functions - would take me through all the ins and outs of the surrounding towns with the mission of ending up back on Spruce Hill Road asking "OK, left or right?" every time we came across an intersection.

Sure there were times where I guessed wrong but each time my dad would just smile and - this might come as a shock to some of today's new parents - let me make a mistake. But, as I think about my dad and his contributions to my successes, I've realized that this seemingly trivial game was so much more. It was my dad's way of showing his trust and confidence in me. And, even at a young age, it was his way of showing me that a sense of pride and accomplishment can only be truly achieved when there is a certain level of independence and risk attached to it.

On Thursday afternoon I was preparing for Friday's revision workshop. The kids have been working on their This I Believe essays and I was trying to figure out the best way to structure the lesson. During a team meeting we were reviewing the kids writing as part of our professional development goal and Bill (our science teacher) paused and said "you know, I don't think they need a ton of structure." At first I was shocked at the suggestion and - to be honest - slightly afraid of what an unstructured lesson might look like on the second to last Friday of the school year. But I trusted my team's judgment and we designed a few mini-lessons through Google Drive, relying on the kids' self-assessment exit tickets and looking for mentor texts from their work to share with everyone.

At the beginning of the year, when we did revision, it was in a format I called the revision train, where students would rotate from station to station focused specifically on areas of their writing that I wanted them to be aware of. While I know that those procedures and routines were essential steps towards making our kids more self-aware, independent, collaborative writers, I often noticed that I was the conductor of the train (and yes - we even had train sounds during transitions). So, instead, I decided that Friday's lesson would be a Revision Passport, where students could move from lesson to lesson on their own and come to customs (and yes - my paraeducator and I were armed with stamps) when they could show evidence they had addressed their revision goals after visiting places like Quote-a Cabana, Introduction Island, and Conclusion Cove.

But this post is less about the lesson the kids did that day and more about the lesson that I learned while watching them. Sure there were kids who needed more guidance and - of course - more redirection than others, but overall I was so blown away by how self-directed and engaged they were. It looked like an office approaching a deadline: calm, but engaged, focused, but collaborative. At first, I was even a little hurt by how little they needed me. That hurt was almost instantly wiped away with an overwhelming sense of pride. Then it hit me; this must be kind of like what it feels like for dad.

He has watched my grow since I was the little kid who needed turn by turn directions and every step of the way he has become less of a GPS and more of a co-pilot. I'm so blessed to have a dad that always knows how to strike the perfect balance between being there to hold me up when I need it and letting my stumble when I need it. With the help of my students, I've realized that the only way to make meaningful learning happen (whether in English class or the world beyond the protected walls of our school) is to constantly search for that same balance.

So thank you, Dad. Everything I do in life I do with the purpose of making you proud and making you realize the influence that you have had on not only me, but your daughters, nieces, nephews, and really anyone else who has the pleasure of needing your help at any given moment.

And Happy Father's Day to all of the other great dads out there who help coach their kids through life's curriculum. Five years in a classroom has taught me that you make all the difference.