Although the true one year anniversary of my emigration to Alaska will not occur for another two months, the end of the school year signals an iconic milestone worthy of reflection. In no particular order or level of importance, lessons learned from a year at Highland Tech Charter School and a year (almost) in Anchorage, Alaska:

1. The personal mastery, standards based system demands the most dedicated, passionate teachers with the greatest work ethic.

— In traditional schools the majority of teachers give an assessment, grade it, and move on. Some offer make-ups, but even then they indefensibly “average” the scores rather than allowing a new, better score, which now demonstrates deeper mastery, to replace an old one. In our system, since students must demonstrate mastery, teachers are constantly assessing. It’s not a “one and done.” While I think I’ve waxed plenty philosophically about the mindset shift this causes for students, I haven’t spent nearly enough time on what it means for teachers. They never stop assessing. They’re covering current content, past content, way past content, and future content. It is not for the faint of heart.

2. Alaskan educators use the word “kiddo” way too much.

— I know I’ve written of this before, but it’s so prevalent I can’t ignore it.

3. Being the principal of a charter school is almost like being a mini-superintendent.

— I was told this very early on and although the scope of my duties is mostly similar to what it’s been in the past as a principal, managing a Board, analyzing physical space needs and options, and looking for new revenue sources is new. Good thing I’ve got that superintendent’s endorsement.

4. Winter is rough on cars here.

— They need to use gravel rather than salt on the roads in winter because of the constant snow and cold. Consequently, when spring rolls around it seems like one in three windshields is cracked. Must be why there’s a glass repair shop on every corner (right next to the Blockbuster Video store, and coffee shack…)

5. The time zone difference is unbeatable when it comes to watching hockey games.

— Triple overtime? No problem. The longest game I watched this spring (which I think was Hawks-Ducks, Game 2) ended at only 9:45 PM.

6. I cannot say enough about the professionalism, tenacity, and investment of my teaching staff.

— I have always believed in shared leadership. Whatever I accomplish as a leader has to outlive my tenure in a position and therefore must be owned by other stakeholders, particularly teachers. I have never worked with a staff that owns it as much as this one. They don’t just throw a problem on the table, stare at the administrative team and say, “What are you going to do about this?” They throw a problem on the table and almost immediately throw three or four solutions after it. This is shared leadership. This is investment. Above all, this is the kind of modeling for our students all educators should do.

7. Finally, I’m not sure about this, but I think I might like halibut even more than salmon. I’m still going to take a pass on the lampreys, though. Particularly the ones that are falling from the sky right now.

My “brief” graduation speech:

For as long as I can remember I’ve been a person who has preferred substance over style. In my professional life and even in my friends I have valued quality over quantity. Perhaps it was this attribute that first attracted me to Highland Tech. One pass through the hallways is enough to assure anyone that we’re not so concerned with style. Yet one day walking in and out of classrooms will certainly demonstrate our substance. Watch the high school boys playing cards and online games at lunch, count the shades of the girls’ hair colors and you’ll be convinced that style is a relative term at Highland Tech. Spend five minutes talking to any of these students about their PSS levels, integrated learning, or voice and choice, though, and you’ll hear substance.

If any of you have attended a neighborhood school’s graduation, you will no doubt see quantity; quantity in the hundreds, in juxtaposition with our twelve Highland Tech graduates tonight. What they lack in quantity, however, they truly make up for in quality. Highland Tech has arguably the most rigorous academic program and demanding criteria for high school graduation in the Anchorage School District, perhaps even the State of Alaska — I’m not quite sure, I just got here nine months ago. But nine months is long enough to have witnessed first-hand the level of dedication, perseverance, and personal commitment required to be a Highland Tech graduate. I can state to you without hesitation that while the quantity of our our graduates is nowhere equal to other schools, the quality of our graduates is incomparable, and I would proudly stand them up next to any others in our city, our state, and across the country.
I’ve only had the opportunity to get to know this group of young adults this year, and I wish I had more time, and I wish I could have learned more about each of them.

I can tell you that each of them is determined, self-disciplined, and passionate. I can tell you that they have mastered high school curriculum that some adults would struggle with. I can tell you that they are thoughtful and empathetic, and that they see the world beyond their smartphone screens. I can tell you that the possibilities in store for them are endless. Finally, and most importantly, I can tell you that I am proud that I have gotten the chance to call myself their principal for this brief time.

Cultural Observation: They don’t use salt in the streets in Alaska during the winter, they use gravel. I think because of the consistent cold and depth of snow (usually) salt just doesn’t cut it. So, they use gravel. Everywhere. Layers and layers of the stuff. The consequence of which is flying gravel. So now that it’s spring and it’s light out and you can see everything, you can see windshields. I don’t think it would be much of an exaggeration to say that one in four windshields either has a ding in it or is just plain cracked. I’m not kidding. Everywhere I look I see cracked windshields, and on every other corner, a vehicle glass repair shop, they’re almost as prevalent as Blockbuster video stores and coffee shacks (did I mention they still have Blockbuster up here?). So, note to would-be Alaskan entrepeneurs — get in the windshield glass game. It’s all it’s cracked up to be…

One of my least favorite duties as an administrator is discipline. Perhaps I’m a bit too diplomatic (that ability to see both sides I boasted about a few weeks back). When I hear two sides of a story I believe the truth nearly always lies in the middle, whether the two sides are two students or a student and a teacher (or sometimes, unfortunately, two adults). Adolescents make bad choices and unfortunately adults sometimes forget that their behaviors aren’t necessarily defiant, they’re merely thoughtless. There’s rarely an excuse, but there’s always an explanation.

Every interaction that starts with an infraction needs to be a learning experience (for child and adult). There is usually a backstory when a student errs and sometimes we as the adults are too impatient to hear it or recognize that there may be a backstory. I get it. Teachers are managing two dozen different hormonal personalities at once and they often don’t have time for the minutia of aberrant behavior. As I always say, “that’s why I get the medium bucks.”

I do have the time and I don’t have two dozen creatures in front of me. Well, I don’t always have the time, but I have to make the time. At Highland Tech we have our Culture of Respect for Everyone (CORE) system. It is not a discipline system, it is a conflict resolution system and students who receive a CORE always have the opportunity to explain their side of the story and work out a solution with the giver of the CORE. If the behavior is significant enough to warrant administrative intervention, the CORE comes to me or my assistant principal. There are places for both parties to tell their side of the story and each gets to recommend consequences/resolution.

I’m often taken aback by some teacher’s recommendations for consequences. They’re far harsher than what I would usually consider for the documented behavior. Then I remember, there’s a backstory I’m not always privy to. Perhaps this was the fifth time something like this happened and it’s just now being documented. Perhaps my predecessor enforced a stricter brand of discipline. Whatever the case, I have learned that a subjective assessment is necessary. Conflict in a school setting is rarely a black and white issue. I would urge fledgling administrators to bear that in mind and wield an even-handed brand of justice.

CULTURAL OBSERVATION: At Highland Tech students and teachers frequently use last names only to address or reference a teacher. A student will ask me, “Do you know where Johnson is?” (my assistant principal) This took me aback in the first weeks of school. I would even hear teachers refer to colleagues by last name only when speaking with students. Eventually I asked my staff how they felt about it. They gave me the backstory and I came to understand how it became part of the culture. They seemed just fine with it and now I find myself doing the same thing, myself with some regularity. I do, however, usually try to refrain from using my assistant principal’s name by itself. Just doesn’t seem right (reference first sentence in this paragraph…)

The Anchorage School District is big. Really big. I taught in a K-8 private school, unaffiliated with any district. My first administrative job was in a five school district and my first principalship was in a six school district. The largest district I’d worked in previously had twelve schools. So here I am in one of the 100 largest school districts in the country. I’ve written previously about the perils of bureaucracy, but today I write in praise of it.

Anchorage has been transitioning to the Danielson Framework over the last two years. There have been innumerable PD opportunities, trainings, and work sessions in order to prepare evaluators to use the Framework for teacher evaluation (and pass the big test). Two years ago in Illinois we were told, “Ok, you all have to go through these online modules, it’ll take about 50 hours, and if you don’t pass the test when you’re done, you can’t evaluate teachers in the fall. Oh yeah, the system won’t be ready until June. Good luck!” At the risk of sounding like a sycophant, I publicly praise the Professional Learning Department every chance I get.

Testing. You’ve got PARCC, we’ve got AMP (Alaska Measures of Progress). In Illinois, you can poke around the website, fumble with the practice tests, and hopefully you have enough bandwidth for PARCC. Here they check every school’s bandwidth and tech capabilities, double and triple check them. Building Test Coordinators have hours of training, online resources, and human supports in order to prepare buildings for testing. It’s amazing.

Finally, as a building principal I always felt I was making educated guesses at budget priorities. In this system, there’s accounting, budgeting, risk management, and a fleet of support personnel helping you get it right. So while the big machine often feels overwhelming, it can also be comforting and supportive. I’ve yet to have a negative interaction with someone at the district level. Keep it up, ASD.

CULTURAL OBSERVATION: Everyone goes to Hawaii! Seriously, back home I can’t think of many people I know that have been to Hawaii, but here, virtually my entire staff has been or is planning on going next Winter Break. If you step back and think about it, it makes sense. It costs a lot of money to travel to the Lower 48 so for a few bucks more, why not the islands? Ohio or Oahu? Yeah, that’s a tough one…

I’ve always considered myself to be a reflective person. I reflect on my accomplishments and challenges, strengths and flaws, perspectives and opinions. I’ve come to believe that most other people see the world in black and white; by which I mean one way or the other, this or that, right or wrong, but that I see the world in shades of gray. I see both sides of issues. In self-congratulation I laud myself as a more nuanced thinker than most. I think the President is often criticized for this same character trait. But I digress.

After attending the Alaska Charter School Association soon-to-be annual conference last weekend, I’ve come to apply this nuanced thinking to the idea behind charter schools. While I taught in a private school I’d spent my administrative career, 12 years in all, in public schools. I’d come to regard charter schools as leeches not to put to fine a point on it, siphoning public money for private interests. I believed, as many opponents of the charter movement do, that the money going to charters ought to be invested in the same public schools being cited as the need for charters. Then I went to work in a charter school.

I’ve written plenty about the school itself, but haven’t tackled the issue of it being a charter school. Six months in, I’m starting to see the nuances in the charter/anti-charter debate. We offer a choice. We offer an alternative and a unique philosophy of education that is problematic in the confines of the traditional public school. We’re different. AND, we are, like any public school, held accountable. Our students take the same standardized tests. Our school is evaluated by the state on the same criteria as other public schools. Our teachers are a part of the district teacher’s association with the same collective bargaining agreement.

I see gray, so I’m not prepared to declare charters the be-all. Each charter is very different in terms of philosophy and methodology. This became very clear at the conference with representation by Waldorf, Montessori, RISC, Back to Basics, native, and home school contingents. Within a school itself best practice at a micro level (the student) warrants differentiation. Why not the same at the macro level (the school itself)? We inhabit an era in which education is under more scrutiny than political contributions, dietary regulations, and commerce. Everyone went to school, so everyone’s an expert. I’ve been doing this nearly twenty years and I know enough to know that

Cultural Observation: My very first professor in my educational coursework insisted that we not use the term “kids” when referring to students. She abhorred the word, claiming it only meant baby goats. In a previous job everything my predecessor wrote referred to “pupils,” which I consider part of the eye, not the classroom. Here in Alaska I am dumbfounded by the proliferation of the use of the word “kiddos.” Seriously. At first I thought it was an Anchorage thing but then I heard it all over the conference. I have to be honest, I find it a little childish. Trying not to judge, trying to see gray here, but “kiddos?” It sounds like a snack food with peanuts and edamame.

Countless books have been written on the subject of school leadership. From Fullan to Reeves to Whitaker to Marzano, the finest minds in educational research have all taken their turn espousing the best practices of school leadership. What I have learned in over a decade in school leadership is that each constituent group has a different metric. What a teacher thinks makes a good principal is different from what a student thinks which is different from what a parent thinks which is different from what a central office administrator or board member thinks.

To whit:

For a student, a good principal is one who knows your name, knows a little bit about you as a student and person, has a sense of humor, and will shoot hoops with you at lunch.

For a teacher, a good principal is one who has your back, who follows through on promises, who stays out of your way in the classroom, throws the book at students who distract their classes, keeps staff and in-service meetings short, and has a sense of humor.

For a parent, a good principal is one who communicates regularly about what’s going on at the school, who knows a little something about their kid, will drop everything they’re doing to meet about the A- that should have been an A, who is visible at drop-off and pick-up, and who has a good sense of humor.

For a central office administrator, a good principal contributes to and supports the district vision, filters what’s coming up from the teachers and what’s headed down at the teachers, keeps parents at bay, and thinks the superintendent has a good sense of humor.

For a board member, a good principal is whatever the superintendent tells the Board he/she thinks is a good principal.

All things to all people, but above all, sense of humor. The biggest and most important part of the job is “and other duties as assigned.” Get that right and you’ve got it.

Cultural observation: Alaskans look forward to winter and are ticked when they don’t get one. On Super Bowl Sunday Chicago got twice as much snow as Anchorage has had ALL WINTER. The snow helps those long, dark days feel a little brighter. They also love their winter sports, of which I’m told I must choose one – maybe cross-country skiing, seems least likely to cause neck breakage. Two winters ago they got nearly 150 inches of snow. This year, I don’t think it’s reached double digits yet. I’ll see how much I can get in my suitcase here in the Midwest and bring back with me.

Two blog posts ago I stated that, “I’m told by staff members that many Alaskans don’t place a premium on education because of the availability of jobs that don’t require it. I’d like to think that’s not entirely accurate, however…” I want to clarify that I don’t believe Alaskan parents place any less of a premium on education than any other parents. This was the perception of others. I have had conversations with many of our parents who are highly invested in their child’s education.

What is notable about the student population here, at least at Highland Tech, is the higher percentage of unique living situations of students compared to schools I have previously worked in. There are a noteworthy number of students being raised by grandparents, foster parents, and adoptive parents. There are also situations in which a child lives with a parent or parents, but spends time out of the house with a “respite caregiver.” Let me equivocally state that this is not a research paper, but merely an observational exercise. I see no evidence that any of these guardians care any less about the child’s welfare and education than birth parents. I mention it because it is different and new to me as an educator. I don’t know enough to know if our demographics are typical of Anchorage schools or atypical.

I do know enough to know that our school is not typical. As I’ve said repeatedly, we are unique. We are in many ways more challenging and rigorous than other Anchorage secondary schools. The other night I presented our school to a group of 8th graders and their parents from another charter, a K-8. I was asked about our graduation rate. I could feel my face and neck flushing. Our graduation rate is not stellar, a by-product of the aforementioned rigor and the fact that many students come to us because we’re small and safe and not because we are a personal mastery-based system. Anecdotally I know that if students make it to their senior year, credit-wise, most of them graduate. But many of our “seniors” are still sophomores or juniors in terms of credits earned. Some become what we call “super-seniors.” It is one of our biggest opportunities for growth, and a newfound area of personal focus as a school leader, as middle school principals typically don’t analyze graduation rates.

Personal Observation: I know, this is usually the cultural section, but I’ve been thinking lately that this is the first time in my life that I’ve lived alone. I always lived at home, with roommates, or with my wife (and kids). I’ve been doing a sociological inventory on what it means to live alone. Here’s the data over the first six months:

• 1st bottle of dish soap still in use (and I cook frequently)
• 1st bottle of all-purpose cleaner still in use (small apartment)
• 1st container of laundry detergent still in use (but getting close)
• 1st bag of garbage bags
• 1 tank of gas lasts 2.5 – 3 weeks (no kid schlepping and work is a 10 minute drive)
• 2nd bottle of shampoo in use (not much hair and probably TMI)
• 2nd tube of toothpaste in use (again, TMI)
• 974 games of Euchre and 1,443 games of Shanghai played on the iPad (though I’m now back to work on my dissertation)
• 154 days missing my family but loving Alaska

As often as I’ve written about the uniqueness of my school one would think the point has been made. However, over the last month I’ve been taking a closer look at other schools in the Reinventing Schools Coalition. I’ve been wanting to visit other RISC schools to see how they implement the model. What I’ve discovered is that Highland Tech is even more unique than I first thought.

Every other RISC school falls into one of two categories: it is either a private/charter school in the Lower 48 (charter schools in Alaska are public not private) or it is part of an entire district engaged in implementation of the RISC model. Highland Tech is a single, solitary entity – a solo RISC school in a large, urban district. We are the only school like us in a district of over 100 schools. We are unique, not just in the Anchorage School District but in RISC.

The reason I underscore the uniqueness attribute yet again is to once again highlight the challenge of fostering success for students in this singular structure. We lost several students over the Break to either traditional secondary schools or credit recovery programs. It was a shame to see a few of them go, however the majority were truly struggling to succeed, sophomores and juniors who’d barely earned high school credit. These were students who were truthfully better off some place else.

Hence, our conundrum. We believe (I believe) our system benefits all learners, but some students do not rise to the challenge. Do we tell them they’re not welcome? Do we have them (and their parents) sign a contract upon entrance, delineating the responsibilities of each? How do we “counsel out” those students who have no light at the end of their tunnels?

I’ve been a part of a few critical conversations and I’ve realized that we have a responsibility to our constituents to be crystal clear about the level of commitment and self-directedness it takes to succeed at Highland Tech. These conversations should never come as a surprise. If we hold up our end of the bargain, they won’t. We do need a compact of sorts, something that outlines the opportunities for learning the school will provide while clearly spelling out the commitment to learning on the part of the student, as well as the level of support pledged by the parent. I think I just gave myself a homework assignment.

Cultural/meteorological observation: To say this Alaskan winter has been mild is putting it, uh, mildly. There have been about 10 days in December/January when the high in Chicago has been higher than the high in Anchorage. I left for Break with about 2 inches of snow on the ground and came back to about 2 and a half inches. It hasn’t snowed since. I’m not sure if I’m complaining, but I would like to see some snow-capped peaks. Climate change is a myth, though, right?

It’s been a while. Thank you for your patience dear readers (both of you), as holidays, illness, and a bit of ennui have contributed to a lack of blogging. I’ve had bits and pieces of thoughts stirring over the last month so, for the 2015 initial post; Musings, Nagging Questions, and Curt Observations from five months in the Last Frontier…

The Pledge – Alaska state law dictates the recitation of the Pledge of Allegiance in school daily. However, as in most states, students and staff are not compelled to stand and/or participate. We begin every day with Morning Meeting, an all-school gathering in our Commons, which we begin with the Pledge. As the year has progressed I’ve noticed fewer and fewer students standing. Is it out of principle or teen apathy/defiance?

Attendance – Highland Tech has had a notorious rate of unexcused absences. Why? Absent students who had not been called in were considered unexcused. I had to change that one right away. Now we call until we find the student. I’m told by staff members that many Alaskans don’t place a premium on education because of the availability of jobs that don’t require it. I’d like to think that’s not entirely accurate, however…

Parents have so far not seemed entirely invested in the education of their children. Because we do not have a traditional assessment system we do not have traditional grade reporting. No letter grades and no report cards. We have a high percentage of students who have not demonstrated proficiency in the number of standards they should have by this point in the year. However, I have heard barely a peep from parents concerned about this lack of progress. I recently read an article debunking the myth that parent involvement, socio-economic status, and school financing aren’t as important as the classroom teacher. I find evidence here to support that. My teachers are working tremendously hard, harder than most students. Productivity needs to be reinforced at home.

Weather – I don’t know what to tell you. More snow down there. More freezing temperatures down there. Looks like I picked the right time to move north.

Elvis Costello is one of my favorite singer/songwriters. However, in a late 80’s song he claimed, “Home isn’t where it used to be. Home is anywhere you hang your head.” I love my new school. I’m crazy about the staff and the kids. I’m really getting to know Anchorage, and the surrounding scenery is indescribable. I’ve travelled back to Chicago three times since moving to Alaska. It’s pretty clear. Home isn’t where I hang my head, home is where my wife and kids are.

The best metaphor I ever heard for teaching “back in the day” came from Marc Prensky, an acclaimed writer and speaker in the field of education who is often credited for coining the terms “digital immigrants” and “digital natives.” At a November Learning conference I attended in July, 2007, Prensky described the old way of teaching as pulling back the curtains and showing students the world. That was a teacher’s job, expose her students to that which was beyond their immediate view and understanding. Then, with the proliferation of internet access, students gained 24/7 access to the world, and the role of the teacher truly shifted from the old cliche of “guide on the side” to “sage on the stage.” Thus began the struggle for relevance that teachers continue to fight for today.

Practically every state in the land including my home state of Illinois and my adopted state of Alaska are now using the Danielson Framework for teacher evaluation. The “heart of the framework,” according to Charlotte and parroted by trainers and administrators is Domain 3, Component C: Engaging Students in Learning. 3c is the lens through which every aspect of evaluation flows, it is the core of effective instruction. Yet as adolescents gain more and more access to the world and knowledge outside the walls of the institution, engaging them becomes more and more challenging. At Highland Tech we offer students greater voice and choice in their learning, and more freedom to explore their individual interests than the majority of secondary schools, I dare say. Yet engagement remains a challenge. Students possess abundant freedom to access learning through technology, yet many remain aloof from content and curriculum.

I wonder if we ought to consider streamlining our course offerings as students move through high school. Once they’ve reached a competent level of literacy, if their interests lie in STEM should we allow them to focus solely in that area? If their bent is humanities do they need chemistry AND biology AND physics? High school graduates ought to be well-rounded and they ought to have exposure to everything we have to offer, but when even the most dynamic teachers sometimes struggle with engagement, I wonder if we’re fighting a losing battle. Perhaps it’s my first exposure to high school students and reconciling the inherent differences between them and middle schoolers. They are very young adults as opposed to pre-pubescents and require a different approach, yet we still must engage them. Further study may be warranted on my part. I’m not ready to draw any conclusions yet.

Cultural observation: They love The Eagles here! No, not the national bird, the 70’s California country rock when-hell-freezes-over Eagles. There are no less than four classic rock/oldies stations and one that plays “whatever we want” here in Anchorage. I’m in my car about twenty minutes a day between work and home and rarely a day goes by without a “Witchy Woman,” a “Long Run,” or a “Hotel California.” Not sure what the obsession is about. Once again, further study may be warranted on my part.