We’ve worked our way through the letters R and O since we started in September with this blog, and we’ve examined words that fit into the fabric of middle level education. Feeling good? Feeling challenged? Because now we’re on the move—to the letter B. In many ways, I think B is the most important letter in the alphabet because it represents a continuation, a succession, an order forward. It’s true that A starts the alphabet, but B shows you that it will move forward—just like the critical middle grades. We can’t just deliver a “Step A” talk about why we need to support young adolescents and then step away. Our duty to the students we serve is how we approach “Step B” and beyond. It’s like Thanksgiving. Anyone can be thankful on that day—that’s when you’re told to be thankful. It’s like the letter A at the start of the line of gratitude. The true test is how we maintain that thankfulness on the next day—like the letter B. So for our students, teachers, staff, and communities, it's about how we move beyond the promise of our letter A and step up and act from letter B and beyond.
Our first B word is “Be.” Now when it comes to that word, let me confess. I battle with “Be” all the time. Be and I are frenemies in many ways—especially when it comes to middle level education. It even tears me up as a Beatles fan because they told me to “Let it Be,” but I just can’t hold fast to that philosophy all the time. My trouble with Be is the result of many years as a teacher in the middle grades. Let me explain. Without sounding like a bitter cynic in the lounge, I have watched educational trends, reforms, fixes, and fads knock on the school house door, unpack their bags, hang up their clothes, use our dishes, take up our time—only to have them pack everything back up and move on. Without even a wave and a “goodbye” —their presence cloying to everything but not really changing anything substantially. Whenever I see that happen to a school or a school system, I think about “be”. As a teacher and an administrator, I just wanted to be. Many days, I would close my door and say out loud, “Man, just let me be.” I wanted to be trusted to use my knowledge and expertise about teaching and learning with the students I was serving without having to worry about the latest trend or mandate hovering like a spectre in my class. Just let me be. I wanted to be accepted as the teacher and administrator I was without having to constantly reinvent myself to fit into someone else’s pre-packaged method for lesson planning, observing, or improving. Just let me be. I also wanted to be exceptional for my students and families: to be able to ask the big questions with my students; to dig enthusiastically into the critical, cognitive soup with my fellow teachers and administrators; to push back against the fences that have been erected in our school houses. Just let me be. You all pop the hood and keep fooling around with the wires and gaskets. I’m going to be over here helping kids. Just let me be.
And speaking of kids, when I saw new edicts and changes sweep through the hallways I also thought to myself, “Man, just let them be.” I also wanted my students to just be because I knew that they would also flourish if we would build our school building on a foundation of “Be.” With everything that young adolescents are going through that is unsettled and shifting, they need consistency and routine. They just need to be. They don’t need schools that are constantly instituting new expectations, rules, and programs—especially those that don’t put students first. They need schools and classrooms where joy is abundant, active learning is safe, achievement in every area is expected, and their voices, choices, interests, and needs are acknowledged and used to make change. If that isn’t happening, I fight for just letting them be.
But my battle with Be isn’t a simple one. While I have the urge to just let teachers be and to let students be, I also know that we can’t just let it be. That’s not how improvement happens. We have to be/lieve that teachers and students in the middle grades can be/come something more. We have to believe, for example, that a student can become better at math. We have to believe, similarly, that our colleague can become better at teaching it. We have to believe that an administrator can become better at restorative justice so students learn from missteps. We have to believe, as well, that a parent can become better at understanding and supporting his or her young adolescent child. We can’t simply watch idly as the tepid water of mediocrity washes over and mutes our desire for consistent excellence in the middle grades. Perhaps our battle with Be should start with figuring out why we push, challenge, insist, encourage, prod, nudge. And perhaps the battle with Be could be won when we acknowledge that if we rest on the current versions of ourselves—teachers, students and administrators—we may never become who we were meant to be.
- What do you believe about letting it be?
- Have you become the person you are or the person you should be?
- How do you help students and fellow educators be more?