96 Crayons and a "Box of Dreams"

For young kids, school supplies can be a big deal. Pencil pouches are cool, trapper keepers are fun, and a brand new box of crayons is exhilarating. When I was a young boy, I always brought my box of 24 crayons on the first day of school, and I remember being amazed - and a little bit jealous - of my classmates who brought a box of 64 crayons (with a built in sharpener!) I remember thinking how awesome it would be to have that. Several years ago, I shared this silly childhood memory with some of my office staff. When my birthday rolled around later that year, they presented me with a box of 96 crayons (with built in sharpener) and a note about “dreams coming true.”

In a meeting with seniors that year, I told this story and encouraged them to hold on to their dreams ... even the silly ones. (There is a tradition at that school, that as seniors walk across the stage and receive their diploma, they discreetly give a gift to the principal during the handshake.) At graduation, as I presented each senior with their diploma, each graduate gave me a crayon. I will always treasure that “Box of Dreams” ... and that box of 96 crayons (with the built in sharpener) will always sit in my office as a reminder of the great colleagues I have had, and continue to have ... and as a testament to the power of dreams.

Remembering the Roses

Smelling roses is not something that happens by accident.  It is easy to spot their beauty from a distance, but you generally have to put your nose right down there if you want to enjoy the fragrance.  And it's usually worth the effort.

Not too long ago, a colleague sent me this picure of the home screen on her phone.  Our staff is currently in a "Voxer" book study, and she wanted me to know that she was a little behind.  (Yep ... she had 131 messages that she had not yet listened to!)

I was in a meeting this week, and the woman next to me showed me that she had 98 unread text messages.  My own home screen continually reminds me that I have over a thousand emails that I have not processed.  We are constantly being notified that something needs our attention: a facebook comment; a Twitter notification; an urgent text; another email; someone is talking to us on Voxer; or maybe, someone is actually calling our phone.  We are pulled in many directions, and often times, we feel we are spread too thin. It seems a bit ironic that the more "connected" we are, the more discombobulated we feel.  And I listed examples of social media, but that's only one facet of our busy lives.  We have work to do that is sitting right in front of us; we have families at home that need our attention.  There are errands to run, bills to pay, a gym membership that needs to be used ... and I hope somebody remembers to feed something to the kids!

But we will not be victims of a busy life.  Our life does not happen to us; we build the life that we want.  But like smelling roses, this process does not happen accidentally. It is an intentional process that begins when we clarify our values.  This leads to a sharper focus on our priorities.  My family recently told me that I have been preoccupied with my phone.  I don't ever want there to be ambiguity about what the roses are in my life, so I'm making a concerted effort to exercise "moderation" with social media.  

I'm currently behind on two book studies, but that's ok ... I have been playing Go Pokemon with my kids.  

The Interuptions ARE my Job!

One of the most talented and dedicated educators I ever worked with was a lady named Barbara Gajewski.  I had the privilege of calling her a colleague for several years when she was the college counselor at the high school where I was an administrator.  She was outstanding at her job, so her time was in high demand.  Parents wanted to talk to her about scholarships, students needed her to write letters of recommendation, and college admissions officers were constantly calling. I know she spent many hours on the weekends writing those letters of recommendation.  I wasn't aware of a harder worker at that school. 

I will never forget the time that she gave me one of the most important bits of advice I ever received.  (She was not intentionally giving me advice; she was just relaying to me something she had learned.  But I held her in such high esteem; I took these words as advice ... and I took them to heart.)  I was sitting in her office, and she said, "Danny, I used to be so frustrated when students and teachers kept coming by my office.  I would be frustrated with the constant phone calls.  I had a lot to do and these constant interruptions were a distraction; they were keeping me from doing my job.  And then one day I had an important realization.  It dawned on me that these interruptions, WERE my job.  That person on the phone or that person at my door is important, and they deserve my attention and my energy"  I remember being struck by how poignant that insight was to me, and I have thought of that lesson many times over the years.

You're busy!  I know you have a lot of things on your to do list.  It would be so tempting to be frustrated with the constant interruptions. But never underestimate your ability to make someone's day by how you respond to those little distractions - the ones you could easily view as an annoyance.  You never know which moments with people will be the ones that they remember ... for a long time.  So embrace the interruptions.  Make the most of those unplanned, unscheduled moments. They could end up being the most important moments of your day.

I'm Uncomfortable

Hi ... my name is Danny, and I’m uncomfortable.  I find all these changes overwhelming, intimidating, and at times …  even scary.  I just started a Twitter account several months ago, so I could connect with other educators, and I’m still not sure what some of the functions are.  I felt a bit foolish a few weeks ago when a friend showed me something simple like how to tag people in a picture.  Our system is moving to all things Google, and that is a bit unnerving. I knew a little bit about Power Point, Excel, and Word, and now I’m having to figure out how to use Docs, Slides, Forms, and Sheets … not to mention a whole new email system.  Right now, I’m a little embarrassed that I can’t figure out how to store and retrieve all my info on Google Drive.  I just started a blog this month, and I barely have a clue what I’m doing there. I just started an Instagram account, and my son told me I screwed up my first picture. Yep … it’s fair to say that I’m uncomfortable.

But here’s the thing: I’m absolutely certain that I’m growing. And I’m equally certain that these changes will allow me to be more effective in my job. I have made a decision that my commitment to growth must override my desire to stay comfortable.  Make no mistake about it, venturing into uncharted waters brings a level of vulnerability. There is some risk that is inherent with any change.  It can be challenging … but we must embrace the changes anyway.  The risk is worth it.

Imagine the teenager who wants to be a great football player, but he remarks,

“I’m just not into lifting weights.”

Or the aspiring gymnast who says,

“Stretching just isn’t my thing.”

It is easy to see how naive, short sighted, and absurd these sentiments are.  When people say these sorts of things, we can't take their commitment to their goal seriously. Have you caught yourself saying, “Technology just isn’t my cup of tea” or “I see how that’s good for some people, but I’m not good at technology”?  I know I have said many times, “I’m just not a technology guy.”

Well guess what ...

I want to be the best, so I have made a decision to jump in “head first.”  It’s important to know that this decision is based not on how I feel, (because as I said, I’m uncomfortable,) but on what I know to be the right thing to do.  We never grow if we refuse to step out of our comfort zone.  So I’m stepping out. Maybe your goal is not to be THE best … but if you are an educator, you know that your work impacts students … and those kids deserve YOUR best.

The Power of an Oath

It's easy to get into a routine.  We go to work everyday; we teach lessons; we lead faculty meetings; we email parents; we supervise carpool ... and the list goes on.  We make a million decisions every day, and many of them, we're barely aware of.  We get bogged down in the minutia and the mundane.

So how do we rise above the "grind" and stay mindful of why we do what we do?

I'm glad that every physician in this country has committed to practicing by an established collection of standards.  The field of medicine is so important that every doctor takes an oath to embrace and support a common set of values. A few years ago, I gave my teachers a copy of the Hippocratic oath at a faculty meeting.  I asked them to read it and to underline the words or phrases that resonated with them.

As it turns out, there is much in this oath that reminds educators of their own profession.  When we read the following phrases, it is hard not to apply the ideas to what we do (or what we should do) in school.


"I will gladly share knowledge as is mine with those who are to follow."

"I will not be ashamed to say 'I know not,' nor will I fail to call on my colleagues when the skill of another is needed."

"I will remember that I do not treat a fever chart or a cancerous growth, but a sick human being."


After some discussion on the relevance of the Hippocratic oath to the work of educators, I asked the teachers to write their own professional oath.  I asked teachers who felt comfortable, to post their oath outside their door.  As is normally the case, my teachers exceeded my expectations!  They articulated their professional values and commitments in some profound and poignant ways. Two of them are below:

These oaths are posted outside their classroom, and I know that they have had an impact on many of the visitors in our building.  I also wanted the students, staff, and parents to know what my commitments were as the school's principal, so my oath is posted on my office door.

I wish I had written and posted my oath 23 years ago.  These oaths keep us connected to our core values.  They communicate to our students and our colleagues what they can expect of us.  Most importantly ... they remind us why we come to work each day.  In the near future, I'll be encouraging my teachers to post their oaths on their school website.  I cannot imagine a parent who would not love to read the values, priorities, and commitments of their child's teacher.

So what are your commitments to your students and your colleagues? How are you accountable to them?  Consider writing and posting your own professional oath.

The Box of Rocks in my Office

To my recollection, there was only one school project that I ever really cared about.  It was the only project in which I totally invested myself ... the one project that I remained proud of longer than the grading period in which it was turned in.

In the fall of 1983, I walked into Mr. Navarre's 8th grade Earth Science class.  Little did I know what I was in for.  Mr. Navarre was an old man that came across to most of the students as a grouch.  He didn't smile much, and the threw erasers.  But what really sticks with me about that class, was this old man's love of rocks.  This was not just his hobby; it was his passion.  Every summer, he drove around the country collecting various rocks and minerals, and over the year, he proved not just his commitment to share his passion ... but actually to share his rocks.  Our major project for the year was to follow very specific step by step instructions to construct our own rock box. (I remember it was very tedious to cut all the partitions, but I remember being diligent with it because I wanted mine to look good.) When we finished it, there were spaces for 50 different rocks and minerals.  And here was the cool part:  for every rock that we memorized the minerals it was composed of, the location it was found, and the use for it, he would give it to us free.  I committed myself to learning all 50.  I really wanted Mr. Navarre to be proud of my work.

So during the 1983-1984 school year, I made this rock box. I took these pictures several weeks ago.  Over 30 years later, this project still sits on a shelf in my office.

Here's the crazy part ... I don't like making things, and I never liked rocks.

But oh ... Mr. Navarre was so passionate about rocks, and he made it clear that there were only three middle schools in the country where students made rock boxes that were this extensive.  I even remember him touting the fact that the cover that we glued on was fire proof.  He was so excited about what he taught us.  He loved those rocks.  And he brought this passion, energy, and enthusiasm into the classroom everyday.

And so I learned to love the rocks.  Mr. Navarre's passion rubbed off on me.

I've thought about Mr. Navarre many times over the years.  Every time someone asks me about a teacher who had an impact on me, he is who I think of.  Think about it ... if you can get an 8th grade boy excited about rocks, thnn you have got it going on as a teacher.

And so I keep this rock box in my office as a reminder ... as a symbol.  To me, it represents the importance of passion, energy, and enthusiasm ... the power to get an 8th grade boy fired up about rocks.  Wherever I go ... and whatever I do ... I hope to always bring some "Mr. Navarre."

The Hug that Changed Me

Years ago, when I was a high school assistant principal, I had Eric in my office.  He had been in my office many times before, and I don’t remember why he was in my office that day.  He was what we called, a “hard” kid.  He was tough, in a gang, and saw little value in school.  I had learned that the misbehavior of students was only the symptom of other issues going on, but I often got caught up with the need to be "efficient" in my job.  At times, I felt like my office had a revolving door.  For some reason that day, I decided to try and connect with Eric.  I asked Eric a lot of questions about his life, his family, and his goals.  It was very evident that he had it rough.  As far as I could tell, he had very little going for him and had very little support.  At the end of our talk, I asked him about the last time he had a hug.  I remember very vividly his response because it crushed me.  He said, “Mr. Steele, I don’t even remember.”  I walked around my desk, and as I hugged him, I said, “Eric, I don’t know where you’ll be in ten years, or what you’ll be doing … but I want you to remember that there was a guy who cared enough about you to give you a hug.”

I have no idea where Eric is now ... or what he is doing.  I don’t know if he remembers that hug. 

 I do.  

When I think of that hug, I’m reminded of why we do what we do.  I’m reminded that we see students every day who desperately need our time, our support, and indeed, our love.  Students walk our halls; they sit in our classes; and we have no idea what they’re dealing with. We get frustrated when they’re tardy, when they’re out of dress code, when they are not prepared, when they are inattentive and disengaged.  When I think of Eric, I remember that sometimes … a student might need a hug more than they need our “lesson.”