TJ Kids are Our Kids Too

TJ Kids are Our Kids Too

Today I took a wrong turn and ended up in another country.

It was supposed to be a day of reflection, rejuvenation, prayer, and writing. As leaders and healthy humans, it’s important to step away from school, the computer and the email inbox. It’s important to get some distance for inspiration and creativity. Today, I took one of those days.

I decided to start my day with a long run at the Tijuana Estuary. Here, a winding sandy trail opens up to a breathtaking panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean, with San Diego to the right and Mexico to the left. Driving southbound on I-5, I found myself looking for an exit that was already in the rear view. By the time I figured it out, I had passed the last United States exit and was on my way to crossing the International Border into Mexico. At the inspection point, I pulled over and asked two federales, dressed in fatigues, if it was possible to turn around. They flatly directed me to the two-hour border wait in the Zona Rio Central.

What? This was not the plan. Instead, it felt like most other days at school. You likely get it: You drive into school with clear priorities, only to discover that there are fires to put out, unexpected assemblies, teacher absences, or parent concerns. So you pivot.

So I pivoted. Instead of starting my day in a multi-hour traffic jam I decided to head toward the coast. I did find space and time to reflect at Playas. I ran along the beach at Playas, sipped a locally brewed café americano, read some sacred scriptures, and let the ocean breeze clear my mind. I even texted my friend in Tijuana to meet up for tacos.

The adventure portion began on my early drive home. If you’ve ever tried to find the correct border crossing entrance points in Tijuana, then you know that it’s a bit like finding your way through a maze that your fifth grade substitute teacher gave you to kill time. I ended up in a medical lane, for emergency vehicles. Eight dollars cash, which was all I had in my pocket, is what it took to get a taxi cab to lead the way out of the circular streets back into town and onto the general border crossing. While it’s pretty hard to be rejuvenated in the middle lane of a traffic jam, I did my best to stay in a reflective zone. It didn’t help that peddlers consistently knocked on my passenger window, trying to sell me tostilocos, framed pictures of El Chapo, and wool Dodger blankets.

One of the things that struck me was how many children were employed in efforts to bring income into their families. I kept thinking about how these children should be in school. I kept wondering if they got to play with their friends. I kept thinking about my own children, and about the students at my school.

I kept reminding myself that these kids are our kids too. It’s true, they live 15 miles south of my house on the other side of a double iron wall. But, they have the same image of God in them. They have great minds and deserve the opportunity to grow them. They could be our next scientists, our next entrepreneurs, or our next educational leaders. Very few look beyond the car window-chicle transaction and see futures for these children. Likely, they don’t see roads to success for themselves. But it is possible.

After all, our oldest son, Ricardo, grew up in Tijuana before he came to San Diego with his family. Today, he is a scientist, businessman and leader. Ricardo holds a Master’s degree, contributed to research advancing cures to cancer, and has aspirations of starting a biotech laboratory. Most of his family still lives in Mexico. The difference for him was that he got the chance to be challenged, supported, and believed in. Idling in that mass of cars at the border, I reminded myself of the blessing I received in getting a front row seat to Ricardo’s story. I even got to play a part in it!

I wonder if any of these children, walking up and down the oil stained concrete, selling chicle and ceramic statues of the Virgin Mary through exhaust fumes, will get their shot. I wonder if they will get to attend school, have mentors, or receive praise for their writing.

I fear they will not. But I pray they will. After all, those kids are our kids too!

Open Letter to a Passing Mentor

Open Letter to a Passing Mentor

We lost a great human and educator this week. I lost a mentor from a critical season of my life. Just hours after penning this letter, Lee passed on.  His impact on so many was profound.  Here is how I experienced it:

I was a student teacher and you were the savvy vet.

In a year’s time, I would be teaching ninth grade English, in the classrooms and hallways where you impacted students for decades. You did it through love, literature, and teaching strategies. Love always came first for you. Instinctively, you knew what was most important. Sure, your students needed literacy strategies and tools to communicate effectively. They needed to be pushed to think critically and speak articulately. But what they most needed was a caring adult that believed in them and could bring the best out of them.

This is what you did for me too; You helped bring the best out in me.

By the time I met you, you were impacting students through teachers like myself. Your impact was multiplied, as you coached pre-service and veteran teachers towards effective instruction and positive classroom environments. Your coaching helped me feel successful with students. And knowing that you believed in me, helped me step into some risks:

In 2001, I remember asking my wife to videotape me, acting outside a local liquor store, all to simulate a live simulcast interview of book characters for the next day’s lesson. I remember jumping in the middle of hallway fights, and then walking students towards reconciliation. I remember successfully bouncing between two passionate effective guide teachers, who had a healthy disdain for one another. I remember trying a typical elementary strategy, guided reading, at the high school level, because this is the support our struggling readers needed. I remember turning down a more lucrative job with more privileged students, for a chance to make a greater difference with students at our urban school.

As a student teacher, I remember how you made me feel.

Yours was the face that welcomed me into the profession. Yours was the face I sought out after hard days of teaching, where you affirmed my ability to reach students. Your voice was one I sought out, before making a step away from the classroom and toward school leadership.

In the end, you helped affirm my own calling, my life’s work.

Goodbye dear friend.You have left your mark.You live on through your students.You live on through me.

May I, like you, always lead with the heart.


Image courtesy of DePaul UCWbL via Flickr
Teaching Kids with Alarms Going Off:  Trauma-Equipped Educator Part 2

Teaching Kids with Alarms Going Off: Trauma-Equipped Educator Part 2

Bluuuooop! Bluuuuoooop! Bluuuuuooooop!

One moment I was teaching, pointing out brilliant uses of figurative language in literature. The next moment, I was flustered, confused about the piercing noises. Once I remembered that the fire alarm was indeed scheduled to occur, I was able to locate the emergency backpack, line students up, and get them to their designated safety location.

By the time I got students back into our room, the class’ limitations became apparent. Learning for that period was over. Soon enough, the passing bell rang, desks were straightened, and students filed out.

Fire drills occur roughly once a month in schools across America. But what would it be like if these were daily occurrences at our schools? What if alarms sounded multiple times throughout your school day, often without warning? Would you switch schools? Would you contemplate a career change? At what point would you deem it intolerable?

This is, in fact, how many of our students experience learning in our classrooms. Despite their best efforts, students find that their learning is too frequently disrupted by internal alarms, rooted in childhood trauma. These early life experiences, some of them in-utero, have fundamentally changed their brain make-up and wiring. Working with these children, educators and leaders must work to recognize the look and sound of these alarms. We should also work to understand what sets them off, wherever this is possible.

Despite their best efforts, students find that their learning is too frequently disrupted by internal alarms, rooted in childhood trauma.


What Happens in the Brain
Daniel Siegel, M.D. and Tina Payne Bryson, Ph.D, in The Whole-Brain Child describe two floors of our brains. The “downstairs” brain is formed at birth and functions for the purposes of survival. The “upstairs” brain isn’t fully formed until the age of twenty-one and is where thinking, decision making, emotional control, empathy, self-understanding, and morality happen. Humans need to access their upstairs brain to engage in deep learning and excel our classrooms.

The amygdala, an almond-sized part of the downstairs brain, is a key player in the limbic system. It functions as a watchdog, sensing possible danger and quickly alerting the body to either fight, run away or freeze. The amygdala pulls the fire alarm of the brain and effectively cuts off the upstairs brain. While this function is critical for human survival, it happens all too frequently for children who have experienced trauma in their lives.

Humans need to access their upstairs brain to engage in deep learning and excel our classrooms.


Impact on Learning
In our classrooms, hardly noticeable interactions or even environmental factors, set off alarms in the bodies of children. Students go from engaged learners to prehistoric dinosaurs, in a moment’s time. In the words of Siegel and Payne Bryson, “…not only is the upstairs under construction, but even the part of it that can function becomes inaccessible during moments of high emotion or stress.” It’s helpful for us to remember that this shift is often outside the control of our students. They are often stressed, anxious and dysregulated for reasons that even they are unaware of.

Students go from engaged learners to prehistoric dinosaurs, in a moment’s time.


Recognition is Key
If we, as educators and leaders, acknowledge that this dynamic is occurring frequently, for students we serve, then we are closer to supporting them. When we recognize fight, flight or freeze responses in our students, we know that self regulation is needed before deep learning can happen.  And if we recognize that, “….kids are often doing the best they can with the brain they have,” then we are that much closer to increasing learning for our kids!

“Kids are often doing the best they can with the brain they have.”

Image by Jim Nix via Flickr.