Nail your next interview! Here's how.

Interview season is here!

And we’d love to help.

Mr Darrin Peppard has been a teacher, principal, and superintendent. He has interviewed many potential candidates and has successfully navigated through his own.

As a principal, I too have interviewed many soon-to-be educators and have been fortunate enough to earn a spot in a variety of educational roles.

Below are a few lessons and tricks we have picked up along the way.

You can listen to our full conversation here, on the Schurtz and Ties podcast, or the Leaning into Leadership podcast.

Come, as you are. But also, come prepared.

Tell Your Story:

• What word or idea do you want your audience to know/think about you and what stories can you share that embody them? Write them down, rehearse them to the windshield, then confidently share them in the interview. Be intentional. It is what your audience will remember most.

Be more than the position:

• No matter the position you are applying for, show yourself as a leader willing to do and be more than that position. Sure, they need you as an English teacher, but how else might you impact or help the building, the district, or the community? Be the go-to person on something other than the position you are applying for.

Be full-throttle you:

• There are things worse than not getting the job . . . getting a job under pretense. Be who you are, fully and confidently. If they love you they’ll hire YOU! Showing up to work and trying to be someone you’re not sounds miserable. Quality educators are not looking for someone to fit in the box. So be confident. Be you.

Remember, it’s a two-way street:

• Sure, you’re the one sitting in the hot seat, but they also need the position filled. Take the opportunity to learn about the district, the school, and the leaders. Ask some questions, take notes, and ask yourself if YOU want to hire THEM! Not only does this relieve some pressure, but it can also put a little confidence in your spine. And confidence is always attractive.

Be a Llama:

• Nobody has the perfect resume. And although we don’t want to spend too much time speaking to our weaknesses, it is okay to acknowledge them. But also, and more importantly, it is imperative that we highlight our strengths, talents, and abilities. Again, BE CONFIDENT! Just don’t brag. Instead, share how your badassness will help students, staff, and the community. Use who you are to protect and support others.

Ask about the kids:

• Don’t forget that at the root of all of this are students. They are impacted MOST by your interview for they either get to have you in their building or miss out. So ask about them. Make them the focus. For you, as well as those who are sitting around the table.

A Few Pitfalls to Avoid:

• Don’t talk too long. Remember, those sitting at the table will be there all. day. long. Give them little hooks they can hang your answers on, and maybe select one or two questions where you dive a bit deeper. Otherwise, be prepared, and be concise.

• Don’t continually bring us back to your weaknesses. You can and should address them, but don’t reference them over and over.

• Don’t speak negatively of previous experiences. Even if they were awful or taught you valuable lessons, you can address them honestly without being destructive. Negative talk about other schools or personnel comes across poorly. Always. Avoid at all costs.

• Don’t ask about $$$. At least not from the gate. We all need to make money and pay bills, so the question isn’t bad, but it shouldn’t be the first. And, probably, HR or a website will answer this question for you.

If you have any questions or would like to chat more, please reach out to Darrin Peppard or Brian T. Miller. We’d love to hear from you and offer whatever guidance we can.

#doGREATthings!

Give. Relate. Explore. Analyze. Try.

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-N- Stuff  :  Education

Giving less than 100% is 100% okay.

As educators, we are expected to “give 110% of every day to every student!” Our parents expect it, our students and colleagues expect it, and we expect it of ourselves. Recently, though, I’ve started to wonder if this expectation is unfair, unhealthy even. For our fellow staff members, our students, and for ourselves.

I think there is an appropriateness in the expectation that we come to work prepared and ready to give it our best- absolutely! I think it’s appropriate that we set the bar high, at giving 100%. I also think it’s okay that fail.

More accurately, I think we probably should.

At our core we are defined by our profession - We Are Educators! - but we are also more than that. We are the million other things that exist outside our schools, not the least of which include the roles of spouses, parents, and children to our parents. And when they call, with tears so loud we cannot hear their words, they steal away from our 100%. And that is okay.

In fact, it is more than okay. It is human. And if we are to teach our students, our staff, and our community anything, it is how to be a better one, not a perfect one.

As educators, at times, we go to work to get distracted because immersing ourselves in our classrooms and buildings is something that can bring us joy and purpose; it can remind us of the largeness and beauty of life rather than the pricks of it (overwhelming bills, rocky relationships, harsh realities).

But showing up and pushing aside the distractions, day in and day out, is also immensely lonely. And dangerous. And in a profession that advertises and celebrates “relationships, relationships, relationships,” living in such isolation seems a bit hypocritical.

If we want to build relationships with our staff and students, if we want to build strong bonds and healthy cultures, along with professionalism we need personalism (which is an actual word, I just now discovered, which means “the quality of being personal”). And the greatest contributor to pursuing the quality of being personal is being comfortable with our imperfections.

As educators, we have enough to deal with. We are underpaid, undervalued, and overwhelmed with keeping the peace between combative people groups and conflicting ideologies. Being personal, being human is not something we should have to worry about. It should be something we embrace.

We need to be okay with not being able to give 100%.

@AdamMGrant

“Marriage is never 50-50” Brene Brown states, and is “the biggest crock of bullshit” she has ever heard.

So too is believing that we, as educators in care of our students, our schools, our communities, AND our families can give 100% to everyone, all the time. Because we can’t.

What we can do, however, is try and give as much as we can sometimes, 80% other times, and on those really rough days where we didn’t get any sleep because the car broke down or the hospital called and Mom needs more testing, we give 20%. And that is okay.

What isn’t okay is feeling guilty about it, putting on a professional face, getting distracted, and demanding that we be 100% when we really only have 70. What isn’t okay is believing that professionalism doesn’t have room for personalism.

A healthy marriage, Brene Brown continues, quantifies where we are. “I’m at a 20 today.” Be it energy, investment, kindness, or patience, saying openly and honestly, “I’ve got 20 to give today” allows the other to endure what we cannot. It allows them to see where we are and say, “No worries. I can pick up the 80.” Or, as is often the case, they can also say, “I’m at a solid 45,” providing both with the understanding that tonight, we need to scale back, order a pizza, and be content with the laundry unfolded and dishes dirty in the sink.

Teacher groups and leadership teams should be no different, no less transparent.

Whether we are showing up to get distracted or showing up distracted, sharing with a few trusted colleagues and building leaders not only builds trust, it strengthens the staff and school community. It builds personalism AND professionalism. Most importantly, it models the greatest rule for a healthy life: Do your best with what you have.

We can be distracted AND STILL teach our asses off.

We can be frustrated with our spouse AND STILL be kind, personal, and available to our fellow staff and students.

We can be worried about Mom or Dad AND STILL notice that student who needs a shoulder to cry.

We can be less than 100% AND STILL be helpful, purposeful, and present. Because the reality is, we are often less than 100%. I know I am, anyway. And when I try my best to hide it, to cover up the fact that I am struggling with outside-of-school issues, I feel even worse. I feel isolated. Sharing that I am distracted allows others to understand where my head and heart are today. It also invites them into sharing about their life, their struggles, and their distractions. It allows us to understand and help each other, just as we are.

Sometimes we go to work to get distracted. Other times we go to work distracted. Neither of which steals away from our professionalism. Both of which push us towards personalism.

Which is exactly where we need to be.

#DoGreatThings!

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Blog : Education : On Leadership

Parenting a "difficult child" is hard. And lonely. As a principal, I need to do better.

Being the “difficult child” is hard. Being the parent of the difficult child is even harder. Especially, I think, for moms.

Growing up, I was the difficult child. I had a temper, was rambunctious, and rough. My grandfather used to say that when I walked into a room, things would explode. My siblings simply named me “the animal.”

Yet, most of the time, I was unaware of my difficulty. I would notice that I wasn’t invited to certain events or not allowed in people’s homes or backyards, but it didn’t really bother me because, well, there were forts to build, bb-guns to shoot, and ponds to play in. I got busy. And, in the end, I turned out alright . . . I think.

My second son is much the same way. He too is rough, has “big emotions” as we say, and has difficulty filtering his thoughts and ideas. He isn’t quiet, controlled, or easy. He is all boy, all the time. And just like me, this means he isn’t invited to certain events or allowed to play with particular toys.

Most of the time he doesn’t seem to be bothered by it largely because he isn’t aware of it. Mom, however, is. And it is breaking her heart.

Not only is she the one who has to field the many-times-asked question, “Is something wrong with your son?”, she also has to endure the knowledge that he wasn’t invited to this birthday party, that swimming lesson, or that overnight party because “he’s just too hard.” She has to protect him, from the hurt that surrounds him and from the unfair - or at least incomplete - perception of those who know him, including family.

More than anyone, she is his defender.

After the most recent event, where my wife called me crying in frustration, fear, and hurt - for my son and for herself - a few things crystalized, and I thought I’d share them here, with you.

1. As an educator, whenever I call a parent into my office or classroom to discuss their “difficult child,” I must remember that whatever it is I have to say is not new information to them. They, more than anyone, understand the difficulty of their child - they live with them, after all. So although I need to talk with them about the situation at hand or the plan moving forward, spending a great deal of time talking about their child’s strengths, their gifts, and their talents is imperative! Moms of difficult children hear often why their child is difficult. Rarely do they hear why they are loved. And it is my job to not only see that, but to celebrate it, loudly and sincerely. For the child’s sake, and for mom’s
   

2. I can confidently say that by and large, difficult children have defensive mothers. At times, and perhaps more often than I would like to admit, as an educator, this has irritated me (“Can’t they see I’m here to help!"). And if I’m really honest, on more than one occasion, it has even caused me to think, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” Which is terrible.
   Recently, however, I have been reminded that the parents of a “difficult child” are not difficult, they are protectors. They have seen their child picked on, overlooked, and stigmatized - even by his or her surrounding family! And they are tired of it. Exhausted from it. And at times, they are ready to fight back.

   And I need to let them.
   “If I don’t defend him,” I have heard my wife say on more than one occasion, “If I don’t protect and support him - if I don’t love the hell out of him - who will?”
   No one will. At least not like Mom can.
   So instead of getting defensive, of being in any way judgmental toward a parent who comes into my office guns blazing in defense of their “difficult child,” I want to be patient and understanding. I want to relieve them of their burden and of their need to defend and fire back, not give them another reason to reload.

   Yes, their child is causing disruption in the school and classroom, but they are still loved, safe, and wanted. That is what I want my parents of “difficult children” to hear from me. Because I can almost guarantee they won’t hear it anywhere else.

3. “There is something worse out there than being sad,” Tedd Lasso said to his team, “and that is being alone and being sad.” Parents of “difficult children” are not only sad, they are also alone. They too are no longer invited to events or welcome for quick stop-ins. They are often excluded because of their “difficult child,” leaving them to struggle, suffer, and cry alone.
   Even when they are invited to an event or playdate, instead of engaging in conversation or enjoying a few drinks on the patio, they spend their time watching their child, fearful they will say or do something embarrassing or hurtful - something that will affirm the stigma. So Mom will sit, eyes and ears half attentive to the conversation at hand, and listen, worry, and anticipate the “difficult child” that is sure to come.
   And when those moments come, moms of “difficult children” feel, very accurately, the judgment and criticism. They know their child is causing a disruption, and they know it is their job to help them grow and learn and change. Which only makes Mom feel more sad and more alone. Because they don’t know what to do, and they blame themselves.

Empathy often springs from experience. When we experience pain, sorrow, hurt, and loss, we grow in our ability to understand it in others. We build empathy.

Sadly, it took me having to become a parent of a “difficult child” to better understand those parents who have entered my classroom or cried in my office. For although I practiced the words of empathy I did not carry the heart of it. And I can only assume that they felt that void, that distance, that affirmation of aloneness.

Not anymore. And strangely, I am thankful for that.

To all those parents who have been tasked with guiding and loving the heart and mind of a “difficult child,” my heart aches for you. And it understands you, if only just a little bit more.

Which is why, in case you need it, here is your affirmation and charge to go out and defend the hell out of your child! Love them, protect them, and cry for them. Be their parent, in all the best ways that you know how, and be confident that you - YOU - were given this beautiful task of raising them. Be confident in that, and in them.

But also, give grace to those of us who don’t fully understand you, or your child. Us educators, we truly do love and want what is best for you and your child, it’s just that we can be a bit hard-headed and narrow-minded in our experiences and thus our empathy, at times. But we can learn. We can grow. And because we love you and your child, we are more than willing to do so.

I have often said that being a better educator does not make me a better father., but being a better father does make me a better educator.

I believe that now, more than ever.

#doGREATthings!

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Blog : Monthly Favorites

Monthly Favorites: May 2023

The month of May was crazy. A few things stuck out, however. Here they are!

Favorite Videos:

This one, on teacher shortage and burnout, is pretty tough. True. And more than a bit worrisome.

This one, however, of New Yorkers trying to cross the street during the Marathon is just fun.

The most beautiful of them all, though, is this one from Mike Olbinski, entitled, Niltsa: A Monsoon Film.

Favorite Podcasts:

The Wisdom of Anxiety - A Bit of Optimism, with Simon Sinek

Three Types of Courage - At the Table, with Patrick Lencioni

Why So Many Young Men Are Lonely, Sexless, and Extremely Lonely - Pain English with Derek Thompson

Favorite Reads:

The Power of Moments: Why Certain Experiences Have Extraordinary Impacts, by Chip and Dan Heath

“Our lives are measured in moments, and defining moments are the ones that endure in our memories, {they} shape our lives” And “We don’t have to wait for them to happen. We can be the authors of them”

Everything Sad is Untrue, by Daniel Nayeri

“Does writing poetry make you brave? It is a good question to ask. I think making anything is a brave thing to do. Not like fighting brave, obviously. But a kind that looks at a horrible situation and doesn’t crumble. Making anything assumes there’s a world worth making it for”

Let me know of anything you’ve been reading, watching, listening to, or have been inspired by!

Happy June!

#doGREATthings!

Give. Relate. Explore. Analyze. Try.

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Blog : Monthly Favorites

Repeat Offender, by Catherine Dorian : A Teacher's Story

A month or so ago, my good friend and one of my forever favorite English teachers sent me this write-up, and I loved it.

Miss Dorian was one of my teachers when I was the principal of a small-town high school. She has since moved on to the east coast where she is continually challenging herself, improving her profession, and making an impact on the world of education and in the lives of young adults.

What I love most about this piece is the raw honesty with which she writes. Every teacher can relate to this story as every teacher has lived it. What makes Miss Dorian exceptional, though, is her ability to internalize these moments. Instead of pointing fingers or consuming herself with bitterness, she strives to be better. A better teacher for sure, but also a better person.

Instead of taking it personally, she makes it personal. And in doing so, she gains compassion for the other side. She builds a bridge of understanding, of empathy, rather than discord.

And I just love that.

Repeat Offender, by Catherine Dorian

The other week, I spoke to the mother of a student who plagiarized a portion of an assignment. The mother was really not happy with me and “really not happy about this.” Clearly, her daughter hadn’t plagiarized. Clearly, I was making an unprecedented accusation.  

I gave her some context for the assignment. Her daughter had earned an 80% on a two-paragraph rhetorical analysis of one of the most important speeches on the abolition of slavery in the United States. I have a policy that any student can revise or rewrite any writing assignment before the end of the quarter, a policy designed to teach students to make use of feedback, to experience how time away from writing brings perspective and clarity, and to reflect on their revision process: a policy intended to offset a grading system that fails to teach mastery. Her daughter wants an A in the class, so, in the last week of the quarter, I encouraged her to revise the assignment. If she did, she may be able to improve her cumulative grade; moreover, she would be able to apply the significant strides in her analytical thinking that she has made since writing the original assignment.

“Yeah, I’m aware of your policy,” the mother said. “My daughter has had to rewrite assignments for you on several occasions.”

On the final day of the quarter, her daughter turned in a revision. When any student submits any assignment online, the Google Classroom algorithm does a full sweep of the assignment, checking for areas where the students’ writing is a word-for-word match with an online source.

“Yes, I’m aware of Google Classroom’s plagiarism checks. I’m an educator,” the mother reminded me.

I outlined my evidence: when her daughter turned in her rewrite, Google Classroom flagged it for plagiarism. According to the Google Classroom algorithm, her daughter pulled portions of the assignment from an online source without properly quoting or citing them, five days after I’d taught a detailed lesson on plagiarism and MLA citation with her class.

“Well, she swears up and down that she didn’t do it. I just can’t believe that you won’t believe her.”

I reiterated what I had already explained in my email to her earlier that day. When I spoke to her daughter about the assignment, she admitted to plagiarizing, apologized, said she understood that there were consequences for doing so, and assured me that she wouldn’t do it again. In tears, she explained that she was stressed and just wanted to do well.   

“Well of course, my daughter was stressed.”

Luckily, her daughter plagiarized on an assignment that was already a rewrite of an old assignment. Instead of earning zero points on the assignment, she could keep her original grade of 80%, which would not drastically bring down her cumulative grade, which was an 85% for the quarter.

But my attempt at reassurance only made this mother more indignant.  

We’ve had “countless conversations” about her daughter wanting an A, and yet again, she’d be getting a B on her report card.

That’s true.
And we’ve been talking “for a year” about what her daughter could do to improve.

That’s also true.

Her daughter’s done “everything” to get an A in my class, and I've never once given her the grade that she deserves.

That’s not quite true. I've given her child several sample assignments that have earned high marks, and I've compared/contrasted these assignments with her work, pointing to where she needs to go further in her analysis, add evidence to support her claims, elaborate on her analysis. I have modeled what A-level work looks like (I have a personal policy that I would never ask my students to do an assignment that I wouldn’t do myself, and more often than not, I write the assignment along with my students or show them a comparable essay that I wrote in college), along with several strategies to achieve A-level work. I spend anywhere from 15 - 45 minutes writing her daughter feedback on her assignments, explaining everything that she did well and explaining where she could improve. I've offered her weekly meetings, where I would give her personalized help on all of my assignments; she’s come for extra help only a handful of times in the last ten weeks.  

But my class is the “one class” that is bringing down her daughter's GPA.

My class is the “one class” that's preventing her daughter from getting a scholarship to college.

Ever since her old teacher left, she’s been struggling with English.

“It’s been an entire year with you—” the mother said, “and still, you’re not giving her an A. Good God, give the kid a break.” 

            At this point, I was getting tired. It was past three o’clock, her daughter is one student, and my other fifty-nine students still needed me to prepare their lesson for tomorrow, answer their emails, and give them feedback on their assignments. After that, I had to go home and complete a task for my second job, which provides enough supplemental income so that I can afford to keep my teaching job.

So, I did the only thing that I could think to do.

I apologized for my shortcomings and thanked her for her feedback. I promised to do more to help her child, and I promised that from now on, I would schedule 45 minutes of weekly extra help time with her daughter, where we would do her assignments together and I would ensure that she was doing everything that she could to get an A. I would follow-up with her on every writing assignment and walk her through how she could revise it. I would learn more about her learning style. I would acknowledge how hard she’s working, and make sure that I give her the recognition that she so greatly deserves.

She thanked me. “I’m sorry if I seemed aggressive at first,” she said.

No, no, she wasn’t aggressive.

“I’m just very defensive of my daughter, especially when I know how hard she’s working.”

That’s understandable.

She had to run and get her youngest to a dentist appointment. She thanked me for my time and consideration, said she was “really glad we had this talk,” and hung up. 

Downstairs in the guidance office, I updated the school counselor and the Dean of Students. A few colleagues swapped stories and strategies:

“Once, I complimented her daughter’s dress and asked her to wear a cardigan so that she’s adhering to the dress code. Not ten minutes later, I open an email, and her mom’s written a 1,200-word essay about how I was ‘too obsessed’ with policing what the girls wear.”

“The other week, she emailed me at 1 PM: ‘Call me now.’ Yeah, ‘cause I sit I around all day and wait until she needs me.”

“Oh, her? I’ve discovered that you just have to smile and take it. Don’t interrupt, don’t tell her the facts. Don’t defend yourself. Just let her rip.”

The plagiarism debacle wasn’t unique. I’ve been apologizing for things that weren’t my responsibility since I started teaching. Once, a mother berated me for assigning her daughter—an AP student—“over sixty pages of reading in two nights.” I pulled up the assignment, counted the pages three times, and, in a phone call that would take thirty minutes out of my day, confirmed with her that the assignment was, indeed, thirty pages, but that I would be more cognizant of the workload that I assign next time. Another time, I apologized to a mother for assuming that it was reasonable to ask a seventeen-year-old to check his email and ensure that he’s completed all of his assignments so that he could be eligible to play in what was supposedly the most important basketball game of his high school career. I also apologized to her for my failure to remind her to check his grades in the online gradebook—the gradebook that I updated three times a week, and the gradebook that she’d had access to all year.

I love teaching English because you get to teach about logic and rhetoric. You get to evaluate the strategies of some of the most celebrated speakers and writers of the past and the present. You get to empower students with the skill of supporting their ideas with evidence, with reasoning, with proof that prevails against the tyranny of delusion. You get to refine your own skills as you model the art of rational argument and civilized discussion with students, colleagues, parents, administrators, and school board members. You get to entertain the conviction that language can be a tool for disputing, deliberating, and resolving conflict. 

You’d think that after seven years teaching English, I’d have mastered the art of persuasion. But as I encounter more repeat offenders like the mother pictured here, I understand that no matter the amount of preparation I do for the difficult conversation – no matter Google’s algorithm which confirms the plagiarism, no matter the relevance or rigor behind the curriculum that I teach, no matter the extra hours I put in, no matter the one-on-one help that I offer, no matter the safety nets I rush beneath students who are dangerously close to hitting the pavement—there will still be parents who assume I hate their kid. So I really can’t and shouldn’t take it personally when parents insult me. I can’t and shouldn’t take offense to their skepticism or scrutiny. The best I can do is take it, absorb it, and assume that their frustration comes from their lack of faith in a school system that doesn’t set their child up for success. On that much, we can always agree, and for that much, I can always apologize.   

Thank you, Miss Dorian, for being so open and transparent with your thoughts and struggles! We can all relate. But also, and more importantly, thank you for leading by example on how to show grace and understanding to others. On how to move towards reconciliation and grace, rather than a strong defense.

Truly.

You can connect with Miss Dorian and follow more of her work at her website: catherinedorian.com. 

If you want to hear how Miss Dorian’s words inspired a two-part podcast discussion, check out Schurtz and Ties: a Podcast about Education and culture, Curse of Knowledge vs Gap of Knowledge (Part 1): Analyzing the gaps of misunderstanding between teachers and parents.

Lastly, if you have an idea you’d like to share or someone you believe we could all benefit from, please reach out and let me know! I am eager to share your story.

For more on . . .

-N- Stuff  :  Education : On Leadership