The Best Innovation Ever. | THE TEMPERED RADICAL

Yesterday was the last day of school for me, y’all — so I’m in a pretty reflective place right now.  I like to look back over the year and think about what I got right and what I could have done differently to make things better for my students.

It was a different kind of year for me for one simple reason:  I stopped scrambling to find the “latest and greatest innovation” to integrate into my classroom instruction. 

I didn’t try to flip my curriculum.  I ignored efforts to make digital portfolios a priority in my room.  I met — but never tried to exceed — my school’s expectations that I integrate complex text into every lesson.  I ditched my own efforts to make short videos demonstrating places where you could see my required curriculum in the real world.

And instead, I focused on making sure that all of my students felt recognized and valued and appreciated.  I wanted them to feel noticed — something that doesn’t always happen in schools.

Simple, right?  Maybe the key to improved learning and engaged students DOESN’T depend on access to new technologies or pedagogical strategies.  Maybe it depends on remembering that kids are the most engaged when they feel appreciated.

So I leaned into relationships.  I stood in the hallways during transition times and just talked to students.  I asked questions and listened to stories and said good morning and gave hugs and high fives and fist bumps.  I wrote Kudos Cookies notes.

I challenged students to make better choices.  I asked students to share the things that they were wondering about.  I told students that I was proud of them and that I believed in them and that I thought they were brilliant.  I opened my room up at lunch time just to create a space where students could come and be — a quiet escape from the inhumanity of a cafeteria filled with hundreds of screaming children!

And it worked.

I could give you a bunch of data to prove it.  I surveyed my students three different times over the year, using a student satisfaction survey given to older kids in our district.  And my numbers were consistently 20-30 points higher than school and district averages.

Hooray for numbers!

But the real proof came yesterday — on our last day of school.

It came in the letter that CB — a  kid who has probably been overlooked by teachers for years simply because she’s a quiet rule-follower who is always on task and always working — left on my desk.  “You have taken the time to get to know me and to recognize me.  THANK YOU.”

It came in the letter that CW — a quirky kid who isn’t afraid to be unique but who is definitely seen as “different” by her peers — wrote to me.  “You are the first teacher who ever told me that I was smart and that means a lot to me.”

It came in the thank you card that RP’s mom shared with me.  He’s another quirky kid who has probably always felt like he was on the outside looking in.  “RP has been incredibly HAPPY and he truly felt like he BELONGS to a group,” she wrote.  “We are forever grateful!”

But it also came in the tears falling from JM’s eyes five minutes before dismissal. 

Those tears caught me off guard because JM’s not the crying type.  In fact, he’s the “let’s throw hands in the hallway because you made me mad and I’m not going to tolerate it” type.  But when you can get past that temper, he’s the “I’m super curious about science” type and the “I’m smarter than you probably realize” type and the “I’ve got a kind heart and I want to do well” type, too.

I spent the entire year proving that to him.  Reminding him over and over again that I saw all that he was, encouraging him to make the right choices and filling his ears a bit when he made mistakes.  He knew — unequivocally — that I loved him.  My guess is that his tears weren’t falling because he was going to miss science class.  They were falling because he was going to miss me.

And they also came in the 25 minutes that it took me to convince TB to go to his elective class.

He kept hanging around in my room after our day ended.  First, he waited in line to get his yearbook signed — only he didn’t have a yearbook.  Then, he looked everywhere — in every cabinet and drawer and counter and shelf — for his house key (which had been missing for a week).  Then he left for class, only to show up again 10 minutes later to look for that key again.

When I asked him why he wouldn’t go to electives, he said, “Whenever I’m in those other classes, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

So THAT’S my innovation, y’all. 

Will it improve my end of grade test scores?

I couldn’t care less.

What I care about is that I was able to create a space where more of my students — including the quiet ones and the quirky ones and the ones who are labeled as “behavior problems” — felt like they belonged and knew that I believed in them.  For them, school wasn’t rewarding because I used nifty instructional strategies or the latest technologies.  School was rewarding because we were connected.

Now don’t get me wrong:  I know for a fact that there are kids that I missed this year.  For every CB or CW or RP or JM or TB that I know that I changed for the better, there’s a kid that I know I could have worked a little harder to connect to.

But I’ve got all the evidence that I need to know that relationships are the best innovation ever.

#trudatchat