When You Have Nothing To Add

Somewhere along the way, Principals and administrators have it drilled into us that our job is to provide information to teachers on how to ​improve their practice. All the time. No matter what. Be the instructional leader! Fill professional development with strategies, old or new. Use ​the new curriculum. Structure every meeting so that teachers can walk endless miles posting their thoughts on sticky notes and then placing ​those notes on large sheets of paper. Everyone must always be learning. Otherwise, we’re doing something wrong.

So, when we come upon a teammate who is exceptional, it can be difficult to operate in a different way. There are people and situations to which ​I sometimes had nothing to add. It happens when you recognize, immediately, that this person has the skills, personality, and hours to be ​considered an expert.

Enter, Jenny.

Jenny had been recommended to us by one of our teachers. She had the most professional interview of which I’d ever been a part. She brought ​her portfolio complete with amazing products and lessons that she had done with students. Every question she asked was thoughtful and every ​answer well reasoned. During the interview, Jenny was poised and intentional. Honestly, she was a badass.

Jenny wanted to teach art since she was a young child and it showed. She was coming to us with 15 years of experience. In her previous district, ​she was identified as a model teacher. Throughout our initial conversation, it was clear that she was interviewing me as much as I was her. Jenny ​knew what she wanted and what she didn’t. She knew her value and that she was effective at her job. At that moment, Jenny was deciding if our ​school was going to be a place where she would be able to effectively do her job with the appropriate support and without the nonsense.

Then she joined our team and it became apparent that her self-assuredness was well deserved. I quickly realized that I would have nothing to ​teach her about teaching. Seriously, nothing and I was okay with that. Except, as the Principal, that’s not what I’m meant to feel. We’re supposed ​to be constantly “evaluating” and “providing feedback” to our teachers so they can continuously improve. But Jenny was already extremely ​good. Must we bother highly effective colleagues with the nitpicks and frameworks when they are by every measure, exemplary?

Jenny was exemplary when she joined us. She was professional in all settings. In meetings, she was not the loudest or most talkative but when ​she did speak up, it mattered. If she was asking a question, it wasn’t just for her. It was a clarification of something that we had missed or could ​be confusing to others. If it was a point, it always spoke to a greater theme. Jenny has the combination of the vision of an artist and the brain of a ​data analyst. She meshed them beautifully.

And with staff, Jenny could navigate just about anything. While Jenny did not seek to be a counselor to new teachers, she was one. Young ​teachers would ask her about instruction and others about how to integrate the arts into their curriculum. Jenny would lead sessions where she ​empowered other staff to share their lessons and projects with the staff. She would guide the conversation but lift up the folks doing the work. ​Jenny knew how to engage with the adults who were always quick to pick up a new idea and those who shied away from it. She never seemed to ​take it personally but made it open to everyone.

Then, there was her most important skill, her teaching. If someone made a video of how to run your classroom to ensure the most efficient ​learning, joy, and freedom, it would be in Jenny's classroom. Allow me to clarify that Jenny is not necessarily easy going. She had and has clear ​expectations for children in her classroom. Jenny holds her students to high standards when it comes to academics and expectations. However, ​it’s the way in which she built her lessons and her classroom systems that enable the freedom, joy, and excellence in her class. She sets them up ​for success on day one and she holds them, and herself, accountable till the last day of the year.

If Jenny were an athlete, she would’ve been an all star and her teammates’ favorite player. My job wasn’t to “get out of her way,” but it definitely ​wasn’t to micro-manage her or pretend that I had all of the answers. Jenny didn’t need that. She simply needed someone to support her work, ​provide her opportunities for learning, and ensure that she felt valued as a person and as a professional. Jenny, like we all do, required someone ​to think through the world with and someone who was going to be consistent in their communication.

I was honest with Jenny early on in our conversations. I told her, “I have nothing to teach you. I won’t pretend I do.” She would demure and share ​that she didn’t think it’s true but that’s because our society doesn’t encourage people to say things like, “Yeah. I know. I’m fantastic.”

It didn’t matter if she would say it. Anyone could walk into Jenny’s art classroom and know that things simply felt right. Kids were moving at their ​own pace and helping each other. There was laughter and kids asking questions. Children were grappling with standards and skills. Jenny would ​model her lesson and then move throughout the classroom working with individual children, stopping at appropriate points to make ​recommendations to the class if she had seen several students struggle with the same thing.

And when there were challenges in her classroom, she dealt with them. Jenny didn’t belittle or shame. She spoke to what was expected, moved ​through appropriate consequences, and got back to the work as quickly as possible. A model classroom is not without its challenges. It is simply ​one where the adult and the children handle it without harm and minimal disruption.

Jenny and I would meet regularly for our one on one conversations – like all staff. I was consistently in her classroom but didn’t feel the need to ​offer unsolicited feedback on instruction. Instead, we discussed what she wanted to do in the classroom, what she wanted to show others, areas ​the school could grow, and courses or workshops that she would like to attend.

These conversations led our schools to take on standards based grading and arts integration. Schoolwide initiatives sparked by consistent ​discussions with a teacher who was given the space to think and innovate. We also talked about our families and what we wanted for our ​children. When Jenny asked for advice, I gave it. When she asked what I saw, I told her. When she asked if I thought there was room for ​improvement, I shared that there were only different ways of doing things.

Jenny wanted to evolve because that was her personality. She didn’t need a scorecard to keep track of her wins and losses. If I had tried to ​consistently manage Jenny’s brilliance, it would have made her less likely to stay and less likely to continue to create at her level. She already ​knew the places where she didn’t feel at her best and we talked about them openly. But we never chatted about them from the perspective of ​“things Jenny has to improve upon.” Instead, we talked about individual children and different strategies we could use to support them. Some ​worked. Some failed.

When she wasn’t happy with her tone with students. We talked about it but never from a place of judgment. We didn’t blame the children and ​we didn’t blame the teacher. We just kept trying.

Even during the pandemic, Jenny managed to recreate the feel of her in-person class. Though never someone who would claim to be a techie, ​Jenny leveraged the appropriate applications to bring her art class to life on a computer screen. When we returned in person, Jenny continued ​to include the things that worked in the virtual world. Jenny maintained a blended learning environment where children could rewatch their ​teacher modeling an assignment as many times as they needed. This way Jenny could spend even more time with each child individually.

None of this innovation came through mandates. Jenny would have complied with whatever I asked of her because she always wants to do the ​right thing. But by not managing for compliance, it allowed Jenny to show her creative brilliance and exemplary instruction daily to both the kids ​and the adults.

There is something else that I didn’t ask Jenny to do. I didn’t ask her to do more. I didn’t ask her to mentor a new teacher without pay. I didn’t ask ​her to stay late on days she wasn’t required to. Jenny was simply asked to do her job. She was exacting with her time. Jenny only came in a few ​minutes before the day began and was one of the first ones gone when the day ended because she was a professional and a veteran. Jenny had ​built a life outside of school. She knew what she needed to do and when she needed to do it.

Yes, Jenny was passionate but more importantly she was an expert with her time and work. She was fully formed when she arrived to our team. ​Not every aspect of her work needed to be managed nor did she need unsolicited advice. Jenny just needed someone to listen, to see her for ​who she was and what she could do. Mostly, Jenny needed someone who knew to keep quiet when they had nothing else to add.

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