Good teachers lurk.  Good administrators do, too.
Now, I don’t mean that in a creepy way.  Trust me, that is not what this blog is all about.  Instead, I want to talk about the need for teachers and instructional leaders to be as present as possible…for a purpose.
 
I was teaching a group of participants in a huge room.  There were less than 40 participants, so I really wanted to have them come closer (said the spider to the fly).  Unfortunately, the managers at the venue said it wasn’t possible to take away the 20 or so extra tables, as there was a meeting right after our training where all tables would be required.  So, I simply asked participants to sit in the first two rows of tables (that were still jam-packed together).  I made sure when I walked among the tables, I could get around each table (even by the wall, where some people think sit to ensure they are near an outlet).  Have you ever noticed that we have become a society in which being plugged in is sometimes more important than being present with the people around us?  These educators were great about turning off laptops when I told them they would only need low tech communication that day.  I explained the need I have to walk around all tables.  Many people have done studies on the need for teachers to “own” every square inch of the classroom.  I don’t mean “own” in a negative, possessive, demanding way.  I mean “own” in terms of the need to not have any space in the classroom which cannot be accessible to the teacher.  Why? What happens when there is a space in the corner of the classroom where teachers can’t access?  The students in that area tend to engage in more off-task behavior.  And I am not just talking about adult participants.  {wink}
 
When I have finished any sort of introduction to the content and I begin engaging the learners in the learning process (asking them to read and discuss a piece of literature related to our topic, roll around thoughts in their head, or just turn to a partner and talk about their thoughts), I begin my own journey of lurking.  I walk near each table, listening in and making mental notes about the intuitive thinking going on.  If I don’t set up the lurking just right, participants feel they need to address me when I hover near the table.  I am quick to explain I want them to continue their own learning process, I am only there to clarify any misperceptions or misunderstandings I hear.  I like to ask teachers what they can discover when they lurk at student tables.  Many will say that just their mere presence sometimes helps potential disengagement from happening.  Some will say they use it as a formative assessment (what else do I need to teach or re-teach?).  Others will say, “Our principal wants us to walk around.”  Yes, but if all you are doing is walking for the sake of walking (or adding steps to your pedometer), the purpose has truly been lost. 
 
I talked with a group of administrators the other day about the need to do the exact same lurking in the classrooms or in professional development.  I heard a tale not so long ago of a school that sent out messages to each other “Incoming” when the administrator was walking the halls.  I understood the desire was to let each other know to be on your best behavior.  Yikes! To me, that implies the administrator doesn’t often make the rounds or it has not become a habit of mind that good educators lurk.  One administrator with whom I talked even said, “All these observations don’t do anything, you know.  A teacher can just grant pizza promises to her classes to behave for an observation.”  Yikes and double yikes! I am not exactly sure what pizza promises are, but I suspect it has something to do with “if you students behave, you will get a pizza party.”  My very strong argument, here, is that if administrators are always lurking, they will surely see which habits of mind the students own versus those that are just “pizza promised” for the day.  In other words, if I go in Sherri’s class, and the students are asking each other, “How did you get that answer?” and “Can you explain it again?”, the culture for real learning is taking place.  That can’t be faked. But we can’t know that by just walking through the hallways one time for the sake of pedometer miles, right? 
 
Lurking leads to learning, in my humble opinion.   Just for today, perhaps you might lurk near your students or near your teachers and learn a little something.  By the way, just by lurking around my blog and sometimes making a comment about it, you’re doing great things for me, and I thank you!!!!
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Happy Communicating!!
Shelly

​I inherently understand the concept of acceptance and know that it is typically the best answer to all my worries, frets, and fears.  The problem is truly accepting acceptance (do you see what I did, there?).  As a consultant who travels all over the country, and beyond, for work, I have come to understand the sketchy nature of air travel.  Flights are canceled, maintenance issues crop up, weather delays beget missed connections, etc.  You could say I have come to accept that there will be delays and cancellations.  I just prefer that those things don’t mess with my work.  One of my biggest fears in consulting is missing a start time for a job I have accepted.  Enter this morning’s adventure. 
 
I had a flight scheduled from Tucson through Denver to Detroit.  All was going well, despite having to leave the house at 4:15 (yes, a.m.).  That is a time, by the way, at which even the most rambunctious Lab puppy named Kirby blinks his eyes as he sits up in bed to ask me, “What in the world are you doing up at this time of the morning?” and then promptly curls back in bed.  I had checked my bags (after all, I will be gone from home for 2 whole weeks!), boarded the plane, and we were well on our way to Denver when I heard the sound from the flight deck that can stop my heart “Uhhhh….ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Unfortunately, we are not going to be able to land at the Denver airport.  They have zero visibility right now. We are going to head back to Tucson and try to start over in a little while.  We should be on the ground in about 40 minutes.” Okay, I get it.  Zero visibility is not a great condition in which to land.  And, I know the airline will take care of me, as I am one of their very loyal customers.
 
But wait.  Forty minutes later, after we had landed and gotten to the gate, the captain (who looks so young, he might be the captain of his high school swim team) comes out and announces, “Maintenance is here and they should be able to fix the problem in just a few moments.” Wait, what? There was zero visibility in Denver.  Is maintenance going to do a quick repair on the fog in Denver…from Tucson, no less???  Maybe the captain needs to get the story straight before he makes the announcement. 
 
Remarkably, every victim, I mean passenger, on the plane remained fairly calm.  I already had been re-booked on another flight to Detroit that would “only” get me in 5 hours late.  I was fairly proud that we all seemed to maintain some semblance of acceptance.  Other than the Captain Communication needing to work a bit on his delivery, everyone will be just fine, I surmise.
 
Thinking about acceptance reminded me of a story I heard a couple of days ago.  The story was about a young man who wanted nothing more than to fly fighter jets.  He went to his physical and, when asked if he had any health problems, chose not to inform them he had asthma.  He went off to Vietnam as a fighter pilot and was shot down.  He was taken prisoner and spent seven years as a POW in Hanoi.  He talked about being completely separated from the rest of the American soldiers for the first two years before he was allowed to be near other POWs.  The men learned how to tap-talk to one another, a sort of primitive Morse code. He told of horrific things he saw, heard and experienced in those seven years. When asked if he regretted fibbing about his asthma, he replied, “I guess things turned out the way things were supposed to turn out.” Wow! Talk about acceptance.  Right after that, I heard a teacher saying he was frustrated with his class schedule. He said, “I only have one free period to be in my classroom alone, and for three days out of the week, there will be a Latin class taught in my classroom during that time.”  After saying that, he paused and said, “I think it will all be alright, thought.” 
 
I guess acceptance sometimes comes from a renewed perspective.
I hope and pray everyone has a fantastic start to the school year.  Accept the things you cannot change, change the things you can, and be wise enough to know the difference.
 
Happy Communicating!
 
Shelly