Between The First and Last Day of Class: What We Say to Teachers

By Brandon Crowe

In my time as a school leader, I offered an “exhortation” at the beginning of the school year to the faculty. I wanted to remind teachers of the meaningfulness of the work we were taking on that year. Yet, as I watched each year go by, it occurred to me that teachers needed the same kind of encouraging reminder near the end of the year as well. So, whether this draws your mind to the beginning of next year or the end of this year – or, both – I hope it is helpful for considering one path for speaking to teachers about the lasting value of their labors.

As teachers, how do we do this work? How do we pass on to students a concern for the true, an admiration for the beautiful, and a love for what is good?

The single biggest challenge we face is one of meaning: how do I know that my work is meaningful, that it actually bears fruit. This is the quandary of every teacher (and parent), and what amplifies the difficulty is the reality that human beings are changeable. You might have a great conversation with a student just before he does something awful the next day. I might wave goodbye to my favorite student on graduation night and then learn that she “fell off the deep end” in her first year of college. Even worse, someone who does so well for so long can have a fall from grace, and, we subsequently question the value of our investment.

The genuinely inquiring mind cannot be satisfied by a pat or facile answer to the question: “How do I know my work (at this place) actually serves the good?”

Furthermore, we face a unique challenge in Great Hearts and in Classical schools more broadly: We trade on our curriculum and our culture as brought about by our wonderful teachers. We wave a flag and shout, “Our school is better for humans than the alternative.” But where’s the definitive proof of such? Are our graduates more humane, just, and thoughtful? Or are they simply more well-read and crafty rogues? Are our students genuinely less apathetic, hopeless, and hostile than others? The short answer is “I hope so.

How do we make it so? How might we work so that we can trust our efforts will, in time, bear fruit? First, a few notes on what not to believe:

1. “The curriculum will change them.” I’ve actually heard this and it doesn’t withstand scrutiny. The curriculum is not messianic. Throughout history, how many villains have studied the same works and yet rejected noble pursuits? The curriculum is incredibly important. It is the best students could receive, but it does not – on its own – make men good. Instead, the education we offer is the best that we possibly can and, if studied with sincerity and diligence can best prepare our students to live the examined life.
2.  We can change people through the power of our will. Unfortunately, we cannot. We cannot force people to be better. We can and should limit misbehavior and acting-out, but we do not control the heart of another. We need to accept this and embrace it . . . Whatwe seek to do is help, love, and support students (and colleagues) in testing our ideas about, and in living in accordance with, the good and right. We cannot force it, but we can push, prod, cajole, and never give up.

Our foundation, then, is rather simple: We trust in the efficacy of the ordinary means. What I mean by this is that we believe if we educate students in the right way, it will make a difference for them and ultimately for society. We do not think there is a 1:1 connection between each act of service we deliver and each future good deed a student will do, but we believe that the right “stuff,” delivered in the right way, by the right people – will positively affect hearts and minds. Just as the athlete trains her body and believes this necessary for competitive success, we believe our approach is the right one for human flourishing. It is the best and most helpful thing, but it does not guarantee that everyone will accept it.

So, what are we to do? How can we best deliver to our students what their souls need? We have to live it; we have to model it. We do teach and expound explicitly about objective reality, virtue, and the good. But this is emptied of meaning if our students fail to see and feel what we provide to them.

We must demonstrate what we care about. We must operate in our public and private conversations with goodwill, wisdom, and candor. Allow me to give some examples about what that looks like…

We don’t prejudge our students, colleagues, or parents.

We let their actions and words speak for themselves. When something makes us wonder, we ask about it. We don’t assume that we know. A mantra we should repeat (for our interactions with others) is: “come inquiring.”

• With a student: “When you said, ‘I hate this book,’ what did you mean? I’d really like to hear more about what you were thinking.”
• With a colleague: “When you told me ‘that’s not the way to monitor the halls,’ was there something specific you had in mind or do you think I should ask Mr. Esau for some help?”.
• With a parent: “When you wrote, ‘Billy thinks you don’t like him,’ could you try to share more with me. I’d like to know how he’s perceiving my interactions with him”

We don’t expect more than we ought.

We know that students are with us because they lack understanding; it is our job to help bring them along. We can’t be shocked or angered by a failure to know and seek, but we must always push them – in love, and with affection – to do and be better.

• We seek to know:
  • In our classes we wonder with our students. We ask students (and our colleagues) about things they know which we do not. We legitimately care about them and what they know. We ask them, for example, about how their preparation for ballet has been different than that for Irish dance; We ask them what they did and saw and thought on their trip to Seattle; we talk to them about books they read and the topics we know they’re studying in other classes.
  • We demonstrate this further in our daily preparation: Our actions and our speech reveal that we take seriously what we’re studying with our students. We come prepared to class, we raise important questions, and we show students how to go further. We hold them accountable and praise their accomplishments. We pause when they don’t understand and sincerely attempt to explain better or more clearly. We don’t tell them to “just look harder.”
• We communicate clearly and without pretense:
  • Our corrections of misbehavior are direct. We provide necessary time for conversation and restoration after the fact.
  • We apologize when we are wrong. We know that we can and do err, and we acknowledge it when we’re guilty of such – in matters of discipline and instruction.
  • We provide clear directions for schoolwork and comportment.
  • We’re honest about matters that require interpretation (e.g., how much whispering to one’sneighbor is too much, the best way to phrase a critique, when a joke goes too far, etc.), but we show commitment to using and building good and refined judgment. We practice discernment and create occasions for students to do so also.

Now this is a lot, but this is what you will begin on the first day of school and continue every day thereafter. I hope that you will reflect on this after the last day of school. The difference you will make cannot be measured today, or tomorrow, or even next year. In fact, I’m not sure it can ever be measured in exactly a way that would satisfy us – one which would give us undeniable evidence of success. Let’s not get caught up in agonizing over something like this; instead, let’s trust in the ordinary means to yield fruit. Let’s endeavor to plant the right seed, water the right amount, prune when and where we should – and then leave the blossoming to Providence.

About The Author

Brandon Crowe is the Chief of Schools for Great Hearts Academies and Superintendent and Managing Director of Great Hearts Arizona. Mr. Crowe joined Great Hearts in 2007 as a Humane Letters teacher at Great Hearts Veritas Prep where he taught for five years and held several leadership positions. He later moved to Great Hearts Glendale Prep where he served as Headmaster for six years before moving into an executive leadership role with Great Hearts Arizona. Brandon is a member of the Arizona Charter School Association Board of Directors. He holds both his MA and BA in Religious Studies from Arizona State University. Brandon and his wife are native Phoenicians and live in the West Valley with their four boys.

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