Unpacking Problems? Invite Teachers to the Table
“Be brave, be kind, and be an includer.” These are the words that we say to our daughter and son each time we drop them off at their elementary school. This phrase is a reminder of the power they have to influence those around them in a positive manner and start a ripple of change.
In the fall of 2019, my school district, Richland One, asked me to participate in their Professional Learning Design Team facilitated by Mira Education. As a teacher, I always consider it an honor to represent my colleagues in a larger context. While I was excited to be asked, I was also nervous about the time commitment involved, as it would take me away from my students for multiple days. Also, teacher voices are not always included in broader decision making, so figuring out how to give an honest, productive perspective while being cognizant of this history felt like a mental and emotional hurdle.
As an institution, education has at times struggled with the inertia associated with change – we hold onto outdated practices because “We’ve always done it that way,” or we throw everything out and start over. Despite this history, I was optimistic about the prospect of learning a new practice and believed that to fully unpack an educational problem, teachers must have a seat at the table.
In the first session, the concept of micro-credentials was introduced and we discovered that along with representing every grade level within our district, the group of educators present had arrived with varying amounts of familiarity with the topic. Everything seemed straightforward and smooth: pick a micro-credential, complete it, and then return in the spring to discuss the process. The micro-credential I chose was “Cultivating a Shared Purpose.” I wanted to utilize my work as Science Department Chair to build a community with the teachers in my department. I knew increasing collegiality and collective problem solving would strengthen our support for one another and our students.
The shared purpose of identifying and meeting student needs in the classroom is one that would not only improve my instructional practices but those of my science colleagues as well. I worked to complete the required artifacts and was excited and relieved when I was awarded the micro-credential. I made notes about the process to share with the Professional Learning Design Team and believed the impact and reach of the experience would end there.
However, in the spring we returned for a two-day Design Team Retreat, and our discussions centered on the process of obtaining the micro-credential. This experience felt different.
Could we talk about struggles? Could we candidly convey our feelings about the process? The facilitators pushed for more specifics. “Be BRAVE,” I thought to myself.
I hesitated, and then asked, “Do you really want to know what we think? No one has asked that before. The space for that type of input hasn’t existed.” The Mira Education facilitator reminded us of what she told us at the beginning of our day: they were very impressed with the work of the Richland One educators who completed micro-credentials. Our work was thorough, thoughtful, and exemplary. Initially, we nodded and moved on, not fully processing nor embracing these commendations. But now, we were being met with what teachers long to hear: “Your perspectives are important and why we are gathered here.” The opportunity to BE KIND presented itself when the facilitators realized we were hesitant to share and paused to extend kindness and be intentional about the type of setting we were in – one of value, trust, shared experience, and expertise.
Then the breakthrough happened. We were open to the process they were guiding us through and chose to be vulnerable when we gave feedback. Educators shared why they chose certain micro-credentials, why they changed micro-credentials, what support they received, and what support they wished they had. Throughout this discussion, a theme of personalization emerged. The initial self-assessment and reflection required us to pick a micro-credential. The request for more time led to an extra workday provided by district leadership and supported by our administrators. The recognition of this need proved pivotal to most of the group, as it gave us the time and space for focused, intentional work. The facilitators were there to talk through concerns, and other educators were there to offer ideas and encouragement; this built a community of professionals with the goal of improving their craft. Our thoughts flowed about what worked for us, what was less effective, and what would help others engage in this process.
The retreat culminated in a “fishbowl” activity. While decision makers watched and listened, we were led through a series of questions that addressed successes, concerns, and allowed us to validate others while hearing ourselves be valued. The next steps included forming committees to discuss implementation and potential best practices and obstacles, while recognizing that professional development will always be an ongoing and iterative process.
So what is required of decision makers to replicate this type of personal professional learning? Be AN INCLUDER.
The shift Richland One made in the way district professional development has been presented this year has already moved toward giving teachers choice in their growth. These choices include self-paced sessions that present opportunities for technology exposure. Including educators in the decision-making process creates buy in, ownership, a sense of personal accomplishment, and ultimately authenticates the experience for others. How might having educators who experience these qualities impact teacher retention?
Being INCLUDED creates a pathway for educators to be BRAVE and KIND. Speaking for myself, being encouraged to be BRAVE in a KIND environment and being INCLUDED by Richland One among a diverse cohort of experts had a positive impact on how I view the future of my chosen profession.
At a time when schools, the profession, and our country is in crisis, personalized professional development can be a bright spot. There is much we cannot control; but teachers can control their professional growth and work toward the shared goals of the district community through personalized professional learning pathways like micro-credentials.
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Dottie Adams
Dottie Adams is a National Board Certified Teacher (NBCT) with 20 years of classroom experience teaching science, math, and STEMrelated electives, all at the middle school level. Dottie has degrees in Early Childhood Education, Teaching Math and Science, and School Administration. She currently teaches 8th grade science at Hand Middle School in Richland County School District One in Columbia, SC, where she also serves as a Team Leader, Science Department Chair, Teacher Mentor and Evaluator.
This story is published as part of a storytelling retreat hosted by the Center for Educational Partnerships (CEP) housed in the University of South Carolina’s College of Education. CEP partners nominated practicing educators, administrators, and system leaders to share their stories. The Center for Teaching Quality (CTQ), a CEP partner, facilitated the retreat and provided editorial and publication support. Learn more about this work and read additional stories by following @CEP_UofSC and @teachingquality.
Life Didn't Come with a Map
We all remember the Robert Frost poem about two roads diverging in the woods. I’ve thought about that concept many times over the years. If Mr. Frost intended the woods as a metaphor for life, I think he got off pretty lucky. There sure have been a lot more than two roads in my woods. They didn’t come with a map or even a clear vision of where I wanted to go.
I was one of those people who just never found IT. I worked hard for a scholarship to college, had good jobs, met interesting people, and saw some beautiful places in the world. I just never found IT. That calling you are excited about — the one that makes the hours melt away. The one that lets you know you are home.
The roads of my life took me on a journey. Some of those roads I hope to never travel again. Some of those roads were scenic and led me closer to where I needed to be.
Through the years, I thought about teaching. I felt a pull toward it. I knew I loved to see the spark in children’s eyes when something really connected and their view of the world got a little bigger. I looked at alternative teacher certification programs like PACE and CREATE. I was always so busy with life that I didn’t want to take the long road before I could teach. I researched master’s degrees that would lead to teaching. But the time it would take for me to make the change felt like a barrier, and there was always a new road to travel, something else that took my energy and attention.
Roadblocks and changing course aren’t foreign to me. In my mid-twenties, my doctor informed me that I would likely never have children. Surprising even myself, the news didn’t devastate me. I somehow knew that children would come, that I would have the opportunity to love and be loved as a mother. One ordinary day, a phone call came from out of the blue that led to my little boy and girl, siblings that needed me as much as I needed them. Other roads led to the adoption of my young nephew. Later, two more sons were added by marriage. During the memorable trip known as “Turning 40” I was shocked to find that I was expecting the sweet baby girl that would be the final of my six children. Six children, more than I would have ever dreamed, added by love, loss, and being willing to take some new roads without a map.
I feel the need to share a little about those dark roads that I never wanted to travel. The story of my journey wouldn’t be complete without them. No matter how hard we plan, roadblocks and sometimes a difficult wreck are part of the trip.
My childhood was hard. My parents divorced while I was still very young and life was harsh with a mother who thought only about her needs. I grew up in a house where perfection was expected of me, but not rewarded. Anything less was a failure and punished as such. There were no idyllic, tender years, only adult-like responsibility and child-like restrictions. I have few happy memories of that time.
Somehow my early life was easier than the ultimate losses. The long illness and passing of my little sister and the sudden death of my baby brother at Christmas halted me in my tracks. The birth of the one child I was blessed to carry came during the beginnings of a divorce, just two short weeks before the death of my sister, and the sudden adoption of my seven-year-old nephew. Some mornings I longed to go back to sleep and escape the reality of my life. It was hard to draw breath with so much grief and responsibility.
Again, I found my strength and looked for a new road.
Then came the news of my oldest son. My sweet boy, forever tormented by his memories, had taken his own life, just as it was beginning. Children who lose their parents are called orphans. But there is no word for parents who lose their children. It’s too unbearable to name.
I share the losses and heartbreak only to say that we all have breathtakingly difficult times in life that stop us in our tracks. Sad, lonely, and dark roads that we hope to never travel again, but that are part of our journey nonetheless. They teach us hard lessons:
Protect the innocent.
Live every day you are given.
Don’t take your eyes off the road.
Remember them, honor them, but don’t let them be a place to permanently break down.
When I gave birth to my youngest, it wasn’t hard for me to leave the corporate world behind and enjoy those precious baby years at home. The day I registered her for preschool I knew it was time for a new journey. I wish I could say I signed up right away for graduate school or a teaching program. Instead, I took a family engagement position at my daughter’s school and proceeded to enjoy the next two years immersed in the school experience. Even in my small way, I felt like I was making an impact. The days passed quickly, and before I knew it I was moved to the district office to serve as interim secretary to the superintendent. The district office was a fast-paced world, but I loved working with the administrators and helping with the business of running a school district. I felt at home and put the idea of teaching out of my mind.
Just like the phone call that started me down the road to motherhood, a new path suddenly presented itself. Our school district made the decision to become a founding partner in the new Carolina Collaborative for Alternative Preparation (CarolinaCAP). Suddenly, there was the path I had been looking for all those years. A chance to teach and continue my education at the same time. I applied immediately but somehow felt like a roadblock would surely present itself. To my surprise, I was accepted into the inaugural class.
Then came the hard part.
Making the decision to finally take a journey I never thought I would take, leaving behind a job that I already loved, and taking a sharp turn into something brand new.
This time, I didn’t hesitate or fumble around looking for that elusive map. I remembered the hard lessons learned along the roads I’d traveled. This time, I took the road that led straight to becoming a teacher. I became a teacher during the worst possible year — during a worldwide pandemic. But it never slowed me down. I became not only a first-year classroom teacher, but also a virtual teacher, all while taking graduate classes through CarolinaCAP and continuing to raise my family.
I know that I have finally found the road to IT. The woods are finally getting a little clearer now and the storm has broken. I’ve got the windows rolled down and the wind is in my hair. And as far as those children I was told I would never have, I just added 61 sixth graders and my namesake first grandchild.
I can tell you for sure that my journey is not over.
The roads will continue to curve, and I might hit a roadblock or two. I still don’t have a map, but I’ve learned a few hard-earned travel tips:
Buckle up.
Don’t waste your chance.
Never stop moving forward.
Life is a difficult journey, but keep going. You might be just around the corner from the best part of the trip.
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Adadra Neville
Adadra Neville is a first year social studies teacher at Williston Elko Middle School. She is a graduate of the University of South Carolina, a member of the inaugural class of the Carolina Collaborative for Alternative Preparation (CarolinaCAP) and plans to continue her graduate studies in education. She is a Navy Blue Star Mother in memory of her late son Evan. She lives in her hometown of Williston, SC where she serves as a town councilwoman. Her family, with husband Ronnie, continues to grow with the recent addition of their first grandchild, Alice Lin.
When Does the Magic Happen?
Blue dress with white stripes. White cardigan. New sandals with sparkling jewels. I knew I couldn’t wear my normal everyday attire of jeans and flip flops. I was meeting the teachers and district personnel that I would be working with in my new position as a 4K Behavior Coach for School District Five of Lexington and Richland Counties in Irmo, South Carolina. The district had launched implementation of the Pyramid Model with Dr. Kate Ascetta from the University of South Carolina as part of the Professional Development School District work. This led to the creation of a new position for a coach that would support classroom teachers as they began putting the Pyramid Model into practice in classrooms.
This is where I enter the story.
The teachers and district personnel were being trained on a tool used to measure the implementation of Pyramid Model practices in preschool classrooms. I was told that teachers had a year of Pyramid Model learning under their belt and the district was ready to hit the ground running. I was looking forward to rich conversations during the training about how the practices might take shape in their classrooms. I was also eager to help talk through any problem scenarios that may arise while planning.
The training was taking place at the middle school I attended. Memories came flooding back as I walked from the front office toward the cafeteria to the elevator at the bottom floor. As a student, I didn’t even know the school had an elevator. The closer I got to the room, the more nervous I became. Just like the trainer, I would not know anyone in the room. I took a deep breath and walked in. I saw one familiar face, the trainer, my coach from the University of Florida, and immediately felt a sense of relief.
As the training began, we went around the room and introduced ourselves. It was overwhelming trying to keep the names, faces, and schools together. When it was my turn to introduce myself, I thought everyone would look excited to meet me. After all, we were about to embark on an incredible journey, learning and growing together.
I did not receive the warm reception I anticipated. I was greeted with a mix of blank and angry stares. I would come to understand the reasons for this reception later in the school year.
As the morning progressed and the trainer unpacked the key practices that were part of the observation, the mood in the room was shifting. The jovial side conversations stopped. They were replaced with whispered comments, frowns, and confused looks. I scanned the room and realized that every table had fallen quiet and looked as though they were hearing this information for the first time. When we broke for lunch, the trainer and I left together. I looked across the table and asked, “Do you get the feeling that the teachers are acting like they do not know what the Pyramid Model is or what the TPOT is used for?” “You’ve got your work cut out for you,” was the trainer’s response. This was the beginning of a hard year full of hurdles and roadblocks. One of the hardest days was when two teachers had a conversation about how stupid this was and claimed they would just keep doing whatever they wanted to do regardless of what that coach or the district says.
That coach was me.
As the year progressed, I began to understand the source of the negative feelings. The message about the Pyramid Model and the coaching that we would be doing was announced to principals, who were then charged with disseminating that information to their 4K teachers. Each school’s administrator heard the message differently and shared the message differently with teachers.
We ended up with 12 teachers all thinking different things were going to happen, one coach thinking the teachers were much further down the road in their knowledge of the Pyramid Model, and a group of district personnel who were unaware that the lack of clarity and communication directly with teachers was causing the vision of Pyramid Model implementation to crack.
I knew my initial plan was not going to work. I needed to reevaluate everything. I felt the only way to “fix” things was to go back to the beginning and restart. Restarts are not easy because usually the damage has already been done during the initial start. I was hoping that the damage was minimal.
I was wrong… again.
Teachers were frustrated that they were being ‘evaluated’ on their implementation of practices they felt they did not even know… I decided I needed to take the focus off of the observation tool and start focusing solely on the teaching practices that were important to the teachers to implement.
Teachers were frustrated that they were being ‘evaluated’ on their implementation of practices they felt they did not even know. Many attempts were made to emphasize that the observation tool was not an evaluation but an observation geared toward two things: guiding myself to know how to provide the best support to teachers in growth areas, and guiding professional development efforts in the district based on areas of improvement districtwide. But the only thing teachers saw was that there was a score at the end and anything less than perfection was not acceptable. The score was becoming the focus for everyone, when in reality the focus needed to be on teaching practices.
I decided I needed to take the focus off of the observation tool and focus solely on the teaching practices that were important to teachers. In doing this, we started building relationships and talking more openly. The teachers began to see I was there to support their needs, not coming in to tell them what they needed to be doing instead. Teachers started identifying areas in their classroom where Pyramid Model practices might accelerate learning, and together, we worked toward implementation.
During this time, teachers opened up. One group of teachers said they were led to believe this was strictly a parenting program and that my role was to help facilitate incorporating the parenting program into the overall 4K program. One group of teachers was told that I was coming to evaluate the children’s behavior and “fix” it. One teacher even said “I did not know you were coming to watch me. I thought you were here to watch the kids. I feel like I was lied to.”
It all started to make sense. From the top, they believed that the message was delivered clearly about what was going to happen. In actuality it became a game of telephone, where one person whispers the phrase and the message shifts as it travels down the chain of listeners. Without fail, the message is always extremely different from the first person to the last.
It became evident that in order for this process to work, we needed to start communicating directly with teachers. We needed to be as clear as possible about our ideas and the vision for implementation.
It became evident that in order for this process to work, we needed to start communicating directly with teachers. We needed to be as clear as possible about our ideas and the vision for implementation.
We asked for more teacher input and we consulted groups of teachers about ideas to get a feel for what they thought before introducing ideas to the whole group. I started highlighting the great things that were already happening in classrooms around Pyramid Model practices and giving weekly shoutouts to each teacher, which included their administrators, so they could see their hard work and celebrate together. We started having more meetings with administrators, openly sharing the information that teachers were hearing and discussing how it would look in the classroom when teachers were engaging in the teaching practices. It began to feel like a team effort, where everyone was finally on the same page, in the same chapter, in the same book.
Then, it happened. A teacher ran up to me when I came to her classroom — ecstatic!
She had been working with students on the steps of problem solving using the solution kit to address common social problems. She read a scripted story with her class, introduced the solutions and what each would look like in action, and set up an area in her classroom where students could find materials when they needed them. This took about a month to put in place. We worked together to get the materials ready and I coached her through introducing the story and solutions, providing side by side support as she modeled for students.
One of her students struggled with sharing toys with her classmates. She would regularly lash out when she wanted a toy that was not available. The day before I came, she wanted to play with some of the materials in the house area that were already being used by another child. She stood in the house area for a moment, watching the other child. Instead of lashing out, screaming and ripping the toys away, she walked over to the problem solving steps. She looked intently at the pictures, then picked up the solution kit. She flipped through the pictures and stopped on one. She walked over to the teacher and showed her “Get A Timer.” She said, “I want to play with those toys but someone is using them. Can we set a timer so I can have a turn?”
I was just as ecstatic as the classroom teacher. I was even more ecstatic when I got to see several of her students using the problem solving steps and solutions kit throughout the day. They were doing it! And the teacher was noticing positive changes in her students as they became more proficient in using the language and solutions. She thanked me at the end of the day. But I reminded her she was responsible for the successful implementation and I was just there to support her along the journey.
In the beginning, as teacher leaders and administrators, we were laying tracks without looking at where the train was going and the final destination. Now, we are moving along together with a shared understanding of the purpose of implementing Pyramid Model practices, which has led to an increase in teacher buy-in.
Today, teachers are asking questions, seeking out support, and implementing the teaching practices on a more consistent basis. One teacher stopped someone from the district and said that she has been working to increase the positive descriptive feedback she gives her children during center time. She shared that student engagement has never been better.
When teachers buy in, that’s when the magic happens.
This story is published as part of a storytelling retreat hosted by the Center for Educational Partnerships (CEP) housed in the University of South Carolina’s College of Education. CEP partners nominated practicing educators, administrators, and system leaders to share their stories. The Center for Teaching Quality (CTQ), a CEP partner, facilitated the retreat and provided editorial and publication support. Learn more about this work and read additional stories by following @CEP_UofSC and @teachingquality.
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Carrie Trivedi
Carrie Trivedi currently serves as the Lead Behavior Specialist for Mix-EC: Multi Systems Inclusion Expansion in Early Childhood through the Yvonne and Schyler Moore Child Development Research Center at the University of South Carolina, College of Education. Previously, Carrie worked with School District Five of Lexington and Richland Counties as a 4K Behavior Coach. She is a proud graduate of the University of South Carolina, earning both a bachelor’s in Experimental Psychology and a master’s in Early Childhood Education. She resides in Chapin, South Carolina with her husband and two daughters.
The Power is in the Process: Solving Adaptive Challenges in a Technical World
How many times have you said the power is in the process but you wished the process could be shortened, skipped, or even ignored? If you walked into my classroom years ago or into my cubicle today, you would find a sign that reads: “There are no shortcuts to any place worth going.” We say there is power in the process; however, often we do not embrace a mindset to match this belief. A place worth going is one where those closest to the learning are the ones leading the work. That’s what the Collective Leadership Initiative (CLI) is all about. In order to create sustainable change some technical work is required; however, it’s the adaptive shifts that allow change to take place. (See this video to learn more about technical vs. adaptive challenges). As lead of the South Carolina Collective Leadership Initiative, I found myself struggling to make it all continue as initially designed during a pandemic:
This story is about the constant struggle working in a technical culture when the challenges require
adaptive work. The pandemic we are experiencing provides the opportunity for me, as well as the
Collective Leadership Initiative, to model adaptive work and create adaptive solutions. I identified three
obstacles as I struggled to sustain the collective leadership work for the cohorts:
- We work in a technical culture;
- There is an inability to recognize that technical solutions cannot solve adaptive challenges; and
- There is reluctance to be authentically adaptive with session delivery and planning for our work.
Collective leadership is the powerful process that provides the opportunity to shift our mindset to adaptive work when solving challenges. In order to tackle these obstacles, I modeled being adaptive by taking risks and being transparent so that our collective leadership school teams could do the same.
Taking Risks
The activities that are turning out to have the greatest impact on our work and learning are the ones that require taking risks. Trying something based on what cohort participants need or based on what educators in our schools say is a need is powerful — even if it fails and we have to regroup.
For example, I had to let go of the planned agenda for each cohort and every module designed for fullday, face-to-face delivery. I had to ask myself if another plan was feasible while maintaining the integrity of the work. There was the looming risk of the schools in our cohorts deciding not to participate or limiting engagement. I took these concerns to the experts, team members of our collective leadership schools, and listened. With the help of our CTQ partners, we transformed all agendas and modules and adapted to two short webinars versus an all-day face-to-face session. We monitored the revised agenda and shortened the webinar even more after collecting feedback from the first module. I learned that I had to embrace what I have always told educators: “less is more.” And, this does not have to mean the key outcome is compromised. Being clear, concise, and letting go was a risk worth taking and modeling.
Being clear, concise, and letting go was a risk worth taking and modeling.
Listening, acting, and being intentionally transparent takes time and is an example of adaptive work. Activities that require growing and transforming using adaptive solutions for adaptive challenges impact our practices. In the process of modeling adaptive work there have been many growth opportunities. We had the opportunity to model what collective leadership is all about. We had the opportunity to “walk” the belief that adaptive shifts, if realized, will impact the adaptive work. We had the opportunity to model what working in a state of ambiguity looks and feels like. Most importantly, we had the opportunity to lead collectively with South Carolina educators who openly embraced messy, adaptive work with the support of SCDE and CTQ. We took a risk and the reward was great. More educators participated and stayed engaged longer than anticipated.
We continue to take risks and work in a space with no clear answers. We model a willingness to work against traditional ways of operating. In taking these risks, we transform the work and discover challenges and solutions collectively. While the pandemic surfaced the struggles of living in a technical culture, it also opened up opportunities to do things differently.
Where might I model a mind shift?
Transparency
I chose to model transparency. As a result, our collective leadership schools modeled and mirrored transparency. The risks were shared in this reciprocal process.
I was transparent and vulnerable when I shared with the cohorts that I did not know how the modules would look or be structured, but I assured the schools that I would focus on their needs and be collective and collaborative in our work together. Their need to leverage collective leadership for the here and now replaced any pre-planned agenda. I remember sharing the transformed plan with a cohort and even reshaping the next module in real time as they communicated what they needed for our next engagement.
Cutting out, cutting back and being clear has served to transform and strengthen the power of the process.
A turning point in this story was when we modeled letting go of traditional ways of collective leadership to adapt to our cohort schools’ needs. We did not need to plan for our virtual sessions to be an exact replica of our face-to-face sessions. Cutting out, cutting back, and being clear has served to transform and strengthen the power of the process. Being really clear on identifying the adaptive challenges allowed us to leverage the adaptive, collective process to solve them.
Based on these lessons learned, risk-taking and transparency will continue to guide the Collective Leadership Initiative. The process of identifying adaptive challenges and then collectively seeking adaptive solutions is key to sustaining the work. This has now become the “default” mindset in collectively-led schools.
The power is still in the process. I believe not only are there no shortcuts to any challenge worth solving, but there is no way to approach adaptive challenges apart from adaptive solutions. Anything short of this kind of process will not effectively transform our system, our schools, and our districts.
The work is hard and slow.
Technical challenges are temporary. Adaptive solutions are enduring.
Composition of CLI in 2020
- Three cohorts
- 26 schools
- More than 125 collective leadership team participants
- 12, seven-hour, face-to-face days planned and ready to execute for 2020-21
Do I forge ahead with all the technical pieces in place? Or do I model collective leadership as adaptive work and a powerful, messy process?
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Libby J. Ortmann
Libby J. Ortmann is a National Board Certified Teacher (NBCT) with more than 30 years of experience in education. Libby earned both her B.A. and M.Ed from the University of South Carolina. She previously served as a middle school teacher, curriculum coach, and lead instructor for the state’s alternative certification program. Currently, Libby is an Education Associate leading South Carolina’s Collective Leadership Initiative.