A New Beginning

Looks like it’s time for my annual post. I seem to get reflective in the late winter/early spring and typing out my thoughts helps me put them in order. 

Three years ago I reached a major turning point in my life. My first marriage had ended and I began a new relationship that promises many years of happiness and adventure to come. My youngest child graduated from high school and went off to college. I also began to realize that I needed a fresh start in my teaching. After 20 years at one school, it was time for a fresh start. That is especially difficult for a boarding school teacher, because it means uprooting everything. When your employer owns your home, you can’t quit your job without becoming homeless. I started a job search and got to the point of being a “finalist” for a job at a school I had always dreamed about. Something didn’t feel right, though, and I withdrew from the process. The next year, I looked around for other opportunities once again. That same dream school was hiring again, and this time, I felt like I was ready. The interview process went well, and I was offered a position. 

As so often happens when you make decisions based on reputation (a somewhat necessary effect of Covid’s not allowing any on-campus interviews), my dream school turned out not to be a great fit. It is an incredible school full of incredible people doing incredible things, but I just don’t fit with the ethos of the school. Should I have figured that out before taking the job? Probably. Would that have mattered? Probably not. Sometimes, when a place has been your dream destination for years, you have to at least give it a shot. I will be leaving this place with no regrets and several hopefully lifelong friends. I will also be leaving with a better idea of what I am looking for in a school.

That leads me to the main question of this post. What does my ideal school look like? It is important to remember when reading this that I am talking about MY ideal school, not necessarily THE ideal school. There is no ideal school; it’s all about the fit, both for teachers and for students. Many top schools are institutions that are bigger than the current student body. Students attend those schools and fit into the structure of that school. My ideal school is one that believes that the students ARE the school. The student body changes every year and the school needs to change every year to reflect that. There are certain pillars that transcend the current makeup of the school and give it aspirational structure, but how you express and strive for those pillars may be different every year. 

During interviews this year, I tried to find ways to express intangible facets of my ideal school, and one of those was the statement, “I love mediocre performances.” I love a school that encourages students to have the courage to try something new and to proudly put that on display for the community. That is something that my previous school did extremely well, encouraging kids to perform in chapel to thunderous applause even when the performance was pretty mediocre. (Thank you, Rev. C!) It is awesome to hear a student performance that is world-class, and I have been so proud of some of the performances I have seen by students who are destined to be professional musicians, but I have also been deeply moved by performances by students who wanted to share their much less polished work with the community, and I have been so proud of the community’s support of them. 

In the classroom, I have taught students of all levels, and I enjoy teaching all of them. I think my niche as a teacher, though, is working with students who don’t realize how talented they are yet. So many students fall by the wayside in math because they can’t connect to the way math is taught in their classrooms. I think my strength as a teacher is in finding a way to connect with those students. I am not as strong when it comes to working with the “top” students who have always excelled in math. So often, those students are all about achievement – top scores on the AMC and AP exams. They know all the tricks and techniques, but do they enjoy solving an unfamiliar problem? Are they ready to fail over and over and to keep trying new ideas to find the best solution? 

This concept has been especially apparent this year. I will return an assessment to a student with a good, but not great score and get lots of complaints that revolve around the idea of, “But I got the correct answer.” Too often, driven students in these top schools are all about getting the correct answer. I am much more interested in the process with which they got there and whether or not they could apply that process to solve other problems. At my previous school, I created new classes in Multivariable Calculus and Linear Algebra for those top students. These were based on challenging problem sets they could work on collaboratively. When the students got too focused on the “correct answer,” I would simply tell them the answer, and ask them to fill in all the details in between. 

As I learned about different schools over the last three years, this focus on process rather than product has led me to the International Baccalaureate program (IB). The IB math curriculum seems to fit really well with my ideas of how math should be learned. Last year I was offered a position in an IB school and almost accepted, but the school did not feel quite right. From what I have learned since then, I made the right decision. All my suspicions about the school were well founded. This year, as I explored the opportunities out there, I connected with another IB school. This school seems to tick all my boxes when I think about what I want in a school. It is a little bit smaller, has the community feel I am looking for, adapts every year to the needs of the student body, and features mediocre performances every week at its all-school meetings. It does not have the name-recognition or the financial resources of my current school, but prestige and money are much less valuable to me than happiness. I have accepted a job at this new school and am very excited to get started learning how to teach IB math. This involves yet another interstate move and a pretty big pay cut, but I am blessed with a fiancée who is ready to adjust so that I can be happy. The future has never looked so bright for this newly gruntled math teacher, and I look forward to enthusiastically updating this blog next spring after living in such an exciting community more most of a year!

Wow! This blog still exists! I wonder how long it has to sit dormant before it is closed automatically. I only post when something causes my thoughts to spiral out of control and I need to sort through them. 

Tonight’s post is brought to you courtesy of the chapel talk tonight at the school where I teach. I’ll describe the chapel talk a little bit more in a minute, but my musings here are not really about that talk; they were just inspired by it.

One of the best and worst things about teaching, especially in boarding school, is that the student body completely turns over every four years. When we make a policy change that will be unpopular with the students, we know that it will be completely forgotten in four years, and mostly forgotten in two. This also sets up a strange contrast in perspective between faculty and students. I have been at my current school for 20 years, so I have seen many changes and the ebbs and flows over the years. For the students, the school begins when they arrive as ninth graders. Whatever they encounter in that first year is assumed to have been the same since the founding of the school. That is an incredible opportunity for them. Anything they do differently is brand new and an amazing contribution to the school, even if it has been done many times in the past. One of the absolutely wonderful things about that is that it is completely true for them in their experience. They DO instigate and develop the changes they make. Their accomplishments are completely real and novel, even if they’ve been accomplished by other students many times in the past. I love that about teaching, and especially love seeing how students put their own signature on the things they do. Even if they’ve been done before, they’ve never been done in quite this way before.

So where’s the tension that is causing me to write tonight? That tension is in the realization that institutional memory is short. That is absolutely necessary for the success of the current students, but also sad when you realize that the accomplishments of students who meant so much to you in the past have already faded into the past. As a teacher, all the students from the past are still a part of my experience and it hurts to see them and their accomplishments forgotten. That doesn’t cheapen those accomplishments in any way, and if they weren’t forgotten, it WOULD cheapen the accomplishments of the current students. The tough part sometimes is celebrating those current students while hurting for those from the past.

It’s probably time to offer a little more context. Today’s chapel talk was by an incredible young woman who will be graduating this spring. She is awesome - an incredibly talented thinker, a tireless worker, and an empathetic leader in the community. She often underestimates her abilities, but in a way that makes her work harder and really appreciate her accomplishments. She also is an avid and talented dancer. Her talk today was about how, when she arrived as a ninth grader, the dance program at the school was very small and not considered a “cool” thing to do. She danced, but was embarrassed about it and tried to hide it. She talked about how difficult it was hiding a part of herself that was so central to her being. She then segued into how important the dance instructors have been to her development as a confident young woman and how much pride she feels in seeing the dance program grow over the years. She talked about how much it meant to her when the dance team received their first ever standing ovation. In her experience spanning four years at the school, every word she said was heartfelt and true. From the perspective of somebody who has been here for 20 years, every word was also completely false.

Almost 10 years ago, my daughter started as a ninth grader at this school. After running a season of cross country in the fall of that first year, she decided to try the afterschool dance program as her winter sport. The program was very small and many on campus didn’t even know it existed. That winter, she fell in love with dance, and over her 12 seasons at the school, she danced for 11 of them. She and a couple of classmates decided they wanted to grow the program and make it an institution. They did just that. Dance became a “cool” thing to do. Their crew grew year after year as they learned different styles of dance and choreography. My daughter and her classmates led extra “captains’ practices” on Saturdays so that those new to dance (like my daughter) could catch up to those with years of prior experience. The instructors were from an outside, world-renowned dance company, which was an incredible learning experience, but meant that the student dance captains had to take care of most of the internal executive tasks that coaches would normally do. By their senior year, these dancers were performing to packed auditoriums with screaming fans. The faculty children all wanted to be dancers and would dance like crazy during intermission and after the show. My daughter is getting ready to start working on her PhD in Computer Science, has beaten cancer, and is a tireless activist for those in need, but watching her development as a dancer and as a leader will always be one of the things I am most proud of her for.

After my daughter’s class graduated, the dance program shrank again. There were some very talented dancers, but there wasn’t that core pushing to grow the program. That set up the perfect situation for tonight’s speaker to arrive on campus as a ninth grader and partner with the new full-time, on-campus director of dance to build a brand new program. Their accomplishments have been amazing, and they are definitely worthy of the praise they are receiving. There is just a part of me that can’t help thinking, “What about my daughter’s experience?” Teaching is a constant cycle of connecting and letting go, celebrating the here and now without forgetting the past. This time it was personal, so I’m having more trouble reconciling it all in my head.

The final thought bouncing around my skull tonight is my own legacy. I’ve devoted 20 years to this school but will be leaving for a new opportunity at the end of the school year. How soon will I be a distant memory? Once this year’s ninth graders have graduated, will anybody even know I was here? Naturally everybody wants to be remembered, but in a lot of ways I hope not. The school will be in the hands of the faculty and students who inhabit its halls, and they need to make it their own. I have a couple of classes that are my “babies” because I am the only one who has taught them for years and I have structured them very differently from other classes. I hope whoever teaches them next year does something completely new and different with them. This thought also gives me the confidence to try to do the same and make a mark on my new school next year. Schools are living, breathing institutions that need to resist the urge to get stuck in the past. That’s easy for the students, but much harder for us teachers.

Back to tonight’s chapel talk. It was insightful and inspiring and I fully celebrate the speaker’s accomplishments. At the same time, I have to say…

To Layne, Maya, Morin, Natasha, Natalia, Liz, Claudia, Joy, Brian, Connie, Felipe, and all the other student dancers and instructors from the Dana Tai Soon Burgess Dance Company – I remember. Your accomplishments are permanently etched in my brain and my experience, and you will never be forgotten. Thank you.

 

The Singing is the Best Part

The Singing is the Best Part

Yesterday I attended the Memorial Service for a former student, Mark Herzog, EHS Class of 2011. I have attended far too many services for students lost much too soon, but this one really hit me hard. Mark was, simply put, one of the most impressive individuals I have ever known. His friends and family spoke eloquently about his many passions. Having grown up in Bristol, TN, he recently graduated from Harvard Medical School and was embarking on a career of revolutionizing rural medicine. While an undergraduate at Duke, he made his passion for the outdoors an integral part of his life. He was a competitive triathlete and loved to hike and climb. He celebrated his graduation from Duke by completing the John Muir Trail in California with a friend. He also had a passion for people, and as many people attested at the service, made whomever he was speaking with feel like the most important person in the world. In between his graduation from Medical School and beginning on his quest to change the world, Mark took a trip to experience the beauty of New Zealand, where he fell to his death in a climbing accident.

Listening to the reflections at Mark’s memorial service, I was struck by many things. It was clear that the 15-year-old Mark that I knew was exactly the same person as the fully grown adult so many people spoke about. Two moments during the service especially resonated with me, though. Mark’s best friend since kindergarten, Brendan, spoke about how Mark never wasted a minute, and told stories about how, when they were on a fishing trip, Brendan needed to take a few minutes to rig up the fishing rods and get everything ready, so Mark went for a run, or when they went to a restaurant for dinner and Mark pulled out his textbook to study during the 10-minute wait for a table. Mark’s brother John, told similar stories, but the way he phrased it really struck me. He said that Mark hated to waste a minute and spent every moment of his life actively doing something important to him, whether that was climbing, reading a journal article, doing push-ups, or – this is what struck me – spending focused time talking with a friend, or just being still. He hated to waste a moment, so he was always focused on actively pursuing things that were important to him, like “just being still.” That apparent contradiction says so much about who he was, and who we all should try to be.

The other moment that really resonated with me was when another favorite former student, Chelsea, spoke about her friendship with Mark. She told a story about chapel at the school where I teach, when she was assigned to sit in the balcony and Mark was assigned to sit on the main floor near the front, where she had a good view of him. She noticed that, during the hymns, he sang with extra energy and gusto. Having attended hundreds of high school chapel services as a teacher, I can attest to the fact that singing the hymns is definitely not considered cool. After chapel, Chelsea admitted needling him a little bit about it, pointing out that he really seemed to sing his heart out, which was especially surprising because he was not exactly a trained singer. While most teenagers in that situation would be embarrassed and try to deny it, Mark responded that Yeah – he loved the singing. THE SINGING IS THE BEST PART. I know I’m paraphrasing Chelsea, who was paraphrasing Mark, but that phrasing is how I will remember her reflection. That phrase struck me as exactly the way I want to live my life.

For Mark, the singing was the best part, so he put all of his energy and joy into it. When he was talking to a friend, or even a stranger, learning about them was the best part, so he put all of his energy and joy into that. When he was running, biking, swimming, climbing, working with a patient, fighting to secure a grant to develop anti-suicide programs among native peoples, or simply being still, exactly what he was doing at that moment was the best part, and he put all of his energy and joy into it. Imagine a world where we all did that. Don’t be afraid to express and share your joy. Take time to focus on the people around you and make them feel like they are the most important people in the world. Similarly, take time to actively focus on yourselfyou’re your own needs. Actively seek out and appreciate the beauty of the natural world. Work to be the best you can be at the things you love. Why? Because The Singing is the Best Part.

Reboot

It's been two and a half years since my last post, and so much has happened in that time. This is the first post in my reboot of this blog. The goal is to post once a week consistently. If nobody reads it, that's fine, but this is a very effective way to work through my thoughts.

First - why has it been so long since I posted? The past couple of years have been difficult. I didn't feel like my old self, and with the encouragement of my wife, I started to see a therapist. That was one of the best decisions of my life and I encourage everybody to do the same. We need to destigmatize taking care of your mental health. Through the therapy process, I was able to identify and start working through my issues with C-PTSD and anxiety. I have rediscovered myself and am so much closer to being the person I want to be than I have been in years.

Now - what is rolling through my mind tonight? I was talking to a dear, dear friend this evening and briefly complained about the attitude of some of the kids on my team during lacrosse practice this afternoon. As she so often does, my friend challenged me to think about those interactions in a different way. She suggested that they could be exhibiting their own anxiety, resisting the vulnerability of trying something new on the field, and only being willing to do the things they feel they are best at. (The short backstory is that I was complaining that kids refused to play a different position during practice even though the alternative was not playing at all.)

The thing I found most interesting about this interpretation of the situation is that we were both assuming anxiety for the kids, but handling that anxiety in different ways. She hypothesized that the kids were unwilling to take the risk of doing something they don't think they're good at. I, on the other hand, saw the opportunity to play a different position as a low-risk situation. If you are playing out of position, then there are no expectations on you. As long as you try, it is impossible to disappoint. Both of these perspectives are good examples of the manifestations of anxiety, and I've been trying to figure out the difference between the two. I think the main difference is where somebody gets their validation or invalidation.

I suggest that the player who refuses to play out of position is somebody who self-validates or more likely self-invalidates. If he plays badly in the new position, he will feel terrible and blame himself. He can't be satisfied with his effort unless he is successful and is worried that he will be disappointed in himself. My interpretation of the situation is based more on my history of not wanting to disappoint other people. If I play out of position, then I can't disappoint anybody. It's not my position - I shouldn't play well there. I suppose it's similar to the "You can't fail if you don't try" attitude.

This attitude is something that has really changed for me over the last couple of years of blog silence. Two years ago, the anxiety of disappointing others was almost crippling. Now I am back to the person I want to be and really am - still definitely an introvert, but eager to try new things even if I risk failure. That's a result of becoming more confident in who I am and liking that person. I think my number one goal on the lacrosse field needs to be to help these kids become more confident in who they are and like themselves more too. Courage is a habit, not an intrinsic, immutable quality. How can I help my players and students (and myself) practice courage? That is the most important question.

Can I see the line?

I am intending for this to be a short post, mostly because it is after midnight, but that is when I get thoughtful. I've never been known for my brevity, but at least I only write about once a year.

The big thing on this teacher's mind right now is the upcoming Presidential Inauguration. I am blessed to teach and live at a school just across the river from Washington, DC that has made a commitment to using the resources of our nation's capital to its educational best. Right now, that commitment is causing some strife, though.

A little background: Ever since its founding in 1839, my school has supported students' attending the Presidential Inauguration. In the early years, the students who were interested simply went to the festivities on their own and the school was okay with it. Starting with Nixon's Inauguration, the school has sent the entire community in to witness the peaceful transfer of power that is one of the defining characteristics of our great nation. The only Inauguration since our founding which no students have attended was Abraham Lincoln's. There are lots of apocryphal explanations for that and I am not sure why no students attended Lincoln's inauguration, but at the time, our student body was dominated by the Southern plantation-owning class, so I can form my own opinion. As a teacher at this school, I have attended both of the Obama Inaugurations as well as an Inauguration for George W. Bush. The atmosphere leading into this Inauguration is very different from all the previous ones. I think back to the Bush Inauguration and remember the "Turn Your Back on the President" movement where liberal protesters turned away from the parade as he passed to make a statement. I also recall a conversation I had with a very happy Bush supporter in which I explained that I disagreed with Bush on almost every possible issue, but that I will never turn my back on my President. It was a very amicable conversation that ended with handshakes and mutual respect. With the vitriol that has dominated this election cycle, it is difficult to imagine a similar conversation taking place this year.

This leads me to the real issue. My school is in the middle of trying to decide if we break from tradition and do not attend the Inauguration this year. This is such a complicated question! These students have one opportunity during their schooling to attend an Inauguration, one of the most important moments in our nation. Even if they disagree with the outcome of the election, being part of the peaceful transfer of power is an incredible experience. The problem is the tone and actions of so many Trump supporters during the election. Trump's campaign has made it okay to be outspokenly racist and even violent in that racism. That may be only a small fringe element of Trump supporters, but that doesn't matter. Prejudice and violence have been legitimized and some people are taking advantage of that. Our student body is much more diverse than it was during the Lincoln Inauguration. No matter how diverse a community is, though, people tend to gather with other people who look like them or have had similar experiences to them (often because they look like them.) Picture us taking 450 students to the Inauguration, with a group of over 50 black students all gathered together. Wouldn't that be a magnet for the fringe element? If we take the entire student body in, we would probably talk to them about not engaging with those people and ignoring them. What kind of message does that send to our students? Our mission statement makes a big deal of "intellectual and moral courage" (I wrote that phrase and still love it!) How can we tell students that they need to develop intellectual and moral courage, but that they should keep their heads down and mouths shut at the Inauguration? Also, what message will it send when a group of people verbally assaults a group of our students and the teacher does not respond? We are struggling with whether or not the possibility of verbal or physical violence is so great that we should not attend this Inauguration. The safety of our students is the number one concern. I've personally been torn about this decision since the beginning. I think we definitely need to allow students (or parents) to opt out of attending the Inauguration. There are too many students who are legitimately afraid for us to force them into that situation. Should we even give them the option of attending, though?

We had an informal gathering for faculty discussion of this issue recently, and one of my colleagues talked about the decision in a way that will stick with me. He is an "outdoor educator" who focuses mainly on whitewater paddling. He explained the approach to risk assessment that he teaches out on the water. When coming upon a new stretch of rapids, he asks himself four questions:

1) Can I see the line?
2) Can I make the line?
3) What are the consequences?
4) Do I accept those consequences?

That analogy really hit home with me, because it allows for informed risk-taking. There are a lot of risks that are definitely worth it, but one must understand the potential consequences and accept them before undertaking the challenge. The first question is the one that really got me though. Can I see the line? Can I see the best way through the potential rough water ahead, or am I paddling in blind and hoping for the best. With the Inauguration, I think this question is the crux of the problem. Can I see the line? Can I identify a way through this mess that guarantees the physical and emotional safety of all students? To me, too much is up in the air, and the answer to this first question is No - I cannot see the line. In some situations, not being able to see the line is not enough to make the risk not worth is. That is when we get to the consequences. What are they? In a diverse community, the potential consequences for some of our students are huge! For many of the students, there are no consequences either way, but for those that have potential consequences, it is simply too much. I think we are better off breaking into groups and watching the Inauguration from the safety of our dorm common rooms. Utopia is often the best place to be when you are struggling with difficult issues.

Living life in the Challenge Zone

In two days I will accompany a group of our ninth graders on an Outward Bound experience for five days on the Appalachian Trail. I almost typed that as “a backpacking experience,” but instantly realized that it is far more than that. The Outward Bound experience involves challenges (and support) well beyond a basic backpacking trip. My school takes this trip with the ninth graders every year and I love to go with them, so naturally, people often ask me how many times I’ve been on the trip. I actually had no idea, so tonight I sat down with some yearbooks and figured it out. I have gone on the trip six times; this year will be my seventh. I am torn when I think about how I feel about that number.

My overarching thought is that I waited a number of years to go on this trip (“Burch,” in case I call it that later in this missive) and I am very happy about that. My children were young and after a few years my wife was re-starting her career, which has totally outshown mine – yep, she rocks! Once I started going on this backpacking trip with kids, I got hooked. I teach at a school where the kids are good at school. We often overlook the importance of kids’ developing good “school skills,” but it makes a huge difference. Our kids have school skills in spades. Many of them, however, break down when they find themselves in an uncomfortable situation in the middle of the woods. They are never in any danger, and I don’t believe they ever really feel that they are in danger, but they are uncomfortable and have to figure out how to navigate that feeling and accomplish physical goals. The Outward Bound instructors challenge the kids in amazing ways that I could never achieve in the classroom, and I learn something from them every year that makes me a better teacher when we get back to campus. I truly believe that there is nothing I do that both makes me a better teacher and helps my students become better people more effectively than this Burch trip. So what is my struggle? Why am I torn?

I have gone on the Burch trip six times. Each trip has lasted five days. That means that, in my 44 years of life, I have spent a grand total of one month doing the thing that I believe I am best at. That seems like a pretty small amount of time to spend excelling. That leads to the bigger questions about priorities and reaching more important goals. I have spent a month doing the thing I am best at, but what have I been doing in the meantime? Hasn’t that been worthwhile? I have worked with hundreds of students (I should do the math and see if it is thousands at this point) and have made real connections with many of them. I have helped raise two absolutely incredible, yet very different children and glory in their different strengths. I have helped support my wife in her career and drive to end cancer, although I definitely could do a lot more to be a good father and husband.

Then I go back to the thought that, in 44 years, I have spent only a month doing the thing that I believe I am best at. Was that the right call? 100% YES! Many of us have something we are best at, but if we limit ourselves to that one thing, we forfeit the richness that life has to offer. If I dropped everything and became an outdoor educator, I would have missed so many moments with my family and so many opportunities to support them. I also would have missed the challenge of improving at the parts of my life that do not come as naturally to me, which is a major part of Outward Bound and outdoor education. Every year on the Burch trip we talk about the three zones – the comfort zone, the challenge zone, and the panic zone. (I think they have new names for them now, but I like the old OB terminology.) Maybe strangely, the Burch trip and outdoor education are my comfort zone. That is where I feel most confident and feel like I can be most effective. (Even though it has taken me a few years to get to that point and I have definitely made some mistakes along the way.) My math classroom is my challenge zone. I enter that room every day a little bit apprehensive, but with the confidence that I can succeed if I give it my all. (Wow! That sounded really cheezy!) I am totally confident in my knowledge of the subject, but the challenge is being able to transfer that knowledge and problem-solving ability to each unique student. Succeeding in the Comfort Zone is exactly that - comfortable, but succeeding in the Challenge Zone is truly satisfying! What is my panic zone? It wouldn’t be my panic zone if I were willing to answer that question in a public forum!

So, my first thought upon starting to write down these musings was that I might be wasting my life having spent only one month doing the thing I am best at. Instead, at the end, I recognize the gift I have been given to live my life in the challenge zone. Succeeding in that challenge zone is impossible without a support structure in which I feel confident. On the Burch trip, when the students are challenged, that support structure is their peers. In my life, that support structure is my family, which is always there to support my dreams and whims, and to let me know that, even when I am not changing kids’ lives on the Appalachian Trail, I am changing their lives for the better here at home. Life is awesome!

As they say at OB – “A fair wind, and just enough of it…”

Social confidence?

Another school year officially starts tomorrow, which always makes me a little bit more thoughtful than usual. (I realize that’s a pretty low bar.) The older I get, the more I’m struck by the dissonance between perception and reality, especially among teenagers. I don’t want to comment on others’ experiences, especially those of my students, so I’ll limit it to thinking back to my own high school experience. I was the poster child for low self-esteem. I firmly believed that I could never be attractive to anyone. I was nerdy and only marginally athletic, and believed that I was one of the least attractive human beings ever to exist. As I go back now as an adult and look at old pictures, I am struck by the fact that I was actually a pretty good-looking kid for a few years. I hope my senior picture will serve as evidence, although beauty is always in the eye of the beholder.

(I dream of looking this good now!)

I was not a modest teenager. I truly believed that I was smarter and (sadly) better than most of the people I encountered every day, and I suspect I gave off that vibe in a very negative way. I recognize now that a lot of that persona was a defense mechanism because I believed I was so unattractive. I wonder how much more I would have connected with people if I had possessed just a little more social confidence. That confidence would have earned more positive reinforcement, which would have bred more confidence in a self-sustaining cycle.

As a teacher, I think about where I fit in to this cycle. So much of a teenager’s social identity is based on peer interaction, yet that social identity affects everything they do for years. I cannot tell a student that he or she or they are much more attractive than they believe. Obviously that would be inappropriate and creepy! But what can I do to bolster their critical social confidence? This year, I pledge to do my best to nurture my students’ confidence both as mathematics students and as moral/ethical people. Hopefully that little push will help them as they navigate the rough waters of teenage social interaction. In that sink-or-swim environment, I plunged to the seafloor, but I see more and more kids like me raising their sails and catching a little air off the tops of the biggest swells of teen peer pressure. Can anything I do really guide them through this difficult time? Probably not. But I am going to be there with the rescue dinghy when they need it to patch up their wounds and send them back out into the storm a little stronger.