A Finding Your Red Bench - homework assignment
Thanksgiving is right around the corner, and I want you to think about something before you sit down for dinner, head to a holiday party, or gather with family and friends. Yes, I have homework for you.
At some point, somebody is going to find out you're an educator and will ask, "So, what's it like teaching these days?" Or maybe, "I don't know how you do it. What's it like being a principal today?"
And sometimes, before you even answer, you can tell the person asking already has an opinion. It might be that sly smile. They've read something on social media and now they're hoping you'll give them a little more fuel for the conversation.
Here's what I've come to realize after nearly 30 years in education.
Sometimes, we are our own worst enemies.
When somebody asks us what it's like to work in education, what do we talk about?
The long hours, the difficult parents, the student behavior or the lack of support?
And listen, I'm not saying those things aren't real. But here's what bothers me.
When we only tell those stories, we're helping write a narrative about education that doesn't tell the whole story.
So, years ago, I started giving my staff a little Thanksgiving assignment.
I asked them to be ready for that question and I wanted them to be ready with a name.
One student and one story.
A student who made them smile, laugh or who reminded them why they got into education.
And I challenged them to tell that story at Thanksgiving dinner.
My student this Thanksgiving is “Johnny.” I have changed his name for this story.
Now, Johnny was one of those students who could always make me smile. One day, he came into my office looking for some advice.
Not about grades. He needed dating advice. I mean, why wouldn’t he ask me for dating advice! Ha.
He liked a girl, and he wanted to do something special to let her know. He asked me what I thought about getting her flowers. I told him I thought that was a great idea.
Well, apparently Johnny had a very different interpretation of that conversation. Because sometime later, I found out Johnny had left campus during the school day and got caught returning to campus. And when he was caught coming back onto campus, guess who he said gave him permission?
Me.
I can only imagine that conversation he had with the campus police officer.
"Mr. Bloomer told me I could get her flowers!"
Now, I certainly hadn't given Johnny permission to leave school. I thought I was giving him relationship advice, not approving an off campus visit to the florist!
When I found out what happened, I couldn't help but smile and laugh. We cleared up that little misunderstanding, and I sent him on to class.
And you know what?
He gave her the flower and they started dating. I told him that if they got married, I should be invited.
But that's not really why I'm telling you about Johnny.
You see, Johnny kept coming by my office. Almost every day.
Sometimes just to say hello. Sometimes he told me about his grades. Sometimes to share something good that had happened.
He made the soccer team and started flourishing as a student.
And every time he came by, I got to see a little more of the young man he was becoming.
That's what I want people to know about education.
I want them to know about Johnny.
Those stories happen every single day in our schools.
But how often do we tell them?
How often do we leave school exhausted, head home to eat long after your family has put away the dishes and spend the next hour talking about everything that went wrong?
And I'm not suggesting we pretend everything is wonderful.
Education is hard work. It always has been.
I watched something interesting happen when I gave my staff this Thanksgiving assignment each year. Teachers started coming back after the holiday and sharing the conversations they'd had. Instead of spending Thanksgiving dinner talking about everything wrong with education, they had talked about a child.
A real child, with a real name and a real story. Those conversations helped change how people talked about our school.
And that's what I want to challenge you to do this Thanksgiving.
Before you head to that dinner or holiday party, find a few minutes to sit on your Red Bench.
Think about your students.
Who made you laugh this year?
Who walked into your classroom or office and reminded you that what you do matters?
Who is your Johnny?
I bet a name just came to mind. Maybe more than one.
And when somebody asks you what it's like to be an educator today, tell them about that student.
Because here's something I believe.
If we want people to see the good in education, we have to be willing to tell them where to look.
This Thanksgiving, I'll be talking about Johnny.
The young man who asked his principal for dating advice, took that advice a little too far, got the girl, made the soccer team, and grew into someone I'm incredibly proud of.
So pull up a seat on the Red Bench for a few minutes before Thanksgiving.
Find your story.
Remember your student.
And when that question comes, be ready.
Somebody needs to hear the good happening in our schools.
Todd
If this post resonated with you, I'd be honored if you picked up a copy of my latest book, Finding Your Red Bench: A Month-by-Month Blueprint for School Leaders. Written for the leaders who give so much of themselves to others, this book offers practical strategies, monthly reflections, and reminders to take care of yourself while taking care of your school community.
And if you're looking for a coach, mentor, or an energetic and engaging keynote speaker to bring to your campus, I'd love to connect! With 30 years in education, including 18 years in school administration, I bring real stories, practical leadership strategies, humor, and a message that challenges educators to rediscover their purpose. Whether it's one-on-one leadership coaching, professional development, or an inspiring keynote, my goal is simple: help educators feel seen, supported, and ready to make a difference.
Learn more about my book and how we can work together at www.toddmbloomer.com.
Because somebody needs you. And you don't have to lead alone.