The Power of "Not Yet"

There is a small word that can change the direction of a school year: yet. A student says, "I can't do this." Add one word and the sentence becomes, "I can't do this yet." The first statement sounds final. The second leaves the door open. It acknowledges the struggle without turning the struggle into an identity.

That matters because students are constantly deciding what kind of learners they believe themselves to be. They collect evidence from grades, assignments, conversations, and the expressions on the faces of the adults around them. A difficult task can quickly become a label: I am not a reader. I am bad at math. I never understand science. I cannot behave in class.

Our words can either reinforce those labels or interrupt them. One of the most important things we do as educators is help students separate where they are today from where they are capable of going. High expectations are not a refusal to recognize difficulty. They are a refusal to believe that difficulty must have the final word. Students need adults who can say, "This is hard, and I am staying with you while you learn it.'

The phrase "not yet" also belongs to adults. We may not have mastered a new program yet. A classroom routine may not be working yet. A relationship with a student may not feel strong yet. The opening weeks of school can tempt us to judge too quickly. We see a problem and assume we are seeing the finished product. But this is only Week 2.

Improvement is rarely dramatic. It is usually a series of small adjustments made with patience and purpose. We try something, study the result, and try again. We reteach. We listen. We change the approach without lowering the expectation. That is not failure. That is learning in motion.

This week, listen for the sentences that sound final. When a student says, "I can't," help add the word that keeps possibility alive. When you hear the same sentence inside your own head, offer yourself the same grace. Not yet is not an excuse. It is a promise that the story is still being written. Let us keep the door open. Let us Make an Impact.

Until next time...

The First Full Week

The first day of school receives most of the attention. We prepare the classrooms, organize the supplies, review the schedules, welcome families, and make certain everything is ready when students walk through the gates. There is excitement in the air, along with just enough nervous energy to remind us that something important is beginning.

Then comes the first full week. The decorations are still fresh, the pencils are still mostly sharpened, and everyone is beginning to settle into a routine. This is when the work of building a school year really begins.

A successful year is rarely created by one opening-day presentation, one perfectly planned lesson, or one memorable event. It is built through hundreds of small actions repeated over time. It happens when we greet students at the door, learn a name, notice an effort, offer encouragement, reteach an expectation, or check on someone who seems unusually quiet. Those moments may appear small, but small does not mean insignificant.

One of the central ideas behind building a streak is that meaningful progress often comes from actions that are simple enough to repeat. You do not have to change everything today. You simply need to do something worthwhile today and then do it again tomorrow. Schools work the same way. Culture is built one interaction at a time. Trust is built one promise at a time. Achievement is built one lesson at a time. Mentoring is built one conversation at a time. Impact is built one
moment at a time.

The challenge is that these moments do not always provide immediate evidence that they mattered. A student may not thank you for your patience. A colleague may not tell you that your encouragement arrived at exactly the right time. A family may never know how many people
worked behind the scenes to help their child succeed. Make the investment anyway.

This week, look for the small opportunities. Learn one more thing about a student. Recognize improvement before waiting for perfection. Take one extra moment to listen. The first full week is not simply about getting through the schedule. It is our first opportunity to establish the habits that will carry us through the year. Let us make those habits count. Thank you for making it a wonderful opening week.

Until next time...

The Home Stretch

There is something about the end of a school year that feels different from every other finish line. It is not just one event. It is all of them stacked on top of each other. Promotion ceremonies. Awards assemblies. Final meetings. Discipline clean-up. Parent questions. Student emotions. Staff exhaustion. Last-minute reports. Graduation speeches. Classroom clean-outs. The final bell. The final goodbye.

Then, in the middle of all of that, life keeps happening. This past Friday, schools were released for the summer. My son graduated from high school. It should have felt like a clean and beautiful ending. In many ways, it was. But it came after one of the most fatiguing three-week stretches I can remember. By the final week, everyone was running on fumes. Students were done. Staff were tired. Parents were juggling schedules. Administrators were trying to hold all the pieces together. We had reached the home stretch.

The problem with the home stretch is that it can fool us. We can see the finish line, so we convince ourselves we do not need to slow down. We tell ourselves we can push just a little harder. We can make it a few more days. We can skip the rest. Skip the meal. Skip the walk. Skip the water. Skip the pause. After all, we are almost there. But almost there is not the same as there.

At my son’s graduation, my 93-year-old father came to watch his grandson walk across the stage. It was hot. The bleachers were full. The ceremony was underway. Families were cheering, phones were recording, names were being called, and the evening carried all the pride and joy that a graduation should carry. Then my father collapsed in the bleachers from heat stroke. EMTs had to come into the stadium and remove him on a gurney during the ceremony. It was scary. It was emotional. It was one of those moments where everything around you keeps moving, but your own world suddenly stops. All because he had not had enough water. Water.

Something so simple. Something so ordinary. Something completely available. Yet when neglected, it became the difference between being present for a celebration and being carried out of it. Thankfully, my father made a full recovery. My son still graduated. We made it through the ceremony. And by the time the weekend arrived, we all slept well. Deeply. The kind of sleep that comes not only from physical exhaustion, but from emotional release.

But I have not stopped thinking about that moment. Because in many ways, it was a perfect picture of what happens to so many of us in education, leadership, parenting, and life. We push. We serve. We show up. We carry responsibility. We tell ourselves that people are counting on us, so we keep going. We take care of the students. We take care of the staff. We take care of the families. We take care of the program, the event, the schedule, the crisis, the expectation. Then somewhere along the way, we forget to take care of ourselves. And sometimes, the thing we need is as basic as water. 

Self-care is often talked about like it is a luxury. A spa day. A vacation. A quiet morning with coffee. Those things can certainly help, but real self-care is often much more practical. It is drinking water before sitting in the heat. It is eating before the long day begins. It is going to bed instead of sending one more email. It is taking a walk when your mind is overloaded. It is saying no when your body has already said enough. Self-care is not selfish. It is stewardship.

If we do not take care of ourselves, how can we take care of others? If we run ourselves into the ground, how can we be fully present for the people we love? If we ignore our own limits, how can we expect to lead with wisdom, patience, compassion, and clarity? The truth is that fatigue changes us. It shortens our patience. It clouds our thinking. It makes small problems feel large and large problems feel impossible. It causes us to react when we should reflect. It can take the joy out of moments that deserve to be celebrated. 

That is why self-pacing matters. Pacing does not mean we are weak. It means we are wise enough to know that life is not a sprint. Even the home stretch requires strategy. Runners do not finish strong by pretending their bodies do not need oxygen. They finish strong because they understand rhythm, breath, recovery, and timing. Educators need that same wisdom.

The end of the school year will always be busy. Graduation season will always be emotional. Leadership will always carry weight. Family milestones will always come with both joy and stress. We cannot eliminate the demands, but we can become more intentional about how we move through them. We can drink the water. We can take the break. We can ask for help. We can step into the shade. We can recognize that being there for others begins with being well enough to stand beside them.

My father wanted to be there for my son, and he was. That matters. His presence mattered. But the lesson from that night was clear. Love and commitment are powerful, but they do not replace the basic need to care for ourselves.

As we enter summer, I hope we allow ourselves permission to recover. Not because the work was unimportant, but because it was important. Not because we are finished caring, but because we want to keep caring well. Not because we are stepping away from our purpose, but because rest helps us return to it with strength.

The school year ended. My son graduated. My father recovered. We all slept. And somewhere in all of that, there was a reminder worth carrying forward. Take care of yourself. Drink the water. The people you love still need you in the bleachers.

Until next time…

Call Me Old School, But I Miss the Happy Halloween

 

I walked into a Spirit Halloween store the other day with my 18-year-old son, and for a moment, I thought I’d accidentally wandered into the set of a horror movie. Chainsaws buzzing, clowns with dripping teeth, bloodied dolls that scream when you pass by. It was like a haunted house had exploded and someone decided to sell tickets.

Now don’t get me wrong, I understand that Halloween has always had its spooky side. A good jump scare, a creepy decoration, or a clever costume that makes you look twice? That’s all part of the fun. But something feels different lately. Darker. Gorier. Louder. It’s as if the entire holiday has shifted from “boo!” to “blood!”

I looked around at the costumes, rows and rows of zombies, slashers, and vampires with missing faces. I realized that more and more, Halloween seems aimed at adults trying to outdo each other in shock value. What used to be playful is now often extreme. It’s no longer about pretending, it’s about pushing limits. And standing there between the fake severed limbs and fog machines, I couldn’t help but think, When did we lose the happy in Halloween? 

I get it. We live in a world of constant competition. Every social media post has to be “next level.” Every event has to “top” the last one. Halloween has become another stage for that competitive creativity. It all has to be bigger, darker, scarier. Add in decades of horror films, survival video games, and streaming marathons of fear, and our cultural tolerance for the gruesome has gone way up. What once would have sent us running for the light switch is now considered “cute.”

I can appreciate the artistry, truly. Some of those special effects are impressive. But I miss when Halloween was more about imagination than intimidation. When creativity didn’t require carnage. I remember my Mom using a white sheet, cutting eye holes, and calling me a ghost. That was once good enough, but not anymore. 

Call me old school, but I remember simpler times. The excitement of carving pumpkins, lighting the candle inside, and watching it glow through the jagged grin. The smell of popcorn balls and caramel apples. The thrill of walking the neighborhood in a homemade costume with a pillowcase for candy. Those were the days! We didn’t have 12-foot skeletons or laser fog machines. We maybe had flashlights, some creativity, and the occasional sheet that tripped us up when the eye holes didn’t line up. And yet, those nights felt magical.

I understand the world has changed. Safety and hygiene matter, and the days of dunking our heads into a communal tub of apples are long gone, probably for good reason. So maybe we switch the “bobbing” to apples hung on strings. Maybe we keep the sealed candy instead of the homemade treats. Fine. But the spirit (no pun intended) doesn’t have to disappear. Halloween doesn’t have to be sanitized of fun or overrun with gore. It just needs a little recalibration. So here’s my plea: less ghosts and more Ghostbusters. Less Jason and Michael Myers, more Mary Poppins and Scooby-Doo. Let’s bring back the laughter, the cleverness, the joy.

There’s something beautiful about watching a little kid proudly wear a costume made out of cardboard and duct tape. Or a family that coordinates costumes and walks through the neighborhood together. Or a teacher who shows up to school dressed as Ms. Frizzle, The Cat in the Hat, or Waldo. That’s the kind of creativity that connects, not repels. Halloween doesn’t have to make us flinch to make it fun. It just has to make us feel.

Here’s what I think: Halloween, like anything else in life, reflects what we choose to see. If we focus on the fear, that’s what we’ll find. But if we focus on the community, the laughter, the imagination, it becomes something worth celebrating. It’s the same idea I talked about in my “Yellow Car Syndrome” reflection a week ago. What you look for, you see more of. If you look for darkness, you’ll find it everywhere. If you look for light, you’ll start to notice it in the smallest glow sticks and pumpkin lights on porches. The good old-fashioned Halloween I miss isn’t gone. It’s just waiting to be noticed again. It is in the joy of a child shouting “trick or treat!”, in the neighbors gathered at the end of the driveway, in the shared smiles behind every silly costume. So yes, call me old school. I’ll own it proudly. I like my Halloween with laughter instead of screams. I’ll take the Ghostbusters over the gory ghosts any day. And maybe this year, that’s what we can all aim for. Turn down the volume on the horror. Turn up the creativity, the nostalgia, the connection. It’s not about being naïve, it’s about remembering that joy and fright don’t have to be on opposite sides. Kenny Chesney was right in another way: Happy is as happy does. And maybe, just maybe, Halloween can be that too.

Because if life is 10% what happens and 90% how we react, then Halloween is the same. We can react with fear, or we can choose fun. We can decorate with doom, or with delight. So this year, I’m choosing happy. I’m choosing candy corn and cardboard ghosts. I’m choosing to smile when the porch light flicks on and to remember the simple magic that started it all. Happy Halloween, and may your night be more treat than trick. (cue Bobby "Boris" Pickett & The Crypt Kickers - Monster Mash). 

Until next time...

Redefining Assessment: Evaluating Student Learning in an AI-Enhanced Environment

In today’s classrooms, the moment a student whispers, “Could you check if ChatGPT wrote that?” signals something bigger than curiosity. It represents a turning point in education. We are no longer in a world where pencil and paper alone define learning or achievement. Artificial intelligence can now generate essays, solve complex problems, and even mimic human creativity. The traditional ways we measure learning are being challenged at their core. Tests, quizzes, and essays have served us well, but the time has come to evolve.

Why Change Is Needed

There was a time when success in school meant memorizing facts and recalling them on command. That was enough because knowledge lived in books, and students were rewarded for retrieving it. Today, knowledge is everywhere, instantly accessible. If ChatGPT can produce a polished five paragraph essay in seconds, what does an essay really measure anymore? One educator described it best when they said that AI exposes the flaws of a system built around recall instead of creativity.

We now face an opportunity to reshape assessment into something that reveals not only what students know but how they think. Instead of assessing only the product, we must assess the process. True learning happens when students can explain their reasoning, make connections, and apply understanding in new situations.

Rethinking Assessment Design

Educators are beginning to create what some researchers call AI resistant assessments. These are tasks that cannot be completed by a machine alone because they require personal insight, critical thinking, and creativity.

Capstone projects and portfolios are powerful examples. They allow students to craft a research project or creative artifact over time, showing how their thinking evolves through reflection and revision. Oral defenses, or what universities call a viva voce, invite students to explain their work in person, demonstrating that their understanding matches their written product. When students articulate what they know, learning becomes authentic and alive.

Assessment in an AI world must value both the journey and the destination. In practice, this means evaluating the drafts, notes, and reflections that lead to a final piece. It is not enough to submit a finished essay. Students should show their brainstorming steps, edits, and choices along the way.

Teachers can use rubrics that capture how thinking develops. Some schools even explore digital tools that analyze depth of reasoning within student work. The goal is not to catch students using AI but to encourage them to think deeply about how they use it. When students document their process, they learn that learning itself has value.

Making Learning Real

One of the best ways to make assessment meaningful is through authentic, real world tasks. When students write persuasive letters about environmental issues in their community, design math models to solve real problems, or create digital media projects, they move beyond memorization. These activities require critical thinking, analysis, and creativity. AI might assist in some parts, but it cannot replace the personal expression that comes from lived experience.

In these moments, assessment becomes more than a grade. It becomes a mirror that shows students what they are capable of when they take ownership of their learning.

Assessment should never feel like a one time event. It should feel like an ongoing conversation between teacher and student. AI tools can provide instant feedback on writing clarity or problem solving, but they should complement, not replace, teacher insight. Conferences, peer reviews, and reflective check ins add the human touch that deepens understanding.

Formative assessment builds confidence and direction. When students receive regular feedback, they begin to see learning as growth instead of judgment. That shift in mindset might be the most important change of all.

Integrity and Equity

The question of academic integrity will always matter. Some schools are experimenting with dual track systems that separate AI free assessments from open AI exploration. For our TK through 8 settings, this could look like a combination of in class writing tasks alongside creative projects where AI use is allowed but must be declared.

Clear policies matter. Students need to know when AI can be used, how to document it, and why transparency builds trust. Families also need to understand these expectations so that learning remains authentic and equitable for everyone.

Supporting Teachers and Students

Change takes support. Teachers need professional learning opportunities that help them design assessments for this new environment. Workshops on AI resistant assignments, tools to collect drafts and reflections, and guidance for facilitating oral presentations or project exhibitions will make a difference.

Students, too, must learn how to use AI responsibly. They should practice reflecting on the prompts they write, evaluating the responses they receive, and recognizing when AI helps them grow versus when it replaces their own effort. These lessons teach digital responsibility as much as academic skill.

The Vision Ahead

Reimagining assessment is not a burden. It is an opportunity. Instead of discouraging AI, we can embrace it as a partner in deeper learning. The focus shifts from asking whether a student knows information to exploring how that student can use it creatively and meaningfully. That is the kind of learning that prepares students for the world beyond school. It celebrates curiosity, application, and authentic voice.

Generative AI is not the enemy of education. It is a mirror reflecting what we value most about learning. If we design assessments that reveal understanding, originality, and reflection, we reclaim what assessment was always meant to be. It becomes a window into a student’s mind and heart, not just a record of their output.

With thoughtful design and human connection, assessment no longer asks, “Did AI do it?” Instead, it asks, “What did you learn while doing it?” And that is the classroom where real growth happens.

Until next time...

AI and Equity: Bridging the Digital Divide in Education

Think about our classrooms as bridges. They are not only bridges over gaps in knowledge, but also bridges over gaps in opportunity. Artificial intelligence has incredible potential to close those gaps. Yet that potential will only be realized if every student, regardless of zip code, has both access and support. Without that commitment, the bridge may collapse into a deeper divide rather than unite learners across it.

In every district, there are students who go home to high speed internet, quiet study spaces, and personal devices that connect them instantly to the world. Yet others return to crowded homes where Wi Fi struggles to connect, devices are shared, and even basic access is uncertain. That difference is not just inconvenient. It is unjust. It shapes who gets to explore the possibilities of AI and who does not.

Researchers have called this the second digital divide. The first divide was access to technology itself. The second divide is about digital literacy and connectivity. And now, we face what many are calling the third digital divide. It is the divide between those who have access to AI tools and those who do not. This divide will determine who can harness AI to learn faster, think deeper, and create more freely. We cannot allow the benefits of this new technology to be reserved only for those who already have advantage.

Thankfully, there are efforts taking place that give reason for hope. Here in California, the Closing the Digital Divide Initiative is working to bring both devices and training to underserved districts. The State education department has begun introducing professional learning focused on AI so that teachers and students alike can learn how to use it responsibly and creatively.

Beyond California, international programs like the EDISON Alliance and grants from the European Commission are supporting similar efforts around the world. They are providing affordable broadband, teacher training, and modern devices to communities that need them most.

Closer to home, partnerships such as the ConnectEd Initiative are working with Apple, AT&T, and Microsoft to bring high speed internet and instructional support directly to schools. These collaborations matter. They show what can happen when the public and private sectors work together toward a shared goal.

To truly bridge the AI divide in our TK through 8 schools, we need a strategy that covers four essential areas.

Infrastructure First

Access to reliable broadband must be the foundation. Schools and homes alike need dependable connections. This means tapping into state and federal grants, forming partnerships with local internet providers, and ensuring that connectivity is no longer a barrier to learning.

Affordability and Devices

Every learner deserves a working device and a quiet place to use it. This can be achieved through district programs, grants, and creative partnerships that refurbish used technology. It should not depend on chance or charity. It should be part of a sustainable plan.

AI Literacy for All

Once access is achieved, we must make sure that teachers and students understand how to use AI thoughtfully. Through workshops, digital literacy frameworks, and districtwide training, educators can learn how to embed AI into their lessons while guarding against bias and protecting student privacy. The goal is not to turn every student into a coder, but to help them become critical thinkers in an AI world.

Community Engagement and Trust

Equity is not only about hardware and software. It is about relationships. Hosting family nights, sharing clear information about how student data is protected, and showing how AI supports learning builds understanding and trust. When families feel included, true equity follows.

What This Looks Like in Action

At one of our partner districts, a fourth grade classroom began using an AI reading companion that adjusted story difficulty to match each child’s reading level. Yet the real success came from what surrounded the technology. The teacher worked closely with a volunteer mentor to provide individual feedback and encouragement. The technology did not replace human connection. It enhanced it.

In another situation, teachers began using AI to help design project based lessons. Students explored local agricultural data and used AI tools to brainstorm solutions for water conservation. Because the teachers had clear protocols and training, AI became a coach that extended their creativity, not a shortcut that replaced it.

These are not stories about technology alone. They are stories about people who chose to use technology in service of learning and inclusion.

There will be challenges ahead. Some areas still lack broadband. Some families still cannot afford devices. Some teachers still feel unprepared to integrate AI effectively. The road to equity is never smooth, but it is worth traveling. Digital Promise reminds us that equity is not a single project or product. It is a comprehensive approach built on leadership, resources, access, and ongoing support. We must keep checking where gaps remain and continue refining our strategies as technology evolves.

Our vision for the future is clear. We want every student, from the foothills to the cities, to have equal access to AI enhanced learning. We will achieve that by building partnerships with local organizations, nonprofit foundations, and technology companies that share our commitment. Together, we can provide reliable infrastructure, continuous AI literacy training, and community based digital navigation programs.

When AI is truly equitably integrated, it becomes more than a privilege. It becomes a right. And when that happens, every student can step confidently onto that bridge of opportunity. The beauty of education is that it gives us all a chance to cross together.

Until next time...

Listen to the Educator Forever Podcast

I enjoyed being a guest on the Educator Forever Podcast. It is always enjoyable to share about our profession and my book Impact Mentoring.  Listen here:

Educator Forever Podcast