Love life squared!
That quote hung as a reminder on my office wall. Now it’s breathing life in to the stories I write.
Be yourself; Everyone else is already taken.
— Oscar Wilde.
Halftime may end when the whistle blows, but the work of halftime doesn’t. It ends when coaches/leaders decide how they’ll step back onto the field.
There’s a familiar feeling as January approaches, and it really does feel like a fresh start. We plan the staff breakfast for the return from the break, tidy up the building, and try to welcome everyone back with something warm and familiar. Calendars begin to fill again, routines settle back in, and expectations rise with a quiet optimism. In those moments, it feels good to believe we’re starting over. And that matters. But halftime was never meant to be a pause we pass through. It was meant to shape how we return.
What I wish leaders would stop doing at halftime is staying the same, not out of indifference, but out of fear. Fear of losing teachers. Fear of rocking the boat. Fear of uncovering something they don’t yet have the capacity to fix. So instead, the manager takes over answering the emails, adjusting the schedules, and working out coverage when and where it’s needed. Leaders hop on the endless wheel of keeping things moving. And the right work quietly waits its turn.
Too often, we move forward without really seeing or knowing what’s happening. Not because leaders don’t care, but because they’re overwhelmed, stretched thin, or unsure where even to begin. When everything feels important, it becomes hard to name what’s actually working and what isn’t. Without that clarity, reflection never goes very deep.
So January arrives, the staff returns, and despite our best intentions, it’s easy to slip back into patterns we never meant to repeat.
Late-Lee, I’ve been thinking about how often I’ve stood in that exact place. Sitting in my car before walking into the school, coffee gone cold, telling myself that this semester would be different. Reminding myself to slow down long enough to really see what was happening instead of rushing to manage it all. And then the day would start. A fire had to be extinguished. I’d have a meeting to attend. Someone would need something right in that moment. By lunchtime, the pause I promised myself was already gone.
Over time, I’ve come to believe this: halftime isn’t about shame or celebration. It’s about clarity.
Taking the field after halftime takes more than good intentions. We need to be aware and notice what’s happening beneath the surface. It’s easy to pay attention to what feels loud or feels urgent, but that’s not the only thing we should see. We should be searching for what’s actually shaping outcomes for students and teachers.
Halftime leadership isn’t about doing more. It’s about noticing more and about creating space to reflect before reacting. Because the second half doesn’t change just because the calendar turns, it changes when leaders choose to return differently than when they left.
Before we make adjustments, call new plays, or introduce new initiatives, there’s a question worth sitting with:
What do you need to see more clearly before you decide what needs to change?
That question is where real halftime work begins.
Dear Leader,
As I sit here in the quiet of the morning, surrounded by the soft sparkle of Christmas lights (probably for the last time this season), I’ve been reflecting on the first half of this school year. With the New Year fast approaching, I find myself doing what I tend to do best—reflecting and turning things over and over in my mind letting my thoughts wander a little longer than planned.
I’m an overthinker. It will come as no surprise to those who know me well and are reading this. If you are too, you know exactly what I mean. Your mind tries to shield and protect your heart by staying alert. You notice patterns. You read body language. You replay words spoken in agreement and yes, even in disagreement. You file things away, just in case they may matter later. Sometimes it feels like being a hamster on a wheel, moving constantly, but not always to new places. Just spinning.
If you’ve felt like that too, you’re not alone. Like me, you may have settled into a pattern of survival. Not because you wanted to, but because it felt necessary for a season. At some point during the first half of the school year, simply getting through the days may have become your goal.
Late-Lee, I’ve been thinking about decisions I have made. I think about the people I’ve met this year and how each person added something to my life. I’m grateful to the people I love and walk alongside each day in this thing we call life whether it’s in person, via messages, or calls. I’ve been thinking about moments that felt heavy and moments that seemed to come out of nowhere, surprising me with their goodness.
As we step toward 2026 and into the second half of this school year, I wonder if this is our moment to loosen that grip. Maybe it’s time to pivot how we go about our work, but not be in a rush. We need to do so with the intention of moving towards something steadier, perhaps with more purpose. We may need to move towards a thriving environment that leaves room for rest, makes room for clear decisions in the best interest of students, and supports our teams as they live out the vision of educating those in our care.
There’s a moment in every game when the whistle blows, and everyone steps off the field. Not because the work is finished, but because it’s time to regroup. That’s where we are right now. The first half of this school year (and 2025) is behind us. The second half is quickly coming, but it hasn’t started yet. This space between the two halves shouldn’t be wasted time. If you take the time to pause and reflect, it’s where clarity forms, where small, but meaningful adjustments begin, and where leaders decide how they want to show up when the second half begins. Leaders decide how they want to welcome their teams back!
While the ball will drop at midnight on New Year’s, we must remember clarity doesn’t always arrive with that same sense of speed or glamour. Sometimes it comes quietly, after we’ve stepped off the field and allowed ourselves to see things as they are and acknowledging the reality of it all. The second half will come soon enough. For now, let this pause do its work. January will soon ask a lot of us. But not today.
Warmly,
Rhonda
Gifts of Leadership Series, Final Reflection
If you missed the other three posts in this series, please visit: http://www.rhondalatelee.com
As I bring this December series to a close, I keep coming back to a small line tucked quietly into the story of the wise men. After offering their gifts to Jesus, Scripture tells us they returned home by another route. They didn’t retrace their steps. They didn’t go back the way they came. Something about that encounter changed the direction they were willing or planning to travel.
That feels like the right place to land this season of reflection and to look ahead to what comes next.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve written about the gifts the Magi carried and the leadership lessons they stirred in me. Gold reminded me that when we focus on the right work, even when it’s hard, we find significant results. Frankincense reminded me that presence can steady a place long before progress ever shows up on paper. And myrrh asked me to tell the truth about leadership’s cost and the quiet toll it can take if we never stop to tend our own hearts.
But the wise men didn’t stop at giving their gifts. They chose a different way home.
There came a season in my leadership journey when I realized I had carried the work as far as I could. Not because I didn’t love the school, but because I loved it deeply. I loved the team. I loved the students. I loved the life happening inside those walls enough to recognize that what lay ahead needed a leader with fresh eyes and renewed strength.
Down here in the south, we understand that there are moments when you hand over the keys to a truck you’ve driven for a long time. Not because the road wasn’t worth it or because you didn’t know every bend and bump by heart. You do it because you know someone with a new grip on the wheel and a full tank of gas might travel the next stretch of road with a clearer vision.
Stepping aside wasn’t a weakness. It was stewardship. It was trusting that the foundation we had built together was strong enough to hold. My season hadn’t failed. It had simply run its course, like a field that’s given all it has and needs time to rest before the next planting.
As we move toward a new year, I hope you’ll pause long enough to consider your own “other route.” Where might it be time to loosen your grip? What might need to be released so something new can grow? Are you feeling a nudge toward rest or a new direction?
Leaders are good at carrying weight. We’re not always as good at laying it down. But the story of the Magi reminds us that encountering truth should change us, and sometimes that change shows up in the direction we choose next.
Leader Reflection
What do I need to leave so that I can step into the next season with renewed strength?
Leader Move
Choose one intentional shift as you enter the new year: a different rhythm, a healthier boundary, a more accurate alignment. Let this be your other way home.
Like the Wise Men, I won’t retrace my steps and go back the way I came. I do, however, look forward to the opportunities that may arise in 2026!!!
Gifts of Leadership Series, Post Three
This month, I’ve been learning from the wise men. Their journey, posture, and gifts have nudged me to reflect on the gifts leaders bring to our schools. Gold taught me about outcomes. Frankincense reminded me of presence. And now I’m sitting with the most complex gift of all: myrrh.
Connecting to the First Two Gifts
If you’ve missed reading the first two of my December series, I began with the wise men’s gift of gold, reflecting on how integrity produces the outcomes we call “gold” in leadership.
You can read it here:
The Gift of Gold: Leading with Integrity and Honor
Last week, I wrote about frankincense and the power of presence. When we step out of our offices and choose to be among our people, we change the atmosphere of a school.
You can read that post here:
The Gift of Frankincense: Presence that Changes the Atmosphere
Today, I’m reflecting on the third gift the wise men carried, Myrrh. The gift that acknowledges the weight, the humanity, and the cost of the calling.
Myrrh was used for anointing, healing, and burial. It symbolized sacrifice and the weight of purpose. The wise men offered it to Jesus at the very beginning of His life, signaling that calling always carries a cost. It wasn’t a gift for the moment. It was a gift for the journey.
Leadership has its own myrrh.
There came a season in my life when the work was heavier than my spirit. Not because I lacked strength, but because I had been strong for too long without rest. I poured everything I had into the school, the staff, and the students. I showed up early, stayed late, and carried the unseen parts of the job inside my heart and mind. I made room for the tears. I dealt with the frustrations and the hard conversations. I worked to meet the expectations and the weight of doing what was right, even when it wasn’t easy. And slowly, almost quietly, I realized the cost was catching up to me. I was evaporating.
There’s a moment every leader faces when the calling feels familiar, but the capacity to lead feels thinner than it used to. There is still a deep love for the work, but your soul is asking for room to breathe. The weight you’ve carried begins to change the way you carry yourself.
For me, letting go wasn’t easy. I had put my time in and now I could retire. I was choosing to be whole again. Although (admittedly) at the time, I felt like a quitter. Now I can see it was a courageous decision to acknowledge and honor my limits. I had served as an educator in various capacities in my community for 31 years. I could now say goodbye. Leadership had asked a lot of me, and for a long time, I said yes without thinking twice. But myrrh reminds us that sacrifice without renewal is not holy. It is harmful.
I know now that stepping away from that season didn’t make me less of a leader. It made me a wiser one. It allowed me to return to the work of educating young people with clarity, purpose, and a heart that could pour into others again. I turned that goodbye into a hello and began serving schools across the state in a different capacity. That pause in my career taught me one of the most critical leadership truths I’ve ever learned: Honoring your humanity is part of honoring your calling.
Late-Lee, I’m thinking myrrh is the reminder that leadership costs something. It asks us to give, care, carry, and sometimes to release what is no longer ours to hold so someone with a new vision could step in and lead. It is the gift that says, “You cannot pour into others if you never pour back into yourself.”
Leader Reflection
What part of my leadership is asking for renewal, rest, or release?
Leader Move
Identify one weight you’ve been carrying alone.
Name it.
Could you share it?
Release a small piece of it this week.
Sometimes the most faithful leadership move is to let go.
Gifts of Leadership Series, Post Two
This month, I’ve been paying closer attention to the wise men again. Their long journey, the way they approached the holy moment, and the gifts they carried have prompted me to reflect on the gifts leaders bring to their schools. Last week, I wrote about gold and how staying focused on the right work shapes the outcomes we want for kids. Today, I’ve been sitting with frankincense and what it teaches us about presence.
If you missed the first post in this series, you can catch it here:
The Gift of Gold: Leading with Integrity and Honor
Frankincense was burned in worship long before anyone spoke. The scent filled the room, shifting the atmosphere. When the wise men offered it to Jesus, they weren’t just giving a gift. They were honoring who He was and the sacredness of that moment.
Leadership has its own version of that gift. Whether we notice it or not, our presence fills the spaces we walk into. The way we show up can steady a building, calm a team, or give people just enough breath to get through a hard day. Presence isn’t another item on a to-do list. It’s how you carry yourself at work.
I think back on moments in my own leadership when presence did more than any memo, meeting, or mandate ever could. Sometimes I was intentional. Other times, the building made it clear it needed me to step into the space. Every one of those moments taught me the same lesson: leaders change the culture when they choose to be among their people.
My assistant principal and I used to grab our laptops and move our “office” to the cafeteria from time to time. Kids buzzing around, teachers stopping in, lunch trays clattering. We weren’t there because we needed a new workspace. We were there because the building required us to feel close. Teachers got quick answers, parents saw us actively engaged, and students lit up when they realized we knew their names. The whole place felt different when leadership wasn’t tucked away behind a door.
In the mornings, we often stood in the hallway before the bell. Not to police anything. We wanted to greet kids and staff, catch small things before they snowballed, and to be a steady face for students who were carrying far more than a backpack. That visibility changed the tone of the day for everyone, including us.
During state testing, we didn’t hide in the office refreshing our email. We set up right in the middle of the testing wing. Walking the hallways, whispering encouragement, helping teachers breathe, and being close enough for students to feel supported without saying a word. Our presence in those tense moments said more than any checklist ever could.
And then there were the hours spent sitting in collaborative planning. Not to run the show. Not to correct. To listen, understand, and learn with teachers. Sitting beside them instead of across from them reshaped our relationships. Trust grew in ways it never would have inside a conference room with an agenda taped to the wall. I’m still amazed at leaders who choose not to be in collaborative planning. It sends a message that instruction isn’t that important when you don’t attend.
Every one of those moments was a kind of frankincense. Quiet. Steady. Culture-shifting. The staff didn’t require polished speeches or perfect leadership. They needed us to show up.
Late-Lee, frankincense reminds me that leadership isn’t always about big moments or big moves. Sometimes the most meaningful thing we can offer is our presence. Step out of the office. Pull up a chair. Be among your people. Your presence becomes the offering.
Leader Reflection
Where does my school need my presence more than my paperwork?
Leader Move
Pick one way to relocate your leadership this week.
Sit in collaborative planning. Greet students at the front door. Work in a busy hallway. Be visible. Be steady. Let your presence shift the atmosphere.
Gifts of Leadership Series, Post One
December always pulls me into a different kind of reflection. Maybe it’s the quiet of early mornings sitting enjoying the twinkle of my Christmas tree lights, or the way the Christmas story settles into my thoughts at this time of year. I keep circling back to the three gifts the wise men brought to Jesus. Each one carried a purpose. Each one revealed something about who He was. As I’ve been thinking about leadership, I realized those gifts offer lessons for us, too. This month, I’m sharing a series of reflections that connect the gifts of the Magi to the gifts leaders bring into the spaces they serve.
When the wise men reached Jesus, they laid the first gift before Him: gold. It was a gift that signaled worth and honor. Gold has always carried a sense of purity and strength, but it also holds something deeper. It reflects value. The wise men weren’t simply giving treasure; they were recognizing who was before them.
In leadership, we don’t gift gold in a box. Gold shows up in the outcomes that emerge when we do what is right instead of what is easy. The results reveal choices made with purpose.
I remember one summer sitting around a table with my assistant principal and a group of teacher leaders. We held this little data retreat in a relaxed pool setting. Our accountability data had arrived, and it was clear that if we wanted different results, we couldn’t keep doing business as usual. We presented a plan to change the master schedule, giving students a double dose of reading and math. The tradeoff was losing some core time in other areas, but we would gain consistent intervention and enrichment for every student. It wasn’t a decision we could make quietly. It meant every teacher would be affected.
Some nodded with confidence, while others sat back weighing the impact of implementing this revised schedule on themselves. Changing a schedule sounds simple enough until you start shifting minutes, reassigning coverage, adjusting routines, and creating expectations that people are comfortable with. But we moved forward together. We stayed at the table, listened, adjusted, and committed to a plan that honored what students needed more than what adults preferred. This group of teachers later led the discussion with the rest of the faculty during our pre-planning meeting.
It took more time, more flexibility, and strategic problem-solving than I expected. Yet when the end-of-year accountability outcomes came in, the results were undeniable. When intervention became consistent and instruction became targeted, our student growth took off. State data revealed 100+ points earned in ELA and 95 points in mathematics. Achievement strengthened because we anchored ourselves in doing what was best for the students. That year, the data became our gold.
Late-Lee, the gift of gold reminds me that the shine is never in the decision itself. It is in the outcomes that follow when a team chooses to do the right work. The wise men offered gold to the King. Leaders uncover gold when they decide what actions benefit students most.
Leader Reflection
In what area does my data indicate I need to choose what is right over what is comfortable to meet student needs?
Leader Move
Identify an action that could produce long-term gold (positively impacting data) even if the cost of implementing the action seems too high right now. Bring your team to the table, show each person the why, and commit to leading through the discomfort because I promise you, when shifting adult behaviors, you will encounter discomfort. Effective leaders don’t say this is the plan and move through it without deviating. They use data to measure the quality of the implementation and pivot when necessary.
(Part 4 of 4: A Late-Lee Reflection on Leadership and Thankfulness)
I struggle with anxiety. When life starts spinning like a tornado, I’ve learned to bring order to what I can control. I’ve listened to Admiral McRaven’s speech more times than I can count. His advice to “make your bed every morning” has stuck with me all these years. It’s small, but it starts my day with something I can complete. It’s the one thing I can manage when the rest of the world feels unpredictable. Late-Lee, each time I straighten the comforter, layer the blankets, and fluff up the pillows, I give thanks for completing that task. It’s the only one I’m guaranteed to accomplish that day. And, being the list maker that I am, being able to check it off as done gives me a small sense of satisfaction.
After that, I calendarize my work: meetings, school visits, calls to return, and the tasks that can’t be ignored. I spend a few quiet minutes envisioning my day, thinking through what needs my attention and who might need a visit or a call. I set alarms on my phone so I’m sure to be on time for meetings I need to attend. It’s my way of creating calm before the wind picks up.
There were days, however, while I was a principal, when even my best intentions and careful plans were stolen away by things beyond my control. An angry parent shows up. A discipline issue that couldn’t wait. A teacher who needed a listening ear. Those moments taught me something important. Control is not the same as calm.
True calm often comes from the people who bring steadiness when everything else starts to swirl. The ones who show up, follow through, and create order in the middle of everyone else’s storm. They take attendance on time. They handle duties. They meet deadlines. They keep things moving forward when the unexpected threatens to pull it all apart.
They are the calm in the chaos.
The ones who make the bed.
Leader Moves
As leaders, we have to notice them. It is easy to give our energy to the loud moments, the conflicts, the crises, the things demanding our time. But the quiet consistency around us deserves just as much attention. The people who keep order are often the ones who keep the rest of us standing.
Take time to name them.
Thank them.
Remind them that their steadiness matters.
So in an exercise of gratitude, let’s notice them; the calm keepers, the order makers. The ones who steady the storm so others can stand.
Leadership is not just about fixing what is broken. It is also about recognizing the people who keep things from breaking in the first place.
(Part 3 of 4: A Late-Lee Reflection on Leadership and Thankfulness)
I have a fascination with porcupines. I’ve never seen one in the wild, but I’ve lingered a little longer than I should watching them at the zoo. I love their prickly quills! It makes them seem harsh, but in my research, I’ve learned they don’t use them to harm others. They’re only used for protection.
So late-Lee, I’ve been thinking about those little fellas. They remind me of some folks I’ve met along my path in education. Truth be told, they also remind me of myself. Just like most people, porcupines aren’t looking for conflict. They react when they feel unsafe. Gratitude becomes the bridge that helps us approach others gently, seeing their defenses as protection rather than rejection. Some people proudly carry their quills. They’re cautious with their words and careful with their hearts. Sometimes they seem distant, even difficult to approach. But much like the porcupine, their sharp edges aren’t about aggression; they’re about self-preservation. They’ve learned through experience that it’s safer to stay guarded than to risk being hurt.
And yet, porcupines still find ways to connect. They share dens in the cold and settle close enough to feel warmth without piercing one another. There’s something beautiful about that balance of holding onto your protection while still choosing proximity.
In leadership, we cross paths with plenty of porcupines. A teacher who resists feedback. A colleague who’s slow to trust. A parent who comes in ready for a fight. Gratitude should help us pause long enough to see what’s beneath the quills. It reminds us that there’s almost always softness underneath, and a story behind the spikes.
Leader Moves
Gratitude doesn’t take away the quills, but it helps us handle them with gentleness. When we choose to look beyond the sharp, we are less likely to see resistance as defiance. When we decide to stay thankful for the connection, we see warmth. When we lead with gratitude, we start to see it as someone’s way of staying safe until trust is earned.
Late-Lee, I’ve learned that even the prickly ones (especially the prickly ones) can teach us about grace. I’m grateful for them, because they remind me that I’m still learning how to keep my own quills down.
(Part 2 of 4: A Late-Lee Reflection on Leadership and Thankfulness)
So, I was walking by my Jasmine plant the other day, just checking to see how much weeding I’d have to do. It’s way too much, if I’m being totally honest and possibly lazy. So, I strongly considered to keep moving on, but what caught my attention wasn’t the weeds; it was the Jasmine. So, I decided to pause a little longer.
When I planted it, I just needed something to fill a space. I used to carefully weave the vines through a little trellis, hoping it would grow in the direction I intended. I always love the sight and smell of that hardy plant when it’s blooming. It has survived our crazy southern weather. It thrives despite my lack of attention. It’s a good plant for me. I can keep it alive. Late -Lee, I’ve been noticing a few vines have crept away from the rest. They’ve slipped out of the trellis and stretched out toward the sun on their own.
At first, I thought about tucking them back in, making everything look neat again. Then I stopped. Maybe those stray vines weren’t being rebellious. Maybe they were finding their own way to the light.
That moment made me pause. In leadership, it’s easy to want everyone growing and moving in the same direction, staying neatly inside the boundaries we’ve established. But gratitude reminds us to notice growth, even when it doesn’t look how we expected. It reminds us that sometimes the best thing we can do as leaders is step back, appreciate the stretch, and make room for it.
Gratitude doesn’t have to be grand. In schools, it can sound like, “I saw the way you handled that student today. I appreciate your patience.” Or, “I noticed how your grade-level team is trying a new strategy. That’s brave and smart.” Those quiet acknowledgments let them know they are visible. You see them!
We can’t always solve every challenge our teachers face, but we can acknowledge their growth, effort, and dedication. And that recognition, spoken sincerely, feeds morale in ways donuts never will.
Leadership in Action:
This week, look for the stretchers on your team. Look for the ones who are experimenting, asking questions, or doing things a little differently. Instead of correcting the direction, celebrate the courage it takes to grow toward the light. Send a note, speak it out loud, or simply say, “I see you growing, and I’m thankful for it.”
Because we need to remember gratitude isn’t just about what’s blooming neatly in the trellis, it’s about recognizing the strength in the vines reaching beyond it.
(Part 1 of 4: A Late-Lee Reflection on Leadership and Thankfulness)
There’s a stillness that comes with early morning woods. Long before sunrise, when the world is gray and quiet, the hunter settles in—steady, alert, and patient. The cold air stings a little, and the only sound is the steady rhythm of their breathing. Every movement feels louder than it should. It’s easy to hear each heartbeat. Great hunters learn quickly that success in the hunt isn’t found in the noise; it’s found in the waiting.
When I was little, I’d sometimes go hunting with my dad. We’d sit on an old fallen tree, the kind covered in moss and memories. I tried so hard to stay still, but I’ve never been known for my silence. I like to talk too much and I can’t sit for very long. One look from him was enough to remind me to settle in and just be. At first, the quiet felt uncomfortable. I am a worrier. So, the loudness of the quiet would make me shudder as I filled my mind with all of the scary things that could be lurking…watching and waiting to grab me! He would often call me a worrywart. He wasn’t wrong. But as I learned to pause and appreciate all that was around me, I felt something shift. I started noticing things such as the way light cut through the trees, the sounds layered on top of each other, the way my dad’s eyes moved slowly across the woods, alert to everything and hurried by nothing. My mind began to calm.
He may have been hunting, but I was learning.
Learning patience.
Learning awareness.
Learning the beauty in stillness.
And I didn’t realize it at the time, but that kind of learning would matter later, especially as I began my own leadership journey. And per usual, late-Lee I’ve been thinking about the similarities between great hunters and leaders.
Leadership has its own kind of woods. There’s movement all around, and it’s tempting to fill the silence with our own noise. Sometimes we try to talk, to fix, to act, anything to avoid the quiet. But growth, like hunting, often requires stillness. The best leaders aren’t always the loudest in the room. They’re the ones who steady the moment, listen before speaking, and notice what others overlook. Those are the quiet ones. The steady hearts who keep showing up, not for attention or applause, but because they believe the work is worth it. They carry calm when others carry chaos. They lead, teach, and serve from a place of quiet courage.
Teachers see this same truth in their classrooms. Some students make their presence known from the moment they walk in. Others move softly through the day. They are dependable, kind, and quiet. If we aren’t careful, they can pass through our lessons without our words ever reaching them. Their silence doesn’t mean they don’t need to be seen; it just means we have to look a little closer. Like the hunter, we have to keep scanning for signs.
Gratitude helps us do that. It slows us down long enough to notice the ones who keep us grounded—the quiet colleagues, the steady teachers, the students who show up each day and try again tomorrow.
Sometimes leadership and teaching isn’t about making more noise. It’s about honoring the stillness that keeps everything steady.
Leadership in Action
This week, take time to thank the steady ones:
Offer a word, a note, or a moment of acknowledgment. Because like one of my favorite quotes (Mary Ann Radmacher) reminds us “Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes it’s the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, I’ll try again tomorrow.” Be sure to thank them for showing up and giving it their all!
I want to thank you for stepping into this leadership role. It’s not easy, but here you are…like the great hunter settling in, with the promise of a sunrise that will illuminate all we should be grateful for just because we have decided to show up and try again.
(Part 3 of the “Recalculating” Series)
Haven’t read Part 1 or Part 2, be sure to check those out first.
Speaking as someone who is directionally challenged, and as I’ve shared before, I can get lost in a parking lot. I feel a genuine sense of accomplishment when I actually end up where I intended to go. That doesn’t happen by chance. It’s because I use my GPS to guide me. I’m certain, with its help, I could find my way to New York. In much the same way, when we use our standards to chart the course for learning and check in along the way, we give ourselves the chance to either recalculate or celebrate.
But just setting a destination isn’t enough. Along the way, I have to glance at the map, listen for turns, and sometimes reroute when I miss one. Teaching works the same way. Standards help us know where we’re headed, but it’s the lesson check-ins such as the effective questions, the short formative assessments, and the student work in front of us that tell us if learning is actually happening. When we take the time to look closely at that evidence, we can make decisions that keep students on the path toward mastery, rather than assuming they’ll find their own way there.
I’ve learned that if I don’t stop and check my direction, I’ll keep driving in the wrong direction with complete confidence. The same thing happens in classrooms. Teachers can teach their hearts out and still not be certain if the lesson was aligned to the rigor of the standard or if students are actually learning it. When you ask one or two students who know the answer, that is not confirmation they all know. That’s where formative checks for understanding come in. They’re like little landmarks along the way that help us see if students are actually getting there. It doesn’t take fancy tools or long tests. It simply requires a clear look at the work before us and an honest conversation about what it reveals. It’s important to also acknowledge those outcomes reflect our instruction. That’s the kind of intentional pause that helps teachers recalculate when needed and celebrate when learning sticks. That’s the kind of teaching that is steady, purposeful, and always headed in the right direction.
So, late-Lee, I’ve been thinking about this whole process. I struggle to understand where the disconnect is and why this seems to be such a challenge for some. We plan to teach the standards at the prescribed level, determine what success looks like, and design formative assessments that we can use to see if students are mastering the learning or identify where the gaps are that we need to address during and after we’ve delivered the planned lesson. Seems clear enough. Let’s now talk about reviewing the evidence.
A Simple Way to Look at Student Work
Now, before anybody starts thinking this is one more thing to add to an already full plate ( I hear that often too.). Let me be clear: Looking at student work doesn’t have to be complicated. It just needs to be consistent. When we take a few minutes to pause and study what our students produced that day, we gather the kind of information that helps us teach smarter tomorrow.
I like to think of it as pulling over for a quick check instead of waiting until the end of the trip to find out we missed the turn miles back. The best teachers I know employ a simple routine that enables them to identify patterns in learning and make informed decisions about what comes next. Here’s a straightforward way to do that.
The Journey Through Learning Protocol
Step 1: Start with clarity
Review the learning target and success criteria. What did you expect students to know and show by the end of the lesson?
Step 2: Gather the evidence
Pull a small sample of student work from that day. It could be an exit ticket, a sticky note response, or even a quick reflection you captured in conversation.
Step 3: Sort and see
Lay out the work and look for patterns. Who clearly met the target? Who’s close? Who’s still off course? You don’t need a specific number or grade; you need a sense of where your class stands.
Step 4: Study a few samples
Choose one or two examples from each group and look a little closer. What do these pieces tell you about how students are thinking? What misunderstandings might be hiding in their responses?
Step 5: Plan the next move
Use what you found to decide what tomorrow needs. Perhaps some students are ready for the next challenge, while others require another approach. Either way, the goal is movement.
Step 6: Talk about it
Share what you learned with students. Let them see how their work guides your teaching. Ask them to reflect on what they can do next. Learning is more powerful when everyone knows the destination and how close they are to reaching it.
This protocol was adapted from the “Student Work Analysis Protocol” by the Rhode Island Department of Education and the National Center for the Improvement of Educational Assessment.
Reaching the Destination
When I finally pull into the location after a long ride, there’s a quiet satisfaction in knowing I made it. I might’ve had to circle the block once or twice, but I got there. Teaching is no different. The road to learning is rarely straight, and the best teachers aren’t the ones who never miss a turn. They’re the ones who notice when they have and make the adjustment.
Formative assessments are what help us do that. They let us see if students truly arrived where the lesson was meant to take them. When we slow down long enough to look at their work, we’re not just checking for completion. We’re checking for understanding, growth, and readiness for what’s next.
So whether you’re recalculating, celebrating, or somewhere in between, remember this: every stop along the way tells you something about the journey. Keep your eyes on the map, your heart in the work, and your hands steady on the wheel. That’s the Late-Lee way to reach your destination: one thoughtful turn at a time.
Part 2 of 3: The Learning Journey Series
Haven’t read Part 1? Check it out: Setting the Route – Why Clarity Matters
When we’re clear about what students should know, understand, and do, the next step is knowing whether they’re actually getting there. Too often, we rely on long, end-of-unit tests to tell us who didn’t get it after it’s too late to adjust. However, when done with intention, formative assessment turns our daily lessons into feedback loops for both teacher and student.
Think of it like driving with your GPS on. You don’t wait until the end of the trip to find out you took a wrong turn. You need those real-time updates that reroute you before you end up miles off course. That’s precisely what formative checks do.
During collaborative planning in schools, I often notice something missing. Teams unpack standards, design lessons, and choose activities, but there’s rarely deep discussion about how they’ll check for understanding. The “check” often becomes an afterthought, added in the moment rather than planned with purpose. But without it, we’re guessing instead of knowing.
I remember sitting in a classroom once where a teacher asked her students a question no one could answer. The room went completely silent. After a long pause, she said, “You learned this,” and moved on. Here’s the fallacy in that statement: teaching and learning aren’t the same thing. She may have presented the concept and given students practice, but the quiet at that moment was the data. It was a signal that understanding hadn’t yet taken hold. That silence should have prompted a pause and a reteach, not a dismissal.
When planning formative checks, we allow ourselves to notice those moments and respond. Assessment is what gives standards meaning. It takes the expectation off the page and makes learning visible. A quick exit ticket, sticky-note sort, or one-question reflection can give you far more usable data than a 25-question quiz. The key is alignment. If the learning target says, “I can identify the theme of a story,” then the check should ask students to do precisely that, not summarize, not list details, but identify and explain the theme.
When assessments are designed with the learning target in mind, they do more than measure, they clarify what success looks like. The lesson assessment helps identify the success criteria. Students and teachers use those criteria to gauge where they are in the progression of learning. It becomes a shared roadmap. Teachers see which parts of the target are solid and which need more support. Students gain language to describe their progress: “I can identify the theme, but I still need help explaining how the details support it.” That clarity turns assessment into a learning tool instead of a judgment.
Every student should be able to answer a straightforward question: “How will I know if I have learned it?” Too often, they can’t because the criteria for success haven’t been clearly communicated or modeled. When success criteria are visible and discussed, students can take ownership of their learning instead of waiting to be told whether they “got it.”
It’s interesting that we still struggle to define success in clear, student-friendly terms, even though the concept isn’t new. Success criteria have been part of educational thinking for decades. In fact, Paul Harmon wrote in 1968 that success criteria are necessary for any performance objective associated with student outcomes. Yet, all these years later, many planning conversations still skip this step.
Maybe it’s because we assume it’s implied. Or perhaps it feels easier to talk about activities than outcomes. But when teachers and students know exactly what success looks like, instruction becomes focused, feedback becomes meaningful, and assessment becomes purposeful.
Long, unfocused assessments blur what we’re really trying to see. They mix multiple skills, confuse the data, and make it hard to know what to reteach. In contrast, short, targeted checks help you act fast. They show who’s ready to move on, who needs support, and which part of the lesson needs another pass.
Formative assessments aren’t just for grading; they’re for guiding. When aligned with intention, they don’t just measure learning, they drive it.
Leadership Reflection
When I visit classrooms or sit in planning meetings, do I hear evidence that teachers and students both understand what success looks like?
How often do our assessments serve as a mirror for learning rather than a measure of teaching?
Part 1: Setting the Route — Why Clarity Matters
I’m that girl! I’m the one who gets lost in a parking lot. So, when I get in my car, I don’t just start driving and hope I end up where I want to go. I plug in the destination, and my GPS maps the route. Along the way, I might add a few stops for gas or coffee, but I always know where I’m headed, or the general direction 😊. My destination is clear.
Teaching works the same way. Our standards are the destination. They tell us where student learning should end up, what students should know, understand, and be able to do. Learning targets are the stops along the route. They are part of the trajectory that leads to a successful trip. They help both teachers and students see where the current lesson fits in the journey.
Still, there’s an ongoing debate about whether or not we should post learning targets. Teachers say they’re for principals. Principals say they’re for districts. But who’s advocating for the students?
Students need to know what they’re learning on any given day, and how it connects to where they’ve been and where they’re going next. I don’t get in my car and drive mindlessly. I have a clear path. Why wouldn’t we want learning to be the same? We should want it to be clear for all involved. Students also need to know what mastery looks like, so they can recognize when they’re getting closer. We will dive deeper into that in another post.
Late-Lee, I’ve noticed posts by a principal that many teachers follow online saying what many want to hear: “Don’t post them.” Now, I’ll admit, I’d love to spar with him a bit. He says you can walk into a classroom and tell if students are getting quality instruction. I won’t argue that intense instruction is visible. However, as a former administrator myself and a certified school improvement specialist, I must ask: how does he know if the task or lesson is aligned with the state standard? Alignment isn’t always apparent on the surface. You must understand what students are expected to learn, not just what they’re doing, to determine effectiveness. I could elect to teach a group of 6th graders about plant and animal cells and keep the instruction at a fundamental level, focusing on identification. An administrator could walk in, see students looking at slides, drawing pictures, etc, and think, “Yeah, they are getting it.” However, if the level they should be reaching is much deeper, such as understanding their function, then it’s possible the trajectory of learning won’t get there without further investigation. Result: students don’t perform well on state-aligned assessments. Whose fault is that?
In systems where accountability is tied to state assessments, clarity is crucial. The research backs that up. When students understand what they’re learning and how success will be measured, they’re more engaged, retain more, and improve faster. John Hattie’s research shows that clear learning intentions (targets) can double the rate of learning. Over many conversations I often hear, students are behind. Well, if we know the research points to positive impacts of using clear learning targets on student learning, why do we want to bypass that strategy?
I agree that clarity doesn’t come from posting a target for compliance. It comes from using it, reviewing it, unpacking it, and connecting it to what comes before and after in the learning progression. When teachers co-construct or discuss learning targets with students, they turn the lesson into a shared journey. It’s like having a co-pilot in the seat next to you while on a trip. Students know what to pay attention to, how to monitor their progress, and how to ask more effective questions. They become more accountable to the learning.
So why not post it? When you review it, let students read it with you. When they’re working, it gives them something to come back to — a way to refocus, track progress, and take ownership of their learning.
Let’s think of it another way. For many, the pathway to teaching is through completing classes. Typically, on the first night, you receive the syllabus for the course. What if you didn’t get it? How could you prepare for the “secret” learning that will take place? You’d be a little miffed in some cases. That syllabus outlines the goals and expectations. It’s vital to your success.
I understand that age can be a factor. I understand if kindergarten students can’t read the target, then why post it? It’s still vital to write it in student-friendly words and orally connect students to it.
What does this look like in Practice?
Solid Examples
Non-Examples
Just like a GPS, clarity doesn’t limit your route. It gives you freedom to adjust with purpose. You can add stops along the way (learning goals, formative checks, discussions) or reroute when needed (based on results). But without a clear destination, all the activity in the world won’t get you where you need to go.
In the next post, we’ll take a look at those stops along the route such as short, aligned formative assessments and how they help both teachers and students see if they’re still on the right road or if it’s time to recalculate.
Fall on the coast carries its own kind of rhythm. The morning air wants to tease its fall but the days heat back up like summer. It doesn’t stop the evenings from ending with a fire glowing under a sheet of iron and oysters steaming in the shell. Friends and family gather round with gloves, knives, and laughter. At an oyster roast, it’s never just about the oysters. It’s about the firelight, the stories, and the fellowship that fills the night.
But before oysters ever reach the table, they’ve been at work. Each oyster spends its days filtering the water quietly, steadily, and without applause. They aren’t beautiful on the outside, but if you are lucky, you might find a pearl created by pressure and sand. One single oyster can filter as much as fifty gallons of water in a day. Multiply that by a reef, and you have a living system that keeps a bay clear, healthy, and full of life. Without them, the water clouds. With them, it thrives.
School leaders should be the oysters of our schools. They should act as filters. They should filter out the flood of initiatives, emails, disruptions, and frustrations that cloud the work. They should clarify the vision so teachers can see their way forward. They need to create an environment that allows students to flourish in the light. Without that filtering, schools can feel murky, heavy, and hard to navigate, but with it, everything is more transparent, calmer, and stronger.
Leaders are called to cultivate warmth and fellowship while creating a space where people feel connected and supported. Around the fire, trust and relationships grow. When nurtured, a school community strengthens. Filtering by the leaders keeps the water clear, but fellowship keeps the people going.
A school without leaders who filter is like a bay or river without oysters- clouded and struggling. But when leaders filter with wisdom and lead with fellowship, schools don’t just function. They flourish.
Reflection:
What Students Bring to School
My Why
If you have been reading any of my stories, you may have come to realize by now that they all stem from a place of experience and/or inspiration. This story is, by far, the most challenging one I have written. By sharing this, I’m revealing one of the darkest times of my life as well as opening old wounds and doors I have tried to keep locked. I didn’t experience this alone. My siblings also have their own memories of the events during this time, but this story is shaped from mine. If it can help one child sitting in one of our schools get help from their teacher or a school leader, then it has served its purpose. For that, I will be grateful!
September and October are always tough months for me as I miss my mom greatly. One was her birthday month, while the other was the month she left this earth. So late-Lee, I’ve been thinking about her life… my life. I think about others who may share similar experiences, since October recognizes Domestic Violence Awareness Month.
The Past
When I was in fifth grade, life at home underwent changes that no child should ever experience. After my parents divorced, my mom remarried, and what followed was years of violence that would shape the way I see myself and children forever.
For more than three years, the nights brought fear and chaos. I dreaded the way darkness from night would wrap around me like a weighted blanket. It wasn’t comfort that came with it. It was a pure fear of wondering which scene from the horror story would unfold next. I would lie awake hating the darkness. Even now in the quiet of the night, I can still hear my mom’s screams as she hit the wall, floor, or furniture when the monster pushed and shoved her. The sounds of his fists hitting against a wall or her pleading for the beast to stop echo in my nightmares. I would pull the covers up and try to block out the sounds, but it didn’t work. One night, (as I talked to her), he punched the refrigerator door so hard that it split her face open upon impact. The details changed, but the fear was constant.
For years, I carried that trauma with me to school every single day. I went to class exhausted, eyes red from crying, and my body heavy with dread. My homework was undone. My reading was unfinished. I’m sure my teachers saw a student who wasn’t prepared, but the truth was, I had already survived more before the morning bell than most of my teachers could imagine.
Once, in a desperate attempt to be noticed, I hurt myself quietly, hoping someone at school would ask why. No one did. I realized I was invisible. I learned to survive on my own.
Why This Matters for Schools
The research shows that children who experience domestic violence can experience feelings of terror, isolation, guilt, and helplessness. I can attest to this firsthand. I share my story not to shock you or to receive sympathy, but to remind every educator and leader that when some children walk into your school, they are carrying more than just books in their backpack. Like I did, they have their nights, their fears, their hunger, their heartbreak, and so much more I could list packed in it too. If we only measure students by the work they complete or the behavior they display, we risk missing what they most need: to be seen, to be safe, to be believed.
What Educators Can Do
You cannot change what happens in every home, but you can make school a place of safety and connection. Here are the steps that matter:
Closing Reflection
I believe that when people see me, they see the smile I offer, the work I do, and the family I have, and I’m willing to bet money on this… they would never think I (or my siblings) experienced anything like what I’ve just shared. I was a child who longed to be seen. The scars I bear from those years remain. They remind me to extend more grace and love towards others. The truth is that many of our students sit in your classrooms today, carrying the same invisible weight. You may not see the bruises or hear the screams, but you can choose to notice the signs and choose to respond with compassion.
Let’s not forget compassion doesn’t replace instruction. It makes it possible. When students feel safe, valued, and loved, they are far more able to engage in the rigorous, high-quality learning experiences they deserve. A strong lesson plan matters, but so does the assurance that the teacher delivering it sees the whole child and wants to give them a learning experience that paves the way to a brighter future.
As I wrote recently in When My Heart Makes Me Love You, love and learning are not separate tracks. They are threads that weave together to give students both the skills and the strength to thrive when they are desperately in a place that all they can do is simply survive.
Late-Lee my school visits have had me up and out the door before the light of day. One morning, as I drove to school before sunrise, I watched the sky stretch open with streaks of orange, pink, and gold. That sunrise, so full of promise, reminded me of how we begin each school year with a bright vision, big plans, and energy for what could be. I even pulled over and snapped a picture, so that I’d have a reminder of that kind of hope.
By the time September slips toward October, the mood often shifts. Sure, the halls are trimmed with fall pumpkins and paper leaves, but the sunrise in August can start to feel like sunset by mid-fall. The weight of compliance reports, stacks of discipline referrals, data deadlines, and meetings that steal planning time all pile on. As my mama used to say, “You can’t pour from an empty cup.” And by October, many cups already feel bone dry.
I saw it recently. A principal stood in the hallway before the first bell. He wasn’t rushing to a meeting or scrolling his phone. He just stood there, shoulders heavy, eyes scanning the floor like he was carrying the whole building on his back. That look stayed with me. It was the look of someone whose sunrise was beginning to dim. I’ve seen that look before. I’ve lived it myself. I can remember finding a place in the halls where I could fall apart and get myself back together again without anyone seeing me. Those are the images most of the staff never sees, but they happen.
Here’s the truth: mindset matters. Our thinking shapes our capacity to lead, to teach, to keep showing up for students. In Train Your Mind, I wrote about the power of the questions we repeatedly ask ourselves. If we only ask, “What’s broken?” or “Why can’t this work?” the answers will drain the light right out of us. But if we shift the questions, even just slightly, to “Where is growth happening?” or “What small win can I celebrate today?” we start to notice the edges of dawn again.
My granddaddy used to say, “Don’t forget to dance with the one that brung you.” For us, that’s our students. They are the reason we began this work, the reason we press on through long days, and the reason every sunrise is worth holding onto. As leaders, we must work diligently to keep night from settling in. That’s where burnout lives!
So how do we keep the sunrise alive when October feels like sunset and threatens to bring the darkness?
For Teachers
For Leaders
And as folks around here like to remind me, “Every sunset is just making way for another sunrise.” The challenge (and the gift) is to train our minds to notice the promise of dawn, even when the sunsets are giving way to night.
The other day, I was in a classroom when I heard a student with a disability say to the teacher, “Now I know how to read.” The student was so excited and undeniably proud. If hearing something like that doesn’t bring tears to your eyes, my friends, education may not be for you. It might be time to step away.
We shouldn’t enter education because it’s easy. Yes, the calendar can look appealing. Teacher contracts typically run for about 190–200 days, leaving nearly 165 days off throughout the year. On paper, it sounds great. But here’s the reality: some school leaders are so worried about teachers leaving that they avoid asking teachers to do the right work, or they don’t stop to consider what demands they’re making and whether those expectations are supported, resourced, and followed through.
Late-Lee, I’ve been hearing those types of comments from school leaders. The ones that describe not asking more of teachers, or they’ve already got too much on their plates. And it troubles me. Because here’s the truth, we can’t protect teachers from doing the right work. Yes, teaching is hard work. But it’s also heart work. It’s sacred work. Teachers are literally shaping the minds and hearts of children, and should be creating learning experiences that help them grow into thoughtful, capable, beautiful humans.
When I started teaching, I didn’t have the internet, state curriculum resources, or digital lesson planning tools that are available now. I had a paper planner book, and every single lesson had to be written out by hand. My evenings were spent poring over stacks of educational magazines, seeking creative ways to make learning both fun and meaningful and yes, aligned to standards since state assessments are not new. However, most states now provide rich curriculum units and resources that are already aligned to standards. AI technology can generate aligned lessons/tasks in literally seconds. The opportunity is there so we can save teachers valuable time on the planning side if we train them to use these resources well. That time can then be spent where it matters most: internalizing, visualizing, and rehearsing what strong instruction will look like in action.
And every child, no matter where they live, deserves that kind of teaching. A student in a small rural town deserves the same high-quality instruction as a student in a well-resourced urban district. Opportunity should never depend on geography.
So how do leaders make the shift from protecting teachers from hard work to empowering them to embrace the importance of the right work? It begins with courage and clarity.
Two steps to start:
Leaders, I challenge you to walk into classrooms. Ask students what they aspire to become. Ask them what brings them joy. Look into their eyes and remember: you’re not just leading teachers, you’re shaping futures. Then ask yourself: Would you ever want a leader to settle for anything less than the very best for the children you love?
When interactions were limited during 2020 due to COVID restrictions, I started teaching myself to decorate cakes and cupcakes to pass the time. Now, I’m no Cupcake Wars champion, but in the eyes of my grandchildren, I’m a winner. One of them is just like me. We focus on the sweetness of the frosting. I always seek out the corner piece of cake at potlucks or celebrations. I even had a dear friend who would send me her leftover frosting because she knows I do love hers! If she reads this, she’ll know I’m talking about her, and I want her to know I never forgot those yummy gestures!
This past school year, I baked countless batches of cupcakes, brownies, and cookies to share with the school I provided direct support. Of course, each batch had a theme. Because, really, a theme makes most anything better. It was my way of letting the teachers/staff know I appreciated their efforts at turning their school around.
But the other morning, I baked a batch for no reason other than for my grands who love chocolate cupcakes. While sifting the ingredients, I started thinking about how each one matters. Too much oil and you’ve got a greasy mess. Too much salt and you’re reaching for a firehose to hydrate. The right balance of ingredients is what makes them work.
Naturally that reflection carried me back to schools I have been visiting late-Lee. Recently, I walked into one that broke my heart. The classrooms lacked decor, worksheets topped the desks, and anchor charts were missing. I watched a teacher “instruct” by reading a passage, telling students what to highlight, and speaking in a tone that felt more like a performance than teaching. The students were polite and compliant, but they weren’t learning. Even the administrators told us, “The classes are boring.” And they were right.
I often write about the hum of a classroom. A room filled with students deeply engaged has a sound all its own consisting of a steady hum of curiosity and discovery. But these rooms weren’t humming. They were numbing! They had teachers, students, and lessons, but things weren’t quite mixed! The classes lacked the binders and leavening ingredients to ensure students were engaged in highly aligned quality lessons.
Room after room, we saw low-level resources, misaligned instruction, and teachers telling rather than showing. A teacher said, “You already learned that,” when she asked the students a question but not one student knew the answer. My thought? You may think you taught it, but it means nothing if they didn’t learn it.
The school’s climate was strong. Students were respectful and eager. The ingredients were there, but the recipe wasn’t working.
This isn’t unique to one school. It happens across this country. Leaders can’t just assume the right ingredients are in place. They must expect and inspect them. A simple first step? Visit classrooms often. In just five minutes, you can see if a learning goal is posted, aligned to the standard, and supported by an activity at the right level of rigor. The rest is just frosting.
Struggling schools often blame students, but I’ve baked enough cupcakes to know we can’t do that. When a batch flops, I don’t scold the cupcake. I check my ingredients, my process, and how I monitored them. Sometimes I’m messy, sometimes sprinkles scatter, but I don’t stop trying. I refine my practice so the outcomes come out right consistently. The work of improving schools doesn’t follow a straight path. It’s some of the messiest work you can be a part of, but when change happens and you can see it benefitting the students, it is the most beautiful work you will ever experience. So check the recipe you follow for your school, refine the process, and stir until it comes out right. That’s how we serve up learning sweet enough to make anyone smile.
One morning at 5:15 a.m., I was already heading to a school when I found myself behind a bus. Its red lights were glowing against the dark road. They illuminated the promise of a grand day! I imagined students on the inside were likely tucked into hoodies, trying to grab a few more minutes of sleep before the day began. But the driver pressed on eyes forward, carrying lives, not just passengers.
That glow in the darkness reminded me that bus drivers do more than drive. They’re often the first light students see each morning. They set the tone for the day by sharing warm greetings, providing a safe space, and creating the calm steadiness that helps students arrive ready to learn.
We rightfully focus on their driving skills because safety is critical. But as leaders, are we also building their capacity for connection? A bus isn’t just a source of transportation. It’s the opening chapter of the school day, and its driver helps write the story’s tone.
Strategies drivers can try:
Leadership moves that build capacity:
When leaders invest in bus drivers’ capacity, we invest in students’ first and last moments of the school day. And those moments matter more than we often realize.
Late-Lee I’ve been thinking about human connections! I know some beautiful humans who have within them an enormous amount of kindness! It is seen in the light of their eyes, the tone of their words, and in the way they can make simple moments feel like magic!
The other night, I had dinner with my grandson, one of my most favorite humans. When our waitress walked away, he leaned over and said, “Nonny, I love that girl.”
I asked him, “What makes you love her?”
Without hesitation, he replied, “My heart does… my heart makes me love her.”
Intrigued, I pressed slightly more, “Did she do something that makes you love her?”
He thought briefly, then said, “She talked to me. When people talk to me, I love them.” That was it. So simple. But in that moment, he felt seen.
What I’m sharing isn’t new. Numerous studies with great certainty identify relationships with students as having high effect sizes on their success. But through the eyes of a child, we see what that research really means. Connection isn’t abstract. It’s a heartbeat, a warm smile, a friendly wink, a small moment of being noticed.
A student once told me, “You make my heart wiggle.” In her own way, she was describing love. She felt a connection.
And isn’t that what all of us want? To feel seen and to know that our presence matters to someone.
But here’s the thing: in education that love doesn’t stop with words. It’s in the lessons we design for our students. It’s in the way we recognize that we only have them for a short period, and the love and knowledge we pour into them becomes part of their preparation for their future. Every thoughtful plan, every intentional learning experience, every moment of care adds another layer to their readiness for what lies ahead.
As leaders and educators, we can’t choose between connection and instruction. Students need both. The best lessons are rooted in care, and the deepest care shows up in the lessons we create and the interactions we have with them. When connection and content meet, that’s when learning sticks.
So what can we do today to make students truly feel seen?
Sometimes, the most powerful thing we can do for students is not just to teach them. We need to let them know, without a doubt, “I see you.”
Rhonda "Late" Lee 