Have Courage, Be Kind and Find a Little Bit of Magic...

This week-end was World Down Syndrome Day.

I almost always think of the new mom...

the pregnant mom...

the twosome that suddenly turned into a threesome and then got a big surprise...

Down Syndrome snuck into the room.

"Go away, right now." They want to scream.

"We want our perfect baby."

"We want a trouble-free childhood."

Milestones met easily. 

No difficult conversations.

No messy situations.

But Down Syndrome is stubborn...and it will not be leaving the party.

Those new parents will hear all of the difficulties up front.

A doctor or geneticist will think they are being kind and they will lay out as if it were the assortment of utensils used in Downton Abbey's famous dinners, the numerous potential difficulties of life with Down Syndrome.

I often wonder how parents of typical infants would react if they too were seated 

and forced to listen to all of the difficulties that their children may face.

What would they say?

Their faces squinty-eyed searching their tiny treasure for any sign that the potential things listed might be present right this very minute or showing up at any moment.

*****

I get it.

I was you once...searching for other families with three children and looking at them longingly.

Why isn't my family like that?

Get this interloper out.now.

On this day, 363 days until we have a chance to celebrate Down Syndrome with the world again,

 I'd like to offer up some truth.

I've been hanging around people with Down Syndrome on a regular basis for fifteen years.

Down Syndrome is not a rude guest.

Down Syndrome provides you with something you may never have had before...

glittering eyes.

Down Syndrome is full of magic...

so unlikely...

so improbable...

that people discount it and never notice.

If you are pals with Down Syndrome, you see miracles. full fledged miracles. frequently.

You see the tenderness and joy that is so raw and so real that it takes your breath away.

You see the power of hope.

You witness just how powerful love really is.

You see people dealing with adversity in a humble, stoic way. 

They just deal with it. Don't belabor it. 

Courage in every way.

You learn how to live in this moment right now...not rehashing the past or planning the future.

Right now.

Turns out that's what matters.

It just so happened that World Down Syndrome Day aligned with Patrick's 

one and only basketball tournament with Special Olympics.

He got himself up and ready and filled up the water bottle.

We listened to songs to pump ourselves up.

We put our game face on...

only that's not a thing in Special Olympics because when you walk out, 

your team-mates are loose and ready...and oh so happy to see you.

Cheering for you, actually.

They might be wearing fox ears.

They could be needing a new jersey.

They might be talking to themselves...or have anger issues.

But the rag tag group is a team and they are happy for the opportunity.

Watching Patrick play basketball, none of it is easy.

The player whose vision prevents him from being able to dribble in any way.

The player who likes to defend a little too enthusiastically.

The player who has a sweet shot from only one tiny spot on the court...but when it gets up...when it has a chance to fly,

man, it's nothing but net.

In these games, every point is hard won.

Nothing comes easy.

Even taking the ball inbound can be tricky.

The scores are low -- but the spirits are high.

Miraculously, Patrick's team won their second round of games and they would be playing the 

Gold Medal Game!

We came home, gathered the troops and went back for the game.

The stands were full.

The players were ready...nothing had changed.

No stressful coaching talks.

No pressure from the other players or the parents to perform.

Just another game.

The teams were very evenly matched.

There were miracle shots on both sides.

There was joy and acceptance and fun -- cheers from the crowd and high fives from friends.

Double overtime.

Down from behind.

Patrick's team recovers and impossibly shoots to win, with seconds left.

It was a Gold Medal Moment.

I squished that moment in my heart. 

Tried to feel it and know its smoothness.

I had my parents cheering, my children cheering, my husband cheering  -- 

I wanted to transport any new parent and 

like the Ghost of Christmas Future show you what you are in for...

Down Syndrome is a glue...

it's sticky and attracts the most amazing people.

People like Patrick's Special Olympics basketball coach who on his first day of spring break as a junior high teacher of students with disabilities is front and center organizing the groups and passing out jerseys.

People who have at their core a deep understanding of what matters.

What's real.

What's important.

That glitter glue attracts people who are:

Selfless

Honest

Trustworthy

Dependable

Loving

Optimistic

Encouraging

Problem-solvers

People who get stuff done.

*****

Our family went to see the new Cinderella movie.

It's a beautiful escape with a wonderful message:

Have courage, be kind and find a little bit of magic.

Those words are my truth.

That is the definition of Down Syndrome:

courage, kindness, magic.

New momma, you are in for some serious magic.

But you must take your glittering eyes and really see.

In the most unlikely of places,

with the most unlikely of people,

you will be blessed.

Blessed by love, kindness, friendship and the clarity to see what counts.

I wish for you not just a Gold Medal World Down Syndrome Day,

I wish for you a glittering, gold medal Down Syndrome life.

A wonderful life.in.every.way.

Welcome.

The Power of One

For most of us, we live our days thinking we can smile at a stranger and make someone's day.

We can make a nice breakfast for someone we love.

We can take a photo or write a letter.

We can take out the garbage or fold a load of laundry or pick up someone at soccer practice -- living our days in our way, helping in little ways, being kind to the people we love 

and hoping the ripples keep going...out there.

We're making a difference in our way.

We've seen great people make great changes.

Martin Luther King

Nelson Mandela

Susan B. Anthony

and we think those people are "others" 

-- knowing greatness and living bigger-than-life lives their whole life.

They weren't doing laundry, right?

We plug away and that is good enough.

When you have a child with a disability, even the basics of plugging away seem far-fetched.

Laundry?

There's a life skills class for that.

Taking the bus?

Better have that written into the IEP.

Holding a job?

Having a relationship?

Making a difference...how real is that?

So on Wednesday night when Emily wrote down her life goals...

how much of a difference could it make?

She has Down Syndrome after all.

She's only 15.

Really, does anyone really care?

It was a shout into the void.

Or maybe it was just a secret of the heart...written down so that it got a little bit more real.

Here is her letter in her own writing, with her own spelling 

(checked by Emily with her cell phone -- motivation at its finest!)

The top three listed are her life goals:

1) go to college

2) keep learning

3) graduate like normal kids

*****

I'd like to take a minute here and discuss this idea of "normal" kids.

Seeing that written out so plainly actually hurt the hearts of several people who actively work for inclusion for students and people with disabilities. 

Those words brought people to tears.

But Emily is not dissing herself.

She's not feeling unworthy or less.

She's merely reflecting back what the school system and probably a large part of our world has been sending her as a message.

She's calling it like she sees it and there's a whole lot of power in that.

It's not sad or pathetic.

In her world, for her, it's merely accurate.

She wants to graduate.

(FYI: Many people with Down Syndrome are not allowed to graduate from high school...all they can do is get a certificate.)

*****

Three jobs Emily would like to have:

1) Make-up artist

2) Teach toddlers in preschool

3) Work at Jamba Juice making fruit smoothies

The last three listed are what she hopes will happen in high school:

1) Have the peer tutors put their phones away and help me.

2) I want the teachers to treat me kindly. 

Don't act like you are frustrated with me. I have Down Syndrome and I need help.

--> again we get a dose of Emily's realism...people, she needs help. She has Down Syndrome. 

Can somebody put their phone down and help??

What I love about this is that if this was written by someone with only 46 chromosomes, this comment could have come off as snarky or abrasive. But with Emily, there is beauty in her candor. She has no pretense. She has no idea that this letter is going to a larger audience. This is for her and she is listing what she truly needs. 

There is a take-your-breath-away honesty here that holds us all captive.

Suddenly we can see clearly into the heart of someone with an intellectual disability...

and you know what...

her heart is just like yours and mine.

It's full of hopes and dreams and basic needs.

She wants to be useful.

She wants to learn.

She wants some help.

Here is her final wish for high school:

I love the way Emily weaves the timeless and well known words of the song from Frozen into her own hope, her own truth, her very own plea:

DON'T LIMIT ME!

Emily lives in a world of limits and limitations.

We all do.

But for people with Down Syndrome it seems like the world loves to tell you what you can't do.

Your baby won't be able to breast feed.

Your baby will get sick often.

Your baby will not eat solid food for years.

On and on it goes...the list of can'ts and won'ts.

It's hard enough to hear when you're the parent. 

I can only imagine what it must be like to live with day in and day out.

Emily's final words were a battle cry.

A reminder for all of us.

Who are we to say you can't do something??

What do we know?

Emily is asking for a chance to be fully included in high school and we owe her that much.

She deserves the opportunity.

Clearly, she's capable.

Who could know how loudly Emily's words would resonate??

None of us could have guessed.

But her honesty, her raw pleas for help and her dreams have been heard.

Big.Time.

When Emily's mom shared her letter with me I knew I had to share it. I shared it on Facebook on our National Catholic Board on Full Inclusion page where in two days over 4,000 people had seen it! 

But it was when I shared it on Twitter that I watched a miracle unfold. 

For a while there on Twitter her letter was getting shared over and over.

The hashtag beside it:

#dontlimitme

Here is a moving blog post by an amazing educator and advocate for students with learning disabilities, Lindsey Lipsky. We connected via Twitter on the power in Emily's voice and her truth. 

http://www.lindseylipsky.com/dont-limit-me-a-message-for-all-teachers-and-students/

Yes, Emily, you, my friend, have made a difference.

You have changed minds, inspired educators and energized an army of warriors who are on your side. Teachers, principals, professors, creators of programs and people in government agencies have heard and responded. 

Your words are rippling and sparkling and tickling the minds of so many.

Thank you for speaking your truth.

And for wishing out loud.

One person can make a very big difference.

Together we can change the world.

Let's get busy.

We have work to do.

Being Nice Isn't Nice

My heart is so heavy today.

Discouraged.

Worn down.

Feeling like I was scaling a mountain and I fell...way, way down...and I'm stuck.

I recently listened to this podcast about expectations.

It is amazing and terrifying and profound.

It tells the story of a man who lost his eyes to cancer before he turned two...both eyeballs removed.

Completely blind.

Only, not really.

Because, like all two year olds, he adjusted.

He intuitively started clicking and making noises to echo-locate in his world...just like bats.

He got so good at it that he uses a cane as a very minimal guide often just holding it up by his side.

He can ride a bike.

Yes, no lie.

This blind man, rides a bike on his own by clicking as he goes.

He maneuvers through his world, very capably. 

He has his freedom...

but because this is so rare for blind people, he goes around the world explaining how it can be done.

Proving all of us who don't know any better, wrong.

So, all of us, with our über compassionate hearts who want to reach out and hold a blind person by the elbow and guide him along, take it all down a notch right now. 

It's not necessary.

What does Daniel Kish need from us?

Opportunity.

An open mind.

Equality.

To be seen.

*****

I have a son with Down Syndrome.

His name is Patrick.

He is 15 years old -- capable and reliable and smart.

He's someone who always knows where his cell phone is -- much better than me in that regard --

and charges it up faithfully.

Patrick, as you may know, loves theater and Shakespeare and being in plays. He's been in over twenty performances of all kinds.  He memorizes scripts; writes his own scripts; plans cast lists and eagerly awaits the latest soundtrack from his latest Broadway favorite.

I know that's not the message that most of the world gets when you find out about 

Down Syndrome...but it's the truth.

Yes, he needs to be supported in his learning.

But in his living?

He is fine. Thank you very much.

He just needs to be seen.

He needs to be given opportunities and support.

But isn't that what we all need?

Tonight was the play that Patrick has been preparing for since early November.

He didn't get a part so he was allowed to do tech.

He was excited to be in charge of a spotlight.

The only problem was...he wasn't in charge of a spotlight.

He was in charge of following along in the script and cueing the student who was using the spotlight.

Ummm...that's not a job.

We all know that the student doing the spotlight knew the cues and needed no reminding.

I am cringing thinking of Patrick taking this job so very seriously, offering the cues, while the student who was doing the spotlight just played along.

That job which was no job sent a devastating message of incompetence and unreliability to every single student performing in the play...and every audience member...and every faculty member.

That message isn't one of inclusion.

It's one of exclusion.

A message of being set aside.

A message of:

you're only good enough to breathe the same air...not actually work on the same play.

Ironically, the play is called Metamophoses.

So much change and growth could have happened.

Should have happened.

But people who had very good eyesight turned out to be unable to see. Blind to the opportunity.

People with very big hearts and genuine concern for students tried to be nice.

But nice isn't nice.

Reinforcing stereotypes is never nice.

Lowering your expectations is not compassionate.

The result of these good intentions: people in the margins stay right there.

*****

I don't know how you help someone to see.

How you change a perception.

All I can do is show up with my kid and hope for the best at every opportunity.

He knows what to do.

He just needs a chance...

a chance to be seen.

God bless Patrick.

Who took his job that wasn't a job and did his level best.

That's all you can ask of your child.

But I can ask the world to do better.

I can ask the world to blink.

Rub your eyes.

Pause for one minute and contemplate who you are not seeing.

Who do you overlook -- even with good intentions?

Who sits on the margins of your world?

Can you expand your view of the horizon a little bit more?

Who can you reach out to and lift up?

World, open your eyes.

You are missing out.

******

*UPDATE*

Sometimes, very rarely, things tie up with a bow.

They circle around and make sense.

This is one of those times.

After an early morning email to the director with many of these same thoughts enclosed, 

the director, kindly, thoughtfully, responded with his eyes wide open.

He had a second chance and he used it.

Tonight, the last night of the play, Patrick worked the spotlight.

Someone else read the script.

He stood on a cafeteria table...

"it gave me balance" he delightfully noted,

and used the pink or blue lens and shone that spotlight right where it needed to go.

He did it.

Awareness + second chances = opportunity

I'm grateful for a director who was willing to think about it.

Grateful for kindess.

Grateful for grace in the ordinary.

All my heart can say is thank you.

Rainbow Ribbon

Let me be clear...I have an irrational love of ribbons in little girls' hair.

And JoAnn Fabrics feeds my addiction nicely.

We have basketball ribbon and valentine ribbon and Santa Claus ribbon...you get the idea.

Wrapping Caroline's ponytail with a ribbon and sending her off into the world makes me feel like she has a love letter attached...my special version of the kiss-in-the-palm mom love from that adorable book, The Kissing Hand.

And when you're in 3rd grade you're nearing the end of the ribbon-in-the-hair era...although I do have to say that sometimes if you're lucky there can be a bit of a resurgence in junior high or even high school for a brief moment.

Anyway, I fixed her hair into our usual tiny braid and then ponytail combo and placed my 

Rainbow Ribbon...my heart was happy.

I kissed her good-bye at school and whispered my 2015 words of wisdom to her, "Remember Caroline, "no matter how small", remember it, find a way to do it. Make it a great day. I love you."

No matter how small.

Based on this quote...and the truth of it.

So I sent her off.
To her little school...with her cousins and friends...saying The Pledge of Allegiance...
working on multiplication (we're struggling with our 4's)...
reading and thinking and learning and navigating our world.

Only to receive an email at noon that let me know her school was locked down.
Everyone was safe I assured.

Why?

Agonizing minutes later it was revealed via social media that a bomb threat had been made to another local elementary school that was very very close to Caroline's school.

A bomb threat?
To an elementary school?

Those 4 times tables are really bugging you??

What on earth?

Now I am a teacher and I did live through lockdowns at my old school...but we worked near a prison where prisoners escaped and where helicopters searched and well, it (kind of) made sense.
And that was WAY before social media and seeing things unfold in real time.

Our parents often didn't know a lockdown occurred at all.

In 2015, I was part of a group text almost immediately.
Scared parents were sharing information.
Reassuring each other.
It was beautiful.
And awful.

I just wanted my Rainbow Ribboned Girlie next to me.
So did everyone else.

I received this email from Caroline's teacher...the whole class did...in the middle of the lockdown...

"I just wanted to let you all know that we are doing very well and are safe in our classroom. The students are aware that something is wrong in the community and that they are in the safest place, besides their own homes, they can be. This morning, we conducted science experiments which included ice cream, marshmallows, fruit loops, chocolate, graham crackers and much more so, along with their lunches, we have plenty to eat! We will continue to reassure them and keep the afternoon fun."

***** 

I know I've said it before but
TEACHERS ARE HEROES

This teacher might have been feeling just a little bit of concern for her own two children...
but we didn't know it.

I got tears in my eyes.

To be so brave.
So kind.
So loving.
So focused.
In the middle of confusion and uncertainty...
honestly, there is no other word other than hero.

The other elementary school was evacuated in less than 30 minutes time.
Lunch was provided by local high school students
and teachers and anybody else who could pitch in.
Those teachers tried to keep a sense of calm and security and safety outside...
in a park...with a bomb squad checking out their school.
MORE HEROES. MORE AND MORE.

So if you haven't stopped and thanked a teacher lately...you might want to do just that...
or a principal, or a school secretary, or a janitor, or a lunch lady, or in our case, the lunch guy.

YOU, my friends, are the real deal.
Made of the right stuff.
Living examples of what we hope our kids might be when they grow up.

Thank you.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your cool heads, your big hearts and your courage.

"No matter how small" turned into "no matter how BIG" on Thursday.

Faith and Freedom

From the movie V for Vendetta...in case you missed it, stop everything and watch now.


Today, in a city known for romance and world famous art, hate made its mark.
What kind of hatred?

The hatred of "Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité"  France's national motto --
Liberty, Equality, Brotherhood

Those concepts don't seem controversial to me...but I am a free woman born and raised in the
United States of America.
I live in a place that values freedom and equality.
A place that allows every single faith to practice in any way needed.
A place that believes in educating everyone.
A place that allows everyone to speak their mind...and yes, draw their political cartoons.

We get heated discussions and disagreements among our people daily.

France does too.

But today, a group of three tried to use hatred and violence and fear to shut that down...
and this is how the world responded:

With a pen...grace in action...for the world to see.

IDEAS ARE BULLETPROOF.

Radical fundamentalists here's a memo:
you can't shut people down with fear.

Freedom doesn't just fly away.
Education doesn't stop.
Big ideas like Liberty, Equality and Brotherhood are here to stay.

Your actions although frightening, bold and brazen show a sad desperation.

You can't stop the flow of information.
You can't stem the desire for knowledge.
No matter what size guns you carry, freedom is bigger.

Love is louder.
Creativity and imagination overrule your hate any day of the week.

What can I do...so far away from France?
Why should I care?
Why should I bother to hold my pen up?

Because it is clear that freedom has a bold and vicious enemy.
We cannot stay silent.

We cannot feel safe in our corner of the world and watch as freedom gets chipped away in other great democracies...
because it is only a matter of time until it heads here.

Salman Rushdie, 25 years ago, had his life threatened for writing a book.

The hatred has only gotten bolder.
The actions even more diabolical.
We have people chopping other people's heads off for God's sake!

We need to stand with France and stand with freedom.
We can take comfort in our camaraderie.
Our shared brotherhood and friendship.
France gave us Lady Liberty...holding her golden torch...welcoming our huddled masses.

The people of Paris need to know and feel our strength and resolve.
We are not backing away.

I pray more cartoons ridicule, revile and relish in the stupidity that is radical.
I can't wait to laugh out loud.

Boldly, Brazenly, Freely
as an educated woman who is educating all of her children
and has the audacity to hold her pen up.

The Naughty List

Tonight she asked if I could snuggle in bed with her.

She wanted me up close and holding her hand...that's rare these days, so I went with it.

She didn't say much.

But the quiet wasn't comforting.

It was heavy and it made the room seem extra dark.

All of a sudden, out came the question...

"Do you think I'm on The Naughty List?"

Shit.

Let me set something straight right now.

I'm not a fan of the Naughty List.

I don't use it...or talk about it...or even mention it.
And she hadn't done one thing that would be even close to earning The Naughty List distinction and yet, here it was.

I'm not a fan of doing good because you are guilted into it.

I know that must seem ironic since I am most definitely Catholic and we are good at guilt.

I'm all about doing good, being good, acting good 

because it's the right thing to do...

because that's who you are...

because you know what's important and you value it.

So the tiny voice asking about The Naughty List sunk me.

I had to snuggle in bed and take a deep breath and think about things...

I got close to her soft sweet cheek and whispered to her the only comfort I could bring.

"I know for sure you're not on The Naughty List.

For sure.

No doubt about it."

"Remember, I'm friends with Santa...good friends...I know."

Her body softened ever so slightly and I held her hand in the dark.

I inwardly cussed out whoever created that crappy old story we dish out to poor unsuspecting kids.

We know when we blow it.

We don't need The Naughty List adding another layer to our Big Mistake.

I tried to explain about the process of living and the idea that mistakes are just part of the deal.

I tried to assure her that the normal, day in day out, stuff of life was just that.

Santa understood.

But it's a tough gray zone.

We make mistakes...does that make us "bad"?

Are we only as good as our last mistake?

How do we ever make up for our mistakes?

Do you ever get off The Naughty List?

*****

In the dark, listening to her breathe, feeling her familiar little hand, smelling her sweet Caroline scent I remembered another mother on another December night fighting for her life.

She died on December 23rd. of breast cancer. leaving behind a 4th grader and a 2nd grader when Jack and Mary Kate were in 3rd and 1st.

There was a time, long ago, when every mommy moment of mine was suffused with all of the mommy moments she had never had...that her boys never knew.

In my kids' teen years, when it was hard, I held close the privilege it was to be right there in the center of the ugly.

Even when it was extra hard I thought of her...and her white chocolate and cranberry scones.

But I admit, I hadn't thought of her for a long while.

Years.

Until tonight...when my December 22nd sliding into December 23rd reminded me...

of how lucky we are to be right there for the hard-ness, the bad-ness, the I-can't-believe-this-is-my life-and-not-some-really-bad-movie ugliness.

Life is hard.

Really it is.

Why add The Naughty List?

Tonight, as of this very minute, it's gone.

Santa has no list.

He doesn't need one.

Dude, you are good...so good...and if you're not...well, we'll deal.

You don't need no list to tell you a thing.

Trust your gut.

Know yourself.

Own your actions.
Fix your mistakes.

Make it better.

Move on.

Tonight I'm grateful for late night snuggles and quiet questions in the dark.

That's the good stuff.

The Naughty List, on the other hand, well, that can hit the road.

*****

And Mary Lou, we still miss you.

Still don't understand.

Still wish it weren't so.

December 23rd is hard.every time.

I Have Some Data Too...

Ummm...hello, out there...anybody home??

Can we talk for a minute?

Can we discuss what on earth is going on for teachers right now?

Our world has had an information explosion and schools have been bringing up the rear.

We have old fashioned desks, limited wi-fi, email that barely works, projectors that still use VCR tapes (no joke) or CD's for music and an old computer or two hanging around the back of the room, posing as a computer center.

Of course there are fancy districts with the latest technology.  

Those lucky teachers might have smart boards, doc-cams, the ability to stream something from their computer onto a screen or even a class set of Ipads.

But that's a tiny portion of our school districts.

Many are sadly out of date.

Shame on you Google, Yahoo, PayPal, Apple and the rest.

Have a symposium or some sort of summit, pat yourself on the back for your initiative, your drive and your stunning intelligence and for God's sake get some leadership going.

I know, I know...not your focus.

But you sure love to provide the data, don't you?

I have this job where I get to go around to all sorts of schools in all sorts of districts and see what's going on.  

I work with the best teachers who mentor my student teachers.

It doesn't matter how fancy the technology, the size of the cafeteria or if the school has a garden, a PE instructor, or a science lab.

It's the teachers that matter.

In the poorest districts, in the richest districts and everywhere in between the divining rod of excellence is the teacher.

And, boy, am I privileged to see excellence in action.

I'd like to be the Lorax and speak not for the trees (they seem to have plenty of people wanting to talk for them) but for the teachers.

The-day-in-day-out-nitty-gritty-not-glamorous warriors that take our children and love them like their own. They plan, teach, re-teach, assess, reflect and just generally obsess on how to help their students succeed.  These people come in early, stay late, use their own money, attend conferences on their own dime and with their off time and they love it.

They sign up and stay in the trenches for decades.

Not for any reason other than that is their life's calling.

They care.

They take pride in their work.

It matters.

Guess what has happened?

We've turned students into a commodity.

We can collect data on them.

Like the early cave man, we are hypnotized by the fire we've just discovered.

We can't stop staring...and we are getting burned.

We are drowning in data.

Oh, it's so very sexy.

Bar graphs.

Line graphs.

Pie charts and percentages.

Can you really measure a six year old like that?

Maybe.

But it better be a damn good test.

And trust me, I haven't found a single one that slides into the "damn good" category.

Most are junk.

Testing on standards that aren't used anymore.

In ways that are pedagogically unsound.

Most of the numbers are meaningless...but they are numbers and that makes them powerful.

Very powerful.

So powerful that I sat in a lunch room today with two stellar first grade teachers, one with 26 years worth of expertise and one with 28 years, who were shaken to their core.

These two are no joke.

They embody every single accolade I can  possibly think up:

selfless

hard-working

tireless

a true advocate for every child

generous

kind

child centered

professional

miracle worker

Those two people got data from their principal that gave them a sleepless night.

Their scores in literacy were down.

Way down.

The lowest in the district.

Alarm bells went off at the district level.

The data had spoken.

One of the teachers actually said, "Yesterday was the worst day of my teaching career."

No one bothered to wonder out loud why that data was so off.

Like the proverbial 5th grade science experiment, nobody bothered to ask a question.

Or hypothesize.

Or just say...sorry, that doesn't make sense.

The data had spoken.

Ummmm...yoooo hoooo....can you all pause for a minute?

I have data too.

My data says that after 28 years of learning your profession you actually know something of value and it's damn hard to measure.

These two are experts in teaching reading, writing and math but they are living sensei in the bigger picture.

They know how to comfort a child.

They know how to inspire a child.

They make school magical and wonderful and creative and fun.

They know what to do for second language learners that do not know a single word of English but get tested in it.

They know how to help the child whose mom "just forgot to pay that bill that keeps the lights on".

The child who's hungry.

Or dirty.

Or hungry in their heart.

No test measures those things.

There's no data on that.

And guess what??

What those teachers do day in and day out on behalf of the most vulnerable, voiceless victims in this whole data game is nothing short of heroic.

Shame on administrators who believe the data first.

Shame on parents and cities that take pride in high test scores when in reality all it measures is privilege and access to opportunity.

Shame on testing companies who make gobs of money convincing districts that they don't need field trips but instead a whole lot more tests...that measure what exactly?

Literacy?

Numeracy?

Character?

Honesty?

Grit?

Courage?

Creativity?

Spoiler alert: There's quite a bit of teaching and learning that is hard to quantify.

And I would argue that the non-quantifiable things are truly what matter most.

How do you measure a teacher who won't give up on a child?

A teacher who believes that every child can learn?

A teacher that can transform the way the child sees himself?

Tonight I am grateful for two very special teachers and the tidal wave of other similarly fantastic teachers who never hear this:

YOU ARE DAMN GOOD AT YOUR JOB.

You rock.

You stay strong and drown out the nay-sayers.

Own it.

I am proud to know you and see your excellence in action.

No test can measure what I know to be true.

You are what every educator aspires to be.

And the test is what has failed, not you.