David,

I've been taking some time off of social media for a number of reasons, but a friend told me about a post you had written. Thank you for blogging your review about The Classroom Chef. Even though it isn't the most positive of reviews, and you gave a fair warning about it, I hope that everyone gets a chance to read it. So many of your thoughts resonated with me and I felt like it would be better suited for a blog reply. First off, your bullet point summary of the book was pretty spot-on!

You quickly made a quick pivot from a synopsis of the book to the feelings that it invoked based on our experiences as a teacher:

"I had trouble as I read this book because early on John and Matt described their early teaching experiences and it brought back a whole lot of unpleasant memories for me. Their description of the days when they felt that perhaps teaching wasn’t for them actually made me cry with my own memory of feeling the same way." - David Butler

This was tough to read. The fact that our book, our words and stories, brought up such strong memories that it led you to tears, was not something that I was expecting. The pain and the stress that my first years of teaching have embedded themselves into my memory was not intended to carry over to others, but it obviously has. To that end, I want to talk about why I was able to push through: shoulders.

As I mentioned in the book, the reason I stayed in the field of education was because of my dear friend and mentor, Mandy. Without her, you would see my name on a business card for a financial planning company, a manager of the loan department of a car dealership, or something entirely different. When I graduated from college, my degree was in Mathematics and my experience in the classroom had been a year and a half of supporting college students with their basic math course. When I showed up to my room for the first time, I was already nervous, already doubting myself, and already questioning the decision I had made. Hell, I was even stressing out about where to hang my required materials that had just been dropped onto my desk.

In that moment, papers and tape dispenser in hand, Mandy walked in and sparked a conversation. She was there to support the whole school with literacy and improving achievement, but that didn't matter to me. To me, she was there to keep me afloat... and she did.

I don't have to ponder what would've happened if I couldn't go into her room, close the door, and vent, cry, yell, or just bury my head into my hands and wonder what I was doing. 

I don't have to wonder what would've happened if I gave up trying new things, taking bigger risks, all to find out that it wasn't resonating with kids.

I don't have to worry what would've happened if I would have just kept trying new ways of teaching with the strong likelihood that my kids wouldn't love it.

I don't have to question any of that because she made it possible. Mandy came in and did demo lessons, co-taught when I asked her to, observed me and provided critical feedback, and even sent the occasional positive note and email when she felt it was needed. 

When budget cuts happen, the support is usually the first thing to go. It's a fringe benefit, and something that we haven't had in our field until recently. If we want to keep more educators in the field, David, I truly believe that we need to make them feel supported, and not just with a killer curriculum or with pedagogical pushes. We need to help them feel wanted, to relieve them when they are at their boiling points, and give them a shoulder to lean (and cry) on as much as possible. Mandy knew what it would take to keep me going, and her shoulders are the reason that mine could bear the load of being an educator.

David, I want you to understand me very clearly: I will disagree with you very strongly if you say that you were (or are) not cut out to be a teacher. I adamantly believe that we can all find our place in the classroom with the right support. With that said, I do believe that different sets of shoulders have been outfitted for different purposes.

• Micheal Phelps has developed the shoulders of a swimmer, and a damn good one
• Dennis Cornelius has developed the shoulders of a power lifter, and a damn good one
• Simone Biles has developed the shoulders of a gymnast, and a damn good one
• Sophie Germain developed the shoulders of a mathematician, and a damn good one
• Debbie Sterling has developed the shoulders of an entrepreneur, and a damn good one

Over time, because of (or in spite of) the support that each of those people received, their ability to outperform others reached a level that propelled them to some sort of notoriety. These are just five examples, but there are millions of others who took what they loved and made a life out of it.

For me, it was baseball. I was supposed to play pro ball, button up my Los Angeles Dodgers uniform, and squat down behind the plate as I called pitches for Kevin Brown, Hideo Nomo, and hundreds of others throughout my illustrious career in the "Big Leagues." My slim-to-none chances of seeing that dream come to reality were crushed in 2005 with a shredded rotator cuff and torn labrum, leaving me wondering what my purpose on Earth really was.

Rehabilitating my shoulder both physically and metaphorically meant the need for a strong support system and a lot of patience. 

"Looking back, I think the critical lack of support was one of the major causes of me giving up on teaching high school. Reading the descriptions of support in this book made me weep for poor past David." - David Butler

There have been times that I wept about not playing baseball, but knowing what life has served me since then makes the reality much easier to manage. My shoulders no longer help me sling a baseball to second base in an attempt to throw out a runner. They no longer help me bring the bat through the zone to drive a ball into right-center field to score two runs and help my team win. They don't carry the load of calling pitches, first-and-third plays, or squaring up to a runner coming down third base.

As an educator, my shoulders carry the load of teaching students to love learning, and hoping that the math will follow. Your shoulders might have a different purpose at the university level, but certainly not less meaningful or valuable than the one mine are employed to fulfill. 

With all this, though, please do not feel like you chickened out, that you bailed on education, or that your story is an anomaly. While unique in its path, your message is one that too many teachers have gone through. Thank you for taking the time to read the book, and for being willing to write an honest reflection based on your experience. 

Happy "Strong Shoulder" Fishing

OK, so I went back and read through this post and have to start with a huge disclaimer: I had a phenomenal experience this weekend in Palm Springs hanging out with over 4,000 math teachers. There are so many good things happening and I am honored to be a part of the push for finding better ways to support students. It would be awesome if you'd drop a comment at the end with your thoughts.

With that said, here are my top 10 takeaways from the conference, in no particular order.

This is tough to say, especially as a white dude who loves the opportunity to get a group of educators together and share resources and pedagogical shifts with teachers from around the country. At the same time, we have been hearing (and saying) for some time that we need more girls in STE(A)M fields so they have someone "who looks like them" and will inspire more girls to join STE(A)M careers. Especially lately, we have been talking about empowering our students of color to step up and have their voice be heard.

But how about female teachers and teachers of color?

I'm not going to speak on behalf of any group, but I would love to learn from you. Nanette, Dina, and Liem had incredible Ignite talks on Friday night; it's time for your voices to be heard during a session you lead. Lynda worked alongside Andrew to share about clothesline math and how she's using it; time for you to step up and own your own session.

​Maybe you did, and I didn't end up in your session. If that's the case, my bad. I need to get better about seeking out your voice.

And for the rest of you, I need you. I need Javier Garcia to keep presenting about students and language. I need Anne to keep presenting about Social Justice. I need Lybrya to share what she is doing to support teachers and students. And I need you, whomever you are, to step up and know that your voice matters. If you're worried about submitting a session, get in touch with me and I'll help, but there needs to be an influx voices from non-whites and non-dudes. For those who are submitting to present, encourage your colleagues to do the same. 

Oh, and we need more dudes.

I'm such a hypocrite, aren't I? But here's where we have another problem: elementary teachers. Look at a conference guide and find the elementary presentations. Chances are, they're run by women. That's great, but I would also love to see a mix of how male elementary teachers are providing dynamic instruction. Graham has helped break that mold, so it's time to step up, fellas. 

Maybe a variety of presenters at these conferences would encourage a dissipation of stereotypes within our profession. On the other hand, maybe it wouldn't. If nothing else, though, a variety of presenters offers a variety of voices and, no matter what, we all win.

***UPDATE***
Since I've posted this, a few people have either DM'd me or commented here that there were sessions by educators of color, including the ones I mentioned. This is me recognizing that I need to do better, then, of seeking out those presentations in the guide ahead of time and making sure that my conference experience has more variety. That's on me, and thank you all for calling it out.

Where were all the sessions for Desmos, quite possibly the greatest free gift to math teachers?

ONLY TWO?! BUT WHY?!

When I did a search for it in the schedule, this was all that came up.

WHAT HAS THE MATH WORLD COME TO???

Have we moved on to the next big thing? Has the love fest with our beloved calculator worn out its welcome? 

Needless to say, I was stunned when I saw only two mentions of it. I even thought about presenting a Desmos session, but figured everyone else would be, so I'll leave it alone. Either we were all thinking that or...

Every single session I attended had a mention or use of Desmos. The only one that didn't was mine, and I could have easily found a place for it. No, the product's name wasn't present in the vast majority of the titles or descriptions, but it was more powerful than that. In 7 out of the 8 sessions I was in, including one where I presented, there was a ubiquity about it.

"As you know, you can jump into Desmos and create a model for this."
"If you get into Desmos and plot the points, you can set up a regression."
"Eh, I'm just going to do this in Desmos."
"If you enter in this code, it will take you to the activity we built in Desmos."
"On this slide, students dropped their data into Desmos to represent it in a table."

You get the point.

It's a pretty cool thing to see a product as powerful as this get integrated so seamlessly into sessions to where it's an assumption of knowledge. Two years ago, I had to explain what Desmos was before I could explain how we were using it to shift instruction during a session. Now it's a foregone conclusion and I love it. Speaking of knowing a product...

At the end of day one and throughout day two, I had a simple--and typical--question for attendees I knew well and others whom I had just met:

How is your conference going?

"Well, you know, it's good... but I was hoping for more in a lot of my sessions."
"I feel like I'm looking for something to push me over that hump, and I haven't found it yet. I loved the sessions, but something was missing."
"I knew pretty much all the stuff the presenters were sharing, so I guess it's been OK."
"I came here thinking that I would get something new, but the biggest thing has been the challenge to ask less questions. I've heard that before."

I get it. Especially for folks who have been coming to CMC for years, it's tough to find a new and inspiring message to vault your teaching to another level each and every year. So, the fact that many people I talked to said that they didn't get the push that they were looking for should be seen as a failed--or stalled--conference?

Not so fast, my friend.

What I love about these statements is that teachers are coming to conferences with the high expectation that their teaching will be improved. Underneath all of this is the admission that their teaching has room for improvement. Maybe they didn't realize it, but over 4,000 teachers got a gentle nudge this weekend. Some nudges were more life-changing than others, but I have to believe that everyone will go back to their classroom with more opportunities to be a better supporter of students and learning.

Sometimes, though, a push becomes a shove, and then...

At 8:30 on Saturday morning, I wasn't expecting a room full of teachers who were ready to Start A Math Fight. After all, that's pretty early after an evening out in Palm Springs, no matter what time it is. We talked about creating a culture in the classroom where it was safe to take a risk, then we modeled the idea of bringing a VEST to a conversation. 

In hindsight, I should have recorded the session so that I could post it here. There were so many great insights during the session that were shared by members of the audience and it was a learning experience for everyone, especially myself.

How are we providing opportunities for our students' voices to be heard?

​How are we amplifying those voices?

As the father of two, I don't want my kids to come home and talk about math as if it was something done to them, so my goal with starting a math fight is to encourage the conversation that leads to deeper understanding and investment into the content.

I shared out a tweet that offers up ways to get more conversations stirred up in math, and it's worth nothing that they are all different ways of doing that very thing our math classes are lacking.

Avery had a session at 10:30 on Saturday that I was hoping to use as an opportunity to decompress and reset for the rest of the day. Silly me, I thought he was just going to share out some cool ideas that I could share with teachers in my district.

​Nope.

He showed us a pattern, which was inspired by Fawn's work over a Visual Patterns, and we talked about it. Sure, that was good. The real fun started happening when he drew our attention over to the table where he had a bag of pennies, blocks, paper, and more. He then encouraged us to create a pattern. As a middle school and high school teacher, I could find some ways to model with manipulatives, but Avery opened my eyes to a whole different world. 

Having students grab the materials and create a visual pattern of their choice was awesome. Even better was this, though:

I love that. Giving students the opportunity to choose a challenge that is right for them is exactly what I needed to hear this year. There are plenty of websites and tech tools, but a strong change agent is giving students a voice and teaching them how to use it. Thanks for that, Avery.

Seriously. 

Maybe my earlier concern about Desmos is because everyone is stringing up clotheslines like it's 1849. What's the deal, folks? 

I wandered over to Dan's session about clotheslines and was immediately floored.

Chris and Andrew have been doing some great work with clothesline math lately, but Dan absolutely crushed his session. A room full of curious teachers were constantly in awe of what we can do with such a simple tool. No tech necessary here to reach peak engagement, my friends. Check out clotheslinemath.com for more information.

I didn't go to their sessions, but Chris and Andrew each had other sessions promoting the idea and Andrew even occupied Primrose A with it. Whodathunk we would be in awe over a string and pieces of paper in 2016?

​Not me.

On Friday night, I went to dinner with 49 other educators. While at the table, another attendee of the conference (and patron of the same restaurant) came over, sat down, and said "I just wanted to feel what it was like to be in the inner circle." I have to believe that she was saying it tongue-in-cheek, but it still irked me. What constitutes the Inner Circle? Who decides that? 

Yes, our group consisted of some people who have thousands of Twitter followers and fill up Primrose A every year.
Yes, our group consisted of published authors and editors.
Yes, our group consisted of prominent bloggers.

Even with that, I refuse to believe that this woman had breached the Inner Circle.

The invitation was extended on Twitter, and a pretty great group of folks replied. The median number of Twitter followers for the group was 276. If you're using "Twitter Famous" as a metric of the Inner Circle, 276 is certainly not a qualifying number. The mean number of Twitter followers for the group were much higher, but we have a couple outliers who are both over 6'4" tall who skewed that data set.

If you want the Inner Circle to include you, make the circle big enough until you're in it. 

There have been enough posts about having a seat at the table, but my suggestion is this: if you want a seat at the table, take it. There were teachers at the table whom I had never met and was honored to share a meal and conversation with. None of us are bigger than the movement we are all working for, and please know that when attending a conference or engaging in a conversation via Twitter.

​Well, except one guy...

Have you thanks Brian Shay for the work he has done with CMC-South? If not, please do. Yes, he has a whole team of volunteers. Yes, CMC is a stable organization. But I can tell you that putting together a conference for 150 is a lot of work, and that's with no sponsors, no wifi issues to deal with, and no money to handle.

Brian always has a smile on his face, is always busy, and is always deflecting credit for the work that he has done to make CMC-South a conference with over 4,000 attendees and wifi that works more often than not. 

As the emcee of Friday night's Ignite talks, we got a glimpse into the work he does to rally a crowd and entertain an audience, but it's so much more than that.

From a presenter's standpoint, I have never felt more appreciated.
From an attendee's standpoint, I have never felt more valued.
From an educator's standpoint, I have never felt more inspired.

​Thank you, Brian.

Damnit Liem, I was doing so good all day without getting emotional.

In his Ingite talk, Liem spoke about the different cries from his infant son and how those can be related to the needs of our students. It was hilarious and true all at the same time. The one about poop had me absolutely rolling because my wife and I have been there... a lot.

Through all the laughter was a thread of compassion for kids. It was inspiring. 

One of Liem's last slides, and what I think was his call to action, was to "love them." He had a picture of his son alongside a picture of his class and I just lost it.

Yes.

For 180 days, we have these students and are expected to educate them with content. For 180 days, we go through the trials and tribulations with them, supporting them, challenging them, caring for them, and loving them. 

I no longer have a group of students to call my own, to build that relationship, or to love. Instead, I work with teachers across an entire district to facilitate those feelings. Maybe that's the best I can do for now, and it's one of the trade-offs of having a more macro impact on education. 

If you are in the classroom, know that your kids want to be loved. Know that your kids want to have a voice. Know that, like those teachers who were at the conference, your kids want to be pushed. 

​Do that.

So... what do you agree with? What do you disagree with? How was your conference experience? Share below.

Happy "Gentle Nudge" Fishing