Twenty-Four Hours

School turnaround has a way of compressing your highest highs and your lowest lows into the span of a single day.

Yesterday evening, I was reminded very publicly of what it means to lead a school with an F.

Our district is in the process of searching for a new superintendent, and during the community interview panel someone asked the question I knew was coming. The school's failing grade became the backdrop for the discussion.

"How will you fix it?"

I wasn't offended. I wasn't surprised. In fact, I expected it. If I were interviewing for the position, I would have examined the state accountability data as well. On paper, our school was an F. None of the candidates had access to the internal data we've been watching all year. They hadn't seen the improvements, the culture surveys, the classroom engagement, the behavior changes, or the countless small indicators that told us we were moving in the right direction. The public data only tells the story of where we were, not where we are headed.

The assumption is understandable. When people see a failing school, they naturally believe someone needs to come in, identify everything that's broken, and figure out how to fix it.

As I listened to each candidate answer the question, I found myself nodding along. Nearly every response centered on building a positive culture, creating a safe learning environment, strengthening relationships, supporting teachers, establishing instructional systems, and using data to drive improvement. They were thoughtful answers. More importantly, they reflected exactly the work we had already committed ourselves to over the past year.

That realization was oddly comforting.

Sometimes, in turnaround work, you spend so much time defending your decisions that you begin to wonder if you're the one seeing things differently. I was told we were putting too much emphasis on culture when we should have been focused exclusively on academics. I told I wasn't supportive enough to adults who were more interested in rage-baiting students than teaching them. I was told I was too selective when hiring new staff members. I was even told that data clearly wasn't my strength.

Yet every difficult decision came back to one simple question: What is best for students?

Turnaround work is rarely dramatic. Most days it looks like uncomfortable conversations, holding firm to expectations, hiring carefully, coaching relentlessly, replacing people when necessary, and refusing to lower the bar simply because it's easier. It means believing that students have to feel safe before they can learn and that culture isn't separate from achievement. Culture is the foundation that makes achievement possible.

The challenge is that culture changes before accountability scores do, and the state doesn't publish culture ratings. So last night I sat in a room listening to my school publicly identified as the one that needed fixing, knowing full well that much of the fixing had already begun.

Then today happened.

This afternoon we received our preliminary state accountability score. In one year, we had moved from an F to a C. Not just a solid C, but only 1.43 points away from a B.

One year ago, our school earned a an F. There were many factors involved, but we didn't make excuses. We rallied. Today we are less than a point and a half away from earning a B. Even more remarkable, this is the highest accountability score our school has earned dating back to the earliest published scores in 2017. We didn't simply improve from an F to a C. We achieved the strongest performance our school has recorded in nearly a decade.

I immediately shared the news with our staff and told them exactly what they deserved to hear.

Celebrate.

Dance.

Jump up and down.

Tell your family.

Tell your friends.

You are part of something big.

You are changing outcomes and lives.

That last sentence has stayed with me all day because accountability scores matter, but they are never the whole story. Long before the state recognized our growth, students were beginning to feel like they belonged. Teachers were believing in one another again. Hallways felt different. Classrooms felt different. Hope had returned before our score appeared on a spreadsheet.

The score didn't create the turnaround. It simply confirmed it.

That is the strange reality of school turnaround. One evening you sit quietly while people discuss how someone should fix your school. The very next morning you receive evidence that the people already doing the work are changing its future.

There will always be people who remember the F. Others will celebrate the C. Our staff? We're already looking toward the A. Not because another letter will define us, but because every point we earn represents something much bigger.

Another student who believes in themselves.

Another teacher who stayed.

Another student rushing up to an adult to celebrate a test score or a grade written on a post-it note.

Another life changed.

Sometimes twenty-four hours is all it takes to remind you just how far you've come.