Where Kids in Hoodies Fuel the Work

Saturday morning, and I’m up early as usual. A cup of coffee. My dogs. A quiet house. Time to rest and reflect on the week: it was the first week back from winter break, it was long, it was frustrating, and it was wonderful.

One of the challenges of leading a middle school (and I know leaders at every level put in long hours) is that middle school adds more to the load of running a school. Athletics, after-school activities, performances, and dances layered onto days that already stretch well past what most people imagine. This past week, my TOSA and I were on campus supervising students after school four out of five nights: basketball games, soccer games, and a Friday night winter dance.

I’m Exhausted

This week we welcomed back our staff and more than 500 middle school students. In five short days, we:

• Facilitated three grade-level expectation reset meetings

• Hosted three family grade-level Quarter 2 celebrations of learning

• Enrolled and welcomed new students mid-year

• Built schedules for students starting next week

• Prepared and facilitated Thursday early-release professional development

• Hired a new employee

• Found substitute teachers for multiple short-term and one long-term absence

• Supported a teacher on a professional improvement plan

• Met with a small group of teachers for our bi-weekly classroom management support

• Problem-solved a lack of adequate furniture across multiple classrooms

• Prepared presentations and materials for required AZELLA testing

• Completed multiple state-required test preparation modules

• Planned for and created the presentation for our public community meeting regarding our failing school grade

• Reminded staff of safety protocols that there is no entry through gates or exterior doors, even for uniformed individuals

• Refreshed front office procedures should ICE arrive on campus

• Responded to district questions and concerns about multiple topics

All while still doing the regular expectations of leadership.

While Scrolling

This morning, while scrolling social media and reflecting on the week, I saw a reel (@Gregisms) about the joy and unfiltered realness kindergarten students bring to school and how that openness slowly shifts into something more guarded, quieter, and a little sad by the time students reach middle school.

That reel stayed with me longer than I expected.

It humorously talked about kindergarteners as unfiltered, joyful, honest in the way only young children can be. They speak freely. They laugh loudly. They cry without apology. They show you exactly who they are because no one has taught them yet that they should hide it.

Then the reel shifted to middle school students when laughter is more guarded. The honesty filtered. The expressions are more careful. The kids aren’t worse, they are just more aware. More measured. Carrying things they haven’t yet learned how to put down.

Middle schoolers who seem distant, guarded, and sometimes disengaged are the very reason we keep showing up when the days are long and the work feels impossibly heavy. They are the reason we dig for energy we don’t always have. They are the reason we push forward in a turnaround that demands more than feels reasonable.

Because behind the filters and the hoodies are kids trying to figure out who they are in a world that is already asking them to decide too much, too soon. They are learning when to speak and when to stay quiet. When to trust and when to protect themselves. They are navigating identities, expectations, language barriers, academic gaps, the politics they see and hear, trauma, and hope all at once.

Our job is not to strip that hoodie armor away. Our job is to create a school where they don’t need it as much. A place where learning feels safe. Where adults are consistent. Where expectations are clear and care is unconditional. Where students are seen not just for their data points or behavior referrals, but for who they are becoming.

Those guarded middle schoolers are why we fight for strong instruction, for meaningful intervention, for arts and athletics, for after-school programs, for celebrations of learning, for one more conversation, one more meeting, one more late night. We do this so that when they walk into high school, they do so with options for academic, social, and emotional. So they are not boxed in by systems they didn’t design. So they can access opportunities instead of barriers. So the adulthood they imagine for themselves feels possible.

They may not say thank you. They may not show it yet. They may test every boundary we set. But they are watching.

Every day we choose to keep going, to build something better than what existed before. We send a message they may not fully understand now, but one that will matter later: You are worth the effort.

Both the Good and the Heavy

One teaching team showed a remarkable transformation as they reset expectations for Semester 2. They praised their students. They cheered them on. They stood together as a true team of caring educators who clearly love the kids in front of them. Their assembly was a highlight of the week.

Later in the week, three teachers stepped up with just a day’s notice to lead our weekly professional development. Our art teacher shared how he’s using AI to create daily bell work that supports ELA while connecting to his art curriculum, bridging academics and the arts in a way that said, we are in this turnaround together.

Another teacher introduced “Wednesday Writing,” a homeroom writing initiative she challenged all of us to adopt. She committed to providing the resources weekly so every teacher could support student writing, reinforcing our shared responsibility in student success.

A new teacher to our campus, shared how he reset his classes for Semester 2 after our instructional coach and TOSA observed his process and simply shared with me that it was GOOD.

Then, there is the other side. The weight of what is demanded from a two-person admin team in a turnaround school is crushing. The pressure feels less like support for success, and more like a punch to the gut:

• Required state Zoom meetings

• Daily walkthrough expectations “just to check in” and to "hold teachers accountable"

• Multiple daily walkthroughs tied to 90-day plan requirements

• Observations to support ELD teachers

• Observations to support struggling teachers

• Formal evaluations (two required for every teacher with fewer than three years on campus and one for every other staff member) while remembering that I replaced half the staff this year to change culture and instruction

• Required after school content meetings

• Required grade-level meetings

• Required safety meetings

• Progress monitoring meetings for RTI

• Goal meetings

• Weekly PD meetings (some predetermined by the district, some determined by our distinct school needs)

All of this while students, staff, and families demand our immediate attention.

And Yet, the Bright Parts Still Carry us Forward

At a school with a significant population of English learners, success on the AZELLA matters deeply. Not just for our turnaround, but for our students’ futures. A student who does not reach proficiency by high school will spend a significant portion of their day in ELD classes, limiting access to electives, opportunities, and pathways that matter. Regardless of personal opinions on the system, the impact is real and it creates barriers between students and a diploma.

So I’ve committed to meeting with every one of our English learner students to talk about what they need to reach proficiency this year. Yes, it adds more to the list. Yes, it stretches already full days. This is the real work.

Students light up when they hear how close they are to proficiency and what that means for their future. When they’re not close yet, they lean in to conversations about what to focus on next. Those conversations led a small group of eighth graders to ask for help. They asked for flex time (Flex Time That Really Matters), for support, because they want to pass.

They will get it. It will take staff time and commitment, but teachers are already raising their hands to help.

This is the Messy Middle

The exhaustion and the purpose. The pressure and the pride. The weight and the joy. Turnaround work is never clean or linear. It’s human. It’s demanding. And it’s deeply meaningful.

Even when I’m tired, especially when I’m tired, I’m reminded why this work matters.