We
all know the parable: a man sows seeds; some of them grow, some of them don’t.
The seeds that fall on stone have no topsoil to accept the roots. The seeds
that fall in the weeds are choked before they can reach the sun. The seeds that
fall on fertile ground grow tall and strong. We learn that words of wisdom and
enlightenment are not heard equally by all who are within earshot. Some people are
ready for the hearing and some are not. Some are in mired in environments or
circumstances that simply will not allow the “seed” of wisdom to sprout and change
their lives. The question I find interesting is: Whose responsibility is it to
make sure the ground is ready to receive the seeds? Is it the ground’s fault
for not being hospitable, or is it the sower’s fault for not tending his
garden?
When
we school people use the idea of “garden” metaphorically, we’re usually talking
about our children. Perhaps I’ll get to that in a separate blog post. Today,
though, I want to talk about us—the adults in the building.
Most
of us recognize that real and sustainable change is gradual, organic, and
evolutionary, but we’re often too impatient to act on what we know. We want our
change instant. We want the silver bullet. We want something that promises, “Just
plug it in and it works.” We don’t want to have to deal with some pesky seeds
that need careful tending over a long period of time; we want magic beans—you know,
the kind that create beanstalks and lead to gold. To some extent, we are the
ground on which the seed is sown, and we are often very rocky.
Let’s
face it; we’re not great at long-term thinking. We’re wired to be on the
lookout for the lion hiding in the grass, not the slow but steady uptick in the
overall lion population in our region. And the charlatans among us, whether
political or commercial, are happy to profit from our impatience and
short-sightedness. Thus do we educators find ourselves in endless cycles of
change—latching on to something new, plunging into the chaos and disruption of
adoption, withdrawing our commitment
when we don’t see instant results, and then investing our time and money in the
Next New Thing. On and on it goes—more and more seed being tossed onto sterile
stone. And when we get angry at the waste, we blame each new crop of seeds for
being ineffective.
Whose
responsibility is it to make sure that the adults in an organization are
prepared for a change—that they understand and accept the need for it, that
they understand the steps of the process and the expected length of the
process, and that they understand their role in making the change happen?
That’s obviously the job of leadership—and yet, I’ve seen so many change initiatives
embarked upon with no real attempt to “prepare the ground” for the new thing
being planted. There are leaders out there who feel that their authority is all
anyone needs: “If I say it, it will be so.” But in practice, it is not so, is
it? In many schools across the country, teachers outlast their principals and
superintendents—sometimes by decades. They know how to wait until the Next New
Thing passes by.
How
can we make sure the seeds fall where they will sprout? Well, tending a garden
is a complex occupation. It requires healthy soil and healthy seeds, enriching
food and fertilizer, growing conditions that meet the needs of the different
plants in the garden, and also constant vigilance to keep the weeds at bay and
keep the pathway towards growth unobstructed.
Let’s take them one at a time.
Healthy
soil. When we’re talking about organizational change, healthy soil means a
healthy school culture—a culture where people have some level of autonomy,
where dialogue is open and respectful, and where people work toward a common
purpose.
Healthy
seeds. Obviously, the content of the proposed change, whatever it is, should be
intelligent, backed by research, well constructed, and so on. We shouldn’t be bringing garbage into our
schools. I’m not talking about programs that have a political slant that we do
or don’t agree with, or that our parents do or don’t have a problem with—that’s
a whole other issue. I’m simply talking about Bad Stuff—trendy new approaches
that haven’t been tested or proven, with materials that are filled with factual
errors. Products that talk down to students (and sometimes teachers).
Curriculum that lets teachers aim for the low middle instead of giving them the
tools to aim higher. That kind of thing. Now, I happen to believe that actual
“bad seeds” show up pretty rarely in our world. They’re out there, but they’re
rare. I think the Great Library of Dead Curriculum, up in heaven, has shelves filled
with perfectly decent programs, and ideas, most of which were just implemented
poorly and left to die on the vine. Our parable assumes that the seeds being
sown are good, and I think that holds, in most cases, in our little school
metaphor, as well.
Enriching
food and fertilizer. These are two interesting items. Once the seed has been
planted, what do you have to do to keep the plant growing? A young plant is
tender and vulnerable. It needs careful tending to grow strong. Any new program
in its infancy is similarly tender and vulnerable. Any hiccup can be
devastating. Anything that looks too difficult or too challenging can threaten
the viability of the whole enterprise. This is exactly the stage at which so
many change initiatives or new programs are abandoned. Why bother? It’s too
hard. It doesn’t work. So how can leadership nurture the program and give it a
shot of vitamins along the way? Well, one way is to acknowledge—publically—that
this stage is always challenging, and
to help and support the team as they slog their way through the process.
Another way is to celebrate—publically—whatever little successes occur along
the way.
Growing
conditions. Some plants need direct sunlight. Some need shade. Some need a
little of both. And yet, when dealing with people, who are so much more
complex, we often forget that not everyone responds in the same way to the same
treatment. Some people need very little encouragement, and in fact resent it if
they’re over-nurtured. Some people need a lot of ego-stroking. Some people need
just a little hint or push, now and then. Do we know what the different people
in our organization need? And do we respect their differences enough to honor
them?
Constant
vigilance. Weeds will grow to choke the growing plants. Some of them are
external: the day to day administrivia that consume people’s attention; the
various mandates coming down from higher authorities; the new materials or processes that may be
confusing; even snow days can wreck an implementation. Some of the weeds are internal:
anger at having to learn something new; fear of failing and being humiliated;
anxiety that the change requires something of people that they may not have.
Tending this garden requires more than saying, “Don’t worry about that stuff.”
These weeds need to get caught while they’re still small, and yanked out by the
roots.
Of course, this whole metaphor is very old fashioned and out
of date in educational circles. We don’t believe that leadership is solely
defined as the principal as the Great Gardener of the school—our second mother
or father, taking care of us and telling us what to do. We believe in
distributed leadership. We believe that the actions that make up school
leadership should be shared among staff, at least to some degree.
But this actually makes our parable really interesting. Because
now, if the actions are not defined by set roles—if “leadership” is owned
beyond the job description of “leader”--then everyone gets to participate in everything.
We all have to be responsible for
both “sowing” and “growing.” We all
have to be the nurturing gardeners of our schools…and we are all, at the same
time, the vulnerable young seedlings, requiring care and nurturing from each
other.
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