Author: brian

In an effort to celebrate small moments of engagement, hard work, and kindness this year, I have been giving out Bracelet and Paperplane Awards (BPAs). But these aren’t just any old bracelets and paperplanes. Oh no! My very own son and daughter make these during the week, which I turn around and award to my students on Friday. The BPAs represent my latest act of community.

How does a student earn a BPA? All the usual things qualify. Working hard. Showing up to tutoring. Helping peers. But there are countless other ways that students have earned one. One student was there for a friend in a time of need. Another potted our class plant during their free period. For another student, they received a BPA for no other reason than it being their birthday. There aren’t any formal criteria I have come up with for earning a BPA other than “being a good human and doing the right thing.” I award them spontaneously but thoughtfully.

Each week, one bracelet and one paper plane are awarded per class. In one of my classes, we’re building up to the idea of the students handing out the BPAs to each other. The thought of that brings me great joy. I hope we can get there.

Because the bracelets and paperplanes are crafted by the hands of my very own kids, the BPAs are a heartwarming crossover between my home and school lives. The personal and professional merge yet again. The awards are cheesy but loveable, and I think my students appreciate them. ∞


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This month, I had the opportunity to apply for renewal of my MƒA Master Teacher fellowship. It has been a staggering twelve years(!) since I was awarded my first fellowship, and what has followed since has been nothing short of extraordinary.

Being an MƒA teacher has been one of the greatest privileges of my professional life. I hold it in high regard. It has allowed me to step into leadership roles that have defined (and redefined) who I am as a teacher. It has affirmed and validated me. It has made space for my ideas and offered me community when I had none. MƒA continually fills me with a sense of regeneration and growth.

More than anything else, however, MƒA has trusted me. In education, trust isn’t easy to find. The stakes are too high for teachers to be given the reins with no strings attached. There are so many changing faces and titles that being a teacher forces you to rebuild relationships often. Not with MƒA. Whether leading a PD, advocating for them on a podcast, or designing a summer conference, the folks at MƒA have never wavered in their belief in me. They continually make me feel like I am worth it.

I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t sometimes take generosity MƒA for granted. MƒA is an endless sea of resources, so it’s easy to take and take often. The debt I owe the organization is far too large to repay throughout my career, and remembering to give back can be tricky. With or without a renewal fellowship, I hope the organization feels I have contributed to the community during my tenure as a Master Teacher. For all I have gained, it’s the least I can do. ∞

I approached them in the middle of class and said, “I’ve lost you.” Though there were 23 other students around us, the moment was bleak. It was an admission of self-defeat. I felt helpless.

For weeks, I’ve observed them go through the motions. Other than their joyous reunion each morning with friends, their body language tells me they have little interest in learning. While everyone snakes their way through the problems on the whiteboards, their attention wanders. They are alert but politely disengaged.

After school, a colleague asked me what I was going to do. How do I move forward with a student who has let go?

I didn’t have a good answer, but I knew I couldn’t leave them behind. Having taught them last year, the only way forward is with them.

The next day, with my colleague’s question echoing in my head, I went to the student’s friends. After class, I explained my disappointment and constructed a plea for their help in the middle of the hallway. I didn’t know what else I could do. I needed to keep this student on our moving train.

The friends promised to do their part to support me and keep the student engaged. I was humbled by their compassion. I got the feeling these students saw their teacher—the one who always had the answers—with a problem he couldn’t solve.

Finding a way forward with this student feels symbolic. Of course, the focus is on their continued learning of mathematics, but it’s also so much more. It’s about evoking a feeling that our class can be more than a daily meet-up with friends. It’s about being a senior and finding meaning at a time when there is little to be found. It’s about tending to a student and offering them the respect they have earned.

In the months ahead, I may have to abandon my hopes of repairing their relationship with my curriculum. Despite my efforts and those of their friends, their relationship with mathematics — and our relationship — may become something I’m not proud of. As winter turns into spring and graduation draws near, we may go through the motions as teacher and student.

If that is the case, I need to resist bitterness. Swept over with helplessness and self-defeat, I can still greet them warmly, ask about their day, and find ways to share a smile. I can throw support at their future plans and help them find productive ways to use class time, while we still have it. While Algebra 2 may not be a priority for them anymore, I can still save a seat for them on our train each day. I will need to find new ways to serve them that exist outside of my curriculum map and lesson plans.

This is the way forward.

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