A Good Driver

A memory from when I was around 17 or 18:

I'm smoothly driving the Camaro through the curves of Laguna Canyon. My dad's in the passenger seat.

Me: See, I'm as good a driver as you are now.

Dad: You're not as good a driver as me.

Me: I'm not?

Dad: Nope.

Me: How do you know?

Dad: Because if a squirrel ran out in the middle of the road right now, you'd kill us both. You'd swerve to miss it. You'd either hit the car next to us, or you'd hit a car coming the other way, or you'd run yourself off the road. But me, I'd just hit the squirrel.

Me: (silent, beaten)


Flash forward to Wednesday this week, as I'm driving to school. It's 6:45 and I'm on a moderately busy 605 North going 75 MPH when I see a little black kitten inbetween my lane and the lane to the left of me. It's hunkered down, clearly scared out of its mind. It darts left, then darts right again, narrowly missing getting hit by a car a couple seconds ahead of me. He's now squarely in line with where my left tires will shortly be arriving--my left tires of death.

My three thoughts, three thoughts over and over again: Oh no!, Please get out of my lane!, and What do I do?

The memory of my dad and me driving through the canyon pops into my head.

My hand stays firmly attached to the wheel. I'm not going to swerve. I tense, bracing for the sound more than anything.

But the kitten, perhaps sensing my resolve, darted away from me with what must have been a half second to go. In my rearview mirror, he was still there, crouching inbetween lanes.

I don't now if that kitten made it or not. But I do know that I heard some squealing tires behind me, and I think I'm a better driver than that person. Maybe even as good as my dad.

The Best and the Brightest

Above, the slides from my second semester project presentation for LMU's Charter School Leadership Academy. The work focused on detailing the experiences of high-achieving students at my school and using those experiences to determine how to help them avoid the "achievement trap."

From the conclusion of my report:

High-achieving low-income students are a very special group of students. Despite a deck that is stacked in so many ways against them, often including alcoholic fathers, a lack of healthy food to eat, little parent academic support in English, a crime-ridden community, young, inexperienced teachers, and countless other obstacles, these students have thrived. Shouldn’t we honor their resilience and perseverance with at least an equal amount of resilience and perseverance on our part? Don’t we owe it to them, this venerable yet vulnerable group of students?

Schools cannot afford to take the high achievement of their BnBs (best and brightest) for granted. Complacency has a price, and that price is the diminished chances of students’ continued success when schools do not give BnBs the challenges and support they both want and need.

The first steps for change have already been given to us through the voices of the BnBs as they cry out to us for something substantially different than the status quo.

1. Hold all students strictly accountable for following the rules.
2. Increase student voice (in decision-making) and choice (electives, after school opportunities, in-class work).
3. Decrease whole-class teacher talk.
4. Increase the amount of face time teachers have with their BnBs.
5. Increase the amount of time the BnBs have to work with each other.
6. Increase accountability for less motivated students to complete their own classwork without copying from the BnBs.
7. Implement a respected system of rewards and recognition for high performance.

Meeting the needs of the BnBs in a sustainable way to avoid the “achievement trap,” while also enhancing rather than damaging the life chances of students who are mediocre or struggling, is a common concern. I believe it can be done.