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Archive for October, 2026


There is a moment every four years when a newly elected Board of Education gathers around the table for the first time. The room looks much the same. The table is the same, the agenda follows a familiar format, and the superintendent and senior staff are often the same people who were there a month earlier. But the people sitting around the table have changed. Some familiar faces are gone and new ones have arrived. Even those returning are now part of a different group.

I have now been through five of these transitions as a superintendent, and if I have learned one thing, it is that getting elected to a board and becoming an effective board are two very different things.

From Campaigning to Governing

Earlier this year, I wrote Considering Running for School Trustee? A Few Things to Know First, a look at what trustees actually do and, perhaps more importantly, what they don’t do. This was my most-read post in years, so as one does when that happens, I have created this as a sequel.  

Candidates across BC have spent the last couple of months campaigning, sharing ideas and making commitments. As happens each election cycle, some of those commitments touch on areas where local boards have direct authority, while others involve decisions that are made provincially.  Part of the early work together is understanding those distinctions and identifying where trustees can make a difference locally and where they can use their voices to advocate for change.  I have been part of enough transitions to know these conversations are important, and the boundaries are not always as clear as they might first appear.

Within their areas of responsibility, boards have considerable influence. They make important decisions about local priorities, resources, policies and the direction of their districts. But there is a difference between campaigning on individual promises and governing collectively, and making that shift is part of the early work for any new board.

Another part of that transition is understanding how governance and operations fit together.  The Board sets direction, approves budgets, and establishes policies.  The superintendent and staff then turn that direction into the day-to-day work of schools with the Board providing oversight and holding the superintendent accountable for the results.

For example, a board wanting an emphasis on literacy might include this aspiration as part of a strategic plan.  The superintendent and senior staff would work with educators to determine the strategy and approach needed to achieve that goal.  Trustees need enough understanding of that work to ask thoughtful questions and assess results.  The distinction is about where decisions and accountability sit and it takes ongoing conversations to make it work well. 

Fresh Eyes and Institutional Memory

New trustees bring questions that others may have stopped asking. They challenge assumptions and see possibilities that those of us who have been around for a long time might overlook. Returning trustees bring history and context. They understand why past decisions were made and appreciate the complexity behind issues that can look simple from the outside. Neither perspective is automatically right. Experience can become an excuse for maintaining the status quo, and fresh perspectives can miss important context.

Institutional memory is also about more than the people around the table. When I studied the superintendency for my doctorate several years ago, I found that the majority of BC superintendents were relatively new to their roles. That kind of leadership turnover is a reminder that we can’t rely on individuals alone to carry an organization’s history.

The memory has to live in systems as well. A clear board work plan, a clear distinction between board policy and administrative procedure, and orientation that is embedded in policy rather than left to chance all help carry what matters from one group to the next. People come and go. Good systems give a new board something solid to build on, and the real opportunity comes from bringing that institutional memory together with fresh eyes.

Learning Takes Time

In 2014, I wrote about the small things that make board governance work and how boards and superintendents support one another. Clear roles, regular communication and shared learning remain central to how I think about governance. One thing that has evolved is my approach to trustee orientation.

We have long used a series of introductory sessions, our 101s, covering everything from finance and facilities to student learning, governance and community relationships. We used to think of orientation as the first winter. Now we think of it as the whole term. The early months are important, but the learning continues through strategic planning and carries on through all four years.

We know student learning takes time. Understanding develops through repeated experiences, conversations and reflection, and there is no reason to assume adult learning is any different. Orientation is also about more than information. It is about building relationships and giving trustees the confidence to ask better questions, challenge assumptions and make thoughtful decisions. I would rather spend a little more time building that foundation at the beginning than rush through it and spend the next four years wishing we had done things differently. There is no prize for finishing orientation first.

And for any newly elected trustees in West Vancouver reading this, you are getting an early look at the orientation playbook we will work through together.

Everyone in the Room Is New

Perhaps the biggest lesson I have learned through these transitions is that orientation isn’t just for new trustees. When the composition of a board changes, the relationships, the dynamics and the questions all change with it, and the way people work together needs to evolve too.

That includes the superintendent.  The voters elected the trustees, and the trustees inherit me. That alone is a good reason for me to do a lot of listening in the first few months. They bring a fresh mandate, and I have a responsibility to understand their priorities and help turn the Board’s collective direction into meaningful action. 

I have worked with boards with different priorities, personalities and approaches to governance. Each transition has required me to listen, adjust and think carefully about how I can best support the collective work of the board, because what worked with one board may not work with the next. Returning trustees are joining a new team as well. Their experience matters, but so does their willingness to adapt. In that sense, everyone in the room is new.

And perhaps most importantly, the trustees need to learn how to work with one another.  Effective boards aren’t ones where everyone agrees.  They are ones where people can disagree, make collective decisions and continue to trust one another afterward.

The Work After the Election

There is something wonderfully democratic about school board elections. Communities have the opportunity to affirm a direction or choose something different. But schools don’t start over every four years.

A new board inherits both the accomplishments and the challenges of those who came before it, and its task is to respect that continuity while exercising its mandate to shape the future. A new board also has an opportunity to consider how it will work together.  Many traditions and practices will be worth carrying forward, while others may need to evolve as new relationships and perspectives take shape.  

Four years from now, the room will probably look much the same again. There will be another election, another group of trustees and another opportunity to begin.

What will matter is less who occupied those chairs and more what they accomplished together.

Note: The image at the top of this post was generated using AI. I also used AI tools for editorial feedback while refining the piece. The arguments and conclusions are my own.

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What We Notice

A few months ago I wrote a post marking thirty years in education, 30 Things I Believe About Education After 30 Years. In the comments, longtime educator Paul Bogush asked me a question that I have continued to think about.

With one year left before his retirement, Paul was thinking about the gap between building the culture you want in your own classroom and shaping the culture of a whole school. He asked what I had learned, after thirty years, about passing beliefs on to colleagues. Then he asked me to give him some homework for his final year, something that might let him leave a dent in his school’s culture.

I answered fairly quickly at the time. My answer has not changed.

Culture moves toward what we notice.

For all the strategic plans, mission statements and professional learning that go into shaping a school, I am more and more convinced that the real work of culture happens in much smaller moments. A teacher handles a hard interaction with a student with unusual patience. An educational assistant finds a way to include a kid who normally sits on the edge of things. A coach keeps a student on the team who may never play much, because they understand that belonging matters more than the score.

These things happen every day. And most of them happen when nobody is watching. Except, of course, for the student who is watching. For that student, it may be the moment that makes it easier to come back tomorrow.

So much of the best work in education is invisible by design. Teachers spend their careers in rooms with students, away from other adults. People do thoughtful, generous, creative things all across a school without expecting anyone else to notice. Often they do not want the attention anyway.

But there is a difference between recognition and noticing. Recognition is about the person. Noticing is about what they did.

Recognition can become a program. Certificates, staff member of the month, a nice lunch in June. Those things are fine, but that is not what I mean.

Noticing is more specific. It is walking up to a colleague and saying, “I saw how you handled that. That is exactly how we want kids to be treated here.” It is telling someone in the office, “You were so patient with that family this morning. They walked out feeling different than they came in.”

The specificity is the whole thing. “Great job” is nice. “This is what we are about” builds culture. Every time we name something, we send a signal about what matters here.

And this is where Paul’s question gets interesting, because he asked it as a teacher, not a principal.

We tend to assume culture gets moved from the front of the room. The staff meeting. The newsletter. What the principal stops to ask about on a classroom visit. All of that is real. But a teacher noticing another teacher in the hallway carries something a memo never will. It comes from a peer. It costs nothing. And it says, quietly, this is who we are, from someone standing right beside you. On a hard day, it can also say, “What you are doing matters.”

There is a lesson here for those of us in formal leadership roles too. Often, leading means standing behind the people doing the work, noticing their care and helping others see it. We do not always need to be the ones setting the example; sometimes our job is to support the people who already are.

People notice what gets named, and they notice what never does. If we say relationships matter but only ask about test scores, people notice. If we say wellbeing matters but only celebrate the ones who work themselves into the ground, people notice that too. Our calendars and our conversations probably reveal more about our values than our plans do.

I used to think moving culture meant winning an argument. Find the research. Book the speaker. Make the case. Convince enough people. Some of that helps. But culture is rarely moved by one big argument. It accumulates through hundreds of small signals about what matters and what does not.

That was the homework I gave Paul. Once a week, find one moment worth naming, and name it. Not on a form. Not because it is part of an initiative. Not a compliment tossed over your shoulder on the way past. Actually notice.

There are roughly thirty-six weeks in a school year. One moment a week. Thirty-six moments. Thirty-six times a colleague hears that something they did mattered.

It does not sound transformational. That is probably why I like it.

Education has no shortage of transformational plans, and we are very good at launching things. Real culture change tends to be quieter. One person sees another doing the kind of thing the school wants to be. They name it. It happens again. Over time, people begin to understand: this is what matters here.

Maybe that is how you leave a dent.

Not only in what happens while you are there, but in what people keep doing after you have gone.

Culture moves toward what we notice.

Note: The image at the top of this post was generated using AI. I also used AI tools for editorial feedback while refining the piece. The arguments and conclusions are my own.

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World Teachers’ Day has always been one of my favourite days to mark on this blog. That is probably not a surprise. I come from a family of teachers. I started teaching at 22. I met my wife through education. Thirty years after I first walked into a classroom, it remains the only profession I have ever known.

This year the day feels close to the surface. Since the start of school last month, I have had the chance to spend real time with teachers new to our district, and they have reminded me what this work looks like when it is fresh. They are teaching and prepping and marking and coaching and building their practice, and they are loving it. I have also heard the stories of teachers who packed up their lives and relocated to be here. I feel that responsibility keenly. They came to support our students. Part of my job is to ensure we support them just as fully.

It has also been heartening to see our applicant pools growing again. In the years immediately after COVID, there were positions where the number of applicants was noticeably smaller than what we had traditionally seen. More recently, that has begun to shift. People are choosing teaching. They are choosing this work knowing it is not the job their parents’ generation signed up for, but they see the same opportunity to make a difference.

Back in 2010, on one of the first World Teachers’ Days I wrote about here, I said I was good with teacher. That it was who I am, and that it said it all. Sixteen years later I still believe that. But I understand the title a little differently now.

As chosen by UNESCO, this year’s theme fits: “Standing with teachers: 60 years of protecting the profession, advancing its status and shaping our futures.” Sixty years is a long time. Almost everything about schools has changed across those decades. And yet the thing that makes a teacher matter has not moved at all.

The profession I entered in 1996 is not the one someone enters today. Teachers now navigate artificial intelligence, digital citizenship, mental health, changing parent expectations and increasingly complex learning needs in ways that would have been hard to imagine when I started. And the work will keep changing. Some of the more routine parts will likely change or fall away as AI takes on more of the planning, assessment, communication and administration. The classroom of 2036 will not look like the classroom of 2026.

But I am increasingly convinced that the most important parts of teaching are stubbornly resistant to all of it.

Great teachers know their students. They notice when something is off. They know when to push and when to ease up. They build places where young people feel they belong because they do. Technology can support every one of those things, and I hope it does. None of these can be automated.

I saw a version of this recently. I was in a classroom where a teacher had structured her groups beautifully. One group was getting feedback directly from her. Another was working through revisions. A third was getting feedback from AI. Over the week the students rotated, so everyone had each experience on different days.

She had tightened the feedback loop without making every piece of it run through her. The technology did not replace her. It extended her reach, and it freed her to spend her attention where only she could.

That is the version of the future I am hopeful about. Not one where the teacher matters less, but one where the teacher is freed to do more of what only a teacher can do.

And maybe that is why over the years I keep coming back to Mrs. Caffrey, my teacher in Grades 2, 3 and 4. I arrived in her room barely reading and left three years later a different learner. What I remember has almost nothing to do with curriculum. She knew me. She held me accountable. She made me feel safe.

This past June my Grade 7 class gathered for our 40-year reunion. Everyone in that room had their own story about a teacher who had changed something for them. I had always known what Mrs. Caffrey meant to me and to my family. What I learned that weekend was how many others carried her with them too.

Close to fifty years after I first walked into elementary school, knowing students, holding them to high expectations and making them feel safe still seem like pretty good descriptors of great teaching.

Teachers rarely get to see the full weight of what they do. Mrs. Caffrey never did. She had no idea that, forty years on, a room full of us would still be saying her name.

Most of the teachers who shaped me had no idea they were doing it at the time. You make hundreds of small decisions a day and have thousands of conversations over a career, and every so often one of them quietly changes where a life goes.

Thirty years in, I am still optimistic about this work.

The profession is evolving, as it always has. The tools will change. The expectations will change. The classrooms will change. The chance to make a difference in the world, one student at a time, does not.

So I come back to what I wrote sixteen years ago. I am still good with teacher. It is still who I am. Thirty years later, I still cannot think of a better title.

Happy World Teachers’ Day.

Note: The image at the top of this post was generated using AI. I also used AI tools for editorial feedback while refining the piece. The arguments and conclusions are my own.

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