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Is Prompt Engineering Really the New Future Skill?

November 19, 2025 by cultureofyes

Last week, I sat in an education conference listening to a keynote speaker who was absolutely unequivocal about it: students must learn prompt engineering or they will be left behind. The speaker was passionate, convincing even, about how this was the essential skill for the next generation. And as I sat there, I found myself thinking: really? Is this truly the skill we should be racing to embed in every curriculum?

Lately, I keep hearing that prompt engineering, the ability to write clever and precise instructions for AI, is the new super skill every young person needs to master. The idea is that those who can “talk to the machine” will be the ones who thrive in the age of generative AI.

And I get it. For now, it is true. Anyone who spends time with AI knows that the way you ask matters. A well-structured prompt can turn an average response into something remarkable. I have seen entire professional development sessions focused on how to write the perfect prompt.

But I keep wondering if this is really a future skill or simply a transitional one.

We have been here before. About a decade ago, coding was the next great literacy. We were told that all students needed to learn to code or they would be left behind. And while understanding logic, pattern recognition and computational thinking remains valuable, few would now argue that every student must become a programmer. The tools evolved. The interfaces changed. Knowing how to code shifted from a universal requirement to an optional asset.

I suspect the same will happen with prompting. The models are already becoming much more forgiving. Early versions of AI required carefully worded instructions and detailed context. But each new generation of large language models has become better at interpreting vague or natural language. They are now more context aware, more visual and better aligned with human intent. The need for carefully engineered prompts is already beginning to fade.

Even the interfaces are changing. Most people will not type directly into chatbots in the future. They will use AI features inside tools such as Google Docs, Canva or Notion that quietly handle the prompting behind the scenes. The software will translate our natural requests such as “summarize this,” “improve the tone,” or “make it more visual” into optimized prompts automatically. Just as we no longer type code to open a file, we will not need to craft perfect prompts to get great AI output.

There may be a split happening here. For most of us, prompting will become invisible, handled by the interface layer. But specialized roles might still require deep prompt engineering expertise for critical systems or highly creative work where nuance matters. It could mirror how we still have systems programmers even though most people never write a line of code.

Modern AI systems are also being trained on millions of examples of strong instructions and responses. They have learned the meta-skill of interpreting intent. Clear and simple language now produces excellent results.

So if the technical part of prompting is becoming less necessary, what remains essential? The human part. Knowing what to ask. Evaluating whether the answer is right. Recognizing when a response is insightful, biased, or incomplete. The real differentiator will be judgment, not phrasing. The skill will not be in writing prompts but in thinking critically about what those prompts produce.

There is something deeper here too. The enduring skill might be what we could call AI collaboration literacy—the ability to iterate with AI, to recognize when you are not getting what you need, and to adjust your approach, not just your words. It is less about engineering the perfect prompt and more about developing a productive working relationship with these tools.

It reminds me of the evolution from coding to clicking. Early computer users had to memorize complex commands. Now, we all navigate computers intuitively. Prompt engineering feels like today’s command line, a temporary bridge to a more natural future.

So yes, teaching students to think like prompt engineers has value. It helps them be clear, curious and reflective. But perhaps the goal is not to create great prompters. It is to create great thinkers who can:

  • Articulate clear goals and constraints

  • Recognize the difference between excellent and mediocre output

  • Maintain healthy skepticism and verification habits

  • Understand when AI is the right tool versus when another approach works better

  • Iterate and refine their collaboration with AI systems

These capabilities feel more durable regardless of how the interfaces evolve.

Maybe I am wrong. Maybe prompt engineering will become a lasting communication skill. But before we rush to build it into every curriculum, it is worth asking whether we are chasing a moving target, and whether we should focus instead on the deeper cognitive skills that will matter no matter how we end up talking to machines.

As always, I share these ideas not because I have the answers but because I am still thinking them through. I would love to hear how others are thinking about this from where they sit.

The image at the top of this post was generated through AI.  Various AI tools were used as feedback helpers (for our students this post would be a Yellow assignment – see link to explanation chart) as I edited and refined my thinking.

Posted in Change, Technology | Tagged , | 4 Comments »

The Human Half: AI, the OECD, and the Future of Educational Leadership

November 12, 2025 by cultureofyes


Inspired by the recent Learning Forward BC conversation on human flourishing and AI.

Last week, I spent three hours tweaking a PowerPoint presentation I already had help with. At the same time, I had to decline a visit to an elementary class exploring AI tools. The irony? While I was perfecting slides, they were shaping the very future I was supposed to be leading them toward.

If we are honest, most of us superintendents spend far too much of our energy doing work that does not require the full force of our humanity. We draft versions of the same report again and again for different audiences. We shuffle through data systems, chase signatures, and repackage findings. It is necessary work, but is it what we were called to?

At a recent Learning Forward BC event on The Intersection of Human Flourishing and AI, that question hit home. We were exploring how technology might liberate, not limit, our humanity in education. It made me wonder: What if AI could take over significant portions of our work as leaders? What would we hand over, and what would we fight to keep?

Why This Matters for Leaders

I have written a lot on this blog about how AI is reshaping the work of teachers and students. But we need to look just as critically at our own work as superintendents and senior leaders. If we expect educators to rethink assessment, planning and feedback in an AI-rich world, then we must also examine the way we lead, communicate and make decisions.

The truth is that the same technology that can help a teacher personalize learning or a student write an essay can also help a superintendent analyze data, summarize reports or draft correspondence. AI is not only changing classrooms. It is changing the nature of leadership itself.

And yes, I am sure some superintendents might already be wondering if a chatbot could replace them at board meetings. But since I know my trustees often read this blog, I will not take the chance of testing that particular joke here.

The Question That Changes Everything

The OECD’s (Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development)  Education for Human Flourishing framework reminds us that our purpose in education is to equip people to lead meaningful and worthwhile lives, oriented toward the future. If that applies to students, it applies to our leadership too.

So whether it is 30 percent, 50 percent, or even 70 percent of what we currently do, the question becomes: What would we hand over to AI, and which tasks would we hold on to because they matter most?

What We Could Let Go Of

AI is already remarkably good at tasks that drain our time but not our meaning:

  • Drafting first versions of reports, memos and letters
  • Crunching and summarizing enrolment or survey data
  • Managing meeting notes, calendars, reminders and task lists
  • Building templates, presentations and standard job postings
  • Drafting policy or procedural documents for refinement

These are automation, not animation. They do not require empathy, judgment, or nuance, only accuracy and speed. That is AI’s strength.

What We Must Protect

What we must protect, deliberately, are the moments of human connection, purpose and complexity:

  • Sitting with a parent whose trust in the system has eroded
  • Listening deeply to a principal wrestling with burnout or vision
  • Reading the room in a board meeting and knowing what not to say
  • Inspiring staff to believe in something greater than their daily tasks
  • Recognizing a student’s spark when they realize someone believes in them

These are leadership moments: irreducible, unautomatable and profoundly essential.

Leading for Human Flourishing

The OECD highlights three human competencies that AI cannot fully replicate: adaptive problem-solving, ethical decision-making and aesthetic perception.

Adaptive problem-solving: When a community crisis hits and there is no playbook, whether a sudden school closure, a traumatic event, or a divided community, we respond with creativity born from experience and intuition.

Ethical decision-making: When budget cuts force impossible choices between programs, when we must balance individual needs against the collective good, when integrity demands the harder path, these moments require moral courage that no algorithm can calculate.

Aesthetic perception: Recognizing when a school’s culture shifts from compliance to inspiration, sensing the exact moment a resistant team begins to trust, and seeing beauty in a struggling student’s small victory. This is what makes leadership an art, not just a science.

AI can mimic these competencies, but it does not feel them. It may calculate empathy, but it cannot experience it or show it. As more of our routine tasks shift to AI, the invitation is clear: we reclaim the human half.

Creating a Culture of Yes

This is where AI becomes an enabler of possibility rather than a threat to purpose. When AI handles the bureaucratic “no” work, the forms, compliance checks and procedural barriers, we create space for the human “yes.”

Yes, I have time to visit your classroom.
Yes, let’s explore that innovative idea.
Yes, I can truly listen.

In a Culture of Yes, AI does not replace us. It liberates us to be more fully present for what matters. Every report AI drafts is a conversation we can have. Every dataset it analyzes is a relationship we can build. Every schedule it optimizes is a moment we can use to connect.

Getting Started

This is not about wholesale transformation tomorrow. It is about small experiments.

What one repetitive task could you delegate to AI this week? What human conversation would that free you to have?

Start simple:

Use AI to draft that routine memo, then spend the saved time walking the halls.

Let AI summarize survey data, then use your energy to discuss what it means with your team.

Have AI create the meeting agenda, then focus fully on reading the human dynamics in the room.

The goal is not efficiency for its own sake, but reclaiming time for what only we can do.

The Real Promise

The promise of AI in leadership is not efficiency, but rediscovery.

It is the chance to release ourselves from the burden of mechanical work and return to the heart of leadership: human connection, meaning and moral purpose.

Imagine walking into your office tomorrow knowing that the reports are drafted, the data analyzed and the calendar managed, all before your first coffee. Now you can spend your morning where it matters most: in classrooms, with people, making meaning.

Because in the end, the future of education will not belong to the most efficient systems. It will belong to the most human leaders, those who use every tool available to protect and amplify what makes us irreplaceably human.

A Question to End With

I wonder if my list looks like yours. What would you hand over to AI, and what would you hold tightly because it feels essentially human? I would be interested to hear how others are thinking about their human half.

 

 

The image at the top of this post was generated through AI.  Various AI tools were used as feedback helpers (for our students this post would be a Yellow assignment – see link to explanation chart) as I edited and refined my thinking

Posted in Change, Personalized Learning, Technology | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments »

Beyond the Score: Can AI Make Literacy Screeners More Human?

November 4, 2025 by cultureofyes

Across Canada, and in many other parts of the world, literacy screening is having a moment.

There is broad agreement that we need to be better at identifying students who may be at risk, and that we need to do this earlier. The push toward more consistent and universal literacy screeners makes a lot of sense: earlier identification leads to earlier intervention, and ultimately, better outcomes for kids.

But here’s the question that’s been nagging me: are we simply going to recycle the same kinds of screeners we have used for the last generation? Or can this be the moment to think differently about what screening could look like in an AI world?

What Screeners Do Well

Traditional screeners help us establish a baseline. They can tell us if a student is meeting expected benchmarks in areas like phonemic awareness, decoding, fluency and comprehension. They provide the data teachers need to take action.

The challenge is that screeners often leave a gap between assessment and action. A teacher receives a score and then has to translate that number into the “what’s next” for the student and their family. It’s useful, but not always immediate, personalized or engaging.

What AI Could Add

This is where I wonder if we are missing an opportunity. AI could allow us to rethink the very design of literacy screeners. Imagine if…

  • Texts were customized for cultural relevance. Instead of one-size-fits-all passages, AI could generate short reading texts tailored to the learner’s context, interests or community. A child on the North Shore might read about the Capilano River, while another in Surrey reads about the Pattullo Bridge reconstruction. For Indigenous learners, this could mean texts that reflect Indigenous ways of knowing and storytelling traditions, developed in partnership with local Nations. The text would still be controlled for vocabulary and difficulty, but it would feel more real and more personal.

  • Feedback was immediate and audience-specific. A student could receive a friendly message highlighting a win (“You read 80 words per minute—your smoothest word was ship”) and a tip for next time. Families could receive a plain-language summary with simple routines for home (“Read together for 10 minutes tonight; circle the words that start with sh”). Teachers could receive a strand-level profile with small-group suggestions, not just a number on a page.

  • Practice was built-in. Instead of waiting for the next lesson, a screener could instantly generate a few targeted practice items based on the patterns the student struggled with, turning assessment into a learning moment instantly.

What This Isn’t

To be clear, this isn’t about replacing teacher expertise or professional judgment. Teachers would still interpret results, make instructional decisions, and build the relationships that matter most.

And this isn’t about creating more data for data’s sake. It’s about making the data we already collect more immediately useful—for students, for families and for teachers.

Safeguards Matter

Of course, any AI use comes with important guardrails. Automated scores would need validation against human judgment, with teachers maintaining override authority. Generated texts would require review for accuracy, bias and cultural safety. Indigenous content, in particular, would need to be co-designed with local Nations and aligned with principles of data sovereignty, ensuring that AI tools serve rather than appropriate Indigenous knowledge.

Quality oversight would need to be built in from day one, with regular audits and continuous monitoring to prevent the kind of drift that could undermine both accuracy and equity.

A Narrow Window

Here’s what makes this moment unique: jurisdictions are investing in new screening initiatives right now. We have a narrow window to influence how these tools are designed. If we don’t explore these possibilities now, we risk locking in approaches that simply digitize yesterday’s thinking.

I am not a literacy expert. But as someone who has watched technology reshape almost every other part of our schools over the last two decades, I see a pattern. The organizations that thrive are the ones that ask not just “how can we do what we’ve always done, but faster?” but “what becomes possible now that wasn’t possible before?”

The Question We Should Be Asking

The push for literacy screening is the right one. The evidence on early identification and intervention is clear. But we also have a unique opportunity to do more than just import the same tools from the past.

What if, instead of only identifying students who need help, our screeners could also immediately provide that help?

What if they could engage families in ways that feel supportive rather than clinical?

What if they could give teachers not just data, but insight?

AI won’t replace the expertise of our teachers or the relationships that matter most. But it might make our tools more immediate, more relevant and more effective for every child.

The question isn’t whether we should innovate. The question is whether we will seize this moment to innovate thoughtfully—or let it pass by.

What new possibilities are you seeing in your corner of education? And how do we make sure we are not just replicating the past with shinier tools?

Thanks to West Vancouver District District Vice-Principal Mary Parackal who really pushed my thinking in creating this post around what might be possible with AI.

The image at the top of this post was generated through AI.  Various AI tools were used as feedback helpers (for our students this post would be a Yellow assignment – see link to explanation chart) as I edited and refined my thinking.

Posted in Assessment, Change, Personalized Learning | Tagged , , | Leave a Comment »

Baseball, the Blue Jays, and the Classroom

October 23, 2025 by cultureofyes

Tomorrow night, as the Blue Jays take the field for their first World Series game in 32 years, I find myself thinking about time, how it moves, how we mark it, and how certain moments seem to hold more than others.

As I write, The Mighty Rio Grande by the band This Will Destroy You plays in the background. It’s the same haunting track often used in baseball highlight reels, the one from Moneyball that rises and swells beneath the most emotional sports moments. Somehow, it feels right.

There’s something about baseball that just hits differently. It’s never just about the game in front of us, but about all the games that came before. 

Maybe it’s the numbers, the endless statistics that let us measure generations and compare legends. Maybe it’s the pace, the slow burn of a game that unfolds in quiet moments between action. Or maybe it’s something deeper. Baseball holds a kind of memory that feels almost sacred.  It is the nostalgia made tangible, a way of reliving who we were through the game we watched and the people we shared it with. 

My first sports memory that really stuck was the 1981 Expos. I can still name their starting nine. I remember racing home at lunch to catch the end of the deciding game, and then the heartbreak as Rick Monday’s home run ended it all. Blue Monday. One of the most memorable days in Canadian baseball history, a unifying disappointment that every fan seemed to feel together.

I remember where I was for that one, just like I remember watching Joe Carter’s home run with my dad twelve years later. You don’t just remember the play; you remember the room, the people, the sound of your own voice shouting in disbelief. Baseball does that. It freezes a moment in time and lets us return to it, even decades later.

We love sports in our house, but none of our kids ever got into baseball. They found it too slow, painfully slow. Instead, they gravitated toward cheer, basketball, and track — sports with constant motion, immediate results, clear finish lines. I loved baseball growing up, but I get it. The game does feel too slow for our short-attention society. We are used to speed, to instant results, constant updates and highlights trimmed down to fifteen seconds. Baseball asks something different. It asks you to wait. To breathe. To notice.

And yet, as an educator, I see them learning the same lessons with my kids, just at a different tempo. The patience of perfecting a cheer routine through countless repetitions. The persistence of basketball practice. The slow accumulation of milliseconds shaved off a track time. The rhythm might be different, but the long game remains.

Monday night, when George Springer launched that three-run homer to send the Blue Jays past Seattle and into the World Series, Rogers Centre (I still just call it Skydome) erupted in a way we hadn’t heard in more than three decades. The excitement is infectious, sweeping through the community and the country. For those of us who grew up on the West Coast, Seattle and Toronto were our two favourite baseball teams. We would catch maybe one Jays game a week, but almost every Mariners game on local TV. Seeing those two cities battle for the pennant, knowing one had to lose, felt bittersweet and beautiful, like revisiting an old part of ourselves. The heartbreak for Seattle fans, the joy for Toronto. Both emotions familiar, both part of the game’s poetry.

Schools are a little like baseball that way. They are built on patience and presence. They reward those who keep showing up, even when the results take time. The best teachers, like the best players, understand that the season is long and the game cannot be rushed. There is a rhythm to learning that can’t be condensed into a clip or captured in a score.

Both baseball and teaching embody a culture of saying yes: yes to the slow moments between breakthroughs, yes to showing up when progress isn’t visible, yes to believing in potential that takes time to manifest. It’s saying yes to the process, not just the outcome.

We talk a lot these days about acceleration, about faster tools, quicker responses, and shorter attention spans. But maybe education, at its heart, is still about the long game. About showing up every day, doing the small things that no one notices, trusting that they will add up to something beautiful over time. About saying yes to patience when everything else demands speed.

When you are twenty and Canada’s team has just won back-to-back championships, you believe it will happen again soon. You can’t imagine that suddenly you’ll be fifty-two, that three decades will have slipped by, that you will have lived an entire life in the space between World Series appearances. The wait itself becomes a teacher. And now, caught up in the excitement that’s gripping the country, you realize how much these moments matter precisely because they are so rare.

As the Blue Jays prepare to face the defending champion Dodgers, I find myself thinking not just about the scoreboard but about that sound, the crack of the bat, the swell of the crowd, the quiet connection between father and son, teacher and student, one generation and the next.

Maybe that’s what baseball and teaching really share. They both remind us that the moments that matter most rarely happen fast. They both ask us to say yes to the waiting, to the watching, to the faithful belief that something magical might happen if we just stay present.

And maybe that’s the real lesson, that in a world obsessed with the next big thing, there’s still magic in the slow game, in the steady, human work of showing up, staying hopeful, and believing that meaning often reveals itself only when we give it time.

Over the next week, a new generation of fans will create their own frozen moments. Somewhere, a parent and child will watch together, and thirty years from now, that child will remember not just the game, but the feeling of being there, present, connected, saying yes to the slow unfolding of something larger than themselves.

Play ball.

 

 

The image at the top of this post was generated through AI.  Various AI tools were used as feedback helpers (for our students this post would be a Yellow assignment – see link to explanation chart) as I edited and refined my thinking.

Posted in Change | Tagged , , , , , , | 10 Comments »

Modeling AI for Authentic Writing

October 9, 2025 by cultureofyes

How I draft, edit, and stay human in the loop

For years I believed my advantage was “writing.” Lately I’ve realized the real edge was not keystrokes, it was ideas, structure, and voice. AI has not erased those. If anything, it has made them more important. Rather than pretend we are still in a pen and paper world, I have been trying to model what authentic writing looks like now.

We do not protect writing by banning the tools everyone already has. We protect writing by showing what thoughtful use looks like, and by being transparent about our process.

What I am hearing, especially in humanities

Last week, a high school English teacher stopped me. “I can tell when something has been AI generated,” he said, “but I cannot tell when they have collaborated with it thoughtfully. And I do not know what to do with that.”

He is not alone. Across our humanities departments, teachers are working on the fly, trying to maintain academic integrity while recognizing that the old gatekeeping moves, ban the tool and police the draft, do not hold when every student has ChatGPT in their pocket. The fear is real. Are we farming out the exact skills we are supposed to be teaching?

I do not think the answer is choosing between integrity and innovation. It is redefining what integrity looks like when the tools have changed.

How I actually write

I still start the old fashioned way, an outline, a thesis, a few proof points, and usually one sentence I think could be the closer. From there, I treat AI like a colleague, not a ghostwriter.

  • Editing help. I ask for a clarity pass, tighten verbs, fix hedging, and check whether my headings are parallel. Here is what I actually typed for this piece: “Revise for clarity and concision. Keep a conversational, hopeful tone similar to my other blog posts. Offer two options for the opening sentence.” I kept one, rejected the other, and moved on.

  • Skeptic check. “What would a fair skeptic say after reading this” It surfaces blind spots before I hit publish.

  • Reports and formatting. For formal documents, I use AI to turn tables into charts, crunch numbers, and reshape dense text into something readable.

  • Speeches. I keep a base grad speech and add school specific stories and names. AI helps blend those elements while keeping the message consistent.

None of this replaces judgment. I accept or reject every change. If a suggestion dulls my voice, it is out. That is the standard. My judgment stays in control. I also disclose what I did, every time. A short note at the end of a post goes a long way with our community and models the behavior we ask of students.

What I encourage for classrooms and staff rooms

The most helpful shift has been moving from “Do not use AI” to “Show your decisions.”

  • Model, then mirror. I demo my messy paragraph, ask AI for a clarity edit, then accept or reject in real time while explaining why. Students should bring their draft, try the same process, and compare choices.

  • Assess the thinking. Rubrics weight claims, evidence, organization, and audience impact, not who placed the comma.

  • Make the process visible. Version histories in Docs or Word, plus brief process notes that list tools used, prompts asked, and choices made, make learning visible and deter abdication of thinking.

  • Cite the workflow. Not to catch people out, but to name steps we can teach.

Guardrails that keep the work honest

  • No blank page outsourcing. Start with your outline, thesis, or key points.

  • Ask precise questions. “Cut 10 percent without losing meaning. Keep my conversational tone.”

  • Verify facts. If AI offers a claim, check it before it lands in public.

  • Always disclose. If a tool shaped meaning or form, say how.

Is this just cheating with better branding

I have never believed collaboration was cheating. When I wrote a newspaper column, my dad, a retired English teacher, was my unofficial copy desk. He proofread, edited, and offered suggestions on every draft. The byline was still mine because the ideas, voice, and final choices were mine.

Tricia Buckley, and before her Sharon Pierce and Deb Podurgiel, all staff in West Vancouver Schools, have read every blog post here before they were published and provided feedback.

AI sits in that same category for me, a helper, not a ghostwriter, and always subject to human judgment. What changed with AI is speed, scale, and availability. I can get feedback at 11 p.m., run ten drafts in twenty minutes, and the tool is always on. What did not change is my judgment, my responsibility for choices and my name on the work.

If the goal is proving you can type unaided, then yes, tools muddy the waters. Our goal in schools is thinking for real audiences. We have always used supports, outlines, spellcheckers, style guides, writing partners, rubrics and colleagues. The standard should be integrity and evidence of learning, not tool abstinence.

Equity

AI is a ramp, not a shortcut.

It helps stuck writers get moving, the student staring at a blank page who needs a sentence to react to, or the English language learner who can articulate ideas verbally but struggles with syntax. AI can generate that first sentence, and suddenly the student has something to revise, reject, or build on. For strong writers, it is a way to go deeper, test alternate structures, get a skeptic to read, or polish a conclusion without losing momentum.

The equity move is not banning tools for everyone. It is teaching how to use them responsibly, and ensuring access to good instruction is not the new dividing line. When we teach tool literacy, we level up. When we ban tools students already have, we make the learning invisible.

Prompts that actually help

  • Clarity pass: “Revise for clarity and concision. Keep a conversational, hopeful tone. Offer two options for the opening sentence.”

  • Skeptic lens: “List the strongest fair minded critiques of this piece and one concrete improvement for each.”

  • Structure check: “Are these headings parallel? Tell me how to fix them without changing the ideas.”

  • Audience flip: “Rewrite the conclusion as guidance to parents in about 120 words.”

  • Report polish: “Turn this table into three plain language insights and a simple chart title. Flag any numbers that look inconsistent.”

What I tell our community

  • We are pro-writing and pro-truth. We will use modern tools and we will say when we did.

  • We value voice. Your voice should be recognizable across drafts and tools.

  • We lead with learning. If a tool helps learning, we will teach it. If it replaces thinking, we will not.

If you want more

Last week I facilitated a Hot Topic discussion, “The Future of Writing in an AI World,” at the Canadian K12 School Leadership Summit on Generative AI. 

North Star

I can spend my time lamenting that writing once felt like my competitive edge, or I can double down on the edge that still matters, clear thinking, vivid stories and the courage to be transparent about how we work. That is the blended human and AI writing world I want to model for students and staff.

The teacher who stopped me in the hallway was right to be uncertain. We are all figuring this out in real time. I would rather figure it out in the open, and model a messy and honest process, than pretend the tools do not exist.

AI transparency note: I drafted this post myself, then used ChatGPT and Claude for a clarity edit and a skeptic read. I accepted some wording suggestions and rejected others to preserve voice. The image at the top of the post was created through a series of prompts using Claude.

 
 

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Posted in Change, SD45, Technology | Tagged , , , , | 4 Comments »

When Mentors Become Memories

October 3, 2025 by cultureofyes

Published on World Teachers’ Day

At 22, I thought I knew what teaching would be like. I had studied pedagogy, completed practicums, and felt ready to change the world one classroom at a time. What I had not anticipated was how much the people around me would change me first.

I was often the youngest person in the staff room by a decade or more. While my peers from university were figuring out their careers alongside people their own age, I was learning from colleagues who had children older than me. It was not a disadvantage. It was a gift I am only now beginning to fully understand.

I became a teacher at 22, a principal at 29 and a superintendent at 36. Moving through positions early meant my professional circles were often made up of people 10 to 20 years older than me. As a young teacher, my closest colleagues were in their 30s and 40s. As a young principal, I looked to mentors in their 40s and 50s. And as a young superintendent, I built friendships with leaders in their 50s and 60s. These people, so many of them, are among the most important influences in my life.

And now, here comes the cruelty of age. My mentors retire. They slow down. They get sick. Too many of them die.

This is, of course, part of life. It happens in all professions, not just ours. But at almost 52, I feel it more acutely. Those I looked up to, those I built my professional world around, are now mostly in their 60s, 70s and beyond. The losses are sharper. The silences more noticeable.

I am fortunate to have incredible colleagues now, including our current senior team in West Vancouver. They inspire me every day and make the work deeply fulfilling. Yet I also find myself often thinking of those who came before me. I miss them dearly.

And this is where I find hope. Just as I was shaped by those ahead of me, I now find myself in the position to be that colleague and mentor for others. The cycle continues. While I grieve the loss of those who guided me, I also take comfort in knowing their influence lives on in the way I lead and support others.

There is something profound about realizing you have become the person others look to for guidance. Not because you have figured everything out, but because you carry the wisdom of those who came before you. Their voices still echo in the decisions I make, the advice I give and the way I approach both triumph and crisis.

I think about the young educators in our district now, many of them closer in age to my four kids than to me. When they seek advice or simply need someone to listen, I hear my old mentors speaking through me. Their patience, their perspective their quiet confidence in the face of uncertainty—all of it lives on.

This is how we honour the people who shaped us. Not through monuments or memorials, but by becoming worthy of the investment they made in us. And perhaps, if we are lucky, by being worth the investment that someone younger is willing to make in learning from us.

The circle does not break. It just keeps getting wider.

On this World Teachers’ Day, I am reminded that the greatest legacy of teaching is not what we accomplish alone, but how we live on in those who follow us.

And one more link – this post highlights some of my favourite World Teachers’ Day posts from previous years.  

The image at the top of this post was generated through AI.  Various AI tools were used as feedback helpers (for our students this post would be a Yellow assignment – see link to explanation chart) as I edited and refined my thinking.

Posted in Change | Tagged , , | 5 Comments »

The Attention Crisis That Might Not Be

September 24, 2025 by cultureofyes

Like many of you, I’ve been saying it for years:

We are more distracted than ever.

And most days, I still believe it.

I’ve felt it myself, scrolling instead of reading, checking my phone when I meant to be present, struggling to sustain focus on the kind of deep work that once came easily. I even poked fun at myself recently in a post about the rare event of finishing a book from start to finish (read that one here). And last year, I wrote about The Anxious Generation (read here), where I shared my own growing unease around technology and attention. That unease felt and still feels very real.

But  I recently listened to historian Daniel Immerwahr on ReThinking with Adam Grant (podcast transcript here), and it nudged my thinking in a new direction.

Immerwahr’s voice on the podcast was measured, as he challenged what feels like common sense. In his article, What If the Attention Crisis Is a Distraction?, he doesn’t deny that something has changed. But he questions whether our capacity to pay attention is actually shrinking.

His thesis? What we’re experiencing isn’t so much an attention crisis as an attention transition, a shift in what we pay attention to, not a collapse in our ability to focus.

As I listened, I thought about every school district meeting where we have discussed “student attention spans,” every workshop on “managing digital distractions.” Immerwahr’s historical perspective was both humbling and illuminating. Each generation, he explained, has had its own attention-based moral crisis. Long novels like War and Peace, now seen as the gold standard of deep focus, were once criticized for pulling readers away from “serious” pursuits. Even the in-home piano was considered a threat to literacy. The through-line wasn’t the technology itself, but our recurring anxiety about it.

“The age of distraction,” Immerwahr reminded listeners, “is also the age of obsession.”

That phrase challenges my beliefs. Because if our students are still capable of obsession—if they’re investing hours into Minecraft builds, anime story arcs, K-pop lore, or long-form YouTube video essays, then maybe our job as educators isn’t to fix their attention spans, but to better understand their motivations.

Maybe we need to stop asking, “Why can’t they focus?”
And start asking, “What are they choosing to focus on and why?”

Immerwahr’s framework challenged how I think about what I see in classrooms. When he talked about each era inventing its own “attention villains,” from novels to comic books to television to smartphones, I couldn’t help but reflect on how we have positioned technology in schools. We often treat student distraction as a deficit, something to be minimized or managed. We build rules around device use, worry about TikTok trends and lament that students won’t engage in “deep work.” But what if we are repeating the same historical pattern mistaking change for decline?

This reframe aligns with what many of us observe daily:

A student who zones out during a worksheet lights up during a design challenge.

A teen who “won’t read” a novel devours fan fiction late into the night.

A class that seems scattered in one setting becomes intensely focused in another.

Are these attention issues or attention mismatches?

Immerwahr’s perspective pushes us to think historically and humanely. He urges us to be cautious before declaring crises, reminding us that many past panics now look, in hindsight, a little overblown. That doesn’t mean our concerns aren’t valid. But it does mean we might benefit from approaching them with more perspective—and less panic.

This historical lens matters deeply in K–12 education. Because when we believe attention is disappearing, we tend to narrow learning: shorter tasks, simpler texts, more control. But if we believe attention is evolving, we can instead broaden learning: tap into student interests, create room for choice and voice, and build bridges between traditional and digital literacies.

I’m not suggesting we stop teaching focus. The ability to sustain attention, to read deeply, think critically, and sit with a problem, remains essential. But perhaps our traditional signals of engagement (a quiet room, a student holding a novel) no longer tell the full story. And if we cling too tightly to old definitions, we risk misreading what’s actually happening in classrooms.

So yes, I still worry about distraction.

Yes, I still believe in the power of silence, of getting lost in a book, of unplugged time to think.

But no, I no longer quick to agree we are in free fall.

We are not attention-starved. We’re attention-splintered.
And that’s not a crisis, it’s a challenge.

It invites us as educators, leaders and learners to design learning that earns attention, not demands it. To meet students where they are, and guide them toward where they can go. To remember that our job isn’t just to manage attention but to inspire it.


The image at the top of this post was generated through AI.  Various AI tools were used as feedback helpers (for our students this post would be a Yellow assignment – see link to explanation chart) as I edited and refined my thinking.

Posted in Book Club, Change, Technology | Tagged , | 2 Comments »

The World Was Flat, But…

September 16, 2025 by cultureofyes


More than 20 years ago, I was principal at Riverside Secondary in Port Coquitlam. One of the rhythms of that time was our Wednesday morning study group. It was a structure I brought with me from my mentor, Gail Sumanik, and it quickly became part of the culture. Each week, before the day got underway, an informal group of us would gather for coffee, donuts and conversation. We read books.  Not always books about education, but always ones that got us thinking. They gave us a reason to slow down and talk about the work, the world and where things might be heading.

It was a simple ritual that helped us build connection, both professional and personal. It was a small community of curious people making space for big ideas.

One of the books we read was The World Is Flat by Thomas Friedman, published in 2005. At the time, it felt like a wake-up call. The central idea, that globalization and technology were flattening the world, was provocative and timely. We talked about what it might mean for education if, for example, the person taking your drive-thru order at McDonald’s was actually sitting in Bangalore, India. If work could be done from anywhere, shouldn’t learning evolve in the same way?

For us, The World Is Flat became a kind of roadmap for a hyper-connected, technology-driven future. We imagined students collaborating across continents, learning personalized through intelligent systems, and schools adapting to a rapidly changing, decentralized world.

Now, two decades later, I find myself thinking back to those Wednesday mornings. While Friedman imagined a world where geography would no longer matter, K–12 education has remained largely rooted in place. Our systems still rely on physical buildings, in-person relationships, and a pace of change far slower than the forces transforming business and industry.

Yes, there have been shifts, especially during the pandemic and since. Tools like video conferencing, AI tutors, and global collaboration projects have found a place in our schools. But the core structures of schooling still feel more analog than digital, more local than global. And for good reason. Schools are not just knowledge delivery systems. They are social, emotional, and cultural ecosystems where human development happens in all its messy complexity.

There is also another force at play that Friedman didn’t fully anticipate. Over the past decade, education in both K-12 and universities has become a focal point in the culture wars that have swept across North America. From debates over curriculum content to battles over which voices and perspectives belong in classrooms, schools have become highly contested spaces. In the United States, these issues have dominated headlines. In Canada, we have experienced some less intense but similar tensions.

These conflicts highlight a deeper truth. The reason education hasn’t “flattened” in the way other sectors have isn’t just about logistics or technology. It’s about values. It’s about identity. When communities are deeply divided over what children should learn and how they should learn it, the idea of borderless, globally standardized education doesn’t feel innovative. It feels threatening.

Friedman wasn’t wrong. Many of his predictions were accurate. But the application of those ideas to public education has been far more complicated than any of us imagined. Technology has made global connection possible. But local politics and cultural identity continue to shape what happens in classrooms.

This raises important questions. How global is our curriculum when communities are fighting to keep certain perspectives out? Are we preparing students to thrive in a borderless economy when education itself has become a site of border-drawing? Can we teach students to collaborate with peers halfway around the world when we can’t agree on what they should be learning across the hallway?

Maybe The World Is Flat wasn’t meant to be a blueprint. Maybe it was a provocation. A starting point. A challenge to think differently about the role of schools in a connected world—a world that would turn out to be far more complex, and far more contested, than we imagined.

Two decades later, we are still answering that challenge. The world may have flattened in many ways. But education remains deeply local, deeply human and unavoidably political.

Those Wednesday morning conversations feel more relevant than ever. Not because we found the answers, but because we learned to ask better questions.

Posted in Book Club, Change, Technology | Tagged , , , | 3 Comments »

When Gambling Starts to Look Like Camel Ads

September 8, 2025 by cultureofyes

You can’t watch sports these days without being hit by gambling ads. They are everywhere, plastered across hockey broadcasts, embedded in pre-game shows, sliding into social media feeds. And they’re not just ads; they are slick, fun and social, often fronted by relatable celebrities touting the thrill of gambling. It’s hard not to be reminded of those old Camel cigarette campaigns: technically “for adults only,” but with a wink and a smile, kids got the message all the same.

This past week, the McCreary Centre Society released From Loot Boxes to Lottery Tickets: Gaming & Gambling among BC Youth aged 12–18. The report draws on surveys from more than 38,000 students across the province, and the findings are striking. One in five youth reported gambling for money in the past year, up from 18% in 2018. Online sports betting, while still less common overall, has doubled since 2018 (4% compared to 2%) and is now the gambling activity young people are most likely to engage in regularly. The most popular monetized activity, however, wasn’t betting at all but buying in-game items like loot boxes, something 20% of youth had done. And 12% of youth said their gaming had reached a point where they needed help. For gambling, that number was 1%, with another 1% saying both had become problematic.

In the United States, the story is similar but amplified: studies suggest that up to 60–80% of high school students have gambled in the past year, with problem gambling rates among young men and college students significantly higher than the general population.

What is striking is how these activities overlap and reinforce each other. While the survey doesn’t track individuals across categories, the fact that both loot boxes and gambling each draw in 20% of youth suggests a generation being gradually acclimated to risk-based spending, first through the games they play, and then through the sports they watch.

The report also highlights the ripple effects: poorer sleep, disrupted eating and reduced school attendance. The risk factors look familiar, poverty, loneliness, bullying and a lack of close in-person friendships. The protective factors do too: adult support, healthy boundaries around screen use and strong connections to school and community.

Earlier this year, my colleague and friend Dean Shareski asked in his blog, When Will We Talk About Sports Gambling in Schools? He pointed out what feels obvious once you see it: gambling is no longer tucked away in casinos or shady corners of the internet. It has been woven directly into the sports culture that so many young people love. The Vancouver Sun recently echoed the same concern, noting that online betting is driving a new wave of youth addiction risk.

Educators don’t need another health and well-being issue to worry about. But this one is particularly tricky. Gambling doesn’t leave bottles in lockers or the smell of smoke on clothes. It is silent, digital and invisible, until it is not.

We can’t solve this alone, but we can’t ignore it either. If preparing students for the world they are growing up in means anything, it means naming the risks hiding in plain sight. Gambling isn’t just an “adult issue.” It is already in kids’ worlds, delivered through the games they play, the sports they watch, and the phones in their pockets.

The question is not if we should talk about it. The question is when. And perhaps the answer is sooner than we think, not as a crisis intervention, but as part of the conversations we are already having about digital citizenship, media literacy, and making informed choices in an increasingly complex world.

The image at the top of this post was generated through AI.  Various AI tools were used as feedback helpers (for our students this post would be a Yellow assignment – see link to explanation chart) as I edited and refined my thinking.

Posted in Change, Health | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments »

Reimagining Learning in the Age of AI: A Culture of Yes

August 18, 2025 by cultureofyes

I recently gave a virtual talk on AI in schools which forced me to solidify my current thinking and I tried to make some direct linkages to the Culture of Yes belief. I have included the video at the bottom, and this post is an adaption of the talk:

This summer, AI in education has gone from a quiet undercurrent to a headline wave. Major corporations have announced new AI powered tools for classrooms. Governments, particularly in the United States, have released statements, strategies, and funding commitments to “prepare schools for the AI era.” There is a growing sense, both excitement and urgency, that this technology will profoundly reshape learning.

As we head into the fall, the question for me is not whether AI will change education. It already has. The real question is: Will we guide this change with wisdom, or will it guide us?

Where We Are:

We are in a moment of intense attention and investment. For the first time in history, students have instant access to a form of intelligence that can write, create, and problem solve alongside them. The conversation has shifted from “Should AI be in schools?” to “How do we use it well?”

The opportunities are extraordinary, and so are the risks. In our rush to adopt tools, we can easily mistake activity for progress. AI is not a magic box. It reflects the data and the biases we feed it. Without careful integration, we risk amplifying inequities instead of closing them.

At the same time, teachers are navigating new pressures: learning unfamiliar tools while managing existing workloads, and working with students who arrive with vastly different levels of AI experience and access.

What I Hope:

In West Vancouver, our innovation priorities are as bold as they are deliberate: AI and physical literacy. Together, they reflect our belief that the future belongs to students who are digitally fluent, physically confident and deeply human.

My hope for AI is that it:

Amplifies human wisdom rather than replacing human intelligence.

Delivers personalized learning that has long been promised but rarely achieved.

Serves as a force for equity, not by assuming all students need the same thing, but by providing each student with the individualized support they need, regardless of their school’s resources or their family’s circumstances.

Frees up teachers’ time for what matters most: relationships, mentorship and inspiration.

In a Culture of Yes, we approach these possibilities with openness while remaining thoughtful about implementation.

What We Need to Do:

Focus on the Shift: From Memory to Meaning

For over a century, schools rewarded students who could store and retrieve information. AI changes that rote memorization game. We must now prioritize what students do with the knowledge — how they apply it, question it, and create from it.

Equip Students as Creators, Not Just Consumers

In a Culture of Yes, we say yes to new possibilities while maintaining academic integrity. AI becomes a collaborator for composing music, designing solutions to local challenges and exploring ethical dilemmas we have never faced before, not a replacement for student thinking.
Imagine a Grade 9 student co writing a play with AI, then performing it with peers, learning as much about collaboration and creativity as they do about technology.

Develop New Literacies

AI literacy is more than knowing how to use a tool. It is the ability to:

Prompt effectively and creatively.

Evaluate outputs for accuracy and bias.

Reflect on whether AI use aligns with human goals and values, and recognize when not to use it.

Understand the difference between AI assistance and AI dependence.

Lead Through Diffusion, Not Mandate

A Culture of Yes means saying yes to teacher curiosity and experimentation. The best AI integration spreads from teacher to teacher, classroom to classroom, through shared practice and professional learning, not top down directives that ignore classroom realities.  When your colleague in the classroom next to you has something exciting to share, you are keen to listen to them. 

Keep Humanity at the Core

AI can provide information, but only people provide inspiration. AI can offer feedback, but only people offer hope. We must ensure that every learning experience remains fundamentally about human connection and growth.

Looking Ahead

The age of AI is not coming, it is here. As educators, leaders, and communities, we face a choice that will shape the next generation’s relationship with both technology and learning itself.

A Culture of Yes means we choose:

Curiosity over fear

Collaboration over competition

Wisdom over efficiency

Human potential over technological convenience

If we embrace this approach, saying yes to AI’s possibilities while saying yes to our students’ humanity, we will not just reimagine learning. We will create classrooms where technology serves human flourishing, where every student can thrive, and where the future we are building together reflects our highest aspirations for education.

The conversation about AI in education is just beginning. As we step into this new school year, I invite you to share your hopes, your experiments, and your questions. We learn best when we learn together.

 

Various AI tools were used as feedback helpers (for our students this post would be a Yellow assignment – see link to explanation chart) as I edited and refined my thinking.

Posted in Change, Technology | Tagged , , , | 7 Comments »

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