A few days ago, I spent nearly an hour on the phone with a former student I had more than twenty-five years ago. During our conversation, he shared something that caught me off guard. He and his friends still tell stories about their teachers and coaches; stories about the moments that shaped them, challenged them, and helped them see themselves differently.
As we talked, I reminded him of things he had accomplished that he had almost forgotten: his discipline in the classroom, the leadership he showed with teammates, and the determination he brought to difficult moments. He was a champion on and off the field. Listening to him reflect on those memories reminded me of something every educator should consider:
Schools tell stories about students every day.
Some stories inspire belief. Others limit possibility. Either way, those stories shape how students see themselves and how others see them too.
That conversation stayed with me when I recently met with a group of five students participating in an action research project through a state university. When we first sat down together, they were frustrated. They felt like their project lacked direction and weren’t sure how to move forward. As we talked through their work, however, a different story began to emerge. Their project didn’t lack purpose; it reflected perseverance. These students were trying to solve real problems for their classmates, and their willingness to keep working through uncertainty said more about their character than any polished presentation ever could.
By the end of our conversation, the students hadn’t completely redesigned their project. They simply adjusted their approach and walked away with renewed clarity. What changed most wasn’t the project itself, but the narrative surrounding it.
Too often, educators unintentionally fall into deficit narratives. Phrases like “these kids just don’t care” or “they lack motivation” surface in moments of frustration. While those comments may reflect real challenges, they can also quietly shape expectations and beliefs about what students are capable of becoming. When those narratives take hold, struggle begins to define identity.
Changing the story does not mean ignoring reality. Students face real obstacles, and schools work through complex challenges every day. However, telling strength-based stories ensures that struggle does not become the final chapter. It allows us to recognize perseverance, growth, creativity, and leadership that might otherwise go unnoticed.
Years ago, the rise of social media and other digital tools gave schools new ways to share student accomplishments in real time. Educators began posting photos of robotics competitions, performances, service projects, and classroom achievements. These moments helped reshape the public narrative about schools by showing what students were capable of accomplishing every day. In many ways, those stories reminded communities that schools are places of opportunity, growth, and possibility.
In today’s climate, when public trust in institutions often feels fragile, the stories we tell about students matter more than ever. Schools are often criticized during difficult social or economic moments, and those criticisms can overshadow the incredible work happening in classrooms, labs, gyms, and studios across the country.
That’s why educators must be intentional about the narratives we share.
Every school has students whose stories reflect resilience, curiosity, kindness, and determination. These stories don’t deny the challenges students face; they highlight the strengths students bring with them. When we tell those stories, whether in conversations with colleagues, families, or community members, we reinforce a simple but powerful belief: our students are capable of more than the labels sometimes placed on them.
The question for us is simple:
What stories are we telling about our students?
Because those stories have a way of lasting much longer than we might imagine.
#CTE
Three Stories That Remind Us Why We Teach
By the time winter break arrives, many educators aren’t just tired, but they’re carrying things. Heavy decisions. Hard conversations. Students we can’t stop worrying about, colleagues we want to reach but don’t quite know how.
This season invites rest, but it also invites remembering.
Stories matter because they reconnect us to purpose without pretending the work is easy. They remind us that meaning is often found not in the outcomes we measure, but in the people we continue to show up for. Here are three stories that continue to remind me why teaching and leading in schools still matter deeply, even in the hardest seasons.
Story One: “Every Kid Needs a Champion”
Years ago, I watched Rita Pierson deliver her now-iconic TED Talk, Every Kid Needs a Champion. I’ve revisited it many times since, and it still tugs at my heart.
Her message wasn’t about instructional strategies or school improvement plans. It was about belief. About adults choosing to stand in the gap for students, even when those students push back, shut down, or test every boundary. Her talk reminded me of a student I met in his freshman year of high school.
About twenty-three years ago, a young man stopped by my office and was pretty distraught. I was his ninth-grade Global Studies teacher, and then I became his assistant principal. I had a strong relationship with him and his family. His mom also called me to let me know he might stop by because “things are pretty bad.” So, I wasn’t surprised by his visit, but I was surprised by what he shared.
He was done: done with school, done with home, done with everything. We talked for about half an hour, and he seemed to feel better, but when he left my office, he didn’t return to class; he left the building…
I called his mom to let her know how our conversation went, and she told me she’d let me know if he shows up. A few minutes later, she called to let me know he was home.
Thankfully, he returned to school the next day and finished the year. Before summer break, he gave me a handwritten note thanking me for taking the time to listen. In that note, he shared that he had considered harming himself and that our conversation helped him see things just a little differently.
Stories like this remind me that we may never fully understand the impact of a single conversation, but students remember who showed up when it mattered most.
Years later, on April 6, 2024, I ran into his parents at Home Depot. They shared incredible news: their son was thriving and nearly finished with his doctoral studies. We shared a long hug and a few tears!
Story Two: The Student Who Didn’t Give Up
A couple of years ago, I watched a student in one of our Career-Technical Education programs struggle academically, behaviorally, and emotionally. The CTE lab instructor tried everything to help this young man: tough love, coaching, peer mentoring, parental involvement, you name it. To say he was frustrated with this student is an understatement.
However, instead of labeling the student, he chose persistence.
He didn’t lower expectations; he increased support. He created notecards to help him learn parts. He asked the student to come to the lab during study hall for additional help. He allowed a couple of test retakes after some further review sessions, and he partnered with an Intervention Specialist to learn about other accommodations.
The young man drove a beater of a car that needed a lot of work. The instructor helped him fix his car, which reinforced the skills he was trying to teach him, and he helped him land a job in his chosen industry. Months later, he graduated from his school and earned an industry credential, which helped him get a promotion.
What stood out most wasn’t just the outcome, but the educator’s refusal to separate skill-building from dignity.
Story Three: Choosing Connection When Convenience Would Be Easier
This story isn’t about students, it’s about adults.
One of my executive team leaders consistently chooses conversation over avoidance, growth over comfort, and trust over tension. Whether addressing curriculum concerns, procedural challenges, or personnel issues, her approach is steady: listen to learn, seek the back story, and collaborate toward solutions.
When she first arrived in our district, she heard many negative comments about our application process, which was pretty new. Since it fell under her supervision, she met with those who had concerns, met with members of our Business Advisory Council, and gathered feedback from our building leaders. After months of information gathering, we created a new application process that was much more widely accepted and, most importantly, better for students.
Because of her approach, difficult conversations that could have fractured trust instead became opportunities for alignment and growth.
As you head into break, give yourself permission to rest. Disconnect where you can. Refill what the semester has drained. When you return, recommit to one student or one colleague you’ve been struggling to reach.
Rest now. Then carry one name with you, and begin again.
Wishing you and your family a Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and a Happy New Year.
Be Great,
Dwight
Three Ways to Talk About Representation Without Losing Your Audience
After my post in October, The Power of Representation: Why CTE Needs More Black Male Leaders, several colleagues reached out with a question:
“How do we talk about representation in our current political and cultural climate?”
It’s a fair question, and a necessary one. Representation is an important conversation, but how we talk about it often determines whether people lean in or tune out.
If we want to create schools and workplaces where everyone feels seen, valued, and supported, we must engage hearts before habits. Here are three strategies to help you keep the conversation productive and inclusive.
Start With Shared Values, Not Statistics
When conversations begin with data or disparities, some listeners feel defensive or fatigued before they even hear the heart of the message. Instead, start by grounding the discussion in shared goals: trust, belonging, and student success. Respond with something like, “We all want students to feel seen and supported. Representation is one of the ways we help make that happen.”
This reframing moves the focus from difference to connection. It helps colleagues see that talking about representation isn’t a political issue, but a professional one rooted in care and belonging.
In my district, we’ve had several cohorts over the last few years to discuss this topic and related topics, which have fostered greater understanding, openness, and a change in mindset among some participants.
Use Stories That Humanize, Not Generalize
Stories build bridges faster than statistics. Sharing a real moment, like when a student said, “I’ve never had a teacher who looks like me before,” or when you noticed a colleague light up after being recognized, reminds people that representation is personal, not theoretical. Human stories invite empathy and lower defenses. They transform abstract ideas into human impact. Representation isn’t about who’s in charge, it’s about what students see as possible.
Extend Curiosity Instead of Correction
When someone says, “I don’t see color,” resist the urge to correct immediately. Instead, get curious: “That’s interesting, can you tell me what that means to you?”
That question opens a door instead of closing one. Most people mean they value fairness or equality. You can affirm that intention and gently expand it:
“I love that you want all students treated fairly. I’ve found that recognizing our differences actually helps us do that more effectively.”
Curiosity communicates respect. It keeps dialogue alive long enough for reflection and growth to happen.
Final Thought and Challenge
Representation conversations don’t have to divide, but they can deepen understanding when led with empathy, clarity, and courage. We can’t change minds by silencing voices. We change them by listening, connecting, and telling better stories.
This month, talk with one colleague about why representation matters, and focus on what you both value for your students. Because progress begins with one respectful, honest conversation at a time.
Be Great,
Dwight
The Power of Representation: Why CTE Needs More Black Male Leaders
Black male educators represent just 1.3% of all educators nationwide, according to 2023 data from USAFacts. In Career-Tech Education (CTE), that number is even smaller. When students walk into our schools and labs, they’re not just learning skills; they’re looking for reflections of what’s possible. Representation matters, especially in CTE, where pathways to meaningful careers are being defined every day. Yet, too often, our leadership ranks don’t mirror the diversity of our classrooms.
As a Black male leader new in CTE, I’ve seen firsthand how visibility changes the conversation. When young men and women of color see someone who looks like them leading, teaching, or advocating, it reshapes what they believe is achievable. It says, “You belong here, and you can lead too.”
Representation isn’t just about optics; it’s about outcomes. Diverse leadership broadens perspective, builds trust, and drives innovation. It creates psychologically safe spaces for students and staff to bring their authentic selves to work and learning. When leadership teams reflect the communities they serve, students experience a stronger sense of belonging, and belonging fuels engagement, effort, and success.
Seeing and valuing diversity isn’t about division; it’s about ensuring every student feels visible, supported, and valued. That’s what all great educators want; for every learner to know they belong and can thrive. Representation strengthens culture the same way good instruction strengthens learning, it meets people where they are. The impact goes beyond students. Representation among educators and administrators influences hiring, curriculum design, disciplinary practices, and professional culture. It ensures more voices are at the table when decisions are made about equity, access, and opportunity.
I’ve attended local, state, and national education conferences for decades, and one of the first things I do is look for people who look like me. And when we make eye contact from across the room, we acknowledge one another with a head nod, and if we’re in proximity, we shake hands and introduce ourselves. This happens because representation is so rare. I became a CTE educator in 2019–2020 and started attending CTE-specific conferences. The representation is even less than at comprehensive education conferences. I often wonder why, and, more importantly, how we can expand representation in CTE leadership, not only in Ohio but nationwide.
Before we can expand representation, we must acknowledge the systemic obstacles that keep Black males from entering or advancing in CTE leadership. These include limited advancement pathways from industry to education, salary gaps that make leadership positions less attractive than industry roles, and workplace cultures that may feel unwelcoming or unsupportive. Additionally, factors such as socioeconomic background, geographic location, or being a first-generation college graduate can compound these barriers, making the path to leadership even more challenging.
So, how do we expand representation in CTE leadership?
Mentor and Sponsor Future Leaders
Leadership doesn’t happen by accident; it’s cultivated through support and exposure. I am thankful for the many mentors I encountered throughout my career who recognized my leadership potential and began guiding me toward formal leadership positions. Identify emerging educators of color and intentionally mentor them into leadership pathways.
Challenge the Narrative
Too often, we view CTE through a narrow lens as a “second choice” rather than a first opportunity. However, this lens has widened considerably over the last decade. As more diverse leaders step into these spaces, the story of CTE changes. Representation isn’t about who’s in charge, it’s about what students see as possible.
Recruit Beyond Comfort Zones
Seek candidates through affinity networks, historically Black colleges and universities (HBCUs), and community organizations. There is a rich history of CTE at HBCUs. Representation starts with intentional recruitment. Engage parents, community leaders, and industry partners as ambassadors who can help identify and encourage potential leaders.
Create Visible Leadership Moments
Representation isn’t only positional; it’s relational. Provide opportunities for staff and students of color to lead meetings, present at conferences, and represent their programs publicly.
Model Inclusive Leadership Daily
Representation alone isn’t enough. It must be paired with practices that honor every voice and perspective. Authenticity builds trust; trust builds culture.
Track Progress Meaningfully
Establish concrete metrics to measure success: track leadership pipeline development, monitor retention rates of educators of color, and survey staff about their sense of belonging. What gets measured gets improved.
Representation isn’t about filling quotas, it’s about fulfilling potential. Nor is it exclusionary. Because opportunities are open to Black male educators, it doesn’t mean those same opportunities are closed to others. It simply means expanding the candidate pool to be intentionally inclusive, something that historically has not been the case. Every student deserves to see themselves in the leaders guiding their education. Every educator deserves to feel they belong in the spaces where decisions are made.
When we make room for more Black male leaders in CTE, we don’t just diversify leadership, we expand what’s possible for everyone.
Who around you needs to see you lead, and who needs you to help them step forward next?
And one more reflection to consider:
Think about a time when you saw someone succeed who reminded you of yourself. What did that moment tell you about possibility?
Be Great,
Dwight