A Small Risk, a Real Shift
The lesson was about engine timing, but the phrase that stayed with me was, “catastrophic failure.” For reasons I did not fully understand at the time, hearing him say it made me think of A Day in the Life by the Beatles. Even for someone learning about engines, the idea of timing breaking down makes sense when you think about what happens when music slips out of tempo. Most people familiar with the Beatles recognize John Lennon and Paul McCartney as distinct voices who often wrote together. In A Day in the Life, that distiinction is easy to hear. The opening section, usually credited to Lennon, gives was to a brighter, faster passage associated with McCartney. Between the two is a brief moment where the song slips out of tempo, almost like a car shifting gears. The ending pushes this further, moving into a kind of deliberate disorder. In the recording, the musicians are guided out of sync on purpose, until the sound becomes dense and unsettled. It resolves in a long, sustained chord that slowly fades, holding everything in place. This year, I was fortunate to be included in a districtwide cohort of educators participating in Apple Learning Coach training. One thing I have realized through this work is that there are many tools within the Apple ecosystem that I have always assumed I could use if I needed to. What this experience reinforced, though, is how different it feels to learn those tools in the context of the work itself, especially when that work centers on supporting teachers and, ultimately, students. One of the aspects of the training that stood out to me was an assignment that invited us to create a short audio reflection, or a “podcast”, using GarageBand. What appealed to me about that assignment was how naturally it allowed for differentiation, both in the work product and in the learning process itself. Some learners make meaning by listening, particularly when they can return to ideas more than once. Others may find that recording their thinking aloud creates a clearer entry point than writing alone, or serves as a way to work through ideas before putting them on the page. I did not go into that pre-observation conversation with this idea in mind. It surfaced during our discussion, almost incidentally, and then gathered momentum as we talked it through. What felt especially meaningful was that the conversation did not end there. It carried into the classroom and later into a department discussion, where we returned to the connection between music and mechanics, between beats per minute and revolutions per minute, and continued thinking together about how timing functions across disciplines. In the lesson itself, the teacher did not rely on that analogy directly. Instead, he brought the idea of timing into the room as a way that felt accessible to students by using a music staff and familiar note values. Quarter notes, and whole notes appeared alongside the technical content, giving stuents another way to think about precision, pacing, and alignment. The connection did not replace the automotive content, but it offered a parallel that helped some students enter the material from a different angle. Music referenced: A Day in the Life by The Beatles (1967)
George Marshall: Deliberation Under Pressure
I read more than one book at a time. Some through my Kindle app. Some live in iBooks. Some I listen to via Audible or iBooks at different points during the day or evening. I rotate between them, sometimes slowly, sometimes all at once. I stop one. I return to another. Over breaks, like the one we just had, I sometimes sit with a single book longer than usual. This is just how I read. What follows isn’t a traditional book review, but a reflection on what a book reveals when read alongside a life spent in schools. I am currently reading George Marshall: A Biography, by Debi Unger and Irwin Unger. It charts the life of George Marshall as a boy, a husband (and widower), and most notably his evolution as a military officer. History teachers like me tell his story as unique, shaped by two world wars, a quiet generation, and of course, his work during the post-war era. What is also fascinating are his contemporaries. Personalities like FDR, Pershing, Eisenhower, Patton, and MacArthur. What stayed with me was how uncomfortable Marshall seemed with his own ambition, at times. It was a necessary evil. He also held strong beliefs, but he was willing to change his mind when the evidence demanded it. He could easily be portrayed as indecisive when he really was thoughtful. This helped shape a portrait of someone who was not easily taken in by politics and partisanship. If Marshall could maintain deliberation against the backdrop of two world wars then schools, as complex and demanding as they are, can afford to pause when decisions are not truly urgent. I tend to lead with momentum. In schools, inaction carries its own consequences. Reading Marshall reframed momentum for me as investment rather than motion. I believe that carrying this forward means choosing depth over breadth, even when pressure suggests otherwise. Unger, Debi, and Irwin Unger. George Marshall: A Biography. New York: HarperCollins, 2014. Apple Books e-book.
Honored to Be Part of the Inaugural Fine Arts Hall of Fame
Last night, I had the incredible honor of being inducted into the inaugural class of the Carle Place Fine Arts Hall of Fame. To stand alongside my brother John, an amazing talent, and so many others who helped shape the creative heart of Carle Place was both humbling and deeply meaningful. My path to the stage wasn’t always smooth. I spent my extracurricular high school hours juggling jobs at a couple of different restaurants and running cross-country — all which kept me racing from shifts to rehearsals, sometimes stepping onto the stage still in uniform. But it never felt like a burden. It felt like a commitment to something bigger than myself. I loved every minute of it. As my brother John and I ascended the steps to the stage last night, I turned to him and said, “You know, I don’t think we’ve ever been on stage at the same time before.” Being six years apart, our paths never crossed that way in high school. I told him: this is a big moment — for you. (I said that jokingly, of course — but there’s some truth to it, too.) The arts have never just been about performance. They’re about community, connection, and the relationships that shape who we become. Nights like last night awaken something powerful — a vivid reminder of who we were, and how those moments helped us become who we are. They allowed us to continue talks with friends that we didn’t even know we needed to continue. To step outside ourselves and relive what felt like a frozen moment in time and embrace the nostalgia. To any student reading this: say yes to the arts. Rehearse when you’re tired. Show up when it’s inconvenient. Because the friendships you build and the confidence you gain will outlast the final curtain call.
What CTE Gets Right—And Why the Rest of Education Needs to Catch Up
What CTE Gets Right—and Why the Rest of Education Needs to Catch Up Something isn’t working. We see it in the glazed-over eyes, the reluctant participation, the countdown to graduation that begins far too early. Students are showing up to school in body, but not always in mind or spirit. Despite passionate teachers, improved access to technology, and countless new initiatives, engagement—true, sustained engagement—remains elusive in many academic classrooms. At the same time, there’s a kind of quiet revolution happening in another wing of the school. It doesn’t always make headlines. But it’s producing students who are alert and proud of their work. You’ll find it in the welding shop, the animation studio, the health science simulation lab. Career and Technical Education (CTE) is building more than just job-ready skills. It’s building learning cultures that many traditional classrooms struggle to sustain. What CTE classrooms model isn’t just relevant for electricians or estheticians—it’s relevant for everyone. And it’s time we stop treating CTE as a track and start seeing it as a blueprint. It’s Not That Students Don’t Care—It’s That School Often Doesn’t Feel Real I’ve worked with students from all backgrounds, and I’ve rarely met one who didn’t want to learn. What they don’t want is to be lectured at, day after day, asked to memorize content for a test that doesn’t connect to anything that feels relevant. In too many classrooms, school is something done to students, not with them. They’re expected to follow instructions, complete assignments, and behave. And yes, some of them do, because they’ve learned how to play the game. But many more sit quietly disengaged—or worse, they act out—because the structure itself pushes them to the margins. Then you walk into a CTE classroom, and the shift is immediate. The students are alert. They’re focused. They’re collaborating anf making decisions. You don’t have to ask them to “pay attention”—they already are, because the work in front of them demands it. Why? Because in CTE, the learning feels real. Students are learning to solve problems and create things. “This Isn’t Just School—It’s My Thing” One of the most powerful moments I had during my research was talking to a student in police science. Alice wasn’t just repeating textbook facts; she was walking me through how she handled a scenario in class—a simulated traffic stop that challenged her to make judgment calls under pressure. She talked about it with confidence, and yes, pride. “This class makes me feel like I’m already doing what I want to do,” she told me. That feeling—that spark of becoming—is what education should be nurturing in every student, in every subject. And it doesn’t come from worksheets or multiple-choice tests. It comes from experience and action. Another student, Zeus, described the process of wiring a three-way switch. At first, it was confusing and frustrating. But once it clicked, he said, “I couldn’t forget it.” That’s not because someone drilled it into him. It’s because he figured it out through doing. That’s how real learning sticks. And Cecelia, a cosmetology student, lit up when she described designing her own hairstyle for a client. “It’s about making something people actually like,” she said. See the pattern? Students Learn More When the Work Belongs to Them Ask a student what motivates them, and few will say “grades.” They might mention their interests, their plans for the future, or—most tellingly—moments when they were trusted to take the lead. In CTE classrooms, ownership is built into the very structure of the experience. Students wire circuits, create digital art, perform health procedures, manage client interactions. They are accountable to the outcome of a task that has consequence. Their learning has a result and a public moment. And within that lies the key: responsibility stimulates care. One student in a digital animation class once told me, “I get frustrated when it’s not right—but I want it to be better. Because it’s mine.” That simple phrase holds a truth we too often overlook. People care more about the things they build themselves. In too many classrooms, students complete tasks designed by others, for outcomes chosen by others, evaluated by others. Their job is to perform, not to create. When the work isn’t theirs, the investment is thin. If we want learning to matter, students need more than content—they need a stake. Engagement Happens When Students Are Trusted to Contribute Too often, school is built on the assumption that students need to be controlled. That they’ll only learn if we give them punishments and pacing guides. But in CTE classrooms, students are expected to contribute. They manage materials and teach one another. That kind of trust changes everything. In one construction electricity class, I saw a structure where students rotated leadership roles during a project. One student would take charge of the blueprint. Another would manage the tools. The rest of the team would follow the plan. It mirrored how actual work gets done—not in isolation, but through collaboration and shared responsibility. That’s what leadership looks like. Not a title, not a line on a college resume, but the lived experience of guiding and learning together. Now imagine applying that same model to an English class. One student leads a peer workshop. Another facilitates a discussion. A team designs a digital zine to publish their writing for a real audience. It’s not impossible—it’s just rare. And that’s a shame, because when students are invited to lead, they rise. They support one another since they develop a sense of purpose that no test score can evaluate. Why Are We Still Keeping CTE Principles in a Box? Let’s be honest: part of why this hasn’t scaled is because of a myth that CTE is for a certain type of student. The implication is that these methods are effective, yes, but only for those who aren’t “academic.” That myth is outdated and harmful. Applied learning isn’t a fallback plan. It’s a universal strategy. It benefits everyone. In fact, some of the most interesting
