Portland State Magazine Fall 2013

FALL 2013 PORTLAND STATE MAGAZINE 13 In truth, I wasn’t sure my spirit could thrive as I kept con- fronting the disparities between wealthy and poor schools in our district, the enormity of our education goals and the limits of our supports, and the needs of our families and the scant services available to them. I wasn’t sure I could sleep knowing that our girls were used as prostitutes to fund the gangs’ drug activity. Or imagining students huddled outside my office door at 6:15 a.m. because that particular heater worked well and students were homeless and cold. On that evening in the cafeteria, I experienced what Parker Palmer (2009) calls the “tragic gap,” which is what we feel as we experience a “tension between what is and what we know to be possible.” In this gap, we find painful, raw truth. We can ignore this gap, pretending all is well. We can flee in despera- tion. Or we can hang in there. A pregnant pause followed until one parent quietly said, “Maybe Deborah doesn’t want the job.” More silence. “Maybe we’re asking her to do too much.” “I see her car here first thing in the morning when I drop by and after I’ve finished my night shift downtown,” another parent noted. “Her car is here on the weekend. She’s at all our games. And she’s got a family with high school kids who need her. We’re asking too much.” All eyes focused on me. My chest ached, my throat tensed, and my eyes reddened as I looked up at the parent as if in quiet agreement. The administrator said, “Well, let’s finish talking about what you want in your next principal,” and the meeting quickly ended. I went home to a sleepless night of deep reflection. The next day, I accepted the permanent principalship—and stayed for four years. During those years, teachers, students, families, and the community came together to double Roosevelt’s achievement scores, create 17 sections of advanced placement classes as well as dual-college enrollment programs, and get 50 percent of our seniors accepted at colleges. THAT EVENING in the school cafeteria, I understood the importance of sustaining the human spirit during the many high-pressure times administrators face, especially in high-poverty schools. I was able to eventually say yes because in the months before that meeting, many people had sustained my spirit. My superintendent recognized the complexity of my school’s problems; rather than judging us, she offered support. My spirit was nurtured by my supervisor, who regularly stopped by with a cup of coffee for me—not to monitor me or tell me what to do, but to see how I was. One day, as I sat at my desk emotionally exhausted, a colleague dropped by to remind me that “the impossible might take a little while.” She gave me a book with a similar title. Reading that book every night helped me remember to respond to violence in our school with compassion. It helped me forgive people—including myself—who blamed our kids and to focus on hope. My spirit was also sustained when a student asked me why a substitute teacher had left Roosevelt after just a few weeks. I told him the teacher had said he was tired of students “testing him every minute.” The student looked at me quizzically and replied, “But we do that to everybody just to be sure they really want to be here. We did it to you, and you’re still here!” Somehow the fact that this student—and the community— knew that I cared for Roosevelt’s kids, and even acknowledged that he’d put me through a rough test, made me feel cared for and appreciated. That’s the gift every urban principal in the trenches needs in order to keep going. Since I left Roosevelt in 2009, students’ test scores have continued to rise or hold steady, and the college-going culture has persisted. The model I began developing for wraparound student support, social capital development, and community engagement continues to thrive.  Reprinted by permission from Educational Leadership, Vol. 70, No. 7, April 2013. Supporting new educators Teachers and administrators at inner-city and low- income schools often need extra support, training, and resources—assistance that is frequently in short supply. PSU education professor Deborah Peterson was principal at one such school, Portland’s Roosevelt High. Today, Peterson shares what she learned at Roosevelt with future educators, and her colleague, Professor Amy Petti, has established a scholarship to ease the financial burden that this additional training requires. The Brakke-Daggett-Petti Family Educational Leadership Endowed Scholarship honors three generations of educators in Petti’s family. It is available to graduate-level students in the Initial Administrator Licensure program. Graduates of this program work as principals, vice principals, superintendents, and as school and district leaders, many of them in underserved communities. The PSU Graduate School of Education offers additional scholarships for students who intend to work in challenged schools. Established by community leaders who care about education, the Thrasher Scholarship is for students training to teach in areas of teacher shortages such as math, science, bilingual, or special education; the Sandy Kaplan Scholarship is for students with multicultural experience who plan to work with non-native English speakers; and the Capps Family Scholarship is for students planning to teach in inner-city schools.