Will It Fit Through The Door?
Our family got a puppy when I was about 4. Barney (This was pre-the-purple-dinosaur.) was a black lab mix, and it was clear she was going to be an outdoor dog. I can barely remember my father building a doghouse in his basement workshop for Barney, but the following legend of the doghouse has remained strong in our family for the last 40+ years. The story played out something like this:
Mom: Bill, that's a nice looking doghouse for Barney.
Dad: Thanks. The kids are sure excited to have a puppy in the family. I'm afraid the kids will smother her with too much love.
Mom: I'm not sure too much love is possible. I'm glad you're making the house big enough so she can grow into it.
Dad: I figured I could get a bale of straw to put in the house with her so she can stay warm. The way the kids are with her, they will want to move into the doghouse with Barney!
Mom: Uhm...Bill, do you think the doghouse will fit up the steps and out the door?
Dad: What do you mean?
Mom: Well, it looks like the roof of the house is wider than our basement door, and then you need to make that sharp right turn to get it outside. What do you think?
Dad: Beth, it will be fine. You worry to much. I'll make it fit fine. There's plenty of room.
Mom: Well, I don't know. Whatever you think.
Dad: Let me finish here, and I'll take it outside for Barney.
Mom: OK. Oh..that's the kids. I hope they're not pulling her tail. I really have to keep my eye on David lately. Let me know if you need any help.
20 minutes later
Mom: Bill, what's that racket? Is everything OK?
Dad: It's fine. Don't worry about anything.
Mom: Bill! What are you doing? Don't smash the doghouse. It looks good.
Dad: I'm not smashing it. I have to take it apart.
Mom: Why. It looks like you're finished with it.
Dad: It doesn't fit.
Mom: It what?
Dad: It doesn't fit. Go ahead...say it, "I told you so!"
Mom: Oh no. I'm not that mean. What are you going to do?
Dad: Well, I need to take the roof off and put it back on when we get this house outside. Can you help me here for a moment? The kids--and the dog--will be fine.
I know I'm not telling this story 100% accurately. I bet there was some colorful language, sarcasm, and laughter involved. The short story is our puppy needed love and a doghouse, and the house Dad built didn't fit through the door.
Part of my job as a building principal is to figuratively manage what comes in and out the doors of the learning environment for our staff. I'm not talking about monitoring the cameras or the physical doors. Rather, I have the responsibility to help my staff adjust to changes, receive the necessary training, and still make all of this "fit" without overwhelming any person or the entire organization.
The reality is any person, group of people, or a system has only so much capacity for change and learning--just like a door has only so much space. If you don't fill the door of learning, your system loses out on opportunities. If you overfill the door, you either need to start over, remove some critical pieces, or risk not moving your system forward as a unit.
Truth be told, I tend to error on the side of my father. I'd rather have too much innovation than not enough. This can backfire, however. As a principal I can't risk burning-out my staff. I am grateful my staff faces new challenges with a growth mindset. They collaborate and find balance together. We have weekly treats, and I help coordinate monthly lunches. I try to clarify and prioritize different initiatives. We have a school improvement team who helps our school think strategically so we can address the needs of our system. Small teams approach changes and challenges with a "can-do" spirit.
And yet, there are still some days when I feel like I am having to "knock the roof off the doghouse." I know my staff feels the same way sometimes.
In the end, we keep working. We continue to collaborate and partner. We lean on each other. We dig deep. We innovate. We laugh, giggle, and cry. We worry about things we can actually control. We listen to each other, and we celebrate whenever possible.
Just like love and a warm house for a new puppy, it's what our students deserve!
Mom: Bill, that's a nice looking doghouse for Barney.
Dad: Thanks. The kids are sure excited to have a puppy in the family. I'm afraid the kids will smother her with too much love.
Mom: I'm not sure too much love is possible. I'm glad you're making the house big enough so she can grow into it.
Dad: I figured I could get a bale of straw to put in the house with her so she can stay warm. The way the kids are with her, they will want to move into the doghouse with Barney!
Mom: Uhm...Bill, do you think the doghouse will fit up the steps and out the door?
Dad: What do you mean?
Mom: Well, it looks like the roof of the house is wider than our basement door, and then you need to make that sharp right turn to get it outside. What do you think?
Dad: Beth, it will be fine. You worry to much. I'll make it fit fine. There's plenty of room.
Mom: Well, I don't know. Whatever you think.
Dad: Let me finish here, and I'll take it outside for Barney.
Mom: OK. Oh..that's the kids. I hope they're not pulling her tail. I really have to keep my eye on David lately. Let me know if you need any help.
20 minutes later
Mom: Bill, what's that racket? Is everything OK?
Dad: It's fine. Don't worry about anything.
Mom: Bill! What are you doing? Don't smash the doghouse. It looks good.
Dad: I'm not smashing it. I have to take it apart.
Mom: Why. It looks like you're finished with it.
Dad: It doesn't fit.
Mom: It what?
Dad: It doesn't fit. Go ahead...say it, "I told you so!"
Mom: Oh no. I'm not that mean. What are you going to do?
Dad: Well, I need to take the roof off and put it back on when we get this house outside. Can you help me here for a moment? The kids--and the dog--will be fine.
I know I'm not telling this story 100% accurately. I bet there was some colorful language, sarcasm, and laughter involved. The short story is our puppy needed love and a doghouse, and the house Dad built didn't fit through the door.
Part of my job as a building principal is to figuratively manage what comes in and out the doors of the learning environment for our staff. I'm not talking about monitoring the cameras or the physical doors. Rather, I have the responsibility to help my staff adjust to changes, receive the necessary training, and still make all of this "fit" without overwhelming any person or the entire organization.
The reality is any person, group of people, or a system has only so much capacity for change and learning--just like a door has only so much space. If you don't fill the door of learning, your system loses out on opportunities. If you overfill the door, you either need to start over, remove some critical pieces, or risk not moving your system forward as a unit.
Truth be told, I tend to error on the side of my father. I'd rather have too much innovation than not enough. This can backfire, however. As a principal I can't risk burning-out my staff. I am grateful my staff faces new challenges with a growth mindset. They collaborate and find balance together. We have weekly treats, and I help coordinate monthly lunches. I try to clarify and prioritize different initiatives. We have a school improvement team who helps our school think strategically so we can address the needs of our system. Small teams approach changes and challenges with a "can-do" spirit.
And yet, there are still some days when I feel like I am having to "knock the roof off the doghouse." I know my staff feels the same way sometimes.
In the end, we keep working. We continue to collaborate and partner. We lean on each other. We dig deep. We innovate. We laugh, giggle, and cry. We worry about things we can actually control. We listen to each other, and we celebrate whenever possible.
Just like love and a warm house for a new puppy, it's what our students deserve!
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