Hump Day Hero: Dr. Jeff McCullers

Our Hump Day Hero this week is Dr. Jeff McCullers.  He is pretty high up on the education totem pole in a large district in Florida.  And even though he is extremely busy, he takes  time every year to write a thankful email to his entire district of educators, custodians, cafeteria workers and more.  He is an example of how to lead with gratitude.  Thank you Dr. McCullers for making the people around you feel valued.  You are ConversationED’s Hump Day Hero! See Dr. McCullers’ grateful email below.

On Giving Thanks

Dear colleagues,

For many years, it has been a personal Thanksgiving tradition to consider how thankful I am to work in this profession, and to express my thankfulness to each of you for what you do every day.

On any given day, it seems like there are a thousand reasons to be worried, or fearful, or anguished. There are troubles all around, and every hard-won victory seems to come at worrisome cost.

Even in the world of education, so many things seem topsy-turvy. Old standards that we  were using alongside new standards now might turn out to be the even newer standards again. We’re no longer sure how much we want our core curriculum to have in common with anyone else’s. We’re adopting new tools and new ways but we still have to use the old ones. We’re still grading students and school and staff on tests, but we don’t yet know what tests we will be using. Some groups of students are doing remarkably better than before, while other groups seem to be losing ground.

So I welcome the opportunity each year to be reminded of what is most important, to reflect on what is right with the world, and what does offer us hope.

For me, what is right is what we do for a living. I thankful indeed for what you do, because every day you come to work, it means that something profoundly important has happened.

Because of what you do every day, someone learns how to divide fractions, or set tile, or use a semicolon. Every day, a concerned parent is heard and understood. Every day, a hungry child is fed and a lonely child is comforted. Every day, a high school drop-out is welcomed back.

You’re out there making bathrooms sparkle, equations balance, and basketballs dunk. You’re securing wobbly handrails, inspecting fire extinguishers, and changing catheters. You’re analyzing test scores, writing grant proposals, and keeping watchful eyes on school crosswalk.

You are answering the phones, booking the travel, and finding the best price on yarn or cables or light bulbs or crayons. You’re patching the roof, changing the filters, or teaching the quadratic formula to a child in a hospital bed.

You’re late for meeting because you’re taking a parent call, or you’re late for dinner because you’re waiting for a child to be picked up. You’re balancing budgets, teaching teachers, consulting with legislators, and conducting hearings. You cover classes, loan tools, translate documents, and give directions. You jump-start cars, loan money, tear tickets, set up centers, and inventory laptops.
You’re sending reminders, granting mercies, mowing the grass, making copies, and breaking up fights. You’re cleaning test tubes, posting grades, and remembering birthdays. You’re setting up hurdles on the track, and sweeping out school buses, and loading milk carton in the cafeteria.

You’re sharing a vision of your school, or a bright idea that suddenly hit you while you were doing the dishes. You’re working on a degree, or helping someone get a certificate, or changing a schedule so someone can take AP Biology, or making a stubborn printer behave.

You’re helping families recover from a house fire, manage their diabetes or head lice, and interpret their report cards or pay stubs. You’re decorating for prom, or making coffee for the PTO, or submitting a project plan. You’re helping someone get into college or get out of a gang. You’re saving some money, sharing bad news, solving a problem caused by someone else, or clearing up a misunderstanding.

You are introducing people to Galileo and Curie, Jefferson and Adams, Neruda and Tennyson. You fight the Revolutionary War, the Civil War, and the Vietnam War in history class. You sit with Rosa and march with Martin. You make models of DNA, read the Federalist papers, and calculate foot-pounds. You grow gardens, hold debates, build pyramids, march in formation, and take your turn in the dunk tank. You teach melody and harmony, thesis and antithesis, offense and defense, point and counterpoint, synonym and antonym.

You’re reporting district information to the state or state information to the district. You’re attending a conference, going to the bank, and appearing in court. You’re feeding the fish, painting the football field, changing the stage lights, and unrolling the dance floor. You’re directing the play, leading the meeting, and filing lunch forms. You’re packing and sorting, mending and healing, wiping and scrubbing, lifting and stacking. You give hugs, you give gold stars, you give detentions, you give tissues, you give hope.

If it’s too much to bear, you lighten the load. If it’s loose, you tighten it. If it’s too loud, you make it quieter. If it’s wet, you mop it up. If it’s wrong, you make it right.

Because of you, someone read a chapter book for the first time. Because of you, someone came to school sober. Because of you, the brakes don’t fail and the checks don’t bounce. Because of you the mail gets sorted, the yearbooks get printed, and the grades get posted. Because of you, children can see clearer, hear better, run faster, and sing sweeter. Because of you, children went home tonight feeling a little better about themselves and their future.

Because of you, every day really is a great day in Lee County schools.

For what you do, for what you have accomplished, and for who you are—know that I am thankful to you, and thankful for you.

Grateful regards,
Jeff