Teaching In a New Perspective: Do Hard Things

This past summer, I was asked once again to mentor first-year teachers in the Beaver Dam School District. It would have been easy to say “no,” but I found myself thinking back to my early years in the workplace—both in business and in education—when I often wished there were someone available to answer questions, challenge my thinking, and raise the bar for my own performance. So instead of taking the easy way out, I said “yes,” and was soon assigned four middle-school teachers. BDUSD’s mentoring model has real merit, offering meaningful opportunities for professional growth. More districts should consider adopting similar approaches, as the ripple effects could be significant across the field of education.

Being a mentor requires patience, thoughtful insight, and honest feedback. My role isn’t to grab the steering wheel but to observe their driving and suggest ways to improve. For first-year teachers, that kind of scrutiny—on top of everything else thrown their way—can be daunting. Administrators, students, parents, and colleagues all add layers of pressure. Although these new teachers chose the profession to make a difference, they quickly find themselves navigating challenges that test their logic, their sanity, and sometimes even their health. It’s no surprise that roughly 10% of new teachers leave after their first year, and about 44% exit within the first five.

Once a month we meet online to celebrate wins from the past 30 days, identify obstacles, and develop action steps for the month ahead. Some new teachers thrive, others struggle to stay afloat, and a few risk slipping into mediocrity simply out of exhaustion.

By chance, I recently came across the book "Do Hard Things" by Alex and Brett Harris—a remarkable read written by millennials who argue that society has lowered expectations for today’s learners. They outline “Five Kinds of Hard,” describing each as a “God-given opportunity powered by God-given principles that work for everybody”:

Things Outside Your Comfort Zone: Stepping into unfamiliar territory even when it feels uncomfortable.

Things Beyond What Is Required: Going above and beyond what is expected in school, work, or relationships.

Things Too Big to Accomplish Alone: Tackling ambitious projects that require collaboration and leadership.

Things That Don’t Pay Off Immediately: Investing in long-term goals like education, skill development, and personal growth.

Things That Challenge the Crowd: Standing up for your beliefs, even when it’s unpopular.

Each of these “hard things” applies directly to first-year teaching, but perhaps the most important is the first: stepping outside your comfort zone. That initial move into the unknown is unsettling, yet essential if we hope to attempt any of the others. If we expect our students to stretch themselves and rise to new challenges, shouldn’t we be willing to do the same? Why remain seated on the sidelines when we want our students—and our fellow adults—to excel in life?

Fear is the fence that keeps us confined. We sit…and sit…and sit, letting opportunities pass us by. If we wait for fear or the possibility of failure to disappear, we’ll never leave our comfort zones. If we want our students to grow and learn throughout their lives, we must help them confront fear—not by eliminating it, but by understanding that something far worse exists: remaining so comfortable that we never try at all.

Out of Retirement for 8-Weeks

Occasionally, I feel the urge to come out of retirement and revisit my time as a Social Studies teacher. That feeling led me to an eight-week long-term substitute position at Wautoma High School, where I quickly noticed some concerning trends in education.

I taught Civics, Modern American History, and Global Studies—subjects I was already familiar with from my time in Beaver Dam. The transition should have been smooth, but I soon realized the pre-planned lessons lacked student interaction. Navigating between Google Drive, Google Classroom, and Infinite Campus felt cumbersome, and I had to familiarize myself with the district’s Target-Based Grading scale of 1-2-3.

The typical assignments followed a predictable pattern: students were given two or three online readings, then asked to answer questions directly in a document using an app called Kami. Because assignments were categorized as either formative or summative, I quickly discovered that students were disregarding formative work altogether, saying, “It doesn’t count toward our grade.” Due dates were largely ignored, and I documented that less than 15% of students were submitting their work.

Frustrated, I explained that formative assignments are designed to build foundational knowledge, preparing them for summative assessments. However, the message didn’t resonate. Realizing I needed a new approach, I reclassified all assignments as summative. Suddenly, I had their attention. From that day on, over 90% of students completed their work on time.

Another concern was reading comprehension. I encountered students reading far below expected levels. If young people don’t understand the benefits of reading, they won’t explore new information, ideas, or concepts that challenge their thinking. Drawing from my experience in business, I emphasized the essential components of literacy: reading, writing, speaking, and comprehension. Many students fail to realize how vital literacy skills are—whether applying to college, writing a scholarship essay, preparing for a job interview, following technical instructions, submitting reports, or even requesting a promotion. More than once, I left school wondering if we, as educators, had neglected the importance of literacy and the impact it could have on society.

One of my first instructional changes was working through assigned readings as a class. I projected passages onto the board, breaking them down by paragraph and sentence structure for better understanding. Once students grasped the content, we focused on crafting well-written responses. I was alarmed at how many struggled with basic capitalization, punctuation, and sentence structure. But with practice, they started to improve, and I could see progress.

Another issue I couldn’t ignore was the pervasive use of phones. Despite a clear school policy requiring students to leave their devices in lockers, it was widely disregarded. I repeatedly had to enforce the rule, instructing students to keep their phones out of sight. Earbuds were another problem—many believed they could multitask by listening to music while absorbing classroom instruction, a myth that research strongly debunks.

The demands of the job extended far beyond the school day. I spent countless evenings and weekends preparing lessons, grading, and providing student feedback—all without additional compensation. It was, in every sense, a full-time commitment. While the district certainly got a great deal, the students benefited even more.

Respect was never an issue in my classroom. On the first day, I introduced myself by sharing my professional journey. “Don’t think of me as old—think of me as seasoned and experienced,” I told them. When they heard about my successes, failures, and lessons learned, I had their full attention. I knew I was making a difference.

Throughout those eight weeks, students showed their appreciation in ways that touched me deeply. One day, I received a small bouquet of flowers; another day, an 8-inch chocolate cake. Some shared cookies and cupcakes, while a student with a renewed sense of purpose started showing up on time, prepared for class. A group of English Language Learner (ELL) students gifted me an Amazon card, fresh sushi, and a handwritten note thanking me for raising awareness about second-language learners.

When my final day arrived, I felt both relief and sadness. I had built meaningful connections with the students, and I knew I had impacted them in a positive way. The experience brought back fond memories of my 10-year career at BDHS, a school that will always hold a special place in my heart.

Retirement certainly has its perks, but stepping back into the classroom reminded me of the joy that comes from teaching.