During the fall of ’94 or ‘95, I was living in an apartment in Dallas, taking a couple of classes, waiting tables at Macaroni Grill, and – for a short time – working at Tom Thumb grocery store as a night stocker.

As I look back on it now, I realize how ridiculous was the schedule. It was typical for me to work a dinner shift at the Grill, drive straight to Tom Thumb, work from midnight ‘til eight in the morning, go home for a brief sleep, and then on to class. It was crazy.

On the day before Thanksgiving of that year, I worked this schedule. After a dinner shift at the grill, and a full night of slinging groceries, I left work at eight AM and was discharged into the sunny morning of an empty city.

It was a holiday, so there was no commuting traffic. Everything was closed. Everyone was at home sleeping or perhaps beginning preparations for the meal to come. I was wide awake, still wired from a night of physical activity, and not ready to go home.

My regular route home passed by the Don Carter bowling alley, and knowing it was open 24/7/365, I turned into the parking lot. It was a huge parking lot, and on this morning it had exactly one car. I parked and went inside. There was just one other soul inside, and he was sitting in a chair, asleep.

I knocked on the counter to wake him and asked for shoes and a lane. He looked at me like I had lost my mind, though I can’t remember if he asked me what I was doing. I bowled one game, wished they guy behind the counter a Happy Thanksgiving, and drove on.

Every Thanksgiving since then, I have thought about that morning. Not with particular fondness, or with regret, I simply remember. But I am glad I am here and not there.

I am thankful for Stephanie, my wife, my best friend, and my partner in everything. I am thankful for Jacob and his intelligence, passion and sensitivity. I am thankful for Tobias and his energy and his enthusiasm for all things. I am thankful for Jamiee and for her time with us. I am thankful for Sarah, her sweet smile, and her good health. I am thankful for our house, our community, our church, and my work. I am thankful for today through Sunday, when I can spend my time at home with my family.

I've been mulling over the idea of ladder of inference from Tuesday night's class. Both of the examples that [our teacher] gave involved inferences that turned out to be incorrect: [his] inference that the sloppily dressed Wal Mart greeter wouldn't have the right information, and the teacher's inference that poorly dressed kids wouldn't take care of books. But are incorrect inferences more common than correct ones?

The ladder of inference reveals the logic that we use to come to our conclusions. Inferences are based on the associations we have made as a result of all of our past experiences. They don't come from nowhere. That being said, wouldn't it make sense that our inferences would be correct most of the time? Why else would we have developed this mental short hand of conclusion drawing that helps us understand our world. It's like accessing prior knowledge while teaching reading.

This is why I'm having a little trouble reflecting on my inferences. There have been no head slapping revelations that I've inferred wrongly. If I make an inference, I'm likely to believe it's an accurate one, and it's hard to notice I've made an inference at all.

How is this idea related to the idea of stereotypes? Some would say that stereotypes have their origin in some truth, though it is socially taboo to think that. We understand that stereotypes are not universally true; there are plenty of exceptions that disprove the rule. So maybe we should simply keep an open mind as we infer, proceeding as if we are correct, but understanding that maybe we are not. Or should we always "see like a beginner" and resist the temptation to make any inferences at all? Is inference making wrong?

After about a month, we called Mr. Planeman again to tell him that we were no longer considering Alaska. We wanted to stay on his radar and maintain the contact, just in case we ever tried to make a move towards Alaska again in the future. But before Stephanie could get off the phone, Mr. Planeman had another idea: He said something to the effect of, “Hey, I know you don’t want to do this, but my dad is currently the superintendent of a small, remote school district that is always looking for good people. If you are really interested in Alaska, you should give him a call.”

Stephanie called Mr. Hiredman one evening a few days later. Given the time difference, Mr. Hiredman was in the office in the middle of his afternoon. After a few minutes of conversation, this call turned into a de facto interview, right there on the phone. After a short while, he told Stephanie he wanted to talk to me as well. Stephanie quickly found me in another part of the building and had me join the conversation in a three way call. I remember that phone call: I was in one of the empty dorm rooms by myself and Stephanie was on the phone in our apartment, so we couldn’t see each other. We mostly listened as  Mr. Hiredman told us about the communities, the schools and the conditions we could expect there. I listened as he told us that there were no roads leading to these communities, that some households did not have electricity and that most did not have running water. He told us about communities with no stores, small bush planes that came every few days, dark winters, extreme temperatures as much as 50 and 60 degrees below zero, outhouses and “honey pots,” and houses heated by woodstoves. What he described was rustic. As he talked I thought to myself, “This is more extreme than even I am willing to attempt; I know there is no way that Stephanie would even consider it.” 

When the phone call ended, I walked back to our apartment to see Stephanie and to talk about what we had just heard. I fully expected her to say something like, “Not only no, but… !” To my complete surprise – surprise that has not worn off from that day to this – her first words to me as I walked in the door were, “Doesn’t that sound great?!” My answer: “No, it doesn’t.”

We continued to talk about it and gently pursue the possibility of moving to Alaska. My position at that time was that if Stephanie continued to be more excited about it than I was, then I felt comfortable moving in that direction. I didn’t want to be the one dragging her to Alaska. I remember being shocked at every juncture of our planning and preparation by how easily everything fell into place. In less than a month, we were hired over the phone, sold most of our things, moved out of our apartment, loaded up our recently acquired Isuzu Trooper, and headed out on the long road to Alaska. We were moving purposefully and prayerfully into a place we had never seen and could not at that time even remotely imagine.

Neither Stephanie nor I had ever stepped foot in Alaska before we sold our things, packed our car, and moved there.

When I was a freshman at SMU, I got the idea to drive from Texas to Alaska – as far north as the road would go. I bought a map and poured over it, imagining all of the roads and sights I would encounter along the way. It would be the ultimate road trip. I planned and planned. I talked about it. A lot. I planned some more. I even thought I’d take a “practice run,” and drive to the Grand Canyon. That trip crashed and burned. We’ll, at least crashed.

A few years later, Stephanie was flying to visit her grandmothers in Michigan. She has a tendency to make instant friends wherever she goes, and this flight was no exception. During casual conversation with the guy sitting next to her, he told her he was from Alaska. She explained that her boyfriend (me) always wanted to go to Alaska. Stephanie mentioned that she was a school teacher and found that this guy’s wife was also a school teacher in Anchorage. After talking for a while, the guy gave Stephanie his business card and told her, “If you and Brian ever want to come to Alaska, just call us and let us know. You can stay at our house, and we even have a spare car if you need to use it while you are here looking for a job.” Stephanie thanked him and took his business card.  She hung on to that card for five years.

As both of us were finishing our Master’s programs at Hardin-Simmons in Abilene, we started thinking hard about what we wanted to do and where we wanted to go next. We were looking for a unique experience and an exotic location. We applied to teach at overseas Department of Defense schools on military bases around the world. I was sending out resumes to places in Arizona, and looking in Washington and Oregon. Basically, she was looking overseas, and I was looking West.  As we kept drawing blanks, one day Stephanie pulled out that business card.

As we briefly considered Alaska, we thought that Anchorage would be a logical choice for us: it was the Alaska that I dreamed of and the City that Stephanie wanted. We thought of it as a good blend of the urban and rural, the tame and the wild, the civilized and uncivilized. We called the guy from the airplane, we'll call him Mr. Planeman, and surprisingly, he remembered Stephanie right away. She explained that we were considering jobs in Alaska and hoped he could give us some direction. We looked at the Anchorage school district but realized fairly quickly that we wouldn’t likely find a teaching job there. Anchorage is one of the only population centers in the state, and most positions are filled from within the system. 

To be continued....

It’s time again for the Alaska Administrator Coaching Project, a program to support the efforts of first and second year principals in Alaska. It is a great program that has far outpaced the University’s Ed. Leadership program here in the state. It consists of three days and nights in Anchorage, sitting at the feet of some (at least one) of the great minds in education – of building still more big principles into my life.

This has been an incredibly rich program and very worthwhile. As we learn to be better administrators, we learn more about what it means to be good educators, and that translates into a significant positive effect on our individual teaching abilities. Stated another way, learning to be good principals makes us far better teachers. 

I don’t really know where this whole career in education is headed, where I can lead it or where it can lead me, but I am enjoying more and more the role of learner and teacher, and I am inhabiting both of those roles ever more deeply.

I am not really wild about the traditional roles of classroom teacher and school principal, but I am really excited about the field of education and being an educational leader on the edge of some real revolutionary changes in the field. I want to contribute fully to the field of education, and I don’t want my contribution or my work educating both young people and adults to be limited to whatever fixed role I currently occupy. And in some ways I think the fixed roles of teacher, principal, or superintendent are limiting roles.

So I’ll wrestle with those big ideas while I continue to think about the kids I’ll see back in Circle on Monday and what I can do for them for the time we are together.