You Better Recognize

A few nights ago, I sat in a ballroom, decorated with festive lighting and crisp linen table cloths on the tables that filled the floor. I was there as part of the entourage of my principal who was accepting an award for her hard work and dedication at our school. No one asked me to speak on her behalf, but I would have gone on and on about all of her efforts to put together a committed staff and her perseverance through the tough years of rebuilding and digging ourselves out of program improvement. Did I mention that she bakes for us? Her double fudge cake alone would be worth district-wide recognition.
She wasn't the only one receiving an award that evening. Custodians, teachers, office staff, and nutrition specialists all had a chance to come up to the stage and get a moment in the spotlight. Since the administrators were given their awards, a lovely laser-etched crystalline monolith, I had a chance to listen to the stories of dozens of other school employees who were nominated by their colleagues and bosses, and applaud all the good work they do day in and day out. It made me reflect back on the feelings I had when my son's seventh grade teacher was selected as the county's Teacher of the Year. It made me happy to know that my son was getting attention from our county's best. It made me proud to know that one of my fellow teachers from just up the road was worthy of such an honor. And there was, I confess, a moment of jealousy. Just a taste of "what about me?"
That passed quickly, especially when it was backed up by the way my principal chose to use her moment at the microphone in accepting her award. She echoed the sentiments of so many of the rest of the recipients: "This award belongs to all of us. I couldn't have done it without my staff." And I knew that she meant it. It is the village that we keep hearing about. The one that makes it possible for three hundred and thirty kids to get fed, play, get cleaned up after, and learn one hundred and eighty days of the year. I don't need a trophy to feel good about that.
But the next morning, as I was biking to work, I passed a gentleman who I recognized only dimly. He might have been a parent or an uncle of a student I had years ago. He might have been a community member who volunteered with me at a school clean-up day. He nodded at me as I passed and tipped his coffee cup as a toast: "Teacher of the Year," he said. I didn't even know that I was nominated.