This past year, in a small Midwest community, we lost a student to a drug overdose. We have lost many more to drug addiction, and although we haven’t attended their funerals, they are no longer the students we once knew, while some are unrecognizable.

Throughout the decade I have spent working in education, I’ve seen the most positive impact when I’ve incorporated hope-based strategies into my teaching.

We don’t have to choose between structure and creativity. The best teaching lives in the in-between, where we follow a script, but we fill it with our stories, our students’ voices, and our classroom rhythms.

Students often display a morbid curiosity that I feel I cannot ignore, but can I lean into it? Can I use this fascination in a way that engages students, but also humanizes them?

After my first week of being in a long-term occasional role, it became very clear to me that learning about being in the classroom is not the same as actually being in the classroom.

It's nice to think of the Internet as a wonderful invention that has made our lives both richer and more efficient. It's a nice notion and it's an accurate one—the Internet has changed our lives for the better. We can now communicate with people from all four corners of the globe. We can share, swap, and gain as much knowledge as we could ever want or need. There are no negatives associated with instant knowledge—or are there?

The Model UN Club found me in 2013 in the shape of two very keen Grade 9 girls making a pitch to me at lunch about the need for more women in politics.

IBL has a broad definition and varied implementation. It is generally characterized by a student-centered learning experience, with little to no lecturing.

Every year, almost every student says, “I suck at writing. I hate it.” I hear this phrase far more than “Hello,” “Thank you,” or even “Can I use the restroom?”