Summer 2002, at an IBM training facility north of Milan, Italy. We’re running an English immersion summer camp for kids of IBM employees, mostly Italians. My colleague Jeff and I had created a curriculum that simulates a town, giving radical agency to students. We set some initial conditions and turned them loose. Once the program took off, there was no way to know what specific interactions to expect and where it all would lead. We had talked it through with our staff members, we were pretty sure it would work even if we had never taught in quite that way, and now after lunch on the first day of the program we were walking down the hall to tell kids how wonderful it would be. Or at least, how we hoped it was going to be wonderful.

“Whatever happens,” we agreed with each other, “make sure your face looks like you believe in this simulation one hundred percent. It’s going to work.”

We looked at each other one last time, eyebrows raised, not really sure if it was going to work, and pushed through the swinging doors into the large meeting room. Staff were getting students to sit. Most of the eyes in the room swung toward us as we positioned ourselves at the front of the room. I was smiling like I had never smiled before and I saw out of the corner of my eye that Jeff was doing the same. Game on.

I’ve pushed through a whole lot of metaphorical swinging doors into situations where I had to convey more confidence than I felt. When I was well planned things generally went well. If I was underplanned my face hurt from smiling, my cheeks burned, and things were a bit dicey.

I’m having that feeling again this week during the orientation meetings with my new colleagues at this new school as we prepare to open its doors for the first time. I’m going to lead an as-of-yet untried progressive afternoon program. I need to do my best to help faculty members feel secure in their roles before the students arrive. 

Comfortingly, I’ve had a lot of practice in life now, a quarter of a century after Jeff and I pushed into the meeting room at the IBM center. Even more comforting is the talent all these educators have. In the first few days together, the faculty, known as coaches, have been sharing their own passion projects, the things they love to do. We’ve heard about flower arranging and inventing card games, authoring and baking. Without fail, when my new colleagues start talking about their passion projects, their faces light up, their eyes shine brighter. Smiles are contagious and we all smile with them. Tears are contagious, too, when the passion sometimes overwhelms. 

This is our collective game face, I realize. The face that we have when we are truly invested in what we are doing, the face we have when we get to share our passion with people who really want to listen, who really want to support us. And we don’t have to fake a thing, because the passion is real.

Now, just how do we pass that on to the students?