Golf Scrambles and "Game" in Education

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Golf Scrambles and “Game” in Education

By Dr. Steve Gruenert

Department Chairperson and Associate Professor

&

Dr. Ryan Donlan

Assistant Professor

Department of Educational Leadership

Bayh College of Education

Indiana State University

While riding in a car last week, we had the following conversation as we thought of leadership development and school improvement:

In golf there is a type of competition, “a scramble,” where four people are on a team. Each will hit his/her golf ball, then all four will go to the best ball and hit from there. Teams will usually have a best-to-worst player continuum; the best player (typically called the “A” player) will be the one who shoots the lowest score when playing alone. The “B” player will be the second best player, and so on. Everyone knows who everybody is.  There’s no hiding the rank ordering. This type of competition is quite a social affair yet very destructive to one’s individual game. The ability to “swing away” at most shots removes all inhibitions that may be related to out-of-bounds or water hazards. After all, the winner of most individual competitions is usually the person who makes the least amount of mistakes. In scrambles, the winners are usually those who make the most great shots.

What makes scrambles interesting, at times, is the strategy employed and who owns the strategy. The designation of the leader of each team typically defaults to the best player, as if that person were also the best thinker. When the team is faced with a decision, such as which ball to use, the attention usually shifts to the “A” player, who will pick the one from which he/she believes he/she can most benefit – not necessarily the one from which all four players could benefit. Rather myopic.

Some teams are composed of four good players, with none of them outwardly holding the role as the best player. In these teams we find four individuals who each have an ability to perform a particular aspect of golf very well. One may be able to hit the ball a long distance; one may be able to putt very well, and one may be very good at short-approach shots (getting the ball on the green close to the hole from inside 100 yards). Rarely do we find one chosen for a team because he/she has superior abilities of course management, restated, the ability to make the best decisions given certain situations. Sometimes caddies will perform these tasks when working with professional golfers. They are charged with “coaching” the golfers with respect to providing yardages, line of the putt, controlling emotions, or simply providing head nods as a way to invoke confidence.

As we drove on, we wondered aloud how a scramble might benefit from a player who was not very good at all but had superior skills in course management?

This person would know the limitations of each player on the team and how their particular skills were manifesting that day. He/she would be able to articulate some reasoning behind decisions and perhaps coach players to help them better understand their roles.  He/she could even help them visualize their performance. This person would truly be leading (or at minimum coaching) those around him/her, yet would not necessarily be a good player. Yet, this is rarely the case, as in golf, one’s abilities as a player seem to equate from everyone’s perception to one’s designation as “leader.”

Skills in leadership do not factor into that designation.   Does this make sense?

Let’s apply the notion of a golf scramble to school leadership. How might the scramble concept be similar or different from what is typically deployed in schools in the game of education? 

First, let’s consider the notion of playing from everyone’s “best ball.”  Do we do this?  Let’s examine.

It would seem for the most part that in Professional Learning Communities, the notion of sharing best practice would be much akin to playing a scramble.  After all, we borrow from each other’s best shots, don’t we?  Let us dissect this a bit further.

If leadership or school improvement were a scramble, each initiative would have everyone “swinging away,” as opposed to playing conservatively. Even more interestingly, we would not keep a secret as to who was best or lie to each other in faculty lounges, saying that we are all good.  Everyone would know different, and most all would accept a rank ordering. We’d have our A educators, our B educators, and those who simply could not “bring game.”  It would be obvious, and all would accept it.

As we drove, we wondered how many in schools are honest with each other.  Or … do most folks play-pretend that gamelessness is not in the room?

To take the metaphor further -- In a school scramble, someone’s “best shot” (improvement strategy) would be selected, each step of the way, from which to proceed to the next -- those best shots coming sometimes from the A player, sometimes from the B, and sometimes from others’ lucky attempts.  Yet along the way, most decisions about how to “do school” would be made still by the A player (such as which tools to use to address the challenges).  Do we in education always use someone’s best strategy, from which to build our next move?  In schools, do we defer to those who are ranked “the best” in making our own decisions as to how we play the game, or do we do things the way that are comfortable for us?

We began to wonder about the strength of the scramble metaphor.

We then talked through an example more tangible: math achievement for our struggling students.  In tackling math achievement through a scramble approach, math teachers would be lined-up and rank ordered according to ability.  The best teacher would make the decisions on the tools necessary to take the first swing at something.  Let’s say that it is raising achievement in the lowest quartile of students in 1st grade.  Four teachers are involved.  Students would then be divided to provide similarly situated groups. Teachers would each take their own swing at the problem for a fixed period of time, after which the team would convene to examine the results.  Yet at that point, could they really then move forward from the best position?

Here’s where the scramble, as a pure metaphor in education, broke down. 

A scramble would have each teacher adopting the performance results from someone’s best crack at a strategy, as everyone moves to the best ball’s position in a golf scramble. They would then move on from there, taking their individual swings for another fixed period of time, thereafter reconvening.  Then they would adopt best performance again before moving forward.

Yet, in education, we can’t really “drop our ball from the optimal spot.”  Moving forward from someone’s best position would be impossible, of course, unless one could adopt the scores and performance levels of higher performing students from the group whose teacher/golfer took the best swing at teaching them.  Like in a golf scramble, one would need to pretend that the lower scores (worse shots) didn’t happen and drop a ball in the best position to shoot next. 

Children don’t accord us this luxury.  We can’t pretend that the reality of the “next best” or “worst” approach, or even the contextual variables that affect the reality of the situation, didn’t happen.  In schools, we can’t magically move skillsets, starting fresh at a higher level.

So in education, even in the best professional learning communities, we really don’t scramble.

Yet maybe if we consider what we typically DON’T do in a scramble (but maybe we should), we’ll get closer in how educators can “bring game.”  We said earlier to each other:

Rarely do we find one being chosen to be on the team because he/she has superior abilities of course management, restated, the ability to make the best decisions given certain situations. Sometimes caddies will perform this task when working with professional golfers. They are charged with “coaching” the player, with respect to providing yardages, the line of a putt, controlling emotions, or simply providing a head nod as a way to invoke confidence.

In this sense of dividing responsibilities among those in schools, everyone typically has a skill that can contribute something. Even the worst teacher typically has something of value to add to the conversation.

Thus, in bringing “game” to education, playing smart while capitalizing on each other’s strengths is what really helps a school’s performance.  In such, the principal seems the logical choice as the “coach” of the team (if superintendents have hired wisely), yet the principal’s selection as coach does not imply that he/she is necessarily recognized as the best teacher, or even a great teacher. 

The principal should, however, be a good caddy.

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Dr. Steve Gruenert and Dr. Ryan Donlan enjoy learning from deep conversation, especially when midway through, they can detect fallacies in their own thinking and discover new avenues to ponder, those that make more sense.  Will you consider joining them? One way to do so is to visit them on campus and have lunch.  Another is to offer your own thoughts by contributing to the Leadershop.  Please consider helping these guys stay relevant through your feedback. They can be reached at steve.gruenert@indstate.edu or at ryan.donlan@indstate.edu.

Best Intentions and Blind Spots - Unpacking the Achievement Gap

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Best Intentions and Blind Spots - Unpacking the Achievement Gap

As we head into summer (vacations for many of us), have we thought about what we will read to help us better address student achievement?  Well, we certainly have at Indiana State University, with a book study (same name as this week's title) of the perspectives of two notable, national voices on POVERTY – Dr. Ruby Payne and Dr. Jawanza Kunjufu. 

Please “take 5” this week, and check out Dr. Joshua Powers' article below, formerly run on the ISU Ed. Leadershop in May of 2012. If this piques your interest, consider “unpacking the achievement gap” with book studies and deep conversations of your own. 

Summer’s a great time to do it! 

Best to you all, and thanks for making us relevant. 

-- ISU Ed. Leadershop Faculty and Friends

 

Payne v. Kunjufu:

Poverty and the College Attendance Pipeline

Dr. Joshua Powers

Associate Vice President for Student Success

Professor of Educational Leadership

Indiana State University

I recently attended a screening of the new documentary, First Generation. It is a film about four high school students—an inner city African-American athlete, a small town White waitress, a Samoan dancer, and a daughter of migrant field workers—and their experiences navigating the possibilities of college attendance and breaking the cycle of poverty that grips each of their lives.

Over the course of their junior and senior years, we see these four high-achieving students in archetypical daily struggles, yet most powerfully and fresh, we see the crushing mismatch between college expectations and potential with the barriers to attaining their dreams.  Some examples include:

Little sense for the diversity of institutional types in this country or how to differentiate one from another other than on proximity;

Seeing athletics as the only real opportunity for scholarships since that is what they know from big-time college sports on television;

Clear admissibility to an elite public institution but not applying because they could not pay the $100 application fee;

No sense that there is a college sticker price versus a price they would actually pay at even an “expensive” private institution and that as children of poverty, they had strong potential for attendance for free;

Being wholly dependent on the school guidance counselor for help and the realistic capability or even interest that the counselor has in the intense support of the needs of the student;

A parent(s) that can’t bear the thought of their child “going away” to school or that does not see why college is important; and

Choosing the local community college over a more distant four-year institution with the expectation of ultimately attaining a bachelor’s degree despite the reality that most with this expectation do not.

As I reflect on the power of this documentary, and the daunting challenge we have as a nation to provide a larger proportion of our citizenry with a postsecondary education, I find myself recalling a debate I saw a few years back between Ruby Payne and Jawanza Kunjufu and their competing perspectives on how to think about and respond to children and youth in poverty.  Payne provides a window into what she calls generational poverty and the patterns of behavior that she says pass down through generations that often lock a person in a cycle of poverty.  She also describes social class language differences that America’s teachers from largely middle-class backgrounds find enriching for “understanding” their poor students. 

Hmm, sounds a lot like blaming the victim and a means of helping teachers know “them” better, but does it serve to reinforce assumptions? 

Kunjufu, by contrast, puts forth an argument that America’s largely White, middle-class, and female teachers are ill-prepared to work with the African American students that make up a considerable percentage of poor students in schools and thus develop low expectations for them, perhaps reinforced through low performance sourced in a mismatch between teaching and learning styles. 

Hmm, sounds plausible, but how do we best prepare or mentor teachers to be more effective in the diverse classroom? 

Whatever is going on, insidious forces are at work, that in my view play out in many ways, including in their effect on college attendance patterns [i.e. rich kids disproportionally attending four-year institutions and poor kids community colleges], those that seem to reinforce a class society. 

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Our Liminal State

Our Liminal State

By Dr. Ryan Donlan

Assistant Professor

Department of Educational Leadership

Bayh College of Education

Indiana State University

In the field of anthropology, a liminal point is a developmental transition, a period of time after leaving one status and before entering another (Bennett deMarrais & LeCompte, 1999).  We can think of this as a time in which we’re not quite what we used to be, but not quite what we will become.  A few examples are noted:

Initiates in fraternal orders exist in liminal states.  So do brides on the day of their wedding before the actual ceremony; they are, in a sense, neither married nor single.  Student teachers are no longer students in the traditional sense, but not quite teachers either.  Their in-between state is a state of liminality. (Bennett deMarrais & LeCompte, 1999, p. 104).

When I think of liminal states, my thoughts turn conceptual, as I ask myself, “While in a liminal state, are we sandwiched relationally, in a fixed position after something and before something else, or are we traveling developmentally from something in the past, through the present, and toward our future?”  Reminds me of discussions I once had regarding the construct of “time,” with one of my favorite former professors of philosophy, Dr. L. Nathan Oaklander at the University of Michigan-Flint.

One thing is fairly clear to me: In a liminal state, the ground upon which we operate is unsettled.  I also would pose that it takes a bit of effort on our part to go from liminality toward whatever the next phase will be in our lives.

All that said – We are in a liminal state in education right now. 

In our current state, WE are situated after something and before something else and are traveling developmentally from the past, through the present, toward our future.  Our ground is unsettled. Regaining solid footing will take a certain degree of volition and responsibility for smart navigation. 

What is particularly interesting is that in moving through and eventually past our liminality, we have the autonomy to regress if we wish. We can just as easily move back from whence we came, even more easily than forward (contrasting it with the adolescence example, above). 

Maybe “education” has its own particular flavor of liminality. It is certainly “on us,” which way we go.

What is our liminal state?  In our profession, it is not a position midway between a focus on local demands and those of the state, nation, or world.  We have been in the latter since 1957’s Sputnik launch.  It is not a position between an era of accountability and one formerly without.  We’re currently up to our necks in it.  Our liminal state does not have us sandwiched between a manufacturing model with an agrarian calendar, and something that makes more sense.  In most cases, we’re still Horace Mann’s poster child.

I truly believe that our liminal state has to do with our centeredness as a profession.  The question pertaining would be, “Are we teaching-centered or learning-centered in our schools?” 

Where’s our bulls-eye? 

Ours is a state of liminality somewhere between a focus on what we serve up, and its result.  The following indicators are just a few examples that place us betwixt and between …

Those that show we are no longer focused so much on teaching:

Our understanding of a need to differentiate instruction for children;

The chipping away of job security for the incompetent;

Student learning, as a focal point of teacher and administrative evaluation;

Vertical and horizontal alignment of curriculum;

Hybrid models of instruction and school redesign;

Choice and competition – charters and vouchers.

            Those that show we’re not quite totally focused on learning:

The fact that differentiation is still limited to pedagogy;

A Euro-centric focus on test content and for that matter … teaching to the test;

Blaming “circumstance” (family, poverty, etc.) for lackluster achievement;

And most of all -- Treating learners in a way we would not want to be treated, ourselves.  Consider the following  …

“Nowhere else is such a large group of noncriminals forced to remain in an institution for so long, a fact that makes children’s attitudes about their participation diverge markedly from that of adults” (Bennett deMarrais & LeCompte, 1999, p. 128).

… and …

“One need only watch the behavior of adult teachers in faculty meetings to question whether adults can be as quiet, sit as still, and listen as well as children are expected to do” (Bennett deMarrias & LeCompte, 1999, p. 246).

Regarding our liminality, the question then becomes, “When are we going to own our own potency and make a decision either to move backward nearer to teaching, or forward nearer to learning?” 

And … do we have the potency to move at all?

References

Bennett deMarrias, K. & LeCompte, M. D. (1999). The way schools work: A sociological analysis of education (3^rd ed.).  New York, NY: Addison Wesley Longman, Inc.

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The Memorial Day Weekend had Dr. Donlan reading books in a remote part of Michigan.  Liminality came to him as he was re-reading a text for a summer course.  As you enjoy your summer reading, please consider offering constructs of your own that can be shared in the Ed. Leadershop, as we would be most grateful for your contribution.  As always, you can contact Ryan Donlan at (812) 237-8624 or at ryan.donlan@indstate.edu.  Thank you for your leadership and for your readership!

Addressing AAE

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Addressing AAE

By Dr. Ryan Donlan

Assistant Professor

Department of Educational Leadership

Bayh College of Education

Indiana State University

Recently, my family and I chose a restaurant’s small, outdoor patio for a weekend dinner.  Shortly after seating, three boys from an adjacent table began running around, as boys will do before being reined in by their parents.  One was about eight years old … another nine or ten … and the third, pre-school it appeared. 

No “rein” occurred that evening.

As my children looked on with interest at the tag-playing and hoopla (with probably a desire to join in until they caught my eye), the boys’ parents, two couples who appeared to be in their mid-to-late 30’s, simply sat nearby, a blind eye to the antics and enjoying each other’s company – quality adult time.

At numerous points, the preschooler stood aside our table, crowing for all he was worth, while the others darted around some large cement pillars, crayons in hands, arms swinging. This activity continued non-stop, from the point of our ordering to the arrival of our pizza.

My wife, Wendy, then said, “Oh my goodness; they’re writing on the cement.” 

One of the boys, the others aside, was using the crayons provided by restaurant staff to draw on the large, cement pillar on the outdoor patio.  Parents continued to enjoy themselves.

I’ll spare you my response, as that’s not important, but let’s just say it was “old school.”

The couples eventually left with their children, neither informing the wait staff of the crayon use nor making any attempt at redress. 

My son told me later than one of the boys often misbehaves at school.

It’s no wonder. 

He has been taught he can behave unbridled, irrespective of how it affects others or their property, as long as his parents are left to do what they wish at a distance. 

My heart went out to him.

I believe what my children and I witnessed last Friday was an affliction I call AAE, “Abject Adult Entitlement,” a growing phenom bringing indirect challenges to our schools and especially to our leadership. 

AAE allows parents to commiserate with other adults around kitchen tables on any given school night, while their children stay up late, run hither and yon around the neighborhood, and learn things from older children that they should be learning from their parents.   [Because … it’s all about “them” (the parents).]

In schools, AAE is not limited to the parents of our students.  AAE blames assistant principals when children are disciplined … yet blames them again, when children are not. [Note: Those “inside” can exhibit AAE, as it can be all about "them," as well.]   AAE results in two- or three-way finger pointing if children fail assignments.  AAE makes a delicate circumstance for anyone expressing in staff lounges, “If children are not learning, it is my fault.” 

As leaders, how are we handling AAE?  I hope not through denial.

Our work in addressing AAE demands first that we recognize what it is … how it has afflicted our society … and why.  Leaders must ask ourselves, “What do we look for in symptoms?”  “What conditions make AAE communicable?”   “Can we inoculate?” 

This is a difficult subject for me, as I must distance my strong personal feelings regarding AAE from my position as an educational leader (requiring more temperance).  In doing so, I am beginning to develop an perspective on how we can do just that … “inoculate.”

I strongly believe that the first booster leaders must give to themselves is a healthy dose of unconditional, positive regard and the ability to forgive others in advance for what they have become.  We must be all right with this, and with ourselves for doing so.

Follow-up treatment involves our efforts as leaders in creating, nurturing, and maintaining positive, sustained relationships that can withstand a treatment regimen of critical conversations, authentic boundary setting, and through such, over time … trust. 

It’s a comprehensive prescription that will address AAE when it must be addressed, while creating school wellness. 

Probably the most important thing to remember in AAE is never to express our concern directly about an adult’s AAE in front of an audience (especially his/her children).  Going in through what I call “the front door” is errant enough, let alone, doing such in front of others in a way that can cause embarrassment. 

A “side-door” approach takes a bit more time, focuses on relationships, and uses story, where we share vignettes that contain elements of AAE in other settings with the person we are trying to treat, working to plant a non-confrontational seed from which later thoughts can grow.

In considering the demands of our school leadership roles and their importance in saving lives – We must humbly consider that we are only as good as the partnerships we create between school, home, and community. Recognizing this, we must ensure that our teaching of students will not be undone each evening by those, who themselves, were left many years ago running amok in restaurants, staying out way-too-late, and defacing others’ property while their own parents paid more attention to AAE than they did, to parenting.

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Dr. Ryan Donlan is continuing his investigation into how American school wellness can be nurtured and preserved.  Will you help him in this venture by sharing your thoughts, observations, and perspectives, contacting him at (812) 237-8624 or at ryan.donlan@indstate.edu.  Thanks, so much, for leading!

Overhearing Raymond

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Overhearing Raymond

By Dr. Ryan Donlan

Assistant Professor

Department of Educational Leadership

Bayh College of Education

Indiana State University

Last week, I turned-on the television in anticipation of a network program that I enjoy and heard from a distance the final few minutes of an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond, starring Ray Romano.  It appeared that Raymond was testifying at a school board meeting, but in retrospect, I’m not sure. 

What I AM sure about was that he made a great point in saying something to the effect of, “Are we protecting our children’s futures by sacrificing their present?” as he exited the podium at the show’s conclusion.

I’d like to ask us if we’re inadvertently doing just that in education today – protecting our children’s futures by sacrificing their present.  A few indicators would say that we are, such as …

1.     Worrying so much about students’ abilities to be “on track” academically once reaching adulthood, that we over-assess along the way, inadvertently creating a malaise of academic disdain through our good intentions and a hyper-vigilant desire for formative snapshots?

2.  Saddling such an incredible burden for future, academic outcomes upon the shoulders of teachers and children that we half-life (or more) the time children are allowed to “play” and “socialize” in the present. By doing so, could we be inhibiting age-appropriate, socio-emotional development necessary as a stable foundation for learning?

3.    Requiring for the future of our schools that our school leaders serve the majority of any given day as lesson-scripting, in-class, instructional analysts. By prescribing, play-by-play, the details of leadership, have we taken away our principals’ abilities to serve children who so desperately need them when they walk through the schoolhouse gate each morning? What good is a principal’s “open door” if the office is empty?

What indicators do you see?  Would you be willing to share? 

I have no idea which episode I watched briefly or the story behind why Raymond was testifying.  For that matter, it may not have even been a school board meeting. 

Yet when life greets me with a moment to pause and ask myself, “Are we doing the right thing?” I try to involve a few trusted friends in the conversation.

My next thought as I ponder the aforementioned is one of the inverse …

“Are we [over]protecting our children’s present, and by doing so, sacrificing their futures?” 

That might be a whole ‘nother conversation.

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Dr. Ryan Donlan asks that you share the ISU Ed. Leadershop with friends and colleagues who want to think deep about important issues, yet have very little time, as many depend upon them.  If you think of any topics that deserve a “short-read” in our marketplace, please contact us at (812) 237-8624 or at ryan.donlan@indstate.edu.  Thanks for helping us to consider the present and future of education.

Three-Deep Decision-Making

Three-Deep Decision-Making

By Dr. Ryan Donlan

Assistant Professor

Department of Educational Leadership

Bayh College of Education

Indiana State University

My intentions were sincere … to provide for the education of children. 

I needed to get my son and daughter to school, as I do each day, yet in peering from the front porch, I noticed the load of 20 bags of mulch that I forgot to remove from my P.T. Cruiser during a weekend of constant rain.  My hope had been that the skies would part and I would be able to drive them directly to my back yard landscaping project.

With 20 bags, there was barely room for a driver, let alone two elementary students, so I had to take action. 

The prudent route would have been to unload the bags into the garage for later transport.  Instead (and thinking about “me”), I drove them directly to the backyard worksite, inspecting the ground every few feet for signs that I was making an indentation on the gentle slope.  Satisfied I was not, I then unloaded quickly and began my return. 

I didn’t get too far.

As forward movement slowed, I found myself without adequate weight to make the slight uphill trek.  I then became “stuck,” tires spinning, mud building, and car rocking as I worsened my plight … with two children who needed to get to school looking on in disbelief, wonder, and a bit of amusement. 

Thoughts drifted to leadership, as they always do when life greets me … particularly, three-deep decision-making.  Three-deep decision-making involves careful analysis of three factors of reality before taking action:  The WHAT, the HOW, and the UNDER WHAT CONDITIONS that are involved with present circumstance. 

The WHAT involves a clear examination of the goal or desired result that we want; the HOW involves careful consideration of the people and resources needed to accomplish it, and the UNDER WHAT CONDITIONS involves consideration of the contextual variables in play, so that it all plays out smartly.

In my case:

WHAT:  The goal was to clear the car, so that I could get my children to school.

HOW:  By unloading the mulch, either in the garage or at the worksite.

UNDER WHAT CONDITIONS:  In the midst of rain and a well-soaked lawn.

In my situation, it would have been more prudent to spend a bit more time considering the latter two.

Onward to leadership -- How would this play-itself-out?  In schools, the WHAT’s present themselves often. We’re never short on them. 

Examples:

The WHAT of addressing an issue of staff tardiness to school.

The WHAT of handling an issue of graffiti in the student restrooms.

The WHAT of mitigating conflict between two staff members.

The WHAT of navigating an issue of micromanagement by a local board of education member.

Three-deep decision-making would in the first instance, help us think through whether or not we mention staff tardiness in a staff meeting or by having an in-person conversation with only those tardy, so as not to burden others with the message.  As colleague Todd Whitaker shared a similar example with doctoral students earlier today, handling this improperly could result in those guilty believing they have sufficient “cover,” as your best staff member, who might have been tardy once in 1993 (because she helped an elderly man fix a flat tire and called to let you know from a pay phone), will share the burden of the message. 

Three-deep decision-making doesn’t take long; it only demands a prudent pause to more clearly reflect upon options and consequences.

In my instance (which lacked a good deal of three-deep decision-making), getting out of the jam included asking my wife to take time off work so that she could race our children to school and tow me from the yard to the driveway … all the while I played mud wrestler, hooking a tow rope to the axle of a P.T. Cruiser buried deep while ruining my lawn.

Three-deep decision-making might have offered two images as I first looked at that bags of mulch filling my car-- one of a pilot who knows that the shortest distance between two points isn’t necessary a straight line and another of a race car driver, who knows that the quickest path to a finish line isn’t always the inside lane.  Three-deep decision-making would have offered the “Duh!” that I needed.

More importantly, with three-deep decision-making, I would have better understood that if my decision were to be “all about me” (which it was), then it could result in my placing a burden upon everyone (which it did).  A very important thing to consider in leadership.

Literally, with three-deep decision-making, I would have kept myself out of the mud, without the time and expense of patchwork. 

That is time that I won’t get back.

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Dr. Ryan Donlan sees leadership through life and loves better to understand how you see it through yours.  Please consider dropping him a line every once in a while by calling (812) 237-8624 or by writing him at ryan.donlan@indstate.edu.