After 10 years in the classroom at Roy High School, Weber High School, and the first year of West Field High School, I’m taking on extra leadership and moving into administration as an assistant principal. 

Academically speaking, I achieved many successes and experienced significant growth in student achievement and progress. My students consistently performed at high levels, met competence benchmarks, and left my room every year better in the subject than when they started. I can toot my own horn all day. Toot, toot, toot. 

That’s not really what I want to do, though. Toots aside, I just want to stroll down memory lane.

I read and discussed The Great Gatsby at least four times a year for the last decade, becoming passionate about its critique of the American Dream. Is Daisy worth it? Is Gatsby all that great? Trying to make it connect better to kids, I illegally spliced together Family Guy clips from their TV episode of the title for a lesson, and created my best lecture ever (my words) using Taylor Swift lyrics and references for another. I’d make it weird and ask the kids who their crushes were from five years ago, when they were in 6th grade, and what it would be like to move in across the street from them with a scrapbook of screenshots of everything they’ve posted over those years. I’d subtly hint about going abroad for a two-year adventure, akin to how Gatsby goes abroad to fight in the war, and then he gets a Dear John crushing heartbreak. 

I know too much about the ins and outs of the ACT, crash-coursing students every February and March in anticipation of the free test the state provides, which acts as a mandated assessment. Diving into the data, I found trends for my schools in my state, found the skills that were connected to the score, and found the breakdown of what percentage of the test was what type of question. While the scores and the test were important for reasons, I would have my kids copy and sign a waiver that said their number didn’t define their self-worth. 

I graded a million (ish) papers. Some favorites were about Black Lives Matter, the socio-economic disparity of the demographics our schools serve, and a touching rewrite of “I Have a Dream.” For the last long while, every year would start with a narrative writing unit mirroring NPR’s This I Believe series. Short, sweet, personal stories of events, ideals, senses, or memories that ground a person into their sense of self. Some were fun and lighthearted – like believing in car rides with best friends and the windows rolled down and the music turned up – and others were more serious and formal – like the first time having sex and questioning their relationship with god afterwards. 

Over the years, I taught English 10, English 11, English 11 Honors, Concurrent Enrollment English 1010, Concurrent Enrollment English 2015, Journalism, ACT Prep, Student Government, Weber Online English 10, Weber Online English 12, and Weber Online Credit Recovery. Outside of teaching, I took on extra duties all the time. I was Student Government Advisor, Hope Squad Advisor, and Cross Country Assistant Coach. I’ve been on the Leadership Team, PLC Guided Coalition, School Spirit Committee, Mentoring Committee, and Accreditation Team. I’ve created content for Weber Online and as an English Teaching Fellow for the district. Additionally, I’ve been an Ed Tech coach, an ISM (first-year teacher mentor), School Safety Coordinator, PLC Chair, and Graduation Chair. I’ve presented at the LEARN Conference and New Teacher Orientation and sent out Tech Tip Tuesday emails for the district. Loving sports, I helped outside as much as possible. I’ve announced baseball, volleyball, and lacrosse games, worked scoreboard and stats for football and basketball, ran operations for track meets, and oversaw Athletic Director duties for a winter season.

I remember delivering one of my first lectures while junior-year students took notes on the contents. As I was navigating through the prepared slides, a boy in the back was half-heartedly keeping up while giggling with his buddy. At one point, I moved onto the next slide, and he raised his hand. “Can you go back? I didn’t get all the notes for that one,” he asked. “No,” I replied, “You should be following along.” Looking at me dead in the eye, he stood up, flipped me off, and walked out of the room. 

I was administering a state-mandated test a few months later. A student wasn’t finished, yet pulled out their phone, which is a big no-no. It should have been in a backpack in the corner of the room, but there it was, in his hands. I walked over, whispered, and took his phone back to my desk. A minute or two later, he came up to the front of the room with his test completed, handing it in, and asked if he could have his phone back. I said no because others were still testing (and would be for the next hour since he finished so early). He took his test back from me, ripped it in half, grabbed his phone from the corner of my desk, and walked out of the room. 

One of the highlights of my teaching career came in year two, when I asked students to write a poem in response to a book we were reading, Tuesdays with Morrie. It was a start-of-class writing exercise to get students thinking about Morrie and reflecting on the novel. I told students they would need to present their poems, which set off a series of groans. One dude, on the other hand, went straight to work. Instead of ‘just’ a poem, this student found some background beats on YouTube and decided to rap in front of his classmates about Morrie. 

Students pulled out their phones to start recording and enjoy the energy when my classroom door opened, and the whole administration and the resource officer stood in the frame. They let the boys finish their presentation, shared in the applause, and then asked if we all would leave the room. They came inside with the police dogs, who started sniffing the room. After a long wait in the hallway, which told me this wasn’t just a drill, they left with a backpack they found, asking me which student sat in a particular seat, who they then asked to tag along with them back to the office. 

As an avid Utah Jazz basketball fan, I had a Jazz shrine in my classroom for a while. On the shelf was an old and decrepit toaster that would imprint the Jazz logo on your toast. I hadn’t used it in years. It caught the eye of some boys who asked what it was and if they could use it. For many days, I said no until finally making an off-handed comment that if they brought the bread and butter, we could make some toast. The next class period, sure enough, they brought their supplies. With no choice really, we lined up the first piece of bread. It lingered for forever, with a burning smell getting stronger and stronger as the toaster hadn’t been dumped and hadn’t worked in far too long. Nothing burned down, but the smell was strong. A minute or two later, an administrator opened my door for a reason, quickly scanned the room, got distracted, and asked, “Why does it smell like toast in here?” To which I replied, “Because we made toast?” 

Speaking of the Jazz, every December, I would stop class for 15 minutes and deliver a Utah Jazz 101 lesson. It was themed around the words THEN and NOW, going from my fandom growing up to being a Jazz dad, to a history lesson of the greats from the past to the current greats (or lack thereof), all of my writing over the years on the team, and then a compilation of the great plays from yesterday and today.

My room was also a safe place, something I took immense pride in. I found and investigated suicide notes or distressing information from written prompts. In fact, within the first two months of my teaching career, I had to intervene in a potential suicide from a dude who sat front row, top of the morning every other day. I had a student come my way one early morning to give me razor blades she had stolen and was hoping to use that day. Another time, I had a student I had never taught, never knew, run frantically into my room, hide behind my podium, and I sat with them during a panic attack that had a dark tone. While always a drill, it’s harrowing to sit in school safety trainings, lockdown drills, and walk-throughs of the worst-case scenarios. 

My enjoyment of my career really took off when I got involved with the Hope Squad and then Student Government. While also working 40 hours a week as a teacher in the classroom, I’d work another 40 as an unofficial project manager to create school spirit, build school culture, enhance tradition, and give the student body a foundation of memories for the rest of their lives. We started Cereal Bars after school, random St. Patrick Day decorations and Lucky Charm scavenger hunts, poster walls and then brought back a student body dance for football games, the expectations of fundraising for families in need, service for the little people that make a school work, and, of course, run the assemblies and Homecoming and Proms. 

One Homecoming, I was working at a front table with a big boot on my foot and my scooter to my side. I had torn my Achilles playing basketball a month earlier, had a successful surgery, and limped around to fulfill all my duties as assigned. Heather was with me, sitting behind a table checking tickets, when a student ran to her (the first adult she saw) to tell her there was a fight. She said, “Uhhh well, crap.” Immediately, I sprang to my feet, cast and boot out of mind, to handle the situation of two girls going at it in the middle of the lobby. After getting separated from the punches and hair-grabbing,  one girl started having a seizure, adding to the complexity of the moment. The student body was starting to gather around the situation, engulfing like a mob, and it was getting too real, too quick, so little Steve in a boot had to use his grown-up voice and take care of business (while the paid police officers just watched as two other parents stepped in). 

I remember another time standing up to a horde of big boy football players, telling them what they were engaging in was not appropriate and needed to move off campus. The stature said I was little, the tone said I meant business. 

I usually taught the play The Crucible by Arthur Miller at the beginning of the school year for my juniors. While showcasing the hysteria and drama of the Salem Witch Trials, it was written in the 1950s to highlight the Red Scare of communism in America and McCarthyism. Near the beginning of that unit, I would put students on “trial” to gauge their patriotism. Students would be quickly chosen, classmates would peer pressure and shout and distract, and I would loudly ask them to recite the Pledge of the Allegiance or the Star-Spangled Banner. If they couldn’t, they were a ‘witch’! On one such occasion, a cute, bubbly girl walked into class at the perfect transition for an interrogation to start. In unison, the students and I turned on her and began shouting and asking questions. Kids joined in the interrogation, and I know this moment doesn’t sound that crazy, but it was so, so chaotically funny. 

I also taught journalism, leading the publication efforts for the school newspaper. After a few years, we decided to publish a more student-focused and visually appealing magazine. We were creating the product from scratch and put a lot of time and attention into every small detail. After printing 1,000 copies, we flipped through the magazine to see our work. One page was centered on the best fictional high schools in movies, with the likes of High School Musical, Mean Girls, and Ferris Bueller. We had meant to include the Breakfast Club, of course, but instead it read The Breastfest Club. Heather says the kids did it on purpose while I remain adamant it was an honest mistake. We had to put on a lot of stickers to ‘censor’ the mistake.

During my first month of teaching, a mother emailed my principal, the superintendent, and the entire school board, requesting that I be fired. I had assigned students to read an article about social media. The student lied to their mom and said I was asking them to download Snapchat. Instead of talking to me, the mom went to the bigwigs instead. Another time, I got called into the office for a conversation with a parent who was mad that her daughter wasn’t being considered for Homecoming royalty (this student was also lying to her mom). There have been a few tense talks behind closed doors because of bullying and harassment, with Little Darling as the bad guy. 

But listen, being a teacher has been good to me. By teaching kids, I’ve made lifelong friends who cheer for me as I cheer for them. I’m “family friends” with too many to count, attending sealings, weddings, mission farewell parties, mission homecoming reunions, and summer lunches with so many good faces in good places. It was within education that saw me grow up into a better version of myself: I got a handle on my mental health, I became a dad, I bought a house, I got my master’s degree, I refound my identity, and, alongside my biggest supporter and wife, I endured a difficult challenge with baby number two. 

When pregnant with Navy, we learned of challenges too big to handle. My friends in education, students and teachers, rallied for us. I wrote for the Standard Examiner of the experience, saying “While the challenges were real, and hurdles remain, we find comfort knowing loved ones, primarily at Weber High and in this community, graciously gave to provide peace of mind. The money was needed, and a bonus for sure, but the love, care and concern were just as tangible.”

The way students and the community connected with my family is another specific highlight. During that tough pregnancy and delivery, a stranger dropped off a brownie mix and a gift specifically for Heather from one of my students. At Pep Rallies and Bonfires for a couple of years in a row, both of my kids got to dance with the cheerleaders and coaches or play with the marching band. With those cheerleaders, Kai has been on top of the pyramid at basketball games, and with the dancers, Navy has danced at halftime shows. One Bonfire, Kai got to hang out with the firefighters for most of the night, putting on the clothes and the hat, and then helping spray out the burning letter with the mighty hose to end the evening. A handful of times, I would walk out to my truck after a long day and find a 6-pack of Coke on the hood from who knows.

I chose high school because of the extracurriculars. Watching my other kids, the ones who sat in the desks of my rooms, shine on stage or in competition, made me beam like a proud big brother. I was given awards nicknamed as the Cool Dad or the Fun Uncle (Funcle), but something in our age difference, in my mind, always went into the POV of a big brother. In fact, I taught my best friend’s little brother, who appeared in my SBO candidacy skit as a little kid when I was a senior, for two years. As a TA, I had the daughter of the cool kids who were seniors when I was an underclassman. The girl I crushed on in 7th grade? Taught her brother. Every kid that Heather ever babysat? Yup, taught them, too (and they remembered her).

I will never forget attending a state championship soccer match that went down to a shootout. Never had I been more invested in the sport, the team, or that particular goalie whose grandma, dad and mom, and extended family were sitting behind us. As the goalie pushed aside back-to-back penalty kicks to end the shootout, the thrill of the back-to-back state championship was unlike any other I had experienced in any of my fanhoods. 

As Weber School District celebrated the graduates of 2025, the Superintendent of Weber School District sent an email to the teachers. She wrote, “Whether students are moving on to a new grade or stepping into adult life, we’ve played a part in their story. We’ve shown up, leaned in, and embraced our role with heart and purpose. And because of that, we’ve made the world a little better and the future a little brighter, for our students and for all of us.”