History teacher at New Richmond Middle School. Tennis coach at SUA, Beechmont Racquet and Fitness, Lunken Playfield, and KCC. Striving to learn, create, and innovate one day at a time.
Sometimes, teaching history means peeling back the layers. Literally.
It was late in the year, and I just wanted to mix things up. We’d been hitting heavy content, and I needed something different—not easier, just… different.
So I asked AI to help.
We were covering the Lincoln-Douglas debates—a pivotal moment tied to the expansion of slavery and the rise of the Republican Party. I pasted a section of our textbook into ChatGPT and gave it a twist: “Rewrite this reading. Keep all the key facts. But embed five subtle clues to an object: an orange. Don’t name it. Just hide it.”
The clues?
wedge
sections
bitter
peel
squeeze
But here’s the thing—I didn’t tell the students that. I left the rewritten passage with the sub, followed by the usual reading questions. No mention of any mystery. No hint that something fun was coming.
Only after they answered the questions did I drop the surprise: A Padlet link with the challenge. “Based on the clues in the reading, what mystery object do you think I was thinking of? Add your guess. Then explain how it connects to a country being pulled apart by the issue of slavery.”
To make it more interesting—and to avoid copycat answers—I changed the Padlet settings to manual approval. No one could see each other’s guesses.
And just like that, reading became a puzzle. The guesses poured in: a violin? a broken flag? a lemon zest? And then came the ones that nailed it: an orange.
Their follow-up explanations were exactly what I hoped for:
“The country was in wedges, pulling away from the center.”
“There were different sections that couldn’t stay together.”
“Once you peel it, you can’t undo it.”
“Everyone was getting squeezed from both sides.”
That day, the students didn’t just complete another textbook reading. They investigated. They connected. They created a metaphor.
Why This Works: This isn’t fluff. It’s curiosity-driven, metaphor-based reading that builds real skills. Here’s the breakdown:
Choose a reading worth understanding deeply.
Pick an everyday object that metaphorically fits the moment.
Use AI to embed 4–6 subtle clues.
Let students read and respond as usual.
Then drop the mystery object twist: guess and explain the metaphor.
It turns reading into a mystery. It turns metaphor into meaning. It turns a late-year lesson into something different because we all need that during this time of year.
It was late in the year. We had a new textbook series, and I was opening our Civil War unit with what the book called a “geography challenge.”
Blank map. Labeling instructions. A few basic questions.
I passed it out like I had all year—going through the motions, hoping something would click.
Then a student stood up and asked the question I hadn’t said out loud, but had been carrying with me for months: “Why are we doing this? I don’t learn anything from these maps.”
She wasn’t being rude. She was just being real.
And honestly? She was right.
In that moment, I did something I’d never done before. I told the class to stand up. Walk to the trash can. And throw the maps away.
Some might say I let the students take over. I see it differently.
That day, I made a promise—to myself and to them: I’m going to be better than this textbook.
From that point forward, I became obsessed with making social studies an experience. Not a worksheet. Not a compliance task. An experience.
I started reading everything I could find. I tried new strategies. I messed up. I adjusted. I reflected. I failed forward. Some lessons landed. Some bombed. But I kept going.
That one comment flipped a switch. It made me stop settling. It pushed me to search for better ways—and eventually, it led me to EduProtocols. (But that’s another Things That Shaped Me post.)
For now, I’ll say this: That student didn’t just question a lesson. She lit a fire. She gave me permission to stop pretending the default was good enough.
And I’ve been building something better ever since.
This week in 234, we stacked a lot of learning into five days—Fast & Curious, Frayer Models, Mini Reports, Short Answer Battle Royales, and even a Netflix-themed summative. We used Thin Slides and AI tools like MagicSchool to keep thinking sharp and feedback immediate. Students worked through compromises, created empathy maps, asked hard questions, and wrapped it all up with creative final products. Every day had a clear task, a familiar structure, and a chance to show what they knew in a new way.
I wasn’t at school Monday, but I still wanted the lesson to move thinking forward. This was the day to bridge the gap between our work on reform—especially abolitionism—and the new unit on the causes of the Civil War. I didn’t want it to feel like two separate things. I wanted students to start seeing the threads.
I started them with an EdPuzzle on the causes of the Civil War. This was more of a primer than anything—just to introduce key ideas like sectionalism, states’ rights, and slavery as a cause, not a side detail. From there, they jumped into a vocabulary Quizizz to build some retrieval around terms like secession, abolitionist, compromise, and conflict. The goal was to give them some anchors before diving deeper later in the week.
Next, students read a short piece on the Abolitionist Movement. The reading focused on how individuals and laws pushed against slavery in different ways—through writing, escape networks, and protest. They answered four questions in complete sentences, which gave structure without overloading them. This is always a key decision I think about when I’m not there: clarity over complexity.
Finally, they went to a Padlet where they shared two things they learned and responded to the big question: “What was the cause of the Civil War?” That question, in one form or another, is going to guide us the next couple weeks. And I wanted them thinking about it early—even if their answer was rough.
None of it was flashy, but it had purpose. It helped me set up our three guiding themes for the unit:
Compromises Can’t Solve Slavery
A Nation Divides
Getting Ready for War
The best part is it gave them space to revisit old knowledge and preview new ideas—and when I returned Tuesday, they were ready to build.
Tuesday/Wednesday: The Missouri Compromise
Our theme this week was “Compromises Can’t Solve Slavery,” and this lesson focused on the Missouri Compromise.
We opened with a Quizizz for vocabulary and retrieval—terms like “compromise,” “balance,” and “slave vs. free states.” I originally planned to use a Frayer Model for the word “compromise,” but students already demonstrated understanding on Quizizz, so I cut it. Real-time data helps guide what stays and what goes.
Then we jumped into Upside Down Learning (from EMC2Learning), scaffolded with three categories: Cause, Conflict, and Compromise. Above the line, students charted accurate info from the Missouri Compromise reading. Below the line, they created an alternate reality—what if Missouri hadn’t joined as a slave state? What if no compromise had happened? It’s a quick way to push thinking to higher levels of Bloom’s—synthesis and evaluation.
Next came a task I call Fray-I. I wanted students to ask a question that the reading didn’t answer. Then, using MagicSchool’s Raina AI, they typed in their question and completed a Frayer-style evaluation:
What was the main idea of the AI’s response?
Did it use evidence?
Was anything missing?
Would you trust this response?
We ended with an Empathy Map based on two primary sources—one from a Northerner and one from a Southerner debating slavery in the West. After reading, students chose one voice and filled out an empathy map to process their perspective.
Why this worked: It hit different levels—retrieval, evaluation, synthesis. The tasks built on each other and helped students understand compromise not just as a definition, but as a broken fix in a broken system.
And AI wasn’t just an “add-on”—it was a skill. Ask. Analyze. Evaluate.
Thursday – Caption Crunch
Thursday was all about keeping the cognitive load low—but not the learning. I’m running out of days before testing hits, and I knew I had to get both the Compromise of 1850 and the Kansas-Nebraska Act into one lesson. Normally, I’d spread those out. But I’ve learned that reducing the number of tasks while still keeping the thinking high is one way to keep the load manageable. It’s not just about what content you include—it’s also about how you deliver it.
We started with a Fast and Curious on Quizizz. Same core theme questions we’ve been hitting: compromise, slavery, and failure. It got them thinking quickly and primed for the day’s work.
Then we jumped into our Mini-Report. The layout was intentional—students had to compare both compromises side-by-side, using two half-page readings. I’ve found that the Mini-Report structure helps students stay focused, especially when they’ve seen it before. Familiarity builds confidence, and confidence keeps engagement up.
Before we read, I ran an EdPuzzle—some classes did it live, others on their own. I had them write down just one detail from the video to get them warmed up. That’s it. Just one. No overkill, no worksheet—just purposeful priming.
After that, we read and filled in the Mini-Report. No full sentences. Just paraphrased notes to get them processing.
Once they had their facts, we jumped into Short Answer for a Battle Royale. The question: “How did the Compromise of 1850 and the Kansas-Nebraska Act try to solve the issue of slavery, and why didn’t they work?” Students competed for a donut. It sounds silly, but they wrote their asses off. Because there was structure. Because it mattered.
We wrapped up with something new I called Caption Crunch. I set up a Padlet with columns and gave students captions that connected to one of the three compromises we’ve studied. Their task: take the caption, add keywords, and plug it into Padlet’s AI image generator. Then, they posted their AI-generated image and explained in 2–3 sentences which compromise it represented and how the image reflected what happened. The captions were generated by AI, but the decisions and connections were all theirs.
I think Caption Crunch has potential to be an EduProtocol. It pushed students to think symbolically, creatively, and critically about each compromise. And it added another layer of retrieval and review without feeling like “just more reading.” It can be used across all grade levels and content areas.
It was one of those days that felt packed, but purposeful. Everything flowed. Everything clicked. And the kids were into it. That’s what matters.
Friday
Friday was all about wrapping up our first theme—“Compromises Can’t Solve Slavery”—and giving students a chance to pull everything together in a creative way. We kicked off with one final round of the same Quizizz we’d been using all week. And yes, I had to play the game. I told them: If your class average is below 80%, you’re creating more work for yourselves. If it’s above 90%, everyone gets a 100%. It’s ridiculous that I have to do that, but here we are.
One class came in at 70%. Honestly? Unbelievable. We’ve been doing this same Quizizz set every day. So that class had to do a three-way Venn diagram comparing the Missouri Compromise, Compromise of 1850, and Kansas-Nebraska Act. The other classes finished at 87%, 83%, and 80%—so they moved on to the main activity: the Netflix Template.
This is one of my favorite creative assessments. I’ve had this template forever—I can’t even remember where I got it—but it’s sharp. Looks like a real Netflix series and pushes students to synthesize in a unique way. Here was the success criteria:
Slide 1:
Series Title
A 3–4 sentence summary connecting the compromises and showing how they represent failure
Slide 2:
Creative episode titles (one per compromise)
A short summary that explains:
What the compromise tried to fix
What actually happened
Any relevant key terms (Fugitive Slave Act, Bleeding Kansas, etc.)
A thumbnail image, cast list (Henry Clay as “The Great Compromiser”), and a content warning
I also created a MagicSchool classroom where students could attach their Netflix slides and get writing feedback. I like that part because it’s easy to set up and it lets students take some ownership. Some kids were tweaking titles, some were improving explanations, and some were learning how to actually use Google Slides better.
That part is underrated. I had students asking, “How do I layer these images?” or “How do I crop this picture into a shape?” and I got to teach them real tech skills while they were working through content. So yeah, it wasn’t just about summarizing compromises—it was about learning how to design, write, and revise creatively.
The first time a student told me, “This sounds smart, but I don’t think it’s right,” in response to an AI-generated answer—I knew we were onto something.
That moment sparked Fray-I—a thinking routine I’ve been developing to help students analyze AI responses, not just accept them. It’s still a work in progress, but it’s already changing how my students interact with both history and technology.
Here’s the flow:
Students engage with content – a primary source, textbook excerpt, or short video.
They ask a question based on the reading or viewing—either one they create or one I provide (especially if the source leaves something unanswered or unclear).
They run that question through an AI tool like ChatGPT or MagicSchool.
They get a response and analyze/evaluate.
Here’s what Fray-I looks like:
Claim: What is the AI saying? What’s the main idea or argument?
Evidence Used: What support, facts, or examples does it include?
What’s Missing?: What voices, perspectives, or key historical context are left out?
Push It Further: How could this answer be stronger? More accurate? More complete? Would you use this response?
This turns AI into the text—not the shortcut. Students question the bot like they would a biased newspaper article, a government document, or a historical speech.
Why Fray-I works:
It puts students in the driver’s seat. They’re not copying—they’re critiquing.
It reinforces essential social studies skills: sourcing, bias, perspective, and evidence-based reasoning.
It meets students where they are—working with the tools they’re already curious about.
And honestly? The engagement is different. When students start noticing what the AI got wrong, what it ignored, or how it could be improved, they feel ownership.
Fray-I isn’t finished. I’m still tweaking sentence starters and scaffolds to support all learners. But it’s already doing what I hoped: Helping students think like historians in a world where information is instant—but not always insightful.
In 2018, I went to a summer Education and Technology Conference put on by Cincinnati Public Schools.
I was excited. It was my first real conference. A well-known educator and author was the keynote. I signed up for my sessions. I filled my notes with new ideas. I sat there ready to learn.
But somewhere in the middle of it all, a different thought started creeping in: “Why am I not up there?”
It wasn’t about ego. It wasn’t about thinking I was better. It was a realization that I had more to give.
And honestly? A lot of the sessions felt tired. I was learning—but I was also bored. I kept thinking, There has to be more.
After that conference, I made a decision: I was going to find a way to present.
How? No clue. Where? No clue. I didn’t have a map or a plan – just a desire.
To me, setting a goal isn’t about listing all the things you have to do. It’s about asking yourself: “Who do I need to become to get there?”
So I went to work. I started sharing more. I started creating more. I started reading more. I started sequencing EduProtocols differently – combining them, remixing them, making them my own. I started thinking bigger.
A year later, I got an invitation to present at the Summer Spark conference in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. I ran a workshop on EduProtocols. Then I presented at Spring CUE in Palm Springs, California. Then at NCSS in Nashville, Tennessee. Then all over the U.S. – sharing EduProtocols and AI from Boston to Los Angeles and everywhere in between. I built what I once just dreamed about.
That conference in 2018 didn’t just give me new ideas. It gave me a mirror. It made me ask, Who am I becoming? It made me realize: If the room you want doesn’t exist yet, build it yourself.
When ChatGPT dropped in November 2022, I jumped in shortly after. I started playing with it, wrote my first post about using it in education by January 2023 (here it is).
A few months later, I was presenting on AI locally and, eventually, across the country—showing teachers how it could actually make their lives easier. Somewhere along the way, I became an AI consultant. I gave about five presentations. After one of them, the head guy pulled me aside and told me I did an excellent job.
Me being me, I asked, “Are you serious or just being nice?”
He said, “I don’t say things I don’t mean. That was excellent.”
That moment stuck with me.
And then… silence.
No more calls. No more opportunities. I reached out—asked if I was fired. They said no. I asked if I needed to fix anything. They said no. I asked for feedback. Nothing.
Same story with job interviews. Get the call. Get told, “We went in another direction.” I ask for feedback, and get told, “You were great, but someone else rose to the top.” I get told, “The other candidate stood out.” No feedback. No real explanation.
And honestly?
It’s ridiculous.
We work in education. We preach feedback. We tell kids and teachers it’s the key to getting better. We build entire evaluation systems around it.
But when it comes time to give real feedback to each other? Crickets. Excuses. Vague compliments and generic rejections.
It’s cowardly. It’s bullshit. And it’s hypocritical.
We owe people better than that.
Especially if we actually believe half the stuff we say about growth, learning, and improvement.
This week was about layering, connecting, and getting students to own the content—not just memorize it. Every protocol, every sequence was designed to move students from basic retrieval to deeper understanding without overwhelming them.
Nothing fancy. Nothing over the top. Just intentional teaching.
Monday kicked off our Abolitionist Movement work. I always try to bring in local figures like Harriet Beecher Stowe, John Rankin, and James G. Birney alongside Frederick Douglass, Sarah Grimké, and William Lloyd Garrison. Students need to see the local connection—that history didn’t just happen “out there.”
We started with a Thin Slide: “Change begins when someone refuses to stay silent.” One picture. One word or phrase. Fast. Immediate. It set the tone for the day—thinking about voice, action, and courage.
Then we jumped into a short EdPuzzle. It wasn’t to “teach” the content—it was just to jog memories and fill in some quick context before they picked an abolitionist to dive deeper into.
The Thick Slide was the real meat of the day: Each student chose one abolitionist and built a slide that included:
A short background
Their motivations for ending slavery
The methods they used (writings, speeches, helping people escape, etc.)
One powerful quote or moment that showed who they were
This wasn’t just copying facts—it was asking students to curate what mattered.
After they shared, classmates used a Frayer Model to capture the background, methods, and motivations for four abolitionists.
Why I sequenced it this way:
Thin Slide to frame the emotional/critical thinking lens
EdPuzzle for quick retrieval
Thick Slide to produce and contribute
Frayer to actively listen, gather, and process others’ work
Every move had a purpose: students weren’t just learning about abolitionists—they were seeing patterns of activism.
Tuesday: Finishing Abolition With Superlatives
Tuesday was another strange day because of science OST testing.
We opened with a Fast and Curious on Quizizz. Nothing complicated—just another layer of retrieval on the same reform movement content:
Words like suffrage, reform, abolitionism, and goals of different movements
Then we finished Monday’s work with a Superlatives activity (shoutout to Kim Voge). Students had to pick 2–3 abolitionists and apply superlatives like Most Courageous, Most Determined, Most Visionary, etc.
At first, I had them tie it back to the Thin Slide quote from Monday…but after first period, I realized that overwhelmed them. So I pivoted and just let them focus on the superlatives.
After students completed the Superlatives, they used Magic School’s writing feedback tool to add in ideas. They took a screenshot, attached the screenshot to the feedback tool, and generated feedback. It led to discussions of evaluating feedback and choosing to pay attention to the feedback that matters.
Why this worked:
Fast and Curious warmed them up with retrieval
Superlatives required them to compare, judge, and defend choices
It wasn’t just recalling facts—it was applying understanding
The pivot mattered. Sometimes you have to drop something mid-day when you realize it’s not helping kids think better.
Wednesday: Thinking on My Feet With Real-World Skills
Wednesday was a little chaotic—still on the weird science testing schedule. Some classes finished their superlatives and quizzes early, and I knew I needed something meaningful that wasn’t just busy work.
I thought back to a Friday Check-In I ran months ago: “If I could teach you anything besides social studies, what would you want to learn?”
The most common answer? – Jobs. Taxes.How to get a job.
So I threw together a quick, no-internet-needed lesson:
Started with a Google Form:
What’s more important—skills or attitude?
Would you hire yourself right now?
Number Mania on Padlet:
What are two labor laws that surprised you?
I shared a quick story about my first job working clay tennis courts—how doing the little things no one asked for got me better hours and more money.
Why this worked:
It was personal.
It was relevant.
It used EduProtocols (Number Mania + fast reflection) in a real-world context.
The best moments come when you connect content to what actually matters for students’ futures.
Thursday: Connecting Abolition and Women’s Rights (with Purposeful AI)
Thursday was all about tying movements together—and introducing AI not as a shortcut, but as a thinking partner.
Our goal: Understand how the Abolitionist and Women’s Rights movements were connected—and why they eventually split apart.
The flow:
Opened with a Google Form to prime thinking: Where do you see connections? Where could you see division?
Annotate & Tell: Students read a short article and answered four guiding questions that helped them think about motivations, conflicts, and context.
Then came the AI part—and this was intentional:
Students used MagicSchool ChatBot Raina to ask a question about the reading. I did not preload the ChatBot with any extra information.
They had to paraphrase the AI response
Then they had to evaluate it:
Was it accurate?
Was anything missing?
How could it have been better?
This wasn’t just “use AI.” This wasn’t generate ideas and copy. It was: engage with AI, challenge it, think critically about it.
We closed it all with a Short Answer Battle Royale: Explain how the two movements were connected.
Why this worked:
The Google Form opened thinking.
Annotate & Tell slowed down reading.
AI added reflection, metacognition, and sourcing conversations.
Short Answer forced a full-sentence, evidence-based response.
AI wasn’t a crutch. It was a springboard for better thinking.
Friday: Wrapping Reform With Solo Iron Chef
Friday was about pulling everything together.
We started with a Fast and Curious on Quizizz (class averages were solid: 83%–90%) to hit key reform concepts one last time.
Then, students completed two Solo Iron Chef slides:
I set the timer for 15 minutes per slide. Students had to screenshot their work and use MagicSchool to get AI feedback on it. And again—the feedback conversations were the best part. A student said, “The AI said to change my title but I made mine rhyme and I like it.” I said, “Then why listen to it? It’s a tool—not the truth. You know your purpose better than the AI does.”
When I went to college, I knew one thing: I wanted to play tennis. Beyond that, I had no clue. I went to an open house at NKU, and during the welcome session they told everyone to go meet with their major. I didn’t know if that meant I had to choose right then, but I assumed I did. And once I pick something… I stick with it. So, I chose education.
It wasn’t some deeply thought-out decision. It was instinct. But maybe it wasn’t all that random after all. Teaching runs in my family. Both of my grandmothers were teachers. My grandfather was a teacher. My stepdad was a teacher. I saw it up close.
It was my stepdad’s example that really shaped me. He worked in some of the toughest neighborhoods in Cincinnati Public Schools for over 34 years. I saw what true dedication looks like. I saw what it meant to pour everything into students, even when the system didn’t make it easy. I saw what it meant to care way past the final bell.
Every Christmas, he would go to Big Lots and buy a gift for every student—Barbies, Hot Wheels, hats, gloves, socks. And we would wrap every single one. Every single one. Because to him, every kid deserved to feel seen. To feel thought of.
He didn’t stop there. He planned field trips for his class—trips that weren’t just fun days off but literal windows into the world. Amish country. Farms. Cows, chickens, horses. Simple stuff, maybe to us, but for some of his kids, that was their first time outside the city. Their first time seeing life from another angle.
Watching all of this, I realized something. Teaching isn’t just about delivering content. It’s not about just doing your job. It’s about seeing people. It’s about giving kids access—to knowledge, to experiences, to care.
I didn’t know it at the time, but that open house moment? It wasn’t a mistake. It was the first step into something bigger. Something I was already being shaped for without realizing it.
Sometimes the things that shape us start as a guess. But they end up becoming part of who we are.
When AI first came out, I was intrigued. I started thinking of ways to use it creatively to help me. Ways to boost engagement. Ways to support learning. I was the guy making presentations with titles like “10 Ways to Use ChatGPT in Class” or “5 Ways to Increase Engagement with AI.” And those were useful—at the time.
But we’re past that now.
AI is here. It’s constantly evolving. It’s inevitable. Students will use it. So I’ve been trying to use it with them—not just for me. I’ve been using MagicSchool to help kids generate ideas, model how to write prompts, and get personalized feedback. I’ve shown them how to paraphrase AI-generated content instead of copying it. I’ve trying to show them to to analyze the content AI spits out. I’ve used Class Companion to give them feedback on writing, hoping they’ll read it and revise.
Some do.
Some don’t.
Some use it to improve. Some copy and paste. Some avoid it entirely and insist on thinking for themselves. Some don’t engage at all. It’s like a mini snapshot of society—some are all-in, some resisting, some just watching.
The real question now is: How do we use AI meaningfully? How do we turn it into a thought partner—not a shortcut?
Here are two ways I’ve started doing that in class:
Use AI to Practice the Process, Not Just Produce the Product One of the most effective ways I’ve used AI in class is to treat it as a starting point, not the final product. I have students use AI to generate a response, then paraphrase it in their own words, critique what’s missing, and decide what they’d keep or change. This process helps them engage with the content, reflect on their own thinking, and develop stronger writing and reasoning skills. Whether it’s analyzing a historical event or building an argument, the focus is always on using AI to support the learning—not replace it.
Evaluate the Feedback Itself One thing I do regularly: students create a slide summarizing their thinking, screenshot it, and upload it to MagicSchool. AI gives feedback, but here’s the key—they don’t just revise based on it. They evaluate it. Was it helpful? Confusing? Did it miss the point entirely? This makes feedback a thinking task. It gives students the power to decide what advice is worth using—and what isn’t. They’re not blindly following directions; they’re making choices. That’s real learning.
When I was 23, I was living in my parents’ basement. I had just graduated college with my teaching degree and license in hand, but teaching tennis was what I really wanted to do. At first, it felt like the right path. The hours were picking up and the income was solid.
But the days were unpredictable. Early mornings on court. Long stretches of nothing during the day (unless you could line up private lessons). Back on court from 4 to 7 PM most nights. The weeks were inconsistent.
I was making good money, but I was freeloading at home. Living rent-free in my parents’ house. My mom asked me if I could chip in for the bills, maybe pay a little rent. And I pushed back.
Looking back now, I honestly don’t know why I did that. I don’t know why I felt the need to push back, why I acted like I was above it. But it was the wrong move.
What happened next? I’ll never forget…
My mom came down to the basement and looked me in the eye and said, “You’re a f—king a—hole. You have two weeks to get out of my house.”
I stood there in silence.
How bad must you be for your own mom to say that to you?
It was that moment I had to look in the mirror and humble myself. It was that moment I realized I had to say less. It was that moment I realized I needed to grow up and be on my own. It was that moment I realized I had been the a—hole—and I needed to change. It was that moment I never wanted to reach again. It was that moment I felt it differently—because I’m an only child.
How bad must I have been for my own mom to call me an a—hole… and give her only child the boot? A heavy dose of reality. It woke me up.
That moment shaped me. Iit was honest. It forced me to get real about who I was and who I was becoming. It taught me that success without humility is just noise. That growth doesn’t come from being told “you’re great.” It comes from hard moments—the ones that hurt and stay with you. The ones that remind you to be better.
Moler's Musings 