One of the latest trends in commercials deals with identity. You've seen the Hertz commercials where a shifty crony from a cut rate car rental company goes under cover to find out what Hertz offers that makes them the best. Then there are the Mac commercials where the guy portraying a PC is a slightly-overweight, unattractive, nerdy middle-age man who is constantly plagued with malfunctions and a host of other problems, and the guy portraying a Mac is a young, smart, attractive, 20-something who, in a few words, has everything, does everything, and is everything. Perhaps the most popular of all are the Citibank commercials about identity theft, where a voice-over tells how they used an unsuspecting victim's credit card to finance a shopping spree that is obviously unrelated to the victim's way of life.

In each of these examples, identity plays a huge role in the scene, the interest of the audience, and the ultimate message of the commercial. Today's society places a large emphasis on identity and its protection and conveyance.

I have a sneaky suspicion that there is an identity crisis among folks in the education community. Aside from the fact that we claim to be a profession but have never been treated as professionals, we often find that our identity within the school structure is often confused, contributing to conflict, unrealized expectations, and a constant weathering away of morale. While this crisis is prevalent among teachers and classified staff, it begins at the leadership level, where it perhaps inflicts the most damage on the overall climate.

Everyone in K-12 public education begins as a teacher. From there, some become building principals. Some principals become assistant superintendents, superintendents, or fill other central office staff positions. All administrators have, at one time in their career, spent time in a classroom. But it's amazing to me how many of them forgot that part of their identity once they moved from the classroom to the office.

The most effective administrators that I have ever worked with and for remember what it was like in the trenches. They remember how taxing the life of a teacher can be. They remember to make decisions that are in the best interest of students, not parents or board members or community leaders. They remember that test scores mean nothing and that children mean everything.

On the other hand, those who left the role of teacher behind when they accepted an administration position have adopted the philosophy that they are a supervisor of employees who need constant direction. They approach their job with what McGregor called the Theory X type of motivation. They are the micro managers whose mission is to always be a thorn in the side of the teachers, prodding them along to a specified goal. They perform to please their supervisor, the local school board, parents, and the community. They forget the real reason of education and focus on data more than students.

I've often said that when I sit down behind a principal's desk for the first time, I will not be taking off my "teacher" hat and putting on my "principal" hat. I will never say, "I was a teacher; now I'm an administrator." I am a teacher; I have been a teacher; I will always be a teacher. In my new role, I will happen to be the lead teacher in the building - the one who makes the executive decisions and is responsible for the overall operation of the building. By no means will I be the best teacher in the building. I will be a resource for my fellow teachers. I will help them improve; I will help them share ideas; I will help them make a difference in students' lives. I will not simply be a supervisor, making sure employees show up on time and crank out a quality product.

My mission is not to make $50,000 a year, to get the next promotion, or to please a group of people. My purpose in life is to use my gifts and abilities to make the greatest possible impact on public education. If I am going to fulfill that mission, I must make a strong commitment to the identity of a teacher. It will never happen if I fall victim to the identity crisis that often comes with a new title. My title may change, but my identity must always remain, a teacher.