Tag: leadership

Rascal’s Reflections, Vol. 1, Issue 4

(You can find all the work of Rascal Zurfluh at https://zimplicity.org/.)

The story of the observations of a trusted confidant of a retired school leader.

November is done—the month when schools shift from sprinting to pacing, and when leaders finally begin to see their communities settle into recognizable rhythms. It’s also the month when I, Rascal, notice my master used to slow down just a little. Not much—he’s still human, after all—but enough that even a small dog with a good nose could smell the difference. November, for him, was the season of gratitude, grace, and gentle noticing.

This year, as he reads through school newsletters and messages from colleagues around the world, I’m reminded of one thing he always watched for: the student who still hadn’t found their place.

Most humans forget this, but in every school—no matter how warm, how welcoming, how beautifully mission-driven—there is at least one young person who is still looking for the path that feels like theirs. I remember how my master used to spot them. It might happen in the hallway, during recess, or just outside the cafeteria line. He’d slow his steps, tilt his head, and offer a word, a smile, or sometimes just a moment of presence. Those moments mattered. I could tell because the students would stand a little taller, breathe a little steadier, or sometimes seek him out again later—not for answers, but for assurance.

That, I think, is what this season’s leadership is all about: offering assurance.

The Power of the November Pause

November is famous for its complications—report cards, strategic planning, accreditation visits, concerts, sports travel, parent coffees, and the sudden sense that December is barreling toward everyone far too quickly.

Yet I watched my master intentionally walk slightly slower in November. Not a dramatic slowdown—nobody would have believed it—but enough to let him see what a leader can’t see when they’re rushing: who is thriving, who is surviving, and who is quietly struggling to belong.

Humans underestimate the importance of pace. Dogs don’t. Our entire worldview is calibrated to the walking speed of the person we love.

The best heads of school understand this instinctively: slowing down allows you to see more.

Gratitude as Leadership Practice

Another November ritual I observed: gratitude. My master never made a show of it, but it seeped into his leadership like warmth into a chilly room. Teachers received notes. Facilities teams received appreciation. Students received smiles and recognition for the thousand small things they did well. Even the parents (the species most likely to cause the need for long walks) received signals of appreciation.

I learned that gratitude isn’t a message—it’s a posture. It’s the difference between appearing available and being available. Between saying “my door is open” and opening the door.

Schools are remarkably sensitive organisms. They respond to the leader’s emotional weather. When gratitude is present, the air is more breathable.

Belonging: The Quiet Heartbeat of School Life

But the theme I want to lean into this month—the one my master modeled best—is belonging.

Not the poster-on-the-wall kind. Not the “we welcome everyone” messaging for open house. I’m talking about the lived, unmistakable experience of feeling like you matter here.

Belonging, I’ve learned, is rarely loud. It shows up in the student who sits with someone new. In the teacher who checks in a second time. In the counselor who doesn’t give up after the first closed door. In the principal who knows the name of every student they pass.

But most of all, it shows up in leaders who understand that schools can be overwhelming, complex, and occasionally bewildering places—and that children need adults who see them even when they are trying not to be seen.

I remember one student at the American School of Warsaw who spent an entire week wandering the halls between classes, pretending to look for something in his backpack. My master noticed. He didn’t call attention to it. He simply walked beside him, asked how he was settling in, and then—my favorite part—he adopted the student’s pace as they continued through their day.

You’d be amazed what happens when a leader adjusts their stride.

Grace in the Mid-Year Grind

November is also the month when leaders feel stretched. Tired. A little frayed at the edges. And yet, this is precisely when grace matters most.

In the dog world, we call this conserving energy: don’t use all your bark in the first half of the year.  Human leaders could learn something here. Grace isn’t softness—it’s steadiness. It’s knowing that a well-timed pause, a heartfelt thank you, or a brief, genuine connection can shift the culture of a school more powerfully than a dozen initiatives.

And yes, grace applies to yourselves too. Leaders often forget that they’re allowed to rest, to breathe, and to admit that the work is heavy. I spent thirteen years watching my master forget this truth and then rediscover it each November. Rest was never a retreat—it was a recalibration.

A Final Tail Wag

So, my November message is this:

Slow your steps.

Look for the student who still feels lost.

Notice the teacher who needs affirmation.

Express gratitude like it’s oxygen. Even my master would admit you will never do this enough.

Choose grace when fatigue nudges you toward frustration.

And remember that belonging isn’t a program—it’s a promise.

You make that promise real not through policies or assemblies, but through presence.

If you’re leading with your heart this month, trust me—you’re doing it right. Even a dog can see that.

Until next time,

Rascal

Rascal’s Reflections

Volume 1, Issue 1

The observations of a trusted confidant in the lap of a school leader.

Greetings, esteemed Heads of School. My name is Rascal. I am a Shih Tzu of distinguished fur and refined tastes, and for the last thirteen years I have loyally served at the side (and often on the lap) of my master, a school director. From my vantage point—whether curled beneath his desk, or lending moral support on those endless Zoom calls—I’ve picked up a thing or two about the art of headship. Consider me your four-legged leadership consultant. I may not have opposable thumbs, but I do have perspective.

As the school year kicks off, let me share a few reflections—gleaned from years of wagging through the ups and downs of international school leadership.

1. Start with the Students in Mind

I noticed something: my master’s mood always brightened when he greeted students. Whether it was a kindergartner proudly showing off new shoes or a senior stressing about university applications, those early encounters set the tone for the day—and, more importantly, the year.

My advice? Before you get lost in budgets, board reports, and inbox avalanches, remember that the first impressions students have of you and the school shape the entire year. Kneel, look them in the eye, and wag your proverbial tail. They’ll feel seen, and you’ll be reminded of why you’re there.

2. Pause and Look Deeper

Dogs are masters of sniffing beyond the obvious. That barking at the fence? It’s not really about the squirrel—it’s about protecting the yard. I watched my master learn this lesson often: the issue presented by a parent, teacher, or board member was seldom the real issue.

As a head, when a concern arises, resist the urge to pounce immediately. Pause. Reflect. Consider what lies beneath—past experiences, cultural perspectives, unspoken anxieties. In international schools, context is as layered as a well-stocked treat jar. Take time to find the real source, and you’ll often solve more than just the presenting problem.

3. Build Relationships Everywhere

I’ll let you in on a secret: I never cared who had the fancy title or the corner office. I wagged for everyone, from the facilities team to the finance director. And you know what? They all responded with warmth and trust.

Schools, much like dog parks, run on relationships. Build them intentionally—within your leadership team, across departments, and with students and families. A strong circle of trust will carry you through the inevitable storms. When people know you care, they’ll follow you anywhere (even if you smell faintly of wet dog).

4. Take Care of Yourself

Even I know when to curl up for a nap. My master sometimes forgot. Heads of school are expected to be endlessly resilient, but resilience is not an infinite resource. It’s replenished by sleep, health, laughter, humility, and yes, the occasional long walk.

Demonstrate to your community that well-being matters—not just for them, but for you, too. Your students and staff will see in you a model of balance: strong yet humble, resilient yet human. Trust me, nothing undermines authority faster than a leader who looks like they desperately need a biscuit and a nap.

Closing Thoughts

So, as you stride (or stumble) into the new school year, remember: start with students, sniff beneath the surface, build your circle of trust, and guard your own well-being. If a little Shih Tzu can figure this out from the corner of an office rug, I’m confident you can, too.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I see someone in the kitchen opening a packet of treats. Until next time—stay pawsitive.

Recent Podcast I joined…

Many thanks to Kevin Fullbrook! Was a fun conversation on the cusp of my retirement.

Reflecting

On August 5, 2025, President Trump teased a new policy for migrant farm labor aimed at balancing his mass?deportation agenda with agriculture’s dependency on undocumented workers. He floated a “touch?back” proposal—where workers would leave the U.S. and re?enter legally—and suggested expanding the H?2A visa program even to dairy farming. He emphasized that farmers couldn’t easily replace migrant labor, calling these workers “very, very special” and sensitive to physical strain  .

To me, this is just bureaucratic nuance—another pawn move in the larger immigration chessboard. It’s not new, not dramatic, not gripping. It’s bland policy repositioning: neither full amnesty, nor full enforcement—a half?hearted compromise wrapped in talk of regulations. Boring.

It reads like a typical press conference sound bite designed to defuse criticism without solving anything. There’s no emotional charge, no scandal, no novel data—just more talk about rules and loopholes. If you ignore the underlying humanitarian crisis, it looks like a dry memo from a farm?labor working group. That’s the point: it feels un?interesting, until you zoom in.

I grew up in suburban Tacoma, WA, and for a time I the rural area outside of Port Angeles. My summers were spent helping with gardens—apples, plumbs, cucumbers, the occasional row of beans that all flourished if watered correctly. My neighbors’ small yards never needed migrant labor; my dad and I harvested in t-shirts and bare feet. But I spent my college years pulling weeds at my mom and dad’s house. I also participate as a youth in the summer berry harvesting and cucumber picking of the Puyallup valley like it was summer camp, but with a paycheck.

When I see Trump describing farmworkers as “irreplaceable,” I feel that memory. These people aren’t interchangeable units of labor—they have their own routines, camaraderie, and jokes between rows of raspberries. Without them, many farms wouldn’t just lose workers—it would lose rhythm, community, something human. And yet here’s another policy article that reduces all of that to numbers and programs.

I want to think about why this otherwise uninteresting story connects to something real: the raspberries we picked, the conversations across rows, the way we all made seasons feel full.

So yes, this story is uninteresting. No drama, no scandal. Just talk about “touch?back” rules and visa expansion. But I choose to pay attention, because behind that dry language is something vivid: a season of berries, the early chill on my arms, the sound of workers’ songs on the tractor ride back to the bus.

Trump’s statements feel like: limp compromise, vague legislative gestures. But from that tedium emerges a connection to memory—and to the humanity behind the headlines.

Sometimes the least interesting stories are the ones most worth noticing. Because behind the procedural words, there are people—not policies.

Related news on Trump & farmworker policy

The First Day is Upon Us!!

This morning we opened our doors for the soft opening of New Family Orientation and packed the theater with more than 100 families and their kids. I enjoyed greeting everyone with a brief introduction from the Newbie to the Newbies. Over the last 28 days, I’ve learned much about the American School of Warsaw.

In particular, I looked up the instrumental founding influencer of the school, Colonel Frank Gilchrist (1938-1969). In 1953, while serving as the Assistant Military Attache at the American Embassy, Colonel Gilchrist was the driving force behind the opening of a school for 12 students from 5 nationalities: American, British, Swiss, Israeli, and Yugoslav.

Then, as is the case now, the reports were of a school with a special sense of community. A place where this mix of nationalities could connect and define themselves as a collaboration amongst diversity. Writers of that time and throughout the growth and development of the school noted the warmth and welcoming spirit of the school community.

That spirit was on display today as PTO and returning parents and students helped new families navigate their orientation day. Touring around the building, teachers and support staff welcomed their presence in classrooms throughout the building. Their first impression of their new “home” was a powerful one leaving all of us ready for the coming opening for all.

One of the key messages that I’ve woven through new staff orientation, full staff meetings, and the new parent orientation yesterday emphasizes what I consider to be a critical component of the program we offer. After the hard work of designing curriculum and architecting instruction is completed, I suggest that a critical test of a school is the understanding that “Small Things Matter.” Like a drop of water in a still pond, the ripple effects of empathy and service toward others cannot be underestimated.

I taught the new kids today another important phrase that I will test them on in the parking lot tomorrow. For those returning, you’ll have to share it with your children as the mantra of the year, the motto of the new director that I give you as a gift to inspire all your future accomplishments:

“If it is to be, It is up to me!!”

May the beginning of the 2016-2017 school year bring you special joy and a true sense of anticipation for all that is yet to come! Let the learning begin!