You all may have noticed…I am unabashedly nerdy. Between my pop culture references, classroom decor, and ever-expanding collection of lapel pins, this is hardly a closely guarded secret. Nobody needs to scan for life signs to find the nerd in me.

So Sir Patrick Stewart’s passing hit me.

He has been my captain, Jean-Luc Picard, for nearly my entire life. He was also Professor Charles Xavier, which means he spent a considerable portion of his career convincing me that thoughtful, articulate educators could help young people do extraordinary things. Both of these characters represented by very different chairs that both symbolize a special kind of leader, reflected at least in part by the character of the man.

Beyond his performances, though, I admired what I understood of the man. I knew only his public persona, shaped by interviews, activism, and his autobiography, Making It So. Admiring someone does not require imagining that we know everything about them, but his public image conveyed much to emulate.

His journey from poverty and a childhood marked by domestic abuse to becoming a knight of the realm was remarkable. What most impressed me, however, was his willingness to discuss where he had fallen short: failed marriages, strained relationships with his children, and the slow process of learning to embrace joy. Even after decades of achievement, he was still thinking about how to become a better grandfather, husband, and human being.

There is something deeply reassuring about that.

Apparently, even the captain was still working on himself.

As an educator and parent, I believe that work matters. Achievement gives us an opportunity to meet a future version of ourselves, take stock, and continue. An encounter at a far point with our best self…one that puts our own humanity on never ending trial.

Our children deserve that understanding of growth. They also deserve adults willing to practice it. We can expect accountability, reflection, and improvement from young people while allowing them to expect the same from us.

Fortunately, Captain Picard left us quite a few useful words on the subject to help make it so if we engage correctly with them.

Courage Comes Before Confidence

“Sometimes it takes courage to try, Data. Courage can be an emotion too.”

— Star Trek Generations

We often tell children to be confident before they attempt something difficult. That can be a frustrating instruction when the very thing they lack is evidence that they can do it.

A student who struggles with writing may need help beginning a paragraph before they can imagine finishing an essay. A child nervous about approaching a teacher may need to rehearse the question before having the conversation.

Confidence develops as students experience themselves making progress. Our job is to make the first attempt manageable and provide enough support for them to learn from it.

Try asking, “What’s one part you feel ready to try?” Then notice what changes: “Last time you needed help getting started. Today you wrote the first two sentences yourself.”

That gives confidence something concrete to stand on.

The courage may have to arrive first.

Leave Room for What They Cannot Do Yet

“Things are only impossible until they’re not!”

— Star Trek: The Next Generation, “When the Bough Breaks”

Spend enough time around middle school students and you will hear some remarkably definitive assessments of lives that have barely begun.

“I’m bad at math.”

“I can’t write.”

“I’m just not a reader.”

A difficult experience can become an identity with alarming speed. Adults sometimes help that process along without meaning to. We describe one child as the smart one, another as the athletic one, and another as the one who needs help.

Those descriptions can become awfully small rooms to grow up in.

Specific feedback gives students more room. “Your examples make this paragraph clearer” tells a writer what worked. “Breaking the problem into steps helped you catch the mistake” identifies a strategy worth using again.

We can acknowledge that something is difficult while helping students see what is changing. Compare today’s work with an earlier attempt. Find the improvement. Name it.

A current struggle tells us where instruction and support are needed. It cannot tell us everything a child will eventually become.

Let Them Make It So

“Make it so.”

— Captain Jean-Luc Picard

Picard had a talented crew, and he expected them to use their talents. He listened, asked questions, considered recommendations, and gave people responsibility.

Imagine how little anyone aboard the Enterprise would have achieved–indeed how quickly the crew would have failed– if he personally completed every task because it was faster.

Parents and teachers face a smaller version of this problem daily. We can organize the backpack, write the email, explain the directions again, and produce a workable plan before the child has located a pencil.

Sometimes direct help is necessary. Sometimes our efficiency takes away an opportunity to practice.

Before stepping in, ask, “What do you think your next step should be?”

Give meaningful choices. Let students decide which assignment to begin, practice asking for clarification, or propose how to divide a project across the week. Stay available while giving them responsibility they can reasonably manage.

Independence takes instruction, practice, and occasional course corrections.

Even Starfleet has a training program.

Pay Attention to What They Contribute

“What we leave behind is not as important as how we’ve lived.”

— Star Trek Generations

Grades matter, somewhat. The habits and knowledge behind them matter much more. A report card provides a limited view of a person.

It will rarely tell us who welcomed the new student, noticed a classmate sitting alone, or quietly helped a group recover when its plan fell apart.

Children learn what we value through what receives our attention. If every conversation begins with a score, they may reasonably conclude that scores are what we most want to know about.

Make room for other questions.

“Who did you help today?”

“What did you contribute?”

“Was there a moment when doing the right thing was difficult?”

Give children useful responsibilities at home and school. Notice kindness, reliability, and the willingness to share credit. Help them experience being needed as well as being successful.

There are plenty of ways to make a classroom, family, or community better that will never appear in the gradebook.

They still count.

Failure Is Not a Verdict

“It is possible to commit no mistakes and still lose. That is not a weakness. That is life.”

— Star Trek: The Next Generation, “Peak Performance”

This may be my favorite Picard lesson.

We want effort to produce success. We want preparation to pay off. We want the child who studied to receive the grade they hoped for, and the child who practiced to make the team.

Sometimes that happens.

Sometimes it doesn’t.

When children are disappointed, we do not have to rush them toward a lesson before allowing them to feel the disappointment. We can acknowledge that it hurts, give them some room, and then help them examine what happened.

What was within their control? What helped? What needs to change? What support might make the next attempt more productive?

Those questions leave room for both responsibility and perspective. Sometimes a student needs a different strategy. Sometimes they need more instruction or practice. Sometimes they did many things well and still faced an outcome they could not control.

A disappointing outcome does not make someone a disappointment.

That is worth saying out loud.

The Ongoing Mission

“I’ve found that even in the darkest circumstances, there is a light. Sometimes only a glimmer. Trust that light.”

— Star Trek: Picard, “Two of One”

What I loved about Picard was his belief that people could become better, even after he had seen plenty of evidence of how badly they could behave–this was core to his character from the Encounter at Far Point to the end of Picard.

Working with children requires some of that faith.

We have to see the young person in front of us and make room for the person they are becoming. We have to teach, support, hold accountable, forgive, and occasionally admit that we need to try a different approach ourselves.

Our children will face problems we cannot anticipate and disappointments we cannot prevent. We can help them develop the judgment to make decisions, the courage to attempt difficult things, and the confidence to seek help when they need it.

When I look at my students, I see a future more tangible than anything on the bridge of the Enterprise, and every bit as deserving of hope.

They have an awful lot left to discover.

So do we. We should set course for that future, together.

Engage.