By Rebecca Thomas
The days leading up to our first Teacher Only Day were a blur of emails and last-minute logistics. Catering numbers, WiFi codes, room allocations, workshop presenters, keynote speaker introductions—every detail meticulously planned. The agenda was carefully timed, the professional bios polished, the schedule locked in.
But as the day began, ‘Island time’ settled over us in the forgotten north.
Whakawhanaungatanga stretched beyond its allocated half-hour—but it didn’t matter.
Greetings were exchanged over morning drinks, faces fresh and tanned from the summer break. There was no rush. No forced urgency. Just people reconnecting in a way that couldn’t be scheduled but needed to happen.
Some might have worried about flights to catch and schedules slipping, but the day found its own rhythm. Waiata and hīmene filled the hall, voices rising together, reminding us that we are more than the roles we hold—we are a community.
After the necessary housekeeping and a few heartfelt thank yous to our retired teachers, we welcomed our keynote speaker, Dr. Craig Hansen. The introduction was brief—no LinkedIn-style reading of achievements—just an acknowledgment of how lucky we were to have him travel beyond Whangārei to be with us. Because Craig’s accolades weren’t the reason we were excited. It was his purpose, his impact, and his message: that AI is not the enemy of education but the tool that might finally give teachers something they are rarely afforded—time.
Craig didn’t talk at us. He got us working, playing, discovering.
Teachers leaned in, devices in hand, ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ rippling through the room as they saw, in real time, the power of what he was showing us. It wasn’t abstract. It wasn’t just another ‘big idea’ that would sit in a folder untouched. It was something that gave us back time. Time with whānau. Time for things that matter.
The session was co-constructed—shaped by the energy, the needs, and the existing knowledge in the room. There were hiccups, of course—WiFi niggles, school filters blocking tools—but we made it work. Because teachers always do.
Morning tea started late. No one cared.
Impromptu workshops sprang up, teachers hungry to learn more. Our volunteers, who had prepared their own sessions, adapted without complaint. Screens wouldn’t cast? No problem. Rooms needed changing? Done. Some abandoned their planned workshops entirely to keep learning from Craig. And that was okay. Because this wasn’t about ticking boxes. It was about giving teachers what they actually needed.
The day continued in this way—organic, fluid, driven by curiosity rather than control. And it worked. Not because we stuck to the plan, but because we let go of the idea that structure equals success. We trusted the process, and more importantly, we trusted our people.
As I stood back and watched, I felt what I always feel in moments like this: pride. Not in the planning, not in the schedule, but in the people. The teachers who showed up ready to learn, who embraced the unexpected, who supported each other, who laughed, who questioned, who made the day what it was.
We got this one right. Not because of how well we planned it, but because of how well we let it breathe.
And that’s the lesson I hope we carry forward—not just for Teacher Only Days, but for education as a whole. Sometimes, the best learning happens when we stop trying to control it.
As we closed the day, we took a moment to acknowledge that for some of us, this holiday period had brought both joy and loss.
Some carried fresh grief, others a sense of renewal.
But as we move forward, we hold space for both. Because that’s what it means to be a community—not just celebrating the highs, but standing together through the lows. The connections we built today, the generosity of those who gave their time, and the shared commitment to our students remind us why we do this work.
So as we step back into our schools, let’s nurture the sparks of curiosity, courage, and connection—not just in our students, but in ourselves and one another.
Good luck to those who yet have TODs to come.
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