When you meet Joe Vanzo—Mr. Vanzo to the kids—you quickly understand why elementary school ended up being the perfect landing place for him, even if he didn't see it coming. He spent the early stages of his career in rooms full of high-schoolers with severe behavior challenges, learning the hardest parts of the work before ever discovering the gentlest.

For five years, he taught in those high-needs environments, then five more as a general education social studies teacher, where his favorite part was the conversation—the way students' thinking unfolded when a topic invited them in. After a decade in classrooms, he became an instructional coach at the Regional Office of Education. Coaching teachers lit him up. He could help them grow, support their instruction, and step into dozens of classrooms each week.

But one spring, an opening appeared for an elementary assistant principal in Vandalia. He had never worked with younger students. He wasn't sure he even knew how. But something in him nudged forward. It became a leap of faith.

He told himself that if it worked out, great—and if it didn't, he'd continue coaching. But once he stepped through the doors of Vandalia's elementary building, everything changed. "I can't imagine doing anything else," he says now. This year is his third in the role, and the joy is written all over the way he talks about his days.

His favorite time is 7:45 to 8:15 each morning, when the building comes alive. Kids spill out of cars. Backpacks bounce. And Joe is everywhere—outside greeting families, inside giving high-fives, dipping into classrooms, stopping in the gym, offering hugs. "How easy it is to make a connection with a kid," he says—that was the biggest surprise. He understands how important those minutes are, likening them to parenting: the way a day starts and ends shapes everything in between.

It also informs the programmatic work he's helping lead. Vandalia's elementary launched an MTSS math model this year—something Joe helped design. After core instruction, students regroup by need, allowing teachers to target the exact skills each child is ready for. Some close gaps. Some accelerate beyond grade level. Walk-to-Read, launched in second grade, offers the same tailored instruction during core reading time. Students move into different classrooms based on assessed skill levels, each group receiving instruction designed precisely for them.

Creating a schedule that protects instructional time in both reading and math is, as Joe puts it, "a beast." But it's worth it.

Joe admits he didn't know what to expect from younger learners. But the traits he most admires in them—resilience, forgiveness, eagerness—quickly won him over. Kids this age don't hide from mistakes. They move on. They try again. They learn without shame.

He also knows how central parents are to a child's success, and his interactions with families are overwhelmingly positive—whether in the pickup line, over email, or at Walmart. Vandalia's parents, he insists, are supportive and generous with the school.

And then there's the part of the job that might surprise people who think assistant principals are just disciplinarians. Joe plays at recess. Usually with the third graders. Football or kickball, mostly. When they play football, he's the all-time quarterback—no arguments about who's getting the ball thrown to them. In kickball, he's always the pitcher, never bats. Sometimes, kids challenge him to a race, and he accepts. "I get to throw touchdown passes during the day," he says, and the grin on his face says it all.

His own family is woven into the fabric of his days. His wife, Scarlett, is a school social worker. Their daughter Adley, a first grader, starts every morning in his office—breakfast, math facts, a quiet moment together—before he walks her to class. Their younger daughter, Pacey, is just a year old. It's a rhythm he treasures.

Joe grew up in Hillsboro, studied at Truman State and SIUE, and has spent more than 15 years in education. He never expected to end up here. But the joy on his face when he talks about his students, his colleagues, and the work he gets to do each day makes one thing unmistakably clear:

The leap was worth it.