I’ve tried to start this post at least ten times and stopped. As a high school principal, I am immersed in data and Regents results, drop out prevention, our literacy issues, staff development plans, hiring, and problem solving one hundred other day to day questions. I spend much time thinking about our teachers, our students, our school climate, and our achievement. I try to learn new things and to plan for our future. And then I have a conversation, or two, that stop me in my tracks.
I have a student who came to see me right before Regents week because he expects to go to jail for a few months, and he was struggling with a decision. Seems he thought he had the choice between two months of jail time with 3 years of probation or four months of jail time with no probation. He had already convinced the judge to prolong his sentencing date until after his exams were over. He figured the four months were better because he’d never manage to stay out of trouble for three years, but he didn’t want to miss so much school. His decision was a tough one because he really wants to graduate. Well, that’s easy, because I really want him to graduate too. So I’m trying to work out the details with the county jail and keep him moving through his curriculum. Here’s a kid who really wants to graduate, who understands the importance of it, who can’t get out of his own way to make it happen. Sometimes it feels as if the issues, the obstacles, the stuff keeping them from graduating are so much bigger than I am.
This makes me strip away all that we do, each and every day, all that the State expects, all of the testing and the data and the reporting and the planning. It makes me remember that it’s all about a boy. And a girl. Times 474. If we don’t get to know each and every one of those students, to care about them, to let them know that they matter in G-Town, to form those relationships, then the rest doesn’t really matter. Not to me anyway. I now have a boy, who’s in county jail, who called me at least four times since that initial meeting to let me know how his case was progressing. A boy who came to see me on Tuesday, in lousy shape, to tell me he was going to jail on Friday. A boy who has my word that I’ll do whatever it takes to get him to a diploma when he gets home. A boy with whom I’ve now formed a relationship. A boy who desperately needs that diploma as he’s minutes away from becoming a man.
How will our teachers measure him when he returns? Will they see only the jokes to be told, the gossip, and the angst of getting him on track with the rest of his class? Will our teachers see an inconvenience, a derelict, a convict, a problem?
Or will they see the whole person, the boy inside? Will they help him to succeed? Will they care even more because they know he’s not cared about enough outside of our school? Will they do even more because that’s what he needs? Will they even think he deserves it?
I’ll see a boy, who needs our help to become a man. I’ll see all of him. His four months away will not define him. He’s the reason we do this job, not the test results.