principal chronicles: apologies
For fourteen years I worked as a junior high school principal at an urban school. Poverty, trauma, and instability were a fact of life for many of our students.
I remember a day when one of our seventh grade students, Johnny (not his real name), was removed from class for some long since forgotten knuckleheadedness. Johnny was well known on campus for his swagger, spicy attitude, and ankle bracelet (courtesy of the Arizona Department of Juvenile Corrections). In spite (or perhaps, because) of his minimal stature, Johnny paraded around campus with a demonstrable sense of entitlement. He reminded me of a rooster.
On this particular day, Johnny swaggered into our front office wearing a cockeyed baseball cap (against school rules). He obliged me with a confident smirk and head nod, as if asking, "What are you going to do about it?"
I remember making a conscious decision. With a tone of disdain, I told him to remove his hat and then proceeded to reach out and flip the bill of his cap backward, knocking it off his head and onto the floor. For those of you wondering, this is a textbook example of "escalation." And, it worked.
The hat flip was met by a great deal of posturing -- likely comical to the viewer because I am 6'4" and Johnny was struggling to reach five feet. He squared up to me and released an impressive stream of invective, most of the colorful language beginning with the letter f. F this. F you. F this school.
After both of us had time to cool down, I met with Johnny and made another conscious decision. I apologized. I told him I was sorry for my tone, for flipping his hat off of his head, and for not engaging with the intent to listen. I honestly don't remember his response, but I do know that we resolved the issue without further posturing or war of words.
At the time, I was writing a great deal for a blog I maintained about education. I recounted this story on that platform and I remember one reader pointedly taking issue with my apology. They called me soft and stated that I was doing a disservice to the student. After all, there are rules in society. They ended with something along the lines of, "This is the problem with young people, and with education, these days."
Years later, I stand by my response:
I was the adult. I escalated the situation. I didn't take the time to calm myself, or allow Johnny to calm down. I knew better.
Kids need to hear adults own their mistakes and model empathy and regret. To hear them say, "I am sorry." This doesn't excuse irresponsibility (or even consequences) for the student's behavior, but poor decisions are not the exclusive domain of the young.
As Father Greg Boyle would likely point out (reference his newest book Cherished Belonging), a seventh grade student with an ankle monitoring bracelet is likely not whole. Something is already off-kilter. My job as an educator was to work toward wholeness, not push buttons.
We do not "punish" our way to better behavior, but must address the root of the problem (which is much more difficult than assigning consequences). I will die on that hill.
I retired from administration at the end of the last school year and I am now considering my options (taking a gap year, so to speak). After more than twenty-five years in education I can say with confidence that I learned considerably more from my students than I was able to teach them.
What a privilege.