100 Posts in 100 Days
This is the sixth in a series of blog posts about lessons learned from parents
Characteristic of my last few posts, this one tells a story about a relationship with a mother. In many ways, this story is one of leadership and trusting myself, more than it is a story about this mother and her son. One thing I know for certain is that this story only happened in this way because of all the others I’ve written and shared over the past few days.
After 20 years as a teacher and school administrator, my family and I moved overseas and now work in an international school. Many things are different: it is a private school attended by a mix of local and foreign nationals, most children are from highly educated families, several children are from wealthy families, we are well staffed and well resourced, we are free from many laws and regulations in the US (including standardized tests).
Many things are the same in our international school: we use the same curricular resources I am familiar with from the US, there is never enough time to fit “it all” in, the best place to hang out in the school is in classrooms. The youngest kids are full of innocence and joy, the middle schoolers are simultaneously goofy and self-conscious, and the high schoolers rule the roost. Kids are kids, and it’s amazing.
And the families they come from are very diverse. They represent a number of ethnicities and nationalities, they work across a diverse set of industries and jobs, they live in neighborhoods all over our city. Many of our families afford a number of privileges. Even still, they have the same kinds of challenges as families I’ve known throughout my career. Managing multiple schedules and creating a daily routine, navigating family dynamics, balancing work and personal lives, taking care of day-to-day details.
This recognition of how things are the same, even though my school is new, turned out to be a safety net during a particularly challenging moment. We had a student who was struggling academically and behaviorally. His behavior was sporadic and at times it presented a danger to himself and to others. My years in the US had provided me with enough experience and training to surmise that he suffered from multiple ACES (adverse childhood experiences).
Our team of teachers, counselors, and administrators worked hard on behalf of this student, using an array of strategies to try to support him. Sometimes, we were successful. Often times, we were not. The circumstances were taking a toll on everyone: the student, his family, and on us. Support for this student included a number of meetings with his parents and with him.
There came a time when an event happened that had endangered the student, other students, and faculty. Ultimately, no one was physically injured, but the memories and emotions around what happened lingered. In order for the student to return to school, a meeting needed to take place to establish conditions and agreements for his return. In preparing for this meeting, it was proposed that I take a “hard line”, informing the student and his family that his enrollment in the school was conditional on him upholding safe and respectful behavior.
I knew a lot about this situation: that despite being well-resourced, we didn’t offer everything that this child needed; adhering to our school’s code of conduct was a reasonable, and non-negotiable expectation; this family was suffering. One thing I didn’t fully understand was the reasons and background that was causing all the pain for this family, but I did know that the idea of taking a “hard line” was eating at me.
The night before the meeting with the family was to take place, I didn’t sleep. I was uneasy and upset. My stomach was in knots and I nearly cried thinking about what was to come. Previewing the meeting in my mind, I couldn’t imagine a scenario where I was heavy-handed and the conversation was productive. My inability to imagine that was just what I needed to understand that the only way this was going to work was to see me, to see myself, in the meeting.
That realization, the need to see myself in the meeting, was a turning point. I asked myself what I had done in hard meetings in the past. Stories and examples like those I’ve written the last few days came to mind. Acknowledging that what this family needed was allies, not adversaries, allowed me to breathe and to plan. There was a palpable moment when this happened. I know precisely where I was standing on campus and who I was standing with. In a matter of seconds, I went from a state of near panic to one of confidence. Lessons I had learned in the past were going to serve me in the present. I knew I would be able to approach the conversation with empathy AND maintain the school’s position about safety, respect, and conduct. And I did.
Working with this student and his family continued to be an ongoing process of communication, planning, trial and error. It wasn’t always easy. There were definite highs and lows. But, this mom began to share more information and reach out to me more frequently. I wouldn’t go so far to describe it as a great relationship, but it was vulnerable and workable. Workable enough that her son continued in our school until the family moved, over a year later. I believe my decision to “lead like myself” on that morning contributed to what we were able to accomplish.