I grew up in a two-parent middle class home. My dad owned a small grocery store along the Ohio River, located in an old steel town called Martins Ferry, Ohio. Growing up, part of my brothers’ and my responsibility was to work in the grocery store. This started when we were in elementary school, helping dad set up the weekly special displays on Sundays and more formally stocking shelves when we entered middle school.
By the time we were in high school, my brothers and I worked the deli slicer, and I was eventually promoted to running the register. I owe a lot to the people of Martins Ferry. They supported our family business for 50 years before my mom and dad retired in 2016. The town was and is a caring place, but also an economically challenged area. Working in the store, we got to know several families that were struggling to make ends meet. Seeing how my parents cultivated caring relationships with all the people that shopped in the store was truly special. Witnessing their interactions with customers who were buying center cut steaks or using government assistance to buy the essentials, engrained the lesson in us to treat everyone with unconditional dignity and respect; it is what made growing up in the grocery store special.
My parents’ example and the people I met taught me a lot about leadership and how everyone has different circumstances and challenges. Without this experience, I don’t know if my training as an educator and administrator would have been equipped me to work worth with diverse populations in the public school system.
At the age of 27, I took my first administrative role in a diverse middle school. I believed my experience teaching, coaching, and especially working at the grocery store had prepared me. Very quickly, I realized the difference between casual customer service and the high stakes responsibility of leadership. Even with so much experience working with people from a variety of backgrounds, I didn’t fully appreciate the challenges many of our students were facing and how some students’ only motivation to attend school was their connection to athletics. This story recounts an eye-opening experience for me that changed the way I view student disciplinary issues, athletics, and my response to students that are going through challenging circumstances.
True Listening
When I was an assistant principal, our middle school had a policy that stated if a student was late for school, they were ineligible to participate in athletic events that day. Early in my career, principals carried around the classic walkie talkie radio, and the assistant principal was the person you called for a student behavior issue.
I received an urgent call from our secretary that a student was extremely disrespectful to a staff member. The student allegedly cursed at the staff member and violently punched a locker. The student took off down the hall and now it was my job to find him and deescalate the situation. I darted off to find the student. I finally caught up with him on the third floor of the building. I immediately recognized the student as one of our 8th grade football players. He was a frequent visitor to my office for a variety disciplinary issues. He had a miserably chaotic situation at home, but he always kept up a facade of toughness. Over the school year, he and I developed a rapport, but this situation had a different feel.
On this occasion, he was in tears, and he was clenching his fists in anger. I asked him what was wrong and why did he snap at the staff member? He replied, “When I got to school today, the first thing I am greeted with is that I can’t play in the football game this afternoon and I went off.” I responded, “You know the rules. If you are late, you can’t play. It is clearly stated in the student handbook.” The student fired back, “Do you know how I got to school today? I woke up and no one was home. I don’t know where they are. I missed the bus and knew I had to be at school today for the football game. It’s the only reason I showed up. So, I called a taxi to get to school. But you wouldn’t understand. You don’t know what it’s like for someone like me.”
I paused in stunned disbelief, imagining how I would get to school if I were in the same situation. Would I even know what to do as a 13-year-old when no one was home when I woke up? By taking the time to listen to the student’s story, I realized this it changed not only the situation, but the way I approach student discipline to this day.
I thought I understood what students were going through; working for my parents and interacting with the community was a great starting point, but I had a lot to learn. This interaction sticks with me almost 20 years later. It changed my view on the importance of athletics and extracurriculars, and it made me realize we all have a story. Our actions have consequences but taking the time to understand the “why” behind the action, builds trust and allows the student to know someone at the school will at least listen.
Evolving Perspective
Years later, I read the Dale Carnegie book, How to Win Friends and Influence People. He has a quote in the book where he states, “I don’t blame you for feeling the way you do. If I were you, I would undoubtedly feel just as you do.” In that hallway, on that day, listening to that 8th grader describe what it took for him to arrive at school that morning, connected directly to that quote. It doesn’t mean we have to agree with the actions and that the missteps of our students don’t include consequences. Consequences are part of helping a student grow and develop.
We don’t control the actions of others. But only through discovering the “why” behind student actions, can we help them chart a path forward, teaching them the importance of personal accountability grounded in compassion.
