To Tell The Truth Part I

As a high school principal, when students misbehave and teachers feel the situation warrants further attention, then the chairs that line the administration hallway become filled with those who have been exiled from the classroom. The “exilation” (I know I just made that word up because it fits so well!) could be anything from a teacher being upset because ‘Susie’ didn’t bring her pencil to class to one student assaulting another. Being a high principal or assistant principal is much like being an Emergency Room physician or nurse---the constant need to reprioritize which situation is most urgent is often the constant of the day. Maybe they should call it fire fighting instead of administration. Of course, you can imagine the teacher who sent the kiddo to the office for being so ill prepared as to not have a pencil would be the very one who claimed lack of support from the infamous ‘front office’—have to love the kind of people who live on the planet called Clueless. I had lived in a bit of a war zone as principal of an inner-city school that was known for its tough clientele. Suspensions, behavior modification programs and expulsions were an unfortunate way of life toward making the campus safe and a bit more sane.

So, some years later I sat in my middle class elementary school with my first discipline situation headed to my office. A phone call had alerted me that Dara and Keith were on their way and had been having difficulty in class that had resulted in one student hitting another. O.k., this was clear-cut. In high school any physical exchange was an automatic suspension regardless of who started it—easy enough…suspend them. I had done it hundreds of times before and would have no problem doing it again. I wanted my message to be fierce and firm to the students, parents and faculty of my school that no violence would be tolerated…not on my watch.

Conversely, that fierce and firm stance was not exactly reflected in the way I had chosen to decorate my office. As a woman with what some call an ‘eye for style’ I had opted to create a warm, comfortable office with big overstuffed chairs, a rug, child oriented artwork, a basket filled with children’s books and even a small area for their younger siblings to play with toys like Mr. Potato Head. I wanted that same approachability I talked about with the gate to be present the minute someone walked into my office.

I kept reminding myself that I was seeking qualities such as warm, approachable yet firm and fierce—no doubt an interesting mix and as one of my mentors described me as the administrator with the velvet hammer. Now, I sit with a velvet hammer yet, this time with Mr. Potato Head peaking his face out of a basket staring at me. At least I wasn’t dealing with the Bloods and the Crypts and all that went with it.

With velvet hammer in hand (metaphorically speaking), the now timid, worried and clearly afraid Dara and Keith arrived. I asked Keith to take a seat outside of my office and instructed Dara to come on in. Dara, a precocious 1st grader who with her braided pigtails, crisp uniform, and small frame cautiously entered my office. Her eyes looked around as if she was expecting it to look like a jail cell and after her glance around the room she seem to relax. Of course, I wasn’t so sure I wanted her to relax and wondered if my décor choices were on the right track. There sat Dara waiting for me to scold her. Her small body consumed by the comfy, yet adult sized chair.

“Dara, tell me what happened with Keith.” I asked her with a calm tone even though the suspension paperwork was sitting on my desk. I just needed her to admit what she had done, so I could sign the papers, call her parents, send her home and get on with my day.

“Principal Boles…” the sound of this of course made me feel like the Queen of a kingdom, but I managed to stay focused. “…I, I was just doing my work and Keith wouldn’t leave me alone. I asked him and I asked him and he just kept bothering me.”

I listened intently for the part where she would tell me she hit him.

She looked at me with an inquisitive look as if the story was finished. “O.k., I think to myself…how do you ask a 6 year old if they clobbered somebody without making them cry?”

“Dara, is there anything else you think I should know about what happened today?”

She replied that there wasn’t anything left to tell other than he bugged her. Of course, that paperwork was still sitting there and without her admission, this was not going to be as clear-cut as I had first thought.

Dara and Keith exchanged chairs and now Keith was sitting in front of me. Keith, a stocky, Leave it to Beaver looking child was a far more willing conversationalist quickly shared that he was poking Dara with his pencil and she turned around and hit him. 5 seconds and he had told the whole story. Succinct, honest and simple.

Is pencil poking and a little whack the conditions that merit a suspension from elementary school? Is this mutual combat? It hardly compared to a member of the Bloods and a member of the Crypts having a showdown behind the gym at lunchtime. There sat the suspension papers and nothing seemed so clear cut anymore.

Clearly, there was a disconnect between the two versions, so in the spirit of cooperative discipline I sat them down together in an effort to reach the truth. “Keith, would you share with me one more time what happened in the class today with Dara.” Over the years I had learned that the consistency of truth always wins. Those students who were fudging reality nearly always had a hard time remembering the facts when asked to repeat them. Only the toughest of the tough kids could lie as if it were the truth. Keith’s story remained consistent, “I poked her with my pencil and she hit me.”

Dara exploded with an excitement that I had not yet seen. Her eyes doubled in size, her expression spread across her face and she popped out of her seat as if it had a spring installed in it. “Mrs. Boles, wait wait…” Dara loudly exclaimed with an insistence that cried with desperation. “Principal Boles, listen to meeeeeee!” she whaled.

(Tune back in on Wednesday for the conclusion...:))