Dad on Duty #118 – a look back on this year

So I’ve been thinking a lot about this past year, my first year at Cooper.  I realized there were some lessons here, at least for me.  

And maybe….if I share them with you….there are some things here that might be helpful to you too, in your journey.  

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So, as my regular readers know, this year I started a new job.  Dad on Duty at Cooper Elementary.  I spent six years doing that gig at McCoy.  

I don’t have a kid at Cooper.  Our “medium” kid (we have now reached the stage of our lives where, instead of saying “we have a big kid and a little kid”, we have to say “we have a grownup kid and a medium kid”) is across the street at Forbes.  And this (Cooper) is as close as she’ll let me get.  

So it’s been a big change.  Some profound stuff.  

Worthy of a little reflection, and, I think, worthy of sharing with you.  

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In my last job, I had an obvious “in”…..I had a kid at the school.  To add to that, I was chosen by the outgoing mascot-Bobby-wearing guy to take over that job.  So I had two pretty strong connections to McCoy.  My Bobby predecessor had already established the tradition of staying, at least for a while, after Bobby time on Fridays, to help.  Therefore my doing so was not unusual in the eyes of the McCoy folks.  Certainly, that commitment grew, but it did so naturally.

So here are the lessons I think I’ve learned, in no particular order:

1. These are real relationships happening in a school building.  And just like out in the rest of the world, those are built on trust and love.  

For this new gig at Cooper I had no connection.  I knew, literally, three people in the entire building.  Well, OK…four….if you count one of the kids who goes to my church.  The counselor and the assistant PE coach also came from McCoy, and the principal’s kid and my big kid (oops…there I go again….grownup kid) were friends and classmates, so we (the principal and I) at least knew each other.  

Otherwise, I basically showed up on the first day with no relationships, no connections and no introduction.  I just walked in, showed my badge, and went out into the hallway and started doing my thing.  

But this Cooper community is so diverse, and so used to challenges and so welcoming that it didn’t matter.  Within a few days, they were trusting me to help them with meaningful stuff.  And by the end of the year, they would pretty much have tossed me the keys to their homes if that’s what was needed.

The kids never doubted me, and never hesitated.  From the minute I walked into that building, they hugged me and accepted my help.  Without question, unconditionally.  

So the lesson is this:  If you just love the kids, help your colleagues in good faith, and do the right things for the right reasons, it’ll turn out just fine.

And that, my friends, might just be true of the whole world.

I’ll leave that one here for your contemplation for a minute or two…..

The.  Whole.  World.  

2. Developmental age is a logrhythmic curve, not a linear one.

We had Kindergarten at McCoy, and I had amassed quite a bit of experience with that age group.  

But here at Cooper we have Pre-K.  That one year difference is *enormous*.  To add to the complexity, we have bilingual Pre-K, which at the Pre-K level means a lot of kids who pretty much only speak Spanish, at least at the beginning of the year.

Pre-K kids struggle with the most basic of things, like going to the bathroom by themselves and carrying a lunch tray.  So it took me a few weeks to get a handle on that, not to mention trying to remember how to say “pull your pants up” in Spanish.  

Now as if that wasn’t a big enough paradigm shift, we also have a program for even younger kids…as young as three….with developmental or learning challenges.  These are toddlers, with behavioral or learning or social interaction issues.  And we have a LOT of them.  

It took cat-herding to a level I had never experienced.

The lesson I learned from this is:  the littler the kids, the more…exponentially more….manpower and expertise is needed.  And you cannot fail.  The stakes are far too high.  

3.  Vigilance is needed.

Schools are vulnerable.  And it will be almost impossible to build a school that is welcoming to kids and parents and community members, and be a fun environment in which to learn, without still being vulnerable.  We can’t make a fortress out of the schools and still have those schools be warm, welcoming, healthy places.

So for now, our compromise is that we, the adults, need to keep our eyes open and challenge anything suspect.

Perhaps the very best defense against violence in schools is that the adults connect, in a meaningful way, to every single kid in the school.  Including….especially….the tough and unpleasant kids.  One pathway to help achieve this was described in a class I attended as the “check in”.  That means meeting your students outside the classroom, giving a fist bump, handshake or hug, and looking them in the eye and taking stock in that moment of their mental state.  

The teachers here connect with these kids, routinely and well. It’s a tougher demographic, and they know it.  They do not slack in their vigilance, nor in their commitment to connecting.  

And I have learned to be comfortable saying, to anyone in the building, “stop; come here please” or otherwise challenging anything I see that seems a little odd.  It’s often embarrassing, and laborious, but I now believe it is simply necessary.  And whether visitors and parents think I’m odd or inconvenient…..my “likeability”….is simply not important in this place.  

So fundamentally the lesson is this:  you are not here to be everyone’s friend, but you are here to connect with and protect the kids.  

And if in doubt, check it out.  Apologize later if you’re wrong.  

4.  Make a damn decision.

Fairly often, I get asked by teachers “which way should we go now?”  “Is it OK for us to load the kids now?” “What route should the parade take?”.  I get asked that because, by design and intention, I am positioned to try to see and monitor the whole scenario, to see the big picture.  It would be logical to look up at me in that spot, and think…..I should ask him where to go next.

At first, I was uncomfortable with this.  I have absolutely zero authority in this job.  None.  Nada.  

But shrugging my shoulders or trying to divert the responsibility for a decision in these cases did not make things easier for the teachers…..in fact, it made it harder.  

So I have learned to just make a decision, share my thought process when possible, but ultimately, if they ask me where to go next…….figure it out, and tell them.  And if I’m wrong, which sometimes I am, just deal with it.  Try to keep that number as low as you can, but don’t be frozen in fear of a mistake or embarrassment, and fail to make a decision.  Make the damn decision.  Then go find the teacher you sent to the wrong place later, and apologize.  (Done that a bunch of times….)

The lesson:  this is a constant Jenga game of chaos.  They need somebody to stand clear of the melee, and make a decision.  Do it.  If you’re wrong, own it but keep going.  

5.  Hug and smile.  

As an adult and someone the kids perceive as some sort of authority and leader, my affect and mood is critical.  It doesn’t matter what kind of day, or week, I’m having.  What matters is what the kids see and experience, in this place.  

I don’t care what you’re stressed about.  Suck it up, buttercup.  Smile.  Hug.  Do not frown.  Engage, in a positive way.  What these kids experience here at school, between me and the teachers and the other staff, may very well be the only positive thing they will feel all day.  

Make it count.

This lesson, basically, is:  this is not about me, or any of us.  It is about them.  {Respectful salute to Tyra Storie, here}.

6.  There are very little actual politics among elementary school kids.  

These little ones have no pretense, no plan and no strategy.  They just *are*.

Do not read into it.  Their behaviors are genuine, even if they are not necessarily what you think they should be. 

Even the big kids….the 5th graders…..who think they have some capacity for social strategy, actually don’t.  They are fairly transparent.  

If they are angry, or sad, or withdrawn….that is truly what is happening, and we need to connect and intercede.   

Do not mistake them for your selves.  They are not you.  

There are moments when the conversation between you and a kid seems like you’re talking to a peer, but you will do a great disservice to yourself, your colleagues and the kids if you make the mistake of believing that.  

What you see, here in front of you, is it.  

Their emotions are real.  If you listen, you will hear the gaps in their lives.  And those gaps are genuine.  

I have to tell myself this, almost everyday; these are not grownups.  They do not have the same coping and social skills I do.  Listen from that place, not from my place.  

Now, seven years into this job, and in this very different place from the last six years, I think I am really starting to understand this.  

The lesson is:  don’t project adult interpretations on these kids.  Take what you are seeing and hearing at face value, and respond honestly.  

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Cooper, you have blessed me with an entirely new experience.  It has changed me, even as old and difficult as I am.  

You changed me.  

You didn’t have to accept me, but you did.  You didn’t have to trust me, but you did.  

Thank you.