Memoir of a school principal: Encouraging change, bandaging wounds, and providing a safe place for students

“That didn’t take long,” I said to Kim, glancing at the wall clock. “Anything in particular this morning?”

Kim sighed. She had a heart of gold. “Not that I could see,” she replied. “He had some trouble getting his boots off and then sat in a puddle on the floor. Threw his coat down the hall, screamed his favourite word, and ran down here.” Myles did not cope well with the ups and downs of life. He had so few problem-solving skills.

“I’ve got it now. I’ll bring him back when he is settled.” I wandered into my office and Myles was sitting in his spaceship muttering to himself. I let him sit while I perused my email. He was comfortable in my office now that we spent so much time together. It wasn’t as if I could reason with him. He was five. I provided a safe place to calm down. Other students used Maria’s special education room or Stephanie’s office for the same thing. After about ten minutes he climbed out of his spaceship and handed me Mortimer. I could read this book with my eyes closed by now. On one page was a picture of all of Mortimer’s “seventeen brothers and sisters.” Last week Myles had asked me what their names were and I’d made up some, but now he expected me to remember them! I was thinking of hiding Mortimer. Myles clambered into one of the chairs around my table and pulled his knees up to his chest, feet on the seat. His blue jeans were baggy and his T-shirt had a rip at the neckline. His socks (no shoes) were slouching down and wet on the bottoms. I never saw Myles in any other outfit. He never wore sweatshirts or sweaters. I suspect he generated enough body heat. We read the book and he corrected me when I got the imaginary names of the seventeen brothers and sisters incorrect.

“I hate it when I can’t get my boots off,” I ventured. “It is so frustrating.” Myles slouched farther into the chair and picked his nose. I nudged the tissue box towards him but he ignored it. “Remember that you were going to try and say ‘yucky’ not ‘f**k’ when you were frustrated.”

The conversation required repeating the word. A five-year-old doesn’t necessarily know what “the F-word” is. I was always direct. Plus, he wouldn’t be shocked to hear me say it. It was part of his vocabulary already.

“I forgot,” he mumbled. “And my socks were bunched. And there was snow all over the floor.”

“It was a frustrating time,” I agreed. We sat in silence a bit and he looked at me, a puzzled look on his face.

“You know, Mrs. Phillips, you wear different clothes but you are always the same.” I was stunned. Such insight for a five-year-old. There wasn’t much in his home life that was stable. Tiffany, his mother, tried her best, but she was overwhelmed. Most likely the rules came and went like the wind. Myles liked me because I was the same every day, despite the changes in attire. Maybe I could use this to my advantage. Perhaps some of the morning tantrums were just a need to ensure that I was here.

“I am always the same. I like to see you, but I like seeing you when you are happier, not angry.” I let that sit a bit. “Do you think you are good to go back to class? I think your class is on their way to the gym soon.”

“Okay.” He untangled himself from the chair and took my hand and we went back to class. When we arrived I motioned Sondra to the doorway. She had a skeleton class today, so hopefully Myles would manage without further issues. I relayed the conversation Myles and I had had.

“So I am wondering if maybe we should take control of this situation and have him come to see me every morning before he tantrums. Kim could bring him down right away and we could have a little visit. Maybe he needs to know I am there.” Sondra looked at me dubiously but nodded.

“We can try. What else have we got to lose? Nothing else is working.”

Later that day I explained the plan to Kim. We would start tomorrow and see what happened. I knew that there were a handful of teachers in the school who doubted my methods. They wanted rules, and for me to come down with a hard line on student behaviour. Many principals operated this way, with inflexible consequences for each infraction. Parents, too, often wanted this type of punishment system, usually when their child was the victim, not the perpetrator. But I preferred “bouncy boundaries.” If an older student swore like Myles did, there would definitely be stronger consequences, but that’s because I believed the consequence would help the student to change. Recess detentions or school suspension was not going to stop the swearing. A “zero tolerance” consequence might appear to be a good idea but if it didn’t change the undesirable behaviour then it wasn’t working.

I remembered back to the first school in which I was vice-principal. The principal I worked for was very much in favour of strict consequences and since it was my first position, I didn’t know what to do. In those days a school’s suspension numbers were circulated internally and he seemed proud that our school suspended a lot of students. I guess he thought it made him seem tough and able to manage a school in a rough neighbourhood.

One student was trouble. I met him the first week of school and dealt with him every week thereafter. Dawson, the youngest of four brothers, would get into fights, mouth off at teachers, swear, vandalize, and steal—though he looked like an angel with long, flowing blond curls and a slight build. Following the principal’s direction, I suspended Dawson for one to five days for each infraction. By the end of the year, he had been suspended seventy-four days! Nothing ever changed. No sooner would he return to school than I’d be suspending him again. His parents accepted the suspensions without comment and the teachers didn’t miss him. Dawson had no one at school who liked him. He had no positive relationships with staff or students.

That same year there was another student, Brody. Also in grade 7, also a street-savvy kid, Brody either showed up late or skipped school. As vice-principal I was in charge of attendance and lates and had implemented a system of consequences for them. There were very clear boundaries that everyone knew. The lineup for late slips in the mornings no longer snaked out the office and down the hall. But Brody was still late every day despite the consequences. So I tried something different with Brody. I told my secretary to welcome him when he showed up,say we were glad to see him, and send him to class, no consequences. I told Brody that this was special, just for him, because he was one of my favourite students.

“I am?” he asked, puzzled.

“You are,” I stated firmly. “One of my favourites.” Often we would spend a few minutes chatting when he arrived. Brody needed a grown-up to care. One day in the spring he showed up in the morning complaining that his fingers were sprained. Unofficial nurse, I looked at them and saw no swelling.

“Can you move them?” He wiggled them without hesitation.

“But it really hurts.”

“Hmm. How about some ice?” Ice is the school’s answer to any injury.

“I think it needs to be bandaged,” he said. So I got out the first aid kit and wrapped his fingers with reams of gauze and tape. It looked like he had suffered third-degree burns. Brody beamed. “It feels way better.” Shaking my head, I sent him off to class. At the end of the day he returned and gave me back the bandages.

“You can keep them on,” I said.

“Nah. It’s okay.” Brody left but the next morning he was back, late, and I rebandaged his hand. We did this for a week. By the end of the school year, Brody was still late most days but he rarely skipped school. I felt better about the relationship I’d built with Brody than with Dawson. I often wonder if I could have made a difference with Dawson if I had taken the time to bandage his wounds.

“For The Love Of Learning: A Year in the Life of a School Principal” Copyright © 2022 by Kristin Phillips. Reprinted with permission of Simon & Schuster Canada, a Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.