Ruth and I text Brady a couple times a week. The coronavirus, and the accompanying shutdown, provided us a small blessing. Many of Brady’s basketball games are live-streamed, and we get to watch them. We text him to wish him luck and offer words of solace or praise after the game. He responds to every text.
My post game text might read: “Great game tonight! Both teams were pouring in three-pointers. Austin had a great game with 15. Your six free throws down the stretch helped cement the win. Good for you!”
Brady’s typical response is “yeah” or “thanks”. He’s a man of few words.
His latest “yeah” response reminded me of my middle school principal days. For four of my fifteen years with the Addison Community Schools, I served the dual role of elementary and middle school principal. This was during the early eighties when the economy was in the dumpster.
When the middle school principal left to take a superintendency in the upper peninsula a couple weeks prior to the opening of school, I offered to “open the school year” while the district sought a replacement. They accepted my offer and a week later upped the ante. They asked me to take both positions with the help of an assistant to be promoted from within. They gave me a raise and a say in who my assistant would be. I agreed to the increased responsibilities.
The biggest pain of being a principal at any level is dealing with discipline. It’s the sewer in the level of responsibilities. Most elementary students just needed a reminder of what was right and what was wrong. Middle school students could be a different breed, so I took a different approach. The vast majority of these middle school students had been mine in their elementary school years, so we had a history.
When I called them into the office for a chat, they often took a seat in one of the chairs across the desk from mine. My immediate response to such an action was simple. “Who asked you to take a seat? You’re not here for a friendly visit. Stand up.” We’d start with a review of why they were there, follow that with a discussion of what they should have done, and develop a plan for moving forward. Somewhere during the review, I’d invite them to take a seat.
More often than not, a response that included a positive reply came back as “yeah”. I’d stop them and point out the correct pronunciation of the word… “Yes”. I insisted on “yes” rather than “yeah”. “Yeah” is a word friends use, and in that moment, we weren’t friends.
Sixth grade camp was a big part of middle school. The students went off to camp for five days and four nights. For some it was the first time they were away from home. It was a big deal. Several staff members stayed with the students the entire time. High school students were recruited to be a part of the program and helped supervise the middle schoolers. The traditional reading, writing and arithmetic gave way to more hands-on application of the skills they’d previously learned.
Each evening there was a special program. One night the students wrote and performed skits. Most were playful looks at their middle school experience. One year one of the teachers had a family emergency and had to return home. While I made it a practice to visit a time or two during the day, I stepped up and covered for the absent teacher and spent the night. One group of thespians decided my presence would make a great time for a “special skit” for Mr. Tebo.
They reenacted a trip to the office. One student played the part of me, while the remaining participants represented a series of infractions that warranted a trip to the office. “Mr. Tebo” was barking orders and the students were standing up and sitting down upon command. They were up and down a dozen times. They also “Yes’d” rather than “Yeah’d” and looked over their shoulder to see how I reacted. I enjoyed the entire skit and I know the students did too. We shared a healthy laugh.