Been A While--

I literally could not even remember the web address to my blogging site, because it's been so long. But, I spent the latter of the last hour searching desperately for access to my blog because the urge to write has been clawing at my soul for the last several days. I would venture to guess this is due mostly to the fact that I have had some much needed down time after a whirlwind of a school year....and I would also venture to guess it's because I have had a whirlwind of a school year and need to get some things off my chest.

I just completed my 4th year as a middle school principal. I am convinced more than ever that this job will never get easier. I think experience helps minimize the pressure of some of the compliance issues, but the emotional toll---there's never relief. The politics of this job are insane and the pressure to rise to the challenges that face not only public education in general, but public education in a rural community are surmounting.  I think I've gotten good (or at least better) at some of the managerial aspects of this job. I wonder if I will ever get good at balancing the emotional toll that a job like this takes on you.

I have been challenged in ways that I could have never imagined in the last 9 months. If I listed them all, nobody would ever make it through this blog. Some of those challenges I have met with dignity and integrity, and some of them I lost my balance and fell into the gutter.  Particularly, several months back, after the political warfare that plagued my district and school came to a head, I took to social media to defend my school. It ended up as front page news, literally.  Now,  I would have never in a million years guessed that my emotional response would have been important enough to put an editors fingers to the keyboard, but nonetheless, it was. I have struggled since seeing my name smeared across the font of the local paper to come to terms with that situation. On one hand there is a small part of me that feels proud to own the stance I took against many of the fallacies that have shaken the foundation of trust in our schools within our community. I did then and still do believe in my district.  That is not a bad thing, nor should it be perceived as one.  You wouldn't want me on the front lines if I didn't believe in the work we do in Bisbee. You wouldn't want me there if there wasn't a sense that I had a deep loyalty to BUSD, our cause, our kids, and education in general. The truth is, I do believe in what I do, I believe I am part of a bigger picture that can make a difference for the kids in the town I grew up in. I could literally work in any school in America, but I choose to stay with my Bisbee family...to serve the kids of the families I have known for generations. I have no hidden agenda or cause. My ambitions do not extend beyond my current mission. Defending the work I do, that the amazing people I work with do, that is not a bad thing.   I am also a fierce supporter of my 1st Amendment rights, and contrary to the paper's attempt to make this a violation of my district policy and dangle my employment up against my decision, I will never back down from the defense of my freedom to air my opinion of the organization that has put faith in my ability to serve as principal.  But...on the other hand, there is something very damaging about seeing your own name swaddled in controversy. By nature, I am not a person drawn to conflict, so this rattled me to the core.  But, it's done. The headline hit the press, hit the newsstand, hit the front doors of my neighbors, friends, family and enemies.  I second-guess my decision daily, particularly my decision to wrestle in the mud with people who are, quite frankly, much better at mud-slinging than I will ever be. This was one of the greatest challenges I have faced in the last 9 months and in my career in general.

Now, with a little distance between that headline and now, I've got to get to a place of acceptance and take from it what I can.  Perhaps the greatest lesson of all for me is that you may not have the political forces on your side and that sometimes the popular rhetoric is not always telling the true story. However, that should not deter you from your efforts or make you stray from your intended path.  I was not always on the popular side this school year and yet my loyalties did not shift from the minority to the popular majority.  This is true.  I'm kinda proud of myself for staying the course and planting my feet firmly on the side of my conscience and my truth.  I'm also proud that I'm choosing to stick with this, despite the ever-growing temptation to jump ship.  I'm still here. I'm still standing. I took a few punches this school year, but I also think I grew a few new muscles.

My Achilles heel has always been how personally I take this job.  I struggle leaving it at the door every day. I'll bring a laptop case full of papers and job-related worries through my front door every night.  My worries and fears, the bullets and blows, the heartaches, triumphs, and failures find their way as the third person in my bed every time my head hits the pillow. I've seen the hours of 2, 3, 4...the various cycles of the moon, and the shadows on the wall thinking about this job.  Critics of this will say that it will be my downfall. That my inability to draw a clear and visible line in the sand between my personal and professional life will eventually drive me right out of this job.  Supporters will appreciate how personally I take it and how much of my own emotional self I pour into the work I do. Perhaps they are both right. Only time will tell. I, for one, hope to believe that there is something to be said about the vague line in the sand.  That...investing this much into a job that literally, and I mean literally, shapes human lives, is not a bad thing.  It takes someone with both the mind and the heart. If you are missing one or the other, I can't imagine how you could possibly impact change.

Last week marked the end of the school year.  A young lady who entered my school mid-year in a desperate attempt to run from a shattered past and very dark existence came into my office and put down a note without saying a word.  Now, mind you, this is a young lady whose face I hardly saw because she kept her eyes hidden under dark long hair. She was a rebel to the core, from her clothing to her attitude, everything about her was screaming for help.  Of all the kids in the school, she's the last I would have ever guessed would have taken the time to write me a note. I can't quote it exactly, but the message was one of thanks. Thanks for giving her a chance, for believing in her, for being so kind to her and for opening up my office to her.

This is often a thankless job--but when the thanks do come, they are profound and deeply meaningful.  It was exactly what I needed to end the year. That little note will never make the headlines or sell the newspapers, but I have vowed to invest more of my over-emotional self into the message of that note than into the headline that smeared my name.  I'm still here. I'm still standing.

And that note...that note is exactly why.

My Children and the Unique Road They Each Travel

Now that school is winding down and I have had the opportunity to spend some much needed time with Dante and Isabelle, I am awe struck by how each of them are molding into unique personalities.   They are both so different in how they approach their relationship with the world, that sometimes I can hardly believe they were raised by the same set of parents, in the same house.

Dante is my little 7 year old going on 80 year old.  He is the most self-sufficient, wise-beyone-his-years little man.  On school days (and weekends for that matter), he gets up early. He takes his own showers, dresses himself. At night, without prompting, Dante does all of his homework (in fact, if he can't get to his homework for some reason, he gets super anxious.)  He's in bed by 8:30 (again, without prompting). His heart is soft. He is kind, caring, and as down to earth as a person could possibly be. He is a gentle soul (in fact, we once put him in Karate and he hated it so much-- an organized sport devoted to beating each other up just wasn't up his alley). When he grows up he is torn between becoming president of the United States, a teacher, or a theme park designer. He loves routine and gets anxious when it's broken.  Dante is also very shy in new situations.  He is infatuated with Abraham Lincoln.  He is curious about the world. He asks questions, takes in information constantly, analyzes everything. He is obsessed with game shows (loves Family Feud-- we have several on DVR and he tunes in nightly). He is an extremely talented reader and he loves school.   He amazes me everyday. Everyday. When I think of who Dante may be in 20 years, I imagine somehow he is changing the world...in a very quiet, behind the scenes way.

Isabelle is more of my free spirit and she's as feisty as they come.  She's not at the least shy . When she grows up,  she wants to be an Elf (I'm not kidding).  For her last birthday, we had a Christmas party (her birthday is in April).  If you make her mad, she will get right in your face and tell you about it.  She laughs with more intensity than anyone I know.  Isabelle loves stuffed puppies and has a collection of over 30-each with a name she so thoughtfully gives each one (there's Purple Eye, Pricilla, Gracie, and so on).  She loves make-up, like most little girls, but will just as quickly sock you in your face with those perfectly manicured nails like any boy on the block.  She openly farts and is not ashamed of it (as a mother, I'm not sure this is my favorite of Isabelle's traits, but it so clearly speaks to who she is that I couldn't leave it out).  She's tough as nails!  She recently had her tonsils and adenoids out, along with tubes put in her ears and she didn't cry once. I thought the experience would traumatize her from doctors (because prior to this, she LOVED going to the doctor). But, it had the opposite effect.  She regularly asks me to go back to the hospital, because despite having probably the most pain she's experienced in her 5 years of life, she loved the stuffed dogs, flowers and balloons that came of it.  However, for as feisty as she is, she will melt your heart in an instant.  She is the most nurturing and sweet little girl when the time calls for it.  I don't worry about my Isabelle's future...she's the perfect combination of grit and girl, and I know she's going to take on the world with perfect ease.

They are so different in personality and often I am convinced that Lil' Dante has a stronger show of my DNA in his personality while Isabelle is all her daddy. However, for as unique as they are in their ways...they come together as a perfect match in heart.  As a mother, it brings me perfect joy to watch them become individuals in this world...my little Abraham Lincoln and my little Elf.  Life just hasn't been the same since they came along. Everyday, I learn something new about the world through each of their unique perspectives. Whether Dante is analyzing a situation and developing a new solution or Isabelle is taking that same situation and finding a pocket of humor in it, their little voices are constantly  bringing to light some new way of seeing life. I suppose that is one of he beautiful things about raising children, you get to step outside of your boxed perspective and open up a whole new world through their eyes.

I don't know that today's blog served any special function or delivered any special message beyond paying homage to my two children.  But, if I hope it inspires anything in the mommies and daddies reading this, it is to step back and appreciate the individuals your children are becoming.  At their base, my children are definitely molded by the mine and Dante's candle wax, but their flame is all their own...

Burn forever bright in this world Little Dante and Isabelle.  I know your flames light up my heart everyday.

Feathers

I have plenty of people who want to see me fail.  I have come to realize, especially after stepping into this role as a principal, that sometimes people will develop some pretty strong feelings and opinions towards your life, your successes, and your choices--for reasons that I bet even they would struggle to explain.  I am not foolish to the notion that plenty of folks secretly applaud my failures with greater fervor than any support they offer towards my successes.   Sadly, I have learned that the better I do for myself, the meaner people become.  It's sad, but it's true. I'm sure many of you can relate.  I am certain I am not alone in my discovery of one of the uglier sides of human-kind.

I will say this, though, in response to those who take any kind of pleasure in my failures. First and foremost, and as Michael Jordan once put it, it is because I have failed over and over, that I succeed. People who know success are no stranger to failures.  What sets them aside is that when life bucks them off in 4 seconds, they get the hell back on that bull and ride for 5 seconds the next time.  Eventually--they take it the full 7. I am not afraid or ashamed of any failure I have experienced in my life. I understand the role of failure in a successful life. First, I get that it's inevitable. I'm going to fall on my face--over and over-- and then I'm going to get back up, wipe the dirt off my chin, and do it again. You know--the best fighters don't walk into any championship fight without scars.  Hell no. They walk in with scars all over their body--and it's because of that elevated gash on their left cheek that they understand when to duck, slide, lean in, and strike.  They didn't get that from a video--they got that from getting hit--over and over again. I am not afraid of my failures--I am afraid of the day I don't get back up.  And that day is not here.

Something else these folks may want to know about me...I am motivated heavily by doubters.  There is something internally thrilling about proving people wrong. I've done it my whole life.  Of course, I'm only human, so when people sling mud at me, my first instinct is to disappear inside myself and take it to heart...but I have learned my next move is almost always to move into action.  Here's what happens....they show up with a knife in hand ready to slash my tires--then end up putting fuel in my car instead.  I hit the gas pedal...and they earn their reflection in my rear-view mirror.

Lastly, I will say this.  Whatever motivates us to tear people down--to interfere with their path in life, and develop opinions that are often and most-likely uniformed...I offer this challenge:  take 90% of the energy you pour into the pain you work so hard to inflict on others and place that energy into your own life.  You cannot build your own wings from the feathers you have plucked from others...they must grow from within you.  

I am not ashamed of the life I lead and I should not be anything but proud of the successes I have found along the way...and so, despite how some have tried to make me feel, I will not apologize for the woman I am today. So long as my values are not compromised and my ambitions never outweigh my sense of what is right and fair in this world, then I will continue to move forward in my life without giving in to those who want me so desperately to give up.  This blog will probably never change the sad reality that mean-spirited people will always hoist themselves up on the nearest roadblock, taunting and criticizing your every move--but it will also not change my steadfast commitment to the life I am determined to lead.  

Those folks can have a few of my feathers--I've got a solid set of wings. 

  

It's Been a While

I haven't blogged in a while. Admittedly, one reason I haven't is because I forgot my login name and password...and actually I couldn't remember what website I was blogging through. That last line makes me sound like I have the capacity of a chipmunk.  But to be fair, I haven't blogged since December and forgot login information because life has been a little...crazy.  I have also come to learn that my writing comes in waves.  If you are a creative soul like me, you will understand this blog (well hopefully, this is my attempt to explain creative release). For those of us who have a talent, or passion, or creative energy, you understand that it manifests and materializes in uniquely personal ways. For me, I have learned that my writing is what heals me and that it demands release at very particular times. Sometimes when life feels like it's crashing down, I can hardly muster the energy to deal with the day to day...much less feed any creative passion that's tucked away inside of me. But I am always aware that there are tiny specks of blue desperate to seep through the black and grey.  For me, it's when dark begins to subside that I suddenly cannot hold back my words. They start pouring over the threshold of my soul with the thunderous power of a waterfall.  It is, for me, when I can materialize my struggles, bring meaning to the challenges that have held me hostage that the words burst out of my heart's cage. It's not really ever in the heat of the moment, but in the quiet aftermath that my soul cries for writing. I suppose, it is for me, how I begin the process of coping with my struggles and moving forward with my life.  So, my creative counterparts, I know you get this...if you are a dancer, singer, painter, whatever it may be...the urge is not always there...but your passion is so connected to the inner you, to your soul, that it becomes an extension of you in very particular moments. Perhaps, like me,  it is your coping mechanism.  Somedays you can't sing...and somedays it's all you can do to make it through.  Some days your feet are too tired and then there are days that if you do not dance, your feel like you will burst out of your own body.  In the last six months I have not had the energy to write...but lately, it's as if I'm craving it.  Or, I suppose, my soul is craving it.

I used to curse at my writing gift. I mean, really it would have been much more useful if I had a talent that could actually score me some dough or popularity points.  I would have appreciated being more athletic...okay, the word more implies I was athletic at all, let me rephrase that...I would have appreciated being athletic. Maybe even amazingly good at math, like Rain Man.  Hell,  I would have traded this talent for a good set of pipes to beat box.

I used to think this was such a useless talent...

Now I know God granted me a connection to words because this is how I navigate my world. This is how I make sense of life's senselessness.  Words heal me. Words make souls tangible, emotions visible...they restore beauty in ugliness, establish hope in darkness, lift broken souls, inspire love, motivate, rejuvenate,  and replenish.

I don't know just how long this wave will last, but I do know tonight I feel myself standing at the mouth of that waterfall and the words are ready to spill over.  I also know somewhere out there tonight a broken girl is dancing alone to steady beat, and a songwriter is immortalizing his broken heart with every strum of his guitar. There is an artist lashing out on the blank canvas with deep red rues.  Dance. Sing. Write. Whatever it may be, embrace it and let it pull you through...I know that's what my words do for me.

20 Angels

I'm not going to try and make this about my blog or about my words tonight, the tragedy in Newtown Connecticut and the loss of those precious, beautiful children is hardly an event that should be used in any way...

I just feel like I need to write about it, that's all.

So many things have struck me in the past few days.  My son is in 1st grade.  The fallen little angels were all his age. This is perhaps the most haunting of all thoughts that have circled my mind the last few days.  The principal died too.  That didn't escape my attention.  It has also made me angry... last week I called to police on a belligerent parent.  This parent was the 3rd this year that has stepped out of line in our school.  You cannot come into a school and behave inappropriately...period.  There are 250 students under my care. It's time for the adults in this community to behave appropriately, because we are no longer a culture that can take much lightly in the halls of our schools.  This very incident highlights my hypersensitivity to some of the behaviors that happen in the front office, in our community, and at our school board meetings.  I'll think of those 20 angel faces every time someone elevates their behavior, we all will.  How can we not?

I've thought a lot about those teachers too.  The stories of heroism.  I work with people like this everyday. I can't say I'm surprised by these stories.  By their very nature, teachers...these bright individuals who could have otherwise have chosen another, far-better compensated path in life, chose to enter into a field that nurtures human growth. Of course some of them threw themselves in front of their children.  It is the heart and nature of a teacher.  I grieve for their loss too.

...and those babies. Those 20 babies whose life had only begun.  20 Christmas trees sit in the homes of 20  broken-hearted families...and under each, there are gifts, wrapped with love....toys, electronics, dolls, books and trucks that will never touch their little hands.  When the shock subdues, they will see that tree. They will see their names adorning the top of a perfectly wrapped gift-- To Emily, Charolette, Jack, Daniel....

and they will weep.  Like I have wept these past few days. As we have all wept.

20 Angels.

Just now I sat and watched the press conference held by Emilie Parker's dad.  Emilie, only 6 years old, told her dad she loved him before he left for work in Portuguese, because he was teaching her that language. He never saw her again.  He says he's not angry. That we all have free agency and that the gunmen chose to do something horrible with his agency. But, he too had free agency and he wanted to do with this tragedy what his little Emilie would have done.  To help and to forgive.

How?   How does a father, who clearly loved his bright and vivacious daughter speak of forgiveness and love when he will never have the opportunity to share those human elements with her again? How does human compassion prevail in the face of the most horrible of tragedies?

....of all the things that have hurt so deeply the past few days, this, and this alone, gave me a sense of peace.

God Bless your perfect little souls, little angels.  Wrap your tiny angel wings around those who grieve for you and pull them through the darkness.

My Voice

When I was growing up, courage was something other people had. Though I have always had strong opinions about the world around me, they stayed quietly tucked inside my own mind. It didn't even matter that I got stepped on from time to time, because even that was easier than going out on a limb and speaking the truth. If I were that same girl now, I would fail miserably in my field and more importantly, I would be a whisper of a voice, unheard in a loud, loud world.

I can remember very distinctly the day I found my voice.  My teacher's name was Mr. Dennis and I was way over my head in a Sociology class as a sophomore in high school.  I can hardly remember what the topic was we were studying, but Mr. Dennis framed the lesson by asking us all one simple question "what is it you want out of life?" As he worked his way around the room, I formulated the answer in my head and it was very much the same as all the others...'a good house, a nice family, a good job."  You know, the standard answers to the question.  

Then Mr. Dennis arrived at my desk "So, Giacoletti, what is it you want out of life? Let me guess, good make-up, nice hair? Pretty nails?"  

In that moment that meek and unruly piece of me that never spoke up against a thing came barreling out of my system like a bull towards the matador.   "No, Mr. Dennis, I want RESPECT." 

In retrospect, I never remember considering that answer or reformulating my initial response. No, it just flew out of my mouth like instinct. I was being attacked, and I needed to protect myself. Mr. Dennis, without skipping a beat, looked me straight in the eye, pointed at me, and with a small hint of shock in his voice replied "you got it, Giacoletti."  

Turns out, I learned more about sociology and the way people truly work in that moment than I would for the entire rest of the course.  People will cross lines, and they will challenge you, no matter who you are. You can be the nicest person, the most evil, the most giving, the rudest...no matter who you are and or where you fall of the spectrum of personalities, at some point or at many points, people are going to challenge you, who you are, what you stand for...  but sometimes if you simply draw the line in the sand, they do something incredible. They stop.  

I think, ultimately that day though, I learned something about myself, that despite my previous track record as a meek and unruly girl, my voice was the strongest and most powerful defense I had in the world.  That who I was and what I stood for mattered and that if people challenge that in way that is designed to cut my stature in half, I could redeem my height and stand taller than everyone in the room by using that voice...even if it stood to have little impact on the person attacking you. 

I've never stopped using it since.  In fact, one might surmise that I've swung the pendulum entirely the other way. These days, perhaps I use it more than I should, but I'm taller than I've ever been.  Not to mention,  the world and those around me are much clearer about who I am and what I stand for than they have ever been before.  There are certain values that are unshakable in me and if anyone purposefully attacks them or attempts to bring harm to them, you will hear me, loud and clear.  Lately, it seems that same voice that surfaced in Mr. Dennis' class has gotten me in a little hot water with people, but as I sit here and ponder that outcome, I realize that in many ways I've drawn the line in the sand and demanded for the things I value in my life, the same respect I demanded in that classroom that day.  If I sacrifice popularity, relationships, or otherwise, it's a fair trade-off for laying my head on my pillow every night without the sense that who I am and what I stand for hasn't shriveled inside me. 

With that said, I have learned about myself in the past several years that the following things will undoubtedly 'release the cracken' that is my voice:

My kids--don't mess with them.  I have more respect and love for my 4 year old and 6 year old than any blog could ever capture. If you are a mom, don't bother reading on...you get it. However, if there's need for more clarification, let me put it to you this way...from the moment you hear their first little cry,  two realizations come crashing into your world: 1) you are completely in love without truly understanding how and when that happened, and 2) they are the closest thing you have ever known to vulnerability. When you are responsible for their sleep, their health, and their nutrition from the time they are a little 6 pound bundle, it's pretty hard to become unconditioned to that role.  My purpose from the moment they take in the first breath of a relentless world is to keep them safe.  For some reason, as moms, we become trapped in that moment and mindset forever.  I'd crawl through a swampy jungle laced with broken glass for them.  That's how intense a mother's love is.  So, attempt for one moment to mess with my kids and that intensity rises in me like the flames from the smoke of a fresh fire. Mess with  my kids....you'll hear my voice. 

My integrity--I might be a relentless and unwavering voice, but I am a person who is guided by a moral compass. I believe in right and wrong and walk carefully on the side of good and righteous.  I value ideals like honestly and care deeply about doing what is right...and yes, as cliche as this sounds, even in an empty room, when no-one is looking,  my conscious navigates.  I believe in the value of  taking responsibility, saying the words "I'm sorry" when I'm wrong. I believe in second-chances, in redemption. I believe most people are good. I believe doing what is right matters at the end of a life and that the choices you make have a rippling effect in your life. For that reason, I toss honest pebbles into my pond. When you challenge my integrity...you'll hear my voice. 

My husband and my marriage--I make no apologies for the devotion I feel to the man I chose in my life.  He's part of my story, part of who I am, and though he hardly needs my voice...I'll lend it any day and anytime it's needed.  I stand firmly by him because nobody in my life has ever stood as firmly by me as he has. For that and all the love I feel for him, challenge that and you'll hear my voice.

My family and friends--there are people in my life that will have my voice anytime they need it.  When the people who have surrounded me through thick and thin are ever challenged, hurt, and or in need, you will hear my voice. 

The kids I Work For--yes, I work for them.  It's why I have a job.  I challenge constantly the notion that some kids can't be saved. They all can...I believe in all kids. It doesn't mean it always works out, or that I have some power to save all kids...but I sure as hell believe it. I'll never stop. Education is the ultimate equalizer and teachers have more power than batman has cool cars.  They are a light in a dark world, and the day they all believe that, they day they all realize their awesome power to change lives...we would yield more success than ever before. 

There's more, there's always a reason to use your voice. But I should say, I'm not advocating abusing it. Don't get me wrong, this doesn't mean that I walk through life telling everyone I meet what I think and why I think it. I reserve my voice for those moment when what's listed above is challenged, hurt, attacked, compromised or otherwise. I reserve my voice for those moments when I am demanding respect.  It doesn't always end well for me, some people, despite my best efforts will never hear what I am saying. But my soul does....my soul hears me loud and clear. 

In the end, it's pretty funny how full-circle this really is. Mr. Dennis asked me that day what I wanted out of life.  Hmph.  A voice.  I didn't know it then, but it's what I wanted, more than that car, more than that house. I wanted the very thing he helped me find.  I want a strong and confident voice in this world. 

Thank God he gave me my voice, because as it turns out, I refuse to walk through my life as a whisper.  

Peace, Love and Crabs

 

Tonight at Joe's Crab Shack, as I was dining with my district's leadership team, our order took over 45 minutes to come to the table. I am now convinced that the staff at that place spends more time dancing to the cheesy 60's music, underneath the gleam of a twirling disco ball then, serving food! When our food finally made its way past the impromptu Cupid's Shuffle, I was so hungry I went straight for the kill, only to realize an entire 2 bites into my breaded shrimp that....well, I didn't order breaded shrimp.

So, I called the waitress over and reluctantly told her that this wasn't what I ordered. It was reluctant, because despite the fact that I don't like much of anything that's breaded (much less the nasty cod on my plate), I considered eating what was clearly someone else's order because I was that hungry. But, she took it back and I sat for another 10 minutes waiting for my dish, while everyone else around my table cracked their crab shells and moistened their fingers with buttery perfection. But, at least I was comforted in that moment knowing that I had clearly just earned at least 15% off my bill, if not a free double-decker chocolate volcano!

When my bill came, however, it did not include the "our service totally sucked' discount, nor was it attached to the 'we should really not list incompetence as a desired skill in our job description" desert. Hell, I didn't even get an apology.

I thought about complaining, I did. And I am quite certain the acting manager, in her little orange "Peace, Love, and Crabs" tie-died shirt posed no match to me. She looked 12 after all, and I was quite set on that chocolate volcano.

But then I hesitated and I'm glad I did. It occurred to me in that moment that I was about to engage in the very thing that I am often on the receiving end of in my line of work. I could have made a big deal over a minor inconvenience (I mean, really think about some of the inconveniences that some people have to go through in life...hell, I watched my mom go through chemo...NOW that's an inconvenience! waiting 10 extra minutes for some shrimp hardly qualifies as anything more than a minor inconvenience) I could have probably gotten my free desert, but at what expense? So the young guy working the line, dreaming of a better life, but stuck at a little more than minimum wage can listen to the nighttime manager lecture him on his pace and lack of work ethic? Or maybe so the young college-aged waitress can get the same lecture and learn all-too-soon just how unrealistic our expectations are in this world and how unforgiving our nature has become over non-issues?

So, I've learned that principal is synonymous with punching bag. I'm not complaining, it comes with the territory and there isn't a soul connected to education that didn't warn me of this pending doom if I signed the bottom line of an administrative contract. However, the day I became a principal, I didn't stop being a human and so taking punches daily takes a great deal of work. I've had to learn (and quickly) how to deal with what can sometimes be an unforgiving public. I filter complaints daily. Many are legitimate. You have parents step into my office who are genuinely concerned with their child and what is happening in their life 36 hours a week, when they entrust us with them. But, some are unfair, abusive, and downright petty. Some are misguided, some are personal, and some are malicious, and like my dinner experience, there are those who will shut down business in my office to complain about what should have been only a 'minor inconvenience.' It doesn't change how I am trained to respond. Whether legit or whether completely out of line, my professionalism is expected to stay intact. But again, I am human and what my instinct (you know, that survival factor when you are being attacked) is begging me to do is sometimes contrary to what my training dictates. And especially when those attacks have no merit, or when they are triggered by something deeper, something not related school. And so, with every ounce of me, I fight the inner emotions, I listen, I respond, I remain patient and composed, even under fire.

Okay, so where is this all leading? Let's go back to Joe's Crab Shack. I could have complained tonight. I could have had a free meal. I could have, but instead I selected composure and patience. My training dictates I choose this under fire in my job and my experience with those who do not understand either of these traits has taught me the value of both responses in situations of 'minor inconvenience." I have learned not to be so entitled; I have learned not to get all bent out of shape for small things. I reserve my passionate responses for things that really deserve such heat.

I left the restaurant full and happy. I didn't get a free desert. But, well, I got a pretty damn cool blog out of it.

Peace, Love and Crabs, people.