A Principal's Confession: I Wish I Had A Child Sooner.

My name is Doug Heavisides. 

And I am the proud principal of the Hartford Area Career and Technology Center. 

And I have a confession to make. 

I wish I had a child earlier in my teaching career. 

So much earlier than thirty-seven.
 
Seventeen years into teaching. 

And that confession spills from my lips for many reasons. 

Guilt? 

Reflection? 

Forgiveness?

Yup.

All three. 

Regardless, I changed when I held that little Scout in my arms for the first time.

I changed as a Human and a Teacher. 

The former making up the latter. 

The latter making up the former. 

Entwined.

If you do it right. 

I was no longer adrift in the sea of pedagogy. 

And potential. 

Clinging to a lesson plan from the wreck of a Sunday night. 

A Sunday night in a panic. 

Rolling in the high waves of expectation.

Twenty foot swells. 

What do I do with them? 

The students. 

For a week? 

Defaulting to entertainment.

Humor. 

Not education. 

Not assessment. 

Heavy in the art of teaching was I. 

          (Thanks, Yoda, for your sentence patterns.)

And light in the Science of teaching. 

So light. 

That I sank.  

Losing my plank (a splinter?) of a lesson plan. 

Ignoring that I was drowning.

In anecdote. 

And my opinion. 

My stupid opinion. 

Claiming to know the story of all students.

Before their stories played themselves out. 

Is there a clearer definition of Arrogance? 

Nope. 

So arrogant, was I.  

“The parent is using the disability as an excuse.”

“The student can do it. She is choosing not to.” 

“I will not accommodate. You cannot accommodate laziness.”

“Laziness is not a disability.”

“This is not a school issue, it is a parent issue.”

“A school, nor I, can make up for the deficiencies of a horrible home life.”

“I understand. Really I do. But what you are asking me to do is enabling not supporting.” 

“Trauma? We all have trauma. Get over it. Have him turn in his assignments. Get the work done.”

“Anxiety?? Not real. It’s in your child's head. Get over it. And tell her to turn in her assignments.” 

“Stop. Just stop. Please. You are making excuses for your child. He just needs to do the work.”

I said all of those things.

Loudly. 

Passionately.

To parents.

Ugh. 

(Insert regret here).  

Without a Scout in my arms.  
 
Not doing what was good for students. 

Nope. 

I was barely, if ever, keeping my lips above the swells of truth. 

That all parents do the best they can with what they have. 

Even if they do not have much.   

But then Scout. 

Yes. 

But then Scout. 

In my arms. 

My girl. 

My beautiful daughter. 

      (Five years in the making...infertility hurt more than my poor teaching). 

With Scout, I found safety.

And hope. 

And understanding. 

And compassion. 

And truth. 

For all parents. 

In her eyes. 

Her beautiful eyes. 

In them I saw land. 

The science of teaching.

Not a wreck of a Sunday night. 

Land to put my feet on.  

No longer clumsy in pedagogy. 

But stable. 

Without anecdote. 

Or opinion. 

But grounded in love.

Like all parents. 

Like me. 

Who does not have much. 

But does the best he can. 

As a father. 

And as an educator. 

The former making up the latter. 

The latter making up the former. 

That is what makes a good lesson plan. 

And an educator.

And a school leader. 

Not judgement. 

Not criticism. 

Not cynicism. 

Yes, I wish I had a child earlier in my teaching career. 

But there is a reason for all things. 

And now I get it.

As parents, we all do the best we can with what we have. 

Whether we have a lot. 

Or a little. 

Or nothing. 

We do the best we can.

And I understand. 
​
Finally.