Gratitude Day 7 - Gene

Few people know exactly the right thing to say at the darkest moments.  Some people have a knack for saying exactly the wrong thing nearly all the time.  Gene Pinkard has a special gift: using his bitingly sarcastic sense of humor, he says things that seem absolutely ridiculous at the time, and moments or years later end up making sense of difficult circumstances.

When I was 25, I was a physics teacher at Maya Angelou under the best principal I had ever met. Here we are at Six Flags with my students learning about acceleration on roller coasters.  This was the day I really started to think about becoming a principal, and I grilled Gene about the process and what he loved about the job.

The next spring Gene was moving on after two years as my principal, and I was devastated.  He put together a transition team to lead the school the summer of his departure while they looked for a suitable replacement.  Knowing my passion for school leadership, I thought I would be an obvious part of the team.  Instead, Gene crushed my soul further by not asking me to take part.  I couldn't believe it.  How dare he not recognize my leadership abilities and passion for education!  I didn't talk to him for weeks.

Somehow he tricked me into riding with him to graduation, and he asked me why I was mad at him.  I started to cry (which he was used to), and explained that I felt short changed and my feelings were hurt by his decision.  To this he replied, "Well, that's why you're not on the team.  If you get bent out of shape by this, you're not ready for administration."

Ouch.

As principal (and principal in training) I have thought back so many times to that conversation as we wove through the streets of southeast DC.  I reflect proudly, amazed that some recent happening that would have sent the old Kate crying to her mother just bounced right off.  Gene's words five years ago helped me build thicker skin.  I'd be a pretty shitty principal without it.

In the last week alone, I have reached out to Gene twice to remind me that, unlike five years ago, I can really handle this.  In fact, the exact text message I sent on Monday said, "Tell me to quit crying and grow a pair."  His reply?  "Don't be a punk."

Then something scary happened in my community, and I called him again last night.  After relaying the details of the situation and the safety plan we had determined for our school, I wanted Gene to tell me I was overreacting and it was no big deal.  I wanted him to comfort me, to tell me I didn't know what scary was, being out in the peaceful foothills of Colorado -- that I had lost all my worked-in-a-detention-center credibility.  I wondered aloud why they let a young kid like me take on this much responsibility anyway.

And Gene totally blew it.

"Kate, it doesn't matter if you're 31 or 46.  Scary is scary."

Great.  Thanks a lot for the reassurance.

Yet here I sit, just 24 hours later, peaceful as I reflect on his words.  He wasn't telling me to panic.  He was saying my feelings were valid.  He wasn't saying this was a disaster.  He was saying I was right to take this seriously.  And he was saying it was going to be ok.

So today I'm grateful for Gene for saying the right wrong thing, every time.