As I sat in my office literally twiddling my thumbs waiting for something that might spark my attention, my summer school secretary walked in the door with a folder of “things to sign.” Perhaps I shouldn’t admit that ordinarily I sign the documents knowing that the paper before me is simply a formality of things that are of the mundane. Today’s papers were student request for work permits. In California, schools must approve students “right to work” based on their grades, attendance, etc… I glanced at a number of unknown names to see which fast food joints were still safe to patronize lest I get “extra attention” to my order when I noticed Laura’s name. Working in a school of nearly 3,000 students recognizing a kids name is not necessarily a good thing. I knew Laura because for a number of years I had taken her brother to truancy hearings and he had still not gotten the message. I remember in the spring, her counselor had denied an entertainment work permit given she was developing the same attendance issues. So, I did what any good school official would do, remove the paperwork and noted “denied due to attendance issues
Now in a black and white world, this would have been the end of the matter. She simply did not qualify for the permit… unfortunately we live in a techna-colored world. That afternoon when Laura came to pick up her permit she meekly requested to speak to me. Not being an advocate of the “gray area” I explained to her that she had twenty-two days of absence and that she simply did not qualify for the permit. She hung her head in shame and walked out my door. Having an overwhelming sense that I had done “the right thing,” I dismissed any pings of guilt and went on with my day. After all, this young lady needed to understand that there were consequences for her poor choices.
Later that afternoon, the phone rang and I was notified that a very upset mother wanted to speak to me about a work permit. Knowing exactly who was on the other end of the line I rolled my eyes, sighed loudly and girded myself for a symphony of lame excuses. When I picked up the phone they began rolling, “my daughter is a good kid,” “two of those days were excused entertainment work days, and four were a religious retreat” “my daughter makes always good grades,” “she has allergies,” and my absolute favorite, "where is this policy written?” I calmly attempted to answer her questions holding on to the fact I knew I was “RIGHT.” Then her mother broke into tears and told me that her husband was off work with injury and they needed her to work this summer. In my most pious tone I ended the conversation, “I am sorry that your daughter’s attendance in the fall is prohibiting her for qualifying for a work permit, but I simply can not approve it.”
I hung up the phone and became agitated… howdare this woman use emotional blackmail to beat the system! What a terrible lesson for her to teach her children that they do not have to take responsibility for their actions! After all a fifteen-year-old girl should not be shackled with the burden of supporting her family! Shortly after the mother called the district and complained (they all do!) the policy was clearly explained and I felt supported as an administrator. I basked in my “rightness” until I walked down the hall to find my principal hiding in his office so that I could “gain the experience” of being summer school principal. I explained the situation to him entirely including the part where the mother called the district office and they supported my decision when he looked up at me and said, “Pam, we are going to disagree on this one.” I was furious! How dare he disagree with me, didn’t he know “I was RIGHT”! I explained, “how will this kid every learn responsibility if I grant this permit to her”? He countered, “perhaps it will teach her responsibility since you are required to be to work on time.” GRRRR! I hate it when he disagrees, then makes perfect sense. I huffed out thinking to myself; this is why these kids act this way… no one holds them accountable!
When I returned to my office I had yet another message from Laura’s mother. She wanted to know “exactly where” was that policy, she was looking and could not find it. When I called her back, she answered the phone, “Hello this is the Smith residence, God bless you.” The greeting itself irritated me, as my morning devotional was titled “When the bumper sticker doesn’t match the driver.” Once again I attempted to explain the situation to her to no avail.
As I left the office that afternoon, I kept trying to convince myself that I had made the right decision. After all… it was black and white. I struggled all evening attempting to convince myself that I had done “the right thing.” Then that small quiet voice in my head asked the question… is this “the right thing” or has it turned into an “ego thing.” Was it about policy or was it simply about Pam “being right”? I conceded that in the morning I would check the coding for the absences, perhaps she was “excused” for some of the absences. When I arrived the next morning, I had a message from a good friend at the district, who fights beside me in the war against truancy, asking the same question. Although Laura was a “borderline case” I could issue a work permit.
So… at 7:30 I called Laura’s mother, greeted by a very sleepy, “Good Morning, God Bless You,” to let them know I would sign the paperwork. She started crying again and told me that I didn’t know how much this meant to them. She was right; I may never know how much this meant to them. But I did learn that there is a fine line that separates doing what is right, from “doing what is right.” We have all in cases where our lives somehow hinge on the compassion of others. May we never forget these instances and may we all have friends who “just have to disagree” with us. Lesson learned.
