Real gold does not glitter

Knight in Shining Armor
Creative Commons License Photo Credit: 黒忍者 via Compfight

“Take heart and come on! I will not fly away.” – St. Joan of Arc

Being a principal it is sometimes hard to admit that you’re human. It was pointed out to me during a very intense meeting that the position of principal within a school is a lonely one. We walk a hard path with little gratitude or recognition. In truth, we do not seek either. When things go well everyone is happy. When challenges arise it is upon the shoulders of the principal that they fall. This not only includes what is happening within the school but within the administrator’s personal life. There is a very firm line that is drawn between what the principal should and should not disclose with his or her faculty (both personal and professional information).

We are the stoic walls that are expected to hold our ground against tsunamis and tempests that batter us in a maelstrom of activity. I know that many would say that they don’t expect administrators to be super human, and that’s good because we are not. Yet we face a challenging path of remaining confident, steadfast, and as a fixed point upon which the whole school can rely upon. It is a lonely road.

When personal strife hits, I am usually the first one to make the rounds to the early elementary grades. The students bring hope to me. They are the embodiment of potential, joy, and curiosity. Yet there are times (when the weight of events is so heavy) that I leave happy for the students but on the brink of tears because the joy they feel is ever longed for by those who endure some of life’s more difficult challenges.

Its important that the school community sees the administrator as ever vigilant and strong in his or her resolve to ensure that every student receives the best and most caring education available. We sally forth with a façade of armor that glimmers and shines. Beneath this façade lays the true armor, dented, cut open, and held together through the battle-weary days and nights. To the outside world, as Led Zeppelin once said “all that glitters is gold.” However beneath that glitter is the true warrior, sometimes smiling, sometimes hurting, sometimes laughing, sometimes crying. It may be just me and my own philosophy of leadership, but I feel the need to always be the one to set the example for my faculty and families. I know that I am not the only administrator to experience this phenomenon.

How do other administrators cope with the need to lead their crews to new destinations while maintaining their strength in the face of personal grief? I do not know. If you have any answers, I (and I’m sure others in similar situations) would love to hear them.

The next time you pass your principal or VP or any admin in the hallway or anywhere else, give them a smile. The one they are giving you may sometimes be masking pain that cuts to the core but your smile may help him or her to recapture glimmers of hope.

Thank you all for reading this. I hope it somehow helps others to get through their day.

 

 

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