A Principal's Tale: Life In 31 Days

By Shelley McIntosh Ed.D

A PRINCIPAL'S TALE, at turns is personal and humorous, insightful and engaging. A PRINCIPAL'S TALE democratizes the public school administration conversation and offers insight and wisdom to anyone who wishes to show up more authentically, effectively, and ultimately powerfully in today's challenging education world. More personal in tone than traditional educational books, A PRINCIPAL'S TALE acknowledges that leadership requires risk and commitment, and the greatest risk of all is discovered as we learn how to educate our own way and lead with impact in today's ever-shifting educational world. My personal stories in the office to the classroom will shine at times personal and at times a humorous look into the everyday life of a principal. Written on a daily basis, similar to a diary or journal entry, the book details thirty-one days in the life of an urban school principal, painting a true picture of the professional, emotional, and personal experiences of those who lead a school and a family of educators and learners.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9781640031890

Book preview

Prologue

Idid not seek to be an educator; education chose me. I know now it is my purpose, my life’s calling. Physical therapy was my first choice when I graduated from high school many years ago, but my direction changed with responsibilities given to me. My father, a Baptist pastor, made me teach Sunday school at the age of eleven. Yes, I said made. I did not volunteer to do it. I can still see the Sunday school cards with the picture of Jesus in front and the Bible verse and story in back. These I read to my group of six, all five-year-old girls. Somehow I convinced them to be baptized.

On that special Sunday, everything seemed magical and surreal. The baptism was scheduled for 3:00 p.m. I was dressed in Sunday clothes, a blue plaid dress, blue matching socks, and black patent leather shoes. In those days, special clothes could only be worn on Sunday. I felt proud and responsible even though I was only eleven years old.

The baptismal was located in a separate building behind the sizable white wooden church. To get there, I had to walk through the church’s parklike grounds decorated with trees and flowers. As I entered, I noticed that the large room, more like a hall, was dimly lit without any chairs. The front of the hall was illuminated revealing the baptismal pool, which was on a stage, and I could see shadows of rippling water reflected on the wall behind it.

All six of the children arrived with their parents, who escorted them into a medium-sized room adorned with light brown tile and lined with stalls and sinks. There, the church mothers gently instructed the parents to expeditiously change their little ones’ clothes and dress them in the baptismal attire consisting of all-white swimming caps and floor-length cotton gowns. It seemed as if everyone was in harmony, more like the peaceful awe felt when gazing into a blue sky feathered by puffy clouds. Finally, all the children were dressed in baptismal attire. I left the room, reentered the hall, and stood at the base of the stage with a few other church members.

First, two ministers, dressed in long black robes, entered the stage from the left, then carefully walked down the five steps into the pool. Both faced each other. One prayed. After the prayer, a woman began to sing the gospel hymn Wade in the Water, and others joined in.

The first child, escorted by the church mother, arrived on the stage. One of the ministers held her hand as she stepped down into the pool and guided her to stand between both ministers. My eyes were fastened on the three of them as if I was hypnotized. As the minister prayed, my little student stood still. Then, one minister instructed her to cross her arms across her chest.

Both ministers wrapped one of their arms around her back. One placed his hand over her mouth and nose, then proclaimed, I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

Immediately, both ministers laid her backward, submerged her in the water, and brought her back up in a matter of a few seconds. She emerged with water streaming down her face. The ministers helped her walk up the pool stairs, where a church mother was waiting with a white towel. She wiped the water off of the child’s face, wrapped the towel around her shoulders, and then escorted her back to the locker room. One by one, each child was baptized. As I reflected on my students’ preparation with the church mothers, witnessed their baptism in all-white attire, heard the words of the minister, and listened to the unceasing lyrics of Wade in the Water, I was so touched. Warm deep feelings ascended within me. Overwhelmed, I cried.

That was my first real instructional class promoted by baptism. I felt a delightful sense of accomplishment.

My journey continued through the actions of my mother, who made me take care of children. At age fourteen, she sent me to take care of seven children whose mother tragically committed suicide.

I had met the three older children earlier because my mother acquainted herself with this family, as she did so often in the neighborhood. The three oldest were two girls, eight and nine, and one boy, ten years of age. Although I would see the three oldest ones with their parents outside, I did not know the four youngest ones, a two-and-a-half-week-old baby boy, a two-year-old girl, a three-year-old girl, and a four-year-old boy.

They were beautiful children of light brown and caramel skin hues. The girls’ hair was long, hanging halfway down their backs. The boys’ facial features were perfectly poised with precise distance between the eyes, nose, and mouth making them handsome and easy on the eyes.

The family lived in the upper level of a white, wooden two-family house on the east side of Detroit, Michigan. The house could be entered through a door on the front porch, which led to a hall with about fifteen stairs. It was a five-room, two-bedroom flat with brown and beige decor, quite small and quite crowded for nine people.

I simply did what my mother told me. Comb the girls’ hair, change the baby’s diaper, help the younger ones to dress, and help clean the house. But I also smiled a lot, talked a great deal, played, and hugged them regularly. I was only a few years older than the oldest son, so it was comfortable for me to engage with them. Over time, they viewed me as their big sister–mom. For the next several years, I babysat every other weekend and looked forward to seeing the children. I never complained because I believed I was doing my part to help and that was a good thing!

My mother offered my babysitting services to neighbors at no cost. I did not agree with that all the time. In some cases, I should have at least gotten minimum wage. Was my mother a path paver for me?

The church I belonged to for over thirty years assigned me to develop a youth program. I did this for twenty-one years and served in additional roles as houseparent of children’s groups and group leader of adult groups. Many responsibilities were given, such as church administrator, worship service officiator, Bible class lecturer, spiritual facilitator, teacher, and group leader trainer. As teacher, I instructed prekindergarten through eighth-grade students in reading, mathematics, history, and science.

Were these roles destined? All experiences embraced a theme of service and education.

My journey continued with formal education in pursuing a bachelor’s degree to be certified as a teacher, a master’s in curriculum and instruction, elementary education, and a doctorate in curriculum and instruction and teacher education. I worked in higher education, educating potential teachers and graduate students pursuing a master’s of arts in teaching degrees. Again, these are steps in my journey.

I served as an assistant professor at the University of Houston–Downtown in the Department of Urban Education. The faculty was the best I have ever experienced. Each one was committed to the mission of the university and the department. They all carried themselves in such a professional manner that they served as models for me—at that time a rookie professor. Each one was supportive in my acclimation to the department, including teaching and service to the university.

Serving as a professor, I sincerely believed that I was making a difference in education. I was completing my fifth year with the intent to prepare for tenure. For many of us, certain events require us to make decisions based on what we consider a priority importance in our lives. Mine was to return to Detroit, where my daughter and only grandson resided.

He had to know his nana and I had to know him. This was very important to me. Instead of proceeding forward with tenure, I decided to accept the position of principal in a public charter school with the intent that I could be of more service by addressing student achievement up close and personal. I was making a difference in preparing teachers, but I thought I could make a greater difference being on the frontline, in the school. It was a shock to the Department of Urban Education; however, I remember the words of one of my mentors: Shelley, look at it as an adventure.

It surely has been that.

I am one of the many principals who have worked or are working in urban schools. Much theory and practice have been developed indicating skills that make an excellent principal. I chose not to address theories and practices because there is such a large knowledge base that already exists. I simply want to share what days look like in the life of an urban school principal and to share my reflections. I simply want to open the door inviting you to enter in a principal’s house, look around, and experience everything about it.

As a principal in Michigan, I am accountable to a multiplicity of stakeholders, the State of Michigan (Bureau of Assessment and Accountability); AdvancEd; Michigan Education Grant System; Title I and 31A Funding; board of directors; the Management Company; superintendent; district director of curriculum, instruction, and assessment; and district Title I coordinator, at least eighty teachers and staff, over five hundred parents, and seven hundred students.

My passion is for students to learn. As I tell my staff, children are gifts in our hands. At this particular time in history, we are responsible for their education and their lives. We have the power to grow them or destroy them.

My school is located on the east side of Detroit, not too far from Grosse Pointe but in a changing community and with a transient predominately African American population. It is one of the most unique schools in the greater metropolitan area because of its extraordinary program of performing arts from kindergarten through the twelfth grade. The district serves more than 1,100 students, who receive instruction in dance, drama, vocal music, orchestra, and art.

My story is written on a daily basis, similar to a journal or diary. I served as principal for six years, but this book records thirty-one days. Each entry is designated numerically. I want to paint a picture of the professional, emotional, and personal experiences of principals. Names have been changed but represent real people.

This book is dedicated to my late granddaughter, Ni’jah Monifa Johnson, and my three grandsons, Dwight, David, and Italo. Much love to all the school administrators who take on the daily tasks of superman or superwoman. Take care of yourselves!

Day One

Iam one of the approximately 17,982 African American public school principals in America accounting for 10 percent of the total number of principals. I am one out of 4,460 principals who service urban public charter schools. I am one out of 2,363 female principals. My passion is to serve a 100 percent African American student population in high hopes that all will be academically and socially successful. Fortunately, I am knowledgeable of African history, experienced the Civil Rights movement as a teenager, and am quite aware of the educational disparities and challenges facing my community. I am not quite sure how I have been driven to support our children. I can only relate it to an inner spiritual movement that continually flows, sparks, and resonates deeply.

Because I believe in a vision shared, I felt it was critical to organize the school into teams. By doing this, I could build rapport, collaborative relationships, and be in constant conversation with those who directly influenced others. Teams are (1) administration team, consisting of principal, assistant principal, dean of students, teacher coach, reading specialist, and special education coordinator; (2) leadership team, composed of members of administration team plus the office manager, building maintenance supervisor, and the chef; (3) teacher leadership team, made up of lead teachers and grade-level facilitators; (4) office team, made up of office personnel; (4) maintenance team, encompassing maintenance personnel; and (5) food service team, consisting of food preparers. Additionally, there are teacher-led committees for Spelling Bee Contest, Fifth-Grade Promotion Services, Science Fair, Honors Assembly, and National Honor Society. A great part of my daily interactions are with these very important people!

I organized the fourteen paraprofessionals in two teams with a team leader. In reviewing guidelines with them, I explicitly made it clear that they are accountable to me. Any changes in assignments can only be made by me. I thought it was understood. However, when I tried to contact one of them in her assigned room, she wasn’t there. I finally located her in another classroom.

I asked, Why are you here?

She responded, I told my team leader and she said it was okay.

No, your team leader has no authority to approve this. You must go back to the room where you are assigned.

Pondering this situation, it was in the best interest to disband the formal structure of this team after three weeks to minimize unnecessary confusion and conflict. I had to undo what I created. However, each parapro is highly