We All Know What Assuming Does...

 

Many times in our jobs as educators, more specifically as an assistant principal, situations come up where we have to make a decision, act within our best judgment, and truthfully, sometimes based on assumptions that we have created in our minds or formed from our own perspectives of how we see the world and how we see people. This day that I am about to tell you about was one of those days. Something bizarre came up and had to be addressed. It was one of those situations that, as I am hearing the teacher describe it, gave me butterflies because I didn’t know which way this was going to go or what would come out of it.

 

So here is how it all went down.

 

It was a Spring afternoon, in a middle school. As you can imagine, it’s crazy in any middle school in the spring. Kids are going nuts. Teachers are irritable. Administrators have had it with everybody. It’s  the 6^th period of the day, I’m at my desk probably sending or replying to an email or something and in walks our home ec teacher, carrying an interesting looking item in her hand. She puts it down on my desk and I turn to look at it. I’m baffled. I look at her. I look back at what appears to me a jacked up voodoo doll. I started asking questions.  She begins to tell me what all of her students were expected to do. Yes, they had made dolls. But all of the other dolls that had been graded, so far, had been on point -and were precise with the stitching, material, and techniques that they had been practicing and had perfected. Why this, then, from this young man? He had done so well with practicing the stitching leading up to the finished product. He knew how to make the doll. He knew what she was expecting. Why had he been so belligerent and done something completely off base and crazy looking is what I was thinking. The teacher pointed to the small piece of duct tape across the heart. There were letters on it with a pin stuck through the center of it. Though the ink was very light, we were oh- so certain that it was a student’s name. All of the dolls that I had seen the kids working on, at this point,  were either princess like or preppy. Pink, with tiaras and tutus or khaki, with the refined look of polos and well-knit buttons. The one sitting on my desk was a voodoo doll. The creator of this doll had issue with this other young man, whose name was written on that duct tape.  We were for certain. I was fired up and ready to go. How brave was he to create something and turn in to his teacher that was clearly a threat, an act of hate towards another student. What school did he believe he was in.  All the thoughts running through my mind.

 

See, this would not be the first situation with the creator of doll that I would have. I had seen him before in my office for laying one heavy fist on somebody because they had said something to him that made him upset. He was that kid who you could look in his eyes and see there was a lot going on inside. His eyes were very dark and he seemed to have a permanent scowl. I rarely saw a smile or a grin from him. But from my first encounter and conversation with him, I had come to believe though he had a pretty heavy fist, he was a gentle giant. Those fatigues, heavy boots and faded black tee shirts that he wore, daily, were the militant exterior to a gentle, hurting soul. But again, on any given day, we never know what may come up. He seemed to me a gentle giant, but I also had proof that he was not one to withhold any physical punishment if you pushed the right- or shall I say- wrong button with him.

 

I called him to my office and begin to spill out targeted questions about whether he and another young man had taken issue. I interrogated him on whether he wanted to bring any harm to that other young man.  I was going through the motions, but at the same time, had butterflies because I truly was trying to fully grasp what was going on with this young man to create this voodoo doll of black wool, a fatigue cape,  button  stitched -in I don’t know what kind of pattern- eyes, raggedness and of complete gloom. It was crazy, spooky looking. He looked at me with that natural scowl but also in a way that I knew he was thinking and processing what I was asking. He finally just came out and said I don’t know what you’re talking about. I laid the doll out and asked him what this was all about. What’s up with this doll? When I asked if that was so and so’s name, he looked really confused. I pointed to the duct tape with the pin stuck through it and asked whose name it was and what the pin stuck through meant. He proceeded to open up a world of life lessons learned, for me.

 

That duct tape is actually my dad’s prison ID. I didn’t want my doll to be like anybody else’s doll cause I see the world differently. He’s been in prison most of my life and I feel angry about that most of the time and that’s why I used all the dark material. He went on to tell me about the eyes and why the buttons had thread going in every direction. He mentioned again seeing the world in a very different way than most people. He also said that he thought he did a pretty good job of making a doll that showed who he is and what he thinks about the most.

 

I was blown away and for the life of me could not muster the words to speak in that moment. What I had assumed to be a creation of hate and a threat was a glimpse into the emotions of this young man who was hurting, in lots of pain and had created a beautiful product that was intentionally and uniquely crafted by and for him. How dare I have popped that doll out and laughed several times with my neighbor about the conversation I was going to be having with this young man about his complete belligerence, bad attitude, and bold hate and threat. How small I felt.  I became the first three letters of assume at that moment. I had judged and misjudged, made humor out of a situation that I had made assumptions about. How dare I.

 

I was completely humbled and could barely finish our meeting – dumbfounded by my assumptions and humbly asking for forgiveness for my way off base accusations and assumptions.

 

That experience had a profound effect on me and how I see that we way too often make assumptions about people, our children. These kids are going through way more than we could ever realize or imagine. This young man is in high school, now. I have actually passed him twice on the road to school in an old vintage car, cruising down FM 3433. I could see him riding on the passenger side with that same wool hat, faded black tee (from what I could see in that millisecond). For some, he will always come across as one of those militant-like kids, some call goth or emo.  Assumptions.  I have actually said a prayer or two, since those millisecond highway passings. I pray that he will have educators who will know him and understand him and not misjudge him. Not make assumptions about him. I hope they will see past that militant exterior and see his gentle soul. His father has been imprisoned for most of the years of his life which has created a psychological prison for this young man whose emotions are hard core and deep, but just may peek out –through the creation of a beautiful, scary, crazy looking doll. My prayer is, though imprisonment is on every hand, I hope that education will be his freedom whether he lays a fist on someone or he creates a doll, we won’t judge or assume, but seek first  to understand… so that we can make a difference and be different.  That doll is in the right drawer of my desk. Everytime I open that drawer, I’m spooked for a moment, but then I smile and tell myself- though I don’t know what’s going to come through the door , today, assume nothing. Listen closely. Seek to understand, rather than to be understood.  Education is our freedom…let’s get it!