Addressing conflict and problems directly with teachers or administrators (Part 4)

Sometimes we have to get involved. Proceeding with care and prudence will maximize the chances of getting a productive outcome. It's not hard, but it takes thought and care.

I have spent the last several posts talking about building relationships with teachers and schools in order to preempt problems—or at least to have a working relationship before they emerge—here.

I also talked about how seemingly arbitrary policies might not necessarily be bad, even if they are frustrating, and the importance of keeping disagreements in perspective here.

I also talked about understanding some of the institutional realities and parameters of schools here.

Today I want to talk about how and when to approach a teacher or administrator.

This is critical and I feel passionately about it because, in my time, I have seen it done well and seen it done badly. When it goes badly, no one wins, especially the child.

I also feel passionately because a lot of times these situations are where other trends—such as over-parenting—are manifest. Chances are, if we can handle these situations well when our parental emotions are running high, we are avoiding over-parenting and over-identifying with our child. This means we are helping them prepare to be happy and autonomous, competent and independent adults.

I’ve seen these sorts of things as a teacher, a parent, and an administrator. I’ve made some mistakes several times.

And, of course, every school and every teacher is different. What I’m going to share are general principles that I use when I’m responding to a problem with my child and a school or teacher. That doesn’t mean it will always be the right thing in every situation, though.

Let me start with a very painful story about a time I made a really dumb mistake and some parents needed to address it with me.

The time I made a dumb mistake: A painful but productive lesson

Years ago, I made a stupid mistake. I was very tired and under a lot of pressure with a coming production. In the heat of the moment, I made a snap decision that I would never have made with more reflection.

This was nothing immoral or unethical, but it hurt some students and upset their parents—they were justifiably upset.

It happened on a Friday and all weekend I was besieged with angry emails and voicemails and demands to call people. People were justifiably upset, but what was not justified was the way they characterized my actions. It was foolish, thoughtless, even stupid, but it wasn’t malicious or dishonest or signs of favoritism.

At first, I was defensive. This came about because I was giving my time to do something special for the students in the first place, operating beyond the expectations of my contracted responsibilities.

Monday morning, one dad came in. He was very angry—trembling with anger. His daughter had been very upset and he felt I had been unethical. We talked for a long time—a very long time.

It was a very raw, emotional, unfiltered conversation. I let him talk and get everything out. It was really hard to do that, honestly. But I did. And then I apologized—without any qualifications.

I agreed that I had made a bad decision, but I asked him to at least understand where I was coming from. I wanted him to see that it had been an accident, not malice. After all, if you cause a wreck because you ran a stop sign or because your foot slips or gets stuck on the accelerator, it doesn’t change the fact that you caused the wreck. However, the cause is not insignificant.

He listened respectfully and he acknowledged that I was likely feeling like a punching bag.

It was an hour long, but when he left, we had become closer. We had a new respect for each other. We both agreed I was wrong, but we both agreed I had not done anything intentionally or unethically. It was a stupid mistake.

Some other parents, however, would not come in to see me, but they also wouldn’t let it go. They texted each other got everyone worked up and put the worst possible complexion on things, coming up with the worst interpretations and characterizations.

After a few days of reflection, I apologized to the parents. I apologized personally to each child. I met with the whole group and apologized and explained what I had been trying to do while acknowledging my impact. I brought in the school counselor and she facilitated a discussion and reconciliation.

Still, while I made it right, some of them would not allow me any grace. They insisted my motives had been bad. You can decide, on a human level, if this is a situation any of us like.

That’s natural, but not helpful. Especially when you are getting what you want. Some wanted me punished or disciplined.

At that point, my boss stepped in. “Braden made a mistake—which he’s acknowledged. He’s done all I can think of to repair it. Frankly, given the nature of his mistake, he did more than he needed to do since this didn’t involve anything beyond hurt feelings. It’s time to let it go.”

Some did, but some didn’t. Sadly, some of these were people I had been quite close to. They had all loved me the day before my mistake, but could not get over this mistake. Nothing I had done in the past mattered, and nothing I could do in the future mattered either.

The dad who met with me? He and I became friends. He worked closely on some of my productions. We respected each other and could communicate clearly and concisely on nearly anything.

I also learned some important lessons. I made some policies about making decisions—not making them when tired or stressed out with an impending production. I realized that I had some vulnerabilities and blind spots and would always ask my boss to look at anything I did in those zones. I learned to reflect before making decisions, and so on.

I am glad the dad came and talked with me, even though it was messy.

I was also glad for something his wife told me at the height of the heat: “Braden, we all make mistakes. Leadership and character are shown with how we respond.”

This remains a painful memory for me, but I learned some good things. It was productive in many ways. But in some ways, it was very sad.

Here’s another case study.

The Case of the 4th Grade Tin Men: A tragicomedy in 1 act

Once in my early career, I was directing a 4th grade production of The Wizard of Oz. It was very simple—no scenery or props and just simple costumes parents sent in.

We had some rudimentary auditions conducted by myself and a 4th-grade teacher.

We cast the show and went into rehearsals. The night before the performance I got a scathing voicemail from a dad who was yelling. I couldn’t understand it, but it sounded bad, so I called him.

He accused me of telling his son that he would be the Tin Man but he had just learned another child had been cast in that role and he was livid.

He threatened my job and just ranted.

At no time did I or the other teacher ever say that his son would be the Tin Man. There was only one student cast in the role at the outset, and it wasn’t him.

But they had bought an expensive Tin Man costume. They were excited. Now his son was heartbroken.

He told me his son would stay home the next day, watching the movie in his Tin Man costume, singing along, and speaking the lines that were his.

Then he filed a complaint with the Superintendent of the school district.

This launched an investigation involving me and the other teacher (luckily we were both able to corroborate the other person’s story in the investigation). The union had to get involved.

Eventually, I was cleared of any wrongdoing. The wits on the Superintendent’s staff called it the Great Munchkin Scandal of 2001. But it wasn’t funny to me. I might have been fired and might have lost my livelihood and my family’s health insurance.

One thing that worked for me from the outset was that this dad was known to be highly volatile and unreasonable. From the start, no one believed him because he had a long history.

I share these experiences because they provide a sort of range. At one end, you have teachers who do make mistakes. At the other end, you have people who accuse teachers of making mistakes, without any sense of proportion.

If you understand this, it will help improve your chances of a productive outcome when you have a problem with a teacher or administrator.

Principle 1: Relationships and being reasonable unlock doors

When you address problems with a teacher or school, two things will help you resolve problems. One is a good relationship and a reputation for being engaged, reasonable, and supportive (or at least not having a reputation for the opposite).

The other thing that will help is to have a legitimate complaint, handled in a reasonable, thoughtful way.

It’s even better if you can have both—thus the posts I spent talking about building relationships.

Relationships certainly unlock a lot of doors. But even if you don’t have a relationship, handling a legitimate complaint well and wisely can have a huge impact on getting a successful resolution.

The good news is that this isn’t difficult. It just takes us getting out of our parental feeling brains and responding with our thinking brains instead. In these cases, prudence will almost always counsel restraint and care.

Principle 2: You can always escalate, but it’s hard to de-escalate

There is one big thing to keep in mind at all times: you can always escalate later. However, it is very difficult to ratchet things down.

That is key and I can’t repeat it enough.

Here are the other principles for moving ahead when there is a problem that you feel needs to be addressed. 

Principle 3: Keep an open mind. Get out of your feeling brain and into your thinking brain.

When you hear that something upsetting has happened to your child, take a breath. Then think.

Has your child ever described something to you that you did and what they accuse you of is not what you did?

For example, you might talk firmly and they say, “You’re yelling at me.”

Or maybe you are yelling but it’s because they just kicked a sibling. 

If your child comes home and reports a problem at school, don’t simply start firing off emails.

This is really hard, but it’s time to put on two different hats—one is a detective hat and one is a therapist hat.

With the therapist hat on, show empathy, comfort your child, and walk with them through their difficulty, but keep the focus on them. Don’t make comments or assumptions about a 3rd party.

“I’m so sorry. That must be so hard for you….” vs. “That jerk [or worse language]! I'll take care of this….”

Be empathetic and gentle, and then slip on the detective hat: ask questions. Listen carefully, but don’t assume you are hearing the whole story. 

That doesn’t mean your child is lying. But do keep in mind that when something happens, all humans will see things from their own perspective. And all of us are subject to having our perspective limited by our feelings.

That is true for adults and it is all the more true for adolescents, who generally operate in a very emotional place and tend not to have a lot of nuance.

Consider the way they often speak in broad-brush, declarative absolutes: “Everyone has a phone,” or “No one else has a curfew.”

They are serious about this, not intentionally disingenuous. It’s how they see the world and that’s okay based on their brains and life experience.

But we have developed brains and life experience! That—and unconditional love—is one of the unique and irreplaceable things we can give our children.

We best show our love when we provide what they do not have: nuance, balance, and perspective. We show love when we model good problem-solving skills.

• Be careful not to over-identify with your child

Over-identifying with our children and their lives is not healthy for us or them. It can be well-meant, but it is not helpful, as counter-intuitive as that may seem.

A good trick for this is to think of a parent you know who you feel is too quick to intervene in their child’s life. Imagine that parent in the situation you are facing and ask yourself honestly, “What would I think if that parent did what I am about to do?”

I worry a great deal when I see parents who are quick to jump in to intervene on behalf of their child without much—or any—understanding of the full situation and without careful reflection. I am sure they mean well and think they are being appropriately protective.

I am not worried because they might make life harder for a teacher or other parents. I worry because I think this will harm their child.

• Feelings matter, but they are not always actionable, helpful, or wise

Everything we do models important things for our children. When we intervene at the drop of a hat, when we don’t show them how important it is to understand other perspectives, we are modeling some patterns that will cause them problems in later life.

How will they learn to productively solve problems with peers, co-workers, employers, and, especially, in interpersonal relationships?

Modeling that our child’s immediate, unquestioned feelings merit our full resources and intermediate intervention is not going to set them up for future success.

People have endured horrific things over the millenia of human existence. That isn’t good or ideal. And we should not be callous or glib about bad things. However the idea that we need to intervene because our child is upset is probably not true and not generally a good idea. It may feel urgent but that doesn’t mean it really is.

Growing up is hard. Adolescence has wonderful opportunities, but it has some real moments of difficulty that we can’t avoid.

Our kids are tougher than we realize. They are stronger than they know. Our immediate, reflexive intervention sends unhelpful messages:

Your feelings mean other people are wrong.

You can’t handle this.

You need to be protected from difficulty.

In doing this we are doing the opposite of empowering them.

Does this mean we should never intervene or contact the school, teacher, principal, or other parents?

No.

But it does mean that isn’t the first thing we do. And, barring an emergency it means that we do it carefully and thoughtfully. And it is something we should do only sparingly.

• Sometimes hard things can be good for our kids, even if they aren’t ideal

On the recent podcast with Mary Laura Philpott she said something I thought was extremely wise on this topic. I have not always lived this, but when I have, my kids have been better off. And, when I haven’t, I almost always regretted it.

Kids can learn from hard experiences like rejection or like failure, you know, even if I don't agree with necessarily the failing grade here or the the way this particular experience is handled.

If I can see that my kid's going to learn something good from it, I mean why not just let it be and and have the conversation at home where you go ‘Yeah you know the way the math teacher runs that class is maybe not how you would run a class or not how I would run a class but that's how the math teacher runs the class and now that you know that you need to know that you got to go in there with your papers all orderly and your homework done and you need to be two minutes early even if technically you shouldn't be counted late if you're on time because that's just how she runs the class and you need to be there.’

Learn it, you know, that's a lesson. Learn the rules of the world you're in and do it.

So really the only times I felt like I needed to say something or if I had a concern for somebody's safety or if I thought someone at school doesn't get that my kid's actually taking a bad lesson from this.

You might inadvertently be teaching them something you don't mean to be teaching them, and could we just get square on that?

Let me tell you about a time I did not follow this advice—even though I knew better.

• A time my son snookered me and I reacted badly

I learned this lesson the hard way.

One of my sons went to school with me. I loved him dearly. He was my pride and joy in many ways. I realize now I probably had over-identified with him. He was a happy-go-lucky, lovable scamp. Never malicious, but often made impulsive, not-great choices.

I knew this about him because I had heard it from every teacher he’d had—including good friends. I had seen it myself and I knew it was true.

Still, I fell into the trap.

During a fire drill he and his friends were goofing around—laughing and shoving each other playfully. A teacher saw them and gave them automatic detention.

Now I personally prefer warnings and some degree of understanding of developmental trajectories. I would have handled that with a very strict warning, followed up by a conversation about the fact that school fires used to be one of the leading causes of death in the United States, but over time, because of fire drills, we have come to the point where almost no life is lost.

I would have made the point that fire drills are serious business. We have to learn how to do them properly so they can literally save lives. And being able to hear and follow directions during an emergency is a literal matter of life and death. So goofing off is inappropriate.

This teacher had a different approach. The fact that it was not my approach did not make it wrong, per se, but I got caught up in my son’s indignation. He insisted that he had not been laughing or talking. I believed him, and I went to bat for him.

I made a couple cardinal mistakes in this. First of all, I magnified this well beyond its real importance. Going to detention for 90 minutes on Friday is not pleasant, but it's really not the end of the world. This was not going to really harm my son.

But I felt that the principle mattered and that I needed to fight for fairness. So I kicked up a big fuss with my boss about it. He asked if I had spoken to the other teacher. I had not because I didn’t want things to be messy. I just wanted my boss to solve it.

He basically backed the teacher. He couldn't know for sure, but he felt the teacher was acting in good faith. Based on past interactions with the teacher, he agreed that the teacher could be strict, but was not prone to making things up, and that the punishment certainly did not seem excessive or damaging. Given the situation it was reasonable, even if stricter than I would have liked.

Ironically, another family, parents of one of my son's friends, who was also sent to detention, saw this differently and handled it better than the teacher. They basically said, “We weren't there, we don't know what happened for sure, but we know our son can be a goof-off since he’s a sixth grade boy. We are just going to trust the teacher. Besides, we want our son to learn that he’s accountable for how me comports himself publicly. That’s an important lesson.”

I admired that, but I was focused on the unfairness of it all. And that's not a trivial concern, to be honest. I don't think we should have a world where students are hostages to the whim of a teacher, or where a teacher's arbitrariness can get the child in trouble. That's important.

But we have to be careful. There are times in life when things are unfair, and our kids have to learn how to navigate that. Just intervening is not going to be the best strategy to help them.

Years later, my son, who swore to me up and down that he had not talked or laughed, brought this incident up once at the dinner table. He was laughing about it then. It was sort of a, “Hey, remember when…” kind of thing and he just casually mentioned that he had been flat tiring his buddies.

I was stunned. “I went to bat for you! I believed you! You lied to me!”

He seemed quizzical. “I didn’t lie. I wasn’t laughing and shoving anyone like they said.”

It took me a while to help him see that, technically, the letter of the charges may not have applied but that spirit of them certainly made him guilty.

He wasn’t lying. He sincerely believed he hadn’t done what he had been accused of.

He just didn’t see the whole picture because he was a sixth grader at the time and they have very literal brains sometimes—not to mention a huge aversion to being in any kind of trouble, or letting their parents down.

So, be careful what you believe.

I will be sharing the next principles shortly—so watch your email.

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Many thanks!

Happy parenting—you’ve got this!

Sincerely,

Braden