Lessons from "The Principal" on his 78th birthday

It is very easy for me to think of, and honor, my father today. I was born in ’78, he would have turned 78 today. He worked in the public school system for nearly 4 decades, my 4 year old son (finally) went back to school in-person today. His management style - both as “the Principal” and “Dad” - are now en vogue in a #postcovidworld. The following are the 3 lessons that resonate the most with me at this stage in my professional and personal life.

Actionable Empathy

It is easy to take action, and simple to show empathy. That said, it is rare for adults to do both at the same time, as we usually choose to be a fireball or a bleeding heart. My father, while stone cold to some on the outside (FYI, this was his poker face), deeply cared about his fellow teachers, staff, and students, and quietly went to bat to give those in his community a start or a second chance. I did not know this about my father until his funeral, when dozens of his ex-students shared stories how he opened doors to give them the opportunity to interview for a job or be connected to the right person in the business community - regardless of their income level, race, nationality, sexual preference, or if they were a woman. 

To be clear, he was not handing out jobs, rather, enabling an equal playing field for folks to be judged on the quality of their life experiences and content of their character.

Seeking to Understand

Let’s face it, people like to talk, particularly Boomers and some in Gen X. While my ego and teenage fireball energy probably put me in the doghouse dozens of times, now as a father, I am following my father’s m.o. to seek first to understand. He nixed drama at the workplace and in his communities by simply listening. In return, when he did choose to speak, he was listened to, understood, and respected for his direction. In the words of Ben Franklin, my father “spoke softly and carried a big stick.”

Showing Up Always

My father ALWAYS showed up. He left for work when it was still dark outside and was the first person at his school. Thereafter, he unconsciously (or purposeful, once again unbeknown to me) mastered an “agile” schedule for his 20th century schedule. We spent time together EVERYDAY 4pm-6pm, before he needed to head back out to attend or chaperone an school-sponsored event. Saturday mornings were sacred, going to the same coffee shop, before being dropped off at my grandparents (while he went back to work - no laptops or WiFi in those days!).

He attended literally EVERY one of my 100+ basketball games when I was in sixth grade, serving as coach for the Saturday morning league. He also realized that we were just kids and prioritized the process, and respect for all, over the result. Case in point, we played in a “team league championship” (yes, grade school basketball was/is a big deal in my little bubble in Scranton, PA) where it was no longer mandatory to play everybody at least one quarter. While the opposing team kept in their five best 12 year olds for four quarters, my father ensured that all ten of his little guys - even the ones who could barely dribble - played equal time. 

The Result

Net result was that we did not win… but two years later “when it counted” (i.e. no longer in biddy, the top players play), we defeated this same opponent many times en route to an undefeated state championship. Of greatest importance though, is that the parents of our biddy “second teamers” beamed with pride to see their child playing at the highest level. For a few, it was the last time they ever touched a basketball. 

At the post-game pizza party, my dad created awards on the spot for each player, with extra special recognition for those he knew would never play again. While the second place plastic trophy is long gone, the old school photo album from that season - and final pizza party in particular - are truly what matters.