Little Man, Pint Size Tyrant
Teacher working conditions are student learning conditions. Teachers know that a good admin supports and helps create a positive atmosphere for all.
Educators when talking about school, often succumb to a negative bias. They focus on what is not going well instead of celebrating what is. Usually there is a lot of positive student growth and learning happening. Sadly, when suffering a bad admin the energy of educators goes into processing the abuse, not the work they do with students. That was the case with the final admin I had at Minneapolis Public Schools.
In Real Job Stories I’ve reviewed all the principals I had in Alaska. Working chronologically backwards, I present the last admin I had at MPS, a guy many of us referred to as Little Man.
Think of a creepy, judgmental garden gnome staring as you try to work with, teach a group of young people. That was Little Man.
That year at MPS I was the district math specialist. My favorite part of my day was working with a group of advanced fourth graders. There were about 13 or 14 of them. Unfortunately another classroom was not available at the beginning of the period. During the math block I’d pick up the students from their homeroom and we moved to another space for class. We made do by using the first ten minutes of class in the hallway doing a warm-up on a large dry erase bulletin board.
Standing. In the hallway while other students passed by. My students clutching notebooks and I a carryall with markers, math manipulatives and any other math class supplies. Have learning, will travel. When the third-grade class left for their gym, art or music class we would move into their empty class. Two transitions. Teachers know what I’m talking about.
Not ideal conditions, but I remember feeling proud of how the kids handled it. They were engaged and participated. Great energy and attitudes for a group of 9 and 10-year-olds.
I remember on several occasions Little Man walking or patrolling rather, the halls and stopping to gape at our hallway math. Not a word of encouragement or praise for the kids great work. No acknowledgment of my skills. No interest as the math kids showed their talent for flexible thinking, solving binomials, converting fractions or whatever we were into.
Just glaring, pointed chin beard resting on his small fist. Glaring and probing for something he could criticize.
One girl, one of my best kids, she sometimes took a minute to participate, she might be drawing a quick doodle in her notebook. No worries, because I knew it was just something she needed to do. She always came around and was a fine math student. But, that would be an example of a flaw that Little Man would focus on.
“That one seems unengaged,” he’d complain. “She needs redirecting.”
Or, another student who was on the spectrum. This student during our hallway sessions would spin around, make silly noises and appear tuned out. But, in reality he was totally paying attention and would usually snap out of it and be the first to answer a question or share his understanding. By giving this, I’m pretty sure, autistic kid some space, he learned to trust me and feel safe. Little Man didn’t understand this, or ever even asked me about the boy. He didn’t appreciate my relationship with students. Little Man actually once put his hands on the kid and tried to physically turn him around to face the dry erase board. That didn’t go well.
Little Man was handsy. He liked to put his hand on your shoulder like it created the necessary bond to share his wisdom. Other teachers also found him creepy. He actually told one female teacher “I always wanted a girlfriend shorter than me.”
He was the type of admin who would sidle up to you and whisper in your ear, “I want to see you in my office later,” thereby inserting uncertainty and fear. Teachers who are already stressed and anxious from doing their jobs, they love that.
Little Man just couldn’t get over his distrust of teachers and his sense that his job was to sniff out anything that might not be going well. He was not a leader but he played one in real life.
Once at a faculty meeting he told a sad story of how he had been beaten and abused as child. “Dude,” I remember thinking, “What does this have to do with student achievement?”
In the spring the entire school took the standardized state test, the Minnesota Comprehensive Assessment. Interesting that three students from the advanced group, whose parents were teachers and school district employees, opted not to take the exam.
I was so proud that all of my students passed. A few were natural mathematicians and we expected them to. The others whose first language was not English, barely qualified to be in the advanced group, were students of color and my guy on the spectrum, they passed. That group were the only, out of all fourth and fifth graders, to achieve the mark. And they did it after having to spend part of every class in the hallway.
Did Little Man congratulate us, me, them? Not a word. I was an outspoken teacher, advocating for students, speaking truth to power type of educator. He didn’t like being challenged and was not going to recognize the achievements of a colleague that he viewed as an adversary.
Little Man was a nitpicker who lacked the leadership skills to create the positive teacher work environment that lead to positive student outcomes. The school district should have had a measurement sign “You Must Be This Tall to Ride”, in attitude that is, like at the entrance of roller coasters, before they allowed him to be in charge.
He may still be out there making some school miserable, in the weeds, peering, scowling, and searching for something to hate on.