Full of Surprises

Those of us who teach and/or parent recognize the value of occasionally surprising the youngsters in our charge with hidden talents. Anyone over the age of about thirty is considered old. Keeping youngsters (and ourselves) on our toes is a good thing.

Almost thirty years ago, I started a new job at Columbus Academy in Gahanna, Ohio, as Middle School Head. The school had been all boys until a handful of years earlier and still maintained a fairly macho attitude. I was the first female to hold the Middle School Division Head title and responsibilities, and my immediate predecessors had not been good fits for the job. I suspected the 5^th-8^th grade students weren’t expecting much from me. I knew it was important to make the right first impression.

Regular assemblies were held in the school’s theater. 8^th graders sat front and center, with 7^th behind them and 5^th and 6^th classes off to the sides. 8^th grade boys, as is often their wont, claimed the front row seats and demonstrated their social position by slouching in very male fashion. They were not disrespectful, but they made a statement with their posture. Asking or telling them to sit up straight was not going to have any real impact.

I elected to introduce myself by bringing a backpack on stage and informing the student body that I wanted to share some items that would tell them more about me. One at a time, I produced a picture of my family (husband and two grown daughters) who were not in Ohio, a laptop (technology fairly new at that time), a pair of Levi’s (we were a uniform school, which did not allow blue jeans for either students or adults). My audience was attentive, but the front row still slouched.

Then I suggested that there are things about each and all of us that are surprises. Things that we can’t surmise by looking at each other. For instance, as a middle-aged woman clothed neatly in a suit and heels, how could they possibly know that I was raised on a ranch in Wyoming? Whereupon, I pulled a bullwhip from my backpack. The front row sat up straight, immediately.

Very likely, in today’s environment, it would not be advisable to crack a bullwhip in front of 270 middle school kiddos and their teachers. I never repeated the act in schools that followed.  In 1997, I could get away with it – much to the delight of those students. A few days later, a group of 8^th grade boys walked by the outside window of my office. As I glanced up, Ethan Robertson looked in and waved at me. Connections made.

Last week, I discovered that bullwhip. I am now seventy-seven.  I wondered if I could still crack it. The answer is yes. Sometimes we even surprise ourselves.