Jesse's Hug

February, 2008

I pride myself on seeing the light in the darkest of moments.  I try hard to see the beauty in stormy weather.  Like everyone else, there are times when it is hard to find hope and joy when the burden of work gets you down.

The past few months I have persevered helping a boy whose mom left sobriety behind, guiding young ladies who knew more that young ladies should know, and helping three young boys who loss a parent too early in life.   My heart has felt heavy and I have been grumpier than usual.

There are no easy jobs in education.  Every job is challenging.   The political nature of the principal’s job is like walking in a snowstorm wearing a swimsuit.  It is my job to “buck up” and preserve through the challenges.   The kid part is the best part of my job.   The political part of the job is the tax for being able to work with kids.

I must admit that I have been running on empty for what has seemed like months.  The past two weeks of political drama drained what was left in the tanks and left me gasping for energy.  I trust in God’s plan and knew that he would see me through the stormy weather.  I knew he would send me a messenger.  I just had to look through the darkness.

I didn’t know the messenger’s name would be Jesse.  God sent me a knucklehead.  Jesse introduces himself to do new students by saying, “I am one of Mr. Oxley’s knuckleheads.  He knows I am a good kid.”   In kindergarten, he asked the principal why his mom named him “Mr.”   He is a goofy good hearted boy.

Jesse and I spent many hours together over the past five years.  I joke that when I lose things in my office he knows where I put it.  He is now my ambassador.  He talks to young students who lose their way teaching them the Oxley way.  He takes this role more seriously than any student before him.

I stood in the hallway last week knowing that in a few hours a potentially troubling PTA meeting awaited. A half-dozen phone calls need to be returned to parents upset about receiving an attendance letter.  My secretary kept looking at me like she was praying for me (thank goodness she does).

It happened suddenly.  It was unexpected.  Jesse threw his arms around me and hugged me.  He hugged me like a friend hugs a friend in need.  He hugged me like he knew I needed a hug.  He squeezed.  He didn’t let go.  I hugged him and he smiled at me. He smiled and looked me in the eye without saying a word.  His actions spoke louder than words. An 11 year old boy hugged his principal because he intuitively knew his principal needed a hug.

Almost forty years ago, my journey as an educator started with a hug from my fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Wiley, when I need a hug more than I needed air to breath.  I needed to know that at school I was loved and accepted.  Mrs. Wiley always saw me as the man I would become someday.  The love I felt the moment my teacher hugged me is something I will never forget.  I always hoped to “pay forward” to my students the legacy of Mrs. Wiley’s hug.

Jesse’s hug restored my spirit.  God must have a sense a humor to send me a goofy knucklehead in baggy clothes as a messenger.   Forty years from today, I will remember Jesse’s hug as a day a student reminded me that being loved and feeling like you belong is what matters most at school.   A teacher’s hug sent me down the educator’s path.   A student’s hug reminded me that I am on the most rewarding of roads.  Children always teach me more that I will ever teach them.