A few weeks back, I was reminded of something: How easy it is, when we think we’ve planned
for everything and everyone, to forget someone or something really important.
It was the first week of school, and I was doing what I always
do—I scheduled a visit with every classroom to read a book. This year, it was I’m New Here by Anne Sibley O’Brien. It tells the individual story of three
students who are new to their school—and, also, new to the English
language. Each of the three children feels
lonely and confused at the beginning; finally, though, the language begins to
make sense and the kindness of others makes them feel part of their school
community.
It was the perfect book for me to read aloud, because we
have a lot of new students this year. We did some re-drawing of our elementary
school lines, and to summarize a long and complicated story, we’ve got over 100
new little people added to our community.
From the very beginning—last winter, even, when we learned
who our new students would be—we were so careful, so thoughtful, so focused on
making sure our new students felt welcome.
We did everything we could think of.
We hosted a Welcome Night. We
posted FAQ’s on our website. We met, one
by one by one, with anxious parents and students. We sent letters and emails and gave a gift to
each new student. We bet over backwards
to make sure each new student felt part of our community.
Our hard work paid off.
Everything went beautifully.
So I was proud and confident each time I went to visit a classroom
with my copy of I’m New Here. I always started the same way. “As you know, we have lots and lots of new
student this year,” I would say, opening the book. “That’s
why I’m reading this book. Let me
ask: Who is new here?”
A handful of students would raise their hands.
But one time, when I asked this question, I heard a little
boy sigh. I looked at him. “What is it?”
“I’m not new,” he said.
“Actually, I’m old here.”
His eyes were downcast.
Oh, my.
For months, all we’ve
been talking about? The new kids. We’d been making them feel welcome. We’d been smiling extra-wide; wiping tears
before they sprung; connecting, empathizing, and whooping it up.
And in all that whooping, we hadn’t thought enough about the
“veterans.” The kids who had been
enrolled with us all along. Because in a
lot of ways, those kids were still new—they had a new teacher, new year, new
class, new friends they needed to make. They were having a new experience and felt
vulnerable, too.
Once again, I was reminded of the truth of leadership: It’s so easy to over-plan, making sure we
meet every single need of a certain group.
But in doing so, we sometimes forget others. Looking back, I wish we had celebrated the
students who weren’t new just as
much. I don’t think there was harm done,
but it’s an important lesson. In
overplanning for one group, we might be underplanning for another.
Just something to keep in mind.
Just something to keep in mind.
