The public participation segments of school board meetings these past few months leave me feeling like I’ve been physically punched in the gut or somehow a witness to violence. I know full well that I’m not alone. Some highlights, actual statements made by good decent people, out loud:

  • If my child commits suicide, I’ll see you in court because it will be your fault. And I will make you pay.
  • You have crushed my child’s dreams of ever having a normal life again. This is all your fault and you better start answering some questions.
  • You ____ need to get a life and stop pandering to the deep state.
  • You have done nothing to educate my child this past year. You have no idea what you are doing and you should all be fired.

I could go on, but you get the drift. It doesn’t matter what decision you make, by the way, it will be met with rejection. Horrible, awful, spiteful, nasty, mean comments meant to hurt, to really dig deep under the skin. To make you feel the pain they are feeling. Coming from a place of fear and uncertainty, in a world that changed overnight, that probably won’t ever be the same again.

How do you find the grace to respond? To sit there quietly and nod your heads with compassion while they practically spit on you with hate and anger? I am in awe of your kindness and restraint under the circumstances. Like me, you are probably thankful (at least momentarily) for your face mask, so they can’t see your lips quiver or your teeth grinding. You actively listen and then get back to the business of educating children.

It is a mystery to me how otherwise kind, good, rational people can spew such hate and anger against the very people that are moving heaven and earth to keep their children safe, day in and day out, juggling the myriad responsibilities educators collectively have, even without COVID-19.

As I struggle with my own feelings in these moments, I learn from you. I watch as you remain calm, breathe deeply, soak up the hurt and the hate and get back to the business at hand. I guess I’ll never understand exactly how you do it, but the fact that you are able to do it at all, this alone, is a life lesson. You give parents the grace and the space and the freedom to vent, in the hope that it will help them heal and find some measure of peace. They are hurting and you don’t hold it against them. This is an act of true empathy.

The children you serve will learn these skills from you and carry them forward in life. Knowing this in my heart is the only thing that gets me through these board meetings at the moment. I promise to keep learning from you and carrying your gift forward, too. Thank you for this.