Things my Father Taught Me

My father had a favorite joke—and hopefully I can convey its humor in writing:

There was a need for a ditch to be dug near the windows of a convent in Ireland. And it was a hot day. And as the ditch digger dug the hole, with every shovelful of dirt, he would curse and say G damn -this heat and f-this job and G-damn this and  F-that. And as the windows of the convent were opened, one of the young nuns heard the workman cursing as he dug the ditch. And the young nun was upset by the man’s language and so she sought the Mother Superior and asked her to do something about the man’s cursing. She feared for his soul. And the Mother superior told the young nun not to be concerned. The workman did not mean anything evil by his cursing. He was expressing in his own way the rigors of his work. The mother superior said that men like that are not bad-- and she needn’t fear for his soul—men like that just like to call a spade a spade. To which the young innocent nun said (in her deep Irish brogue)  but no sister--      he didn’t call a spade a spade --- he called it a fookin’ shovel.

My father called a spade a spade. My father didn’t sugar coat anything. He didn’t lie to make people feel better about themselves. He was honorable and he was smart. And he taught me that it is better to be well-respected than well-liked. He taught me that 33% of the people will agree with you no matter what you say. And 33% of the people will disagree with you no matter what you say. So pretty much you only have to worry about the remaining 34%---they are the only ones you can influence.

My father was a school administrator. He began his career as a high school music teacher and retired as an assistant superintendent of schools. He only had one employer: Yonkers Public Schools. There were always teachers and school administrators at my house---my parents were very social. So the entire time I was growing up I became indoctrinated in educational babble. And while I may not have been schooled as an educator, I certainly became one by proxy.

And to that end I learned from my father that almost all good teachers make good administrators but not all good assistant principals make good principals. I learned that all principals know who the really good and bad teachers are, and there is absolutely nothing any principal can do about a really bad tenured teacher (unless they are a pedophile). I learned if you get a bad teacher, say nothing and get a private tutor---no one wins when you “go through proper channels”—especially the student. I learned that superintendents are transients---shifters who replace good people with their “yes” men. They play educational shell games—and they stay just long enough to either retire or bolt before the masses figure out their ruse and crucify them. And with every new change in superintendents it was important to duck your head, show your worth and pray that the angel of death would pass over your lamb’s blood-stained office doorway. And despite the fact that my father retired long ago, his truths remain timeless.

Calling a spade a spade has its price. People do not always wish to know the truth. It’s too harsh—it cuts like a stiletto. People do not always want to hear what they do not want to hear. But wise mother superiors understand there is no evil or malice in expressing the rigors of reality. Wise mother superiors teach neophytes that truth-sayers are good people. And the message is more important than the delivery or the adjectives. And if in the process of pursuing truth you must call someone out—it’s okay-- you will at least have 33% of the people behind you plus the rest you have influenced. A spade is a spade as well as a fookin’ shovel. Words are just words, and truth is always truth.