CHAPTER THREE
That's Entertainment: Ladies in White Lab Coats
I have worked with five heads of school during my tenure in the education field. For the first two heads of school, I worked as a teacher and then as the admission director for the last three heads of school. While working as the admission director, I appreciated that the heads trusted me enough to give me the freedom to run the admission office, conduct parent interviews, and conduct tours with little interference. However, if a head provided any input on a particular family, I always took it seriously and added it to my overall impressions.
Likewise, when a board member made a recommendation, I always took it seriously. I would always tell board members that I appreciated their input and that we would give the family and child every consideration, but at the end of the day, it had to be a good fit for the family. I'm happy to say that over the years, I worked with heads of school and board members who understood that much went into making decisions about admissions. I never felt undue pressure to take a particular family. On very rare occasions, the heads of school executed their privilege to simply say, "We are taking this family." End of story.
I was asked to visit the head's office one day. He informed me that my upcoming interview with a particular family was of great significance. The family was well known and influential in the Bay Area and New York. They were part of the entertainment/theater industry and were highly philanthropic, supporting various organizations. Their photo was always in the society page of the local newspapers and magazines. They had several friends who served as members of our school's board of trustees. If their children were to be accepted at our school, they would undoubtedly make substantial contributions. I appreciated the warning, the heads-up-no pun intended. I braced myself for their arrival.
Their son had previously visited the campus and participated in our standard kindergarten readiness screening. This screening involved bringing a group of eight to ten children to a room for story time and some free play, followed by four different stations where learning specialists conducted developmental screening activities. All the activities were play based, and the children generally enjoyed themselves. We watched the children work one-on-one and in small groups. The tasks were fun; most children loved them and felt they were just playing games. All the adults took notes on the children using a standard matrix we had developed.
Marin Country Day School employed three or four women who were learning specialists and who assisted us during the admission season. They administered a variety of tests, all of which were play based. The women were sort of grandmotherly figures and their warmth came through to the children, making the screening process enjoyable. At the end of screening sessions, we sat down and spoke about each child, going over the screening results and discussing whether we felt the child and the school were a good match. This information, when compared to my impressions of the parents during their interview, guided us in making final decisions along with recommendations from the children's preschools.
I arrived at school in anticipation of meeting this family. They were my first set of parents of the day. The parents arrived at the time of their appointment, and I greeted them and invited them into my office. Mom was very short and thin with a very high-pitched, squeaky voice. Dad was quite tall, very handsome, and somewhat soft-spoken. He was dressed in a suit and tie and Mom was dressed in a rather plain pantsuit; both were attired somewhat more formally than usual. As soon as we sat down, I initiated a conversation by asking about their son, James, and his experience during his visit and screening playdate. I thought this was a harmless icebreaker. However, it turned out to be the spark that ignited a fire.
The mother's face instantly turned sour as she informed me in her high-pitched, squeaky voice that James had told her about the women in the room wearing white lab coats, making it feel like a doctor's office, and that he had a terrible experience. I tried reassuring the mother that the women were not wearing white lab coats but were older teachers we employed as learning specialists. They were very kind and loving toward all the children. I also reminded her that James had left the classroom happy and smiling. Despite my reassurances, the mother remained adamant that the women wore lab coats and that James had not enjoyed his time there.
I reminded the mom that she had brought James into the room and that she had seen the women there. They were not wearing lab coats.
She replied, "They must have changed into lab coats once the parents left."
I tried to explain to her that there were no lab coats, but she didn't believe me and scolded me, saying, "James does not lie." The dad remained silent throughout the conversation. Needless to say, I was dumbfounded.
I moved on to asking the parents how their tour of the campus a few weeks earlier had been. Mom immediately expressed in a condescending tone her dissatisfaction with their experience. Every time she talked her face wrinkled up like a little prune and her shrill voice spewed negativity. Specifically, she complained about the docent who led the tour, saying they needed to spend more time in the older-age classrooms. She felt that all kindergarten classrooms were wonderful, but you could really tell what a school was like in the older-age classrooms. In reality, this is often a valid point. The critical mother continued complaining for five minutes, finding fault with nearly every aspect of the school, until I had had enough.
I stood up and abruptly ended the conversation, telling them the school was not a good fit and that we were done. I reminded them that the school had a sterling reputation and many wanted to send their children there. Since they could not articulate one positive comment, they should look at the many other fine school choices available that would better suit their needs. The parents remained seated, looking at me in astonishment as I walked to the door and opened it, signaling they should leave. The mother and her husband left, admittedly shocked by my brazen exchange.
I felt satisfied with how I handled the situation. It takes a fair amount to get me riled, but when someone is coming to meet with me, the director of admission, and cannot find one positive thing to say about the school, I felt it was my job to help them make the decision that we were not a good fit. What a bizarre encounter. However, I knew my next step was to inform the head of school. So I notified the head's assistant and made my way across the campus, thinking of the best way to break the news.
I entered the head's office and narrated the whole story to him, and I was impressed by his reaction and just how great of a head he was. He reminded me that we interview parents because, even if their children are great, problematic parents will be a challenge throughout their children's time at the school. From a philanthropic standpoint, this family might have been great, but as a community member, not so much. I also broke the news to our development director, who hoped this family would attend.
I walked into her office and announced, "Houston, we have a problem." (This is a reference from the 1995 film Apollo 13, which the astronauts uttered to Mission Control when they experienced a problem with their flight.) I explained the situation to her, and she handled her disappointment well.
At my desk in my office later in the day, I received a phone call from the preschool director of young James's school. She wanted to let me know that the family was devastated that our interview had gone so poorly. I explained to her what had transpired, which, as it turned out, was pretty much what the parents had communicated to the preschool director. She explained that they often do not think things through before they act. The mother always comes on very strong. They are used to getting their way. The preschool director assured me that they were very sorry for their behavior and wanted to see if we would give them a second chance. She also acknowledged that the mom does most of the talking and that the dad rarely adds to the conversation, perhaps because he is not given the opportunity.
Knowing this family's importance, I indicated that I was sure our head of school would be willing to interview them. Since we had such a rocky initial encounter, I figured that they would be more comfortable speaking directly with the head.
The preschool director chuckled. "No, they definitely want to meet with you." Oh, boy!
Days later, the parents returned. I opened the door to my office, wearing a white lab coat. At first both parents had a shocked look on their faces. Then suddenly they broke out in laughter, and we had a good, substantive discussion. There was the same shrill voice but at least this time the conversation was filled with many more positive comments. I even was able to engage the dad, who, as it turned out, was able to speak. I could see that this family, if admitted, would be complicated, so ultimately, it became the head's call.
We did accept...
