This post stems from a conversation that occurred several years ago but a recent conversation catapulted it to the forefront of my brain. Turns out, it is just as relevant today as it was back then. So, let me rewind with the background.
Several years ago, I attended a band booster meeting. As with many booster meetings, the topic du jour was fundraising. Now, the reason for the need for fundraising was slightly complicated but important to understanding the situation fully. Therefore, I need to explain the makeup of the band boosters. The booster officers were primarily teachers at the school who had children in the band. The two notable exceptions to this were the treasurer who was a certified and bonded accountant. The other exception was a parent who owned a trailer that was large enough to haul the band equipment. The parents who weren’t teachers were the “worker bees” who took orders from the officers—or so they thought. I’ll get into that in a bit.
There is another key player who is critical to this story. This was “The Band Mom” who I’ll refer to as Jane in this post. “The Band Mom” wasn’t a real title or office position but, rather, a title that had been bestowed upon Jane by the band members. See, Jane became active with the band when her son joined. However, Jane wasn’t a sit-on-the-sidelines type of band parent. Jane jumped in and took charge without being asked. She became a valuable asset to the band. For example, Jane created “The Crisis Backpack.” For just about any conceivable band emergency one could imagine, Jane had a solution in her backpack. For example, she carried extra socks for students who forgot their required black ones. She had wipes and Tide stain remover pens to clean spots off the uniforms for spills and smudges that occurred on the bus or in the stands. She packed sanitary supplies for the female members and hair ties to help keep long hair beneath the band helmets.
But Jane didn’t stop at a backpack. Jane formed connections with the community to have food donated to feed the band on all trips. And not just PB&J sandwiches—real food. She convinced churches to bring out their rolling grills and cook on sight for the band. She persuaded local restaurants to not only prepare trays of food but to come to the games and serve it as well. Truly, Jane was the band’s rock star, and the band had very few needs until…
Yes, all good things must come to an end, but in this instance, it didn’t have to. See, Jane’s son graduated, and it was written in the bylaws that only parents could be booster members. (Remember this, because this will be important.) However, because the band was a school activity, teachers could be a part of boosters. It just so happened that all the teachers who wanted to be involved also had children who were members of the band, with the exception of the color guard instructor whose daughter quit. Although Jane wasn’t a teacher, she was a school employee. She worked in the school cafeteria as a server and had worked there for years. And here is where things get messed up.
The teachers at this school are known to be cliquish with a mean girl vibe. Several of them felt that Jane was “beneath” them because of her position as a food server. These teachers banded together and proposed that Jane be disqualified from being a part of boosters. They argued that she was bound by the bylaws that prohibited anyone who did not have a child in the band from being a part of boosters. They said, “What adult would want to hang out with children?” Well, Jane interacted with these kids daily at school. They called her “Mom.” She got things done. She had the same background checks as the teachers. When other parents pointed out that there were teachers involved with boosters who did not have children in the band, it was argued that “teachers” were exempt from this band status. And because the band director and assistant band director worked with these people, Jane was unceremoniously ousted.
Jane’s absence was immediately felt. See, Jane made what she did look easy. And because she was so adored by the students and had such influence over parents, the mean girl teachers (and some of these teachers were men) had become jealous. But just because Jane made everything look easy didn’t mean it was. Swiftly, these mean girl teachers learned this lesson. They were unable to secure parent volunteers for band tasks (e.g., washing band uniforms) and/or monetary and food donations from local businesses. The bottled water suddenly disappeared, and in the Deep South during football season, no one can deny the appreciation for a bottle of water. Within weeks, band fees had to be increased, and still, the budget was short to meet all the needs—hence, the meeting for fundraising.
Now, at one of these fundraising meetings, there was a parent (I’ll call her Patty) eager to be in charge—not because she held any great skill in leadership and/or organization, but because she just wanted to be in a position of perceived power. She wanted to be in charge and tell others what to do. And just like the mean girl teachers, she fell flat on her face almost instantaneously. In fact, she increased the deficit instead of decreasing it.
During the breaks at a meeting to discuss another horribly conceived fundraising idea, I said to Patty that the band boosters vote on the bylaws and had the ability to change or amend any bylaw that was dated or not functional. All it would take would be a vote and completing the necessary paperwork to be submitted to the school. I even volunteered to do the paperwork if they needed someone. This stupid (yes, I did call her stupid) woman said to me, “It makes no sense to invest in these kids when they are only going to be here for four years.” I never thought I would have to teach math to another adult, but life is surprising.
So, I responded to Patty. “You know if you have fewer students joining the band (which was the trend at the time) than you do leaving the band either by graduating or quitting, you’re going to eventually create a negative number. But the one number that is consistently rising is all graduates become alumni. It is the alumni who are the backbone of most booster organizations.” I then went on to tell her the story of how my college to this day gets plenty of money for me. No, it wasn’t enough that I paid them thousands of dollars in tuition. I still attend games, buy merchandise, and pay into the alumni fund. Why? Because I love them and will support them to the end of the earth. My high school, on the other hand, is a different story. I’ve not returned since November of the year I graduated to collect my senior yearbook.
The yearbooks didn’t arrive prior to my graduation, and one of my former classmates organized that we all should meet at the school during the holiday break for a mini yearbook signing party. Had I not paid for that yearbook, I wouldn’t have gone. But prior to my graduation—around April—there was an incident that has never left my memory that illustrated my point to Patty.
It had been a long-standing tradition of the school to in the spring invite the graduating class from the elementary school to visit the high school. The point of the visit was to entice these students to enroll in the fall. See, the population of the elementary school (K-6) was almost always double that of the high school (7-12). I’m not sure why that was the case, but that was how it was. The hypothesis was if the elementary students saw the high schoolers in action and having a good time that they would be encouraged to enroll. The high schoolers they trotted out to do the convincing were the seniors—the happy-go-lucky bunch who were excited to be graduating in a couple of weeks. Good hypothesis. Solid actually. There was only one hitch. The seniors weren’t keen on putting on a dog and pony show.
At some point during the day, a social studies teacher corralled all of the seniors into a classroom for a butt-chewing. He said (and I remember his exact words), “Y’all don’t care because y’all are leaving. We’re trying to get students to come here.” I was in the rear of the classroom sitting on the top of a desk because there were no vacant seats. Typically quiet when a teacher was ripping us a new one, I had a revelation. I could say what I wanted freely without fear of consequence. The graduation roster had been finalized. There were no more tests or assignments. Literally, the seniors were in attendance to comply with the number of required days by the school board. Our time was being spent saying our goodbyes, making those final memories, and passing the torch to the juniors. So, I stood on the desk in order for the teacher to see me in the overcrowded room. I responded, “You should have thought of that six years ago before you treated us the way you did.” The room grew silent and then erupted in cheers. My words had hit home.
That day, I said nothing to badmouth the school. I didn’t try to discourage the elementary students from enrolling. I wasn’t acting ugly. What I was was silent. I smiled and spoke, but none of my actions attempted to sell the school as a utopia. I didn’t seek out students to give them a pitch. I simply carried on about my normal day as I did every day. I felt no loyalty or passion. I only wanted to quietly pass the time until the final bell rang. The fact that my entire graduating class had been rounded up and herded into the tiny math classroom to all be verbally bashed for the questionable actions of a few (the ones that were always causing issues) irritated me more that day than it had previously. Likely this was due to knowing I had one and a half feet out the door. I wasn’t required to do anyone’s bidding. I didn’t have to suppress my thoughts or feelings due to fear of reprimands and detentions.
That teacher’s face dropped. I told no lies. He, along with many other teachers at the school at the time, had been shortsighted on the commodity they had in us. Thus, they never thought twice about their mistreatment of us as people—like all the winter days with temperatures below 40 and he insisted that all the class windows be open because that would keep us awake. No, it kept us cold and miserable. Or all the times he decided to give me a low “conduct” grade in my social studies class for talking during study hall—an ungraded class where conduct could not be scored. I made As and Bs in social studies, yet, my social studies conduct grade was basically an F.
BTW, conduct grades didn’t count toward GPA. They were a way to snitch to parents when students were cutting up in class. The only cutting up I did was running my mouth during study hall, and the reason I did that was because I usually didn’t have anything to study. And no, I didn’t elect study hall. It was mandatory, and usually at odd times in the day—like second or third period. And sleeping or listening to music with headphones wasn’t allowed, either. Although I attempted to explain to my parents that I wasn’t some hooligan in class, they didn’t understand. They thought I was lying about my behavior and that hurt my feelings to the point that it damaged my relationship with my parents. They chose to believe a teacher over me. And if they didn’t trust me, I felt I couldn’t trust them. Now, maybe that was unfair of me to think that way. But in my defense, I was a child. I had an adolescent brain. But this adult teacher never considered that his looseness of the truth could disrupt the family lives of students. Shortsightedness.
Just as the parent didn’t view the graduating seniors as future alumni who would one day have jobs and could be donors to the band program. Shortsightedness.
Just like the mean girl teachers that ran off The Band Mom due to jealousy. Say it with me. Shortsightedness.
So, how does one prevent from becoming shortsighted?
- When approaching any situation, ask if what you want is best for the group or more beneficial to your personal agenda.
- Ask what are all the options. List them in a brain dump.
- Consider other people’s cultures and traditions. How do these things affect a person’s behavior and influence the outcome of situations?
- As the opinions of other people who are likely to be objective. Asking your bestie or someone who always agrees with you will yield an answer but probably not the best answer.
- Think before speaking. Pause before throwing a thought into the world and listen to others around you. Read the room.
- Consider more than the immediate outcome and how actions will play out over time. Ask how decisions will look in a week, a month, a year, five years.
- Don’t rely solely on what worked in the past. This is huge because becoming content is easy. However, things change. Only considering the past will limit options and prevent one from considering actions that may be better solutions.
That’s all I’ve got. Now, it’s your turn to sound off. What did you think? What is your take on the subject? Do you agree or disagree? Did you find this information helpful or informative? Did you learn anything new, or did it change your opinion? Let me know your thoughts in the comment section. Also, let me know if you would like me to cover more of these types of topics or dive deeper into this one. If you like this post, please click the like button and share it. Your feedback allows me to know the content that you want to read. If you’re not following me on Creole Bayou blog, what are you waiting for? There’s always room at the bayou.
Get ready. It’s time to hit the ice again. Future Goals has arrived and is available.
When a college hockey player needs the help of an attractive older attorney, he gets more than he bargained for when trying to sort out the troubles in his career. Falling in love was never part of either man’s plan, especially as Corrigan’s and Sacha’s lives should never have collided. Now they’re left questioning if they’re standing in the way of the other’s future goals, or if there’s room for redirection.
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Did you miss the first four books in my hockey romance series? No frets.
Out of the Penalty Box (book #1), where it is one minute in the box or a lifetime out, is available at http://amzn.to/2Bhnngw. It also can be ordered on iTunes, Nook, or Kobo. For more links on where to purchase or to read the blurb, please visit http://bit.ly/2i9SqpH.
Defending the Net (book #2) can be ordered at https://amzn.to/2N7fj8q or www.books2read.com/defending. Crossing the line could cost the game.
Ice Gladiators (book #3) is the third book in my Locker Room Love series. When the gloves come off, the games begin. Available at https://amzn.to/2TGFsyD or www.books2read.com/icegladiators.
Penalty Kill (book #4) retakes the ice. Get a copy at https://amzn.to/3ex0N9p or https://amzn.to/3ex0N9p and let the pucker begin.
For more of my stories, shenanigans, giveaways, and more, check out my blog, Creole Bayou, www.genevivechambleeconnect.wordpress.com. New posts are made on Wednesdays, and everything is raw and unscathed. Climb on in a pirogue and join me on the bayou.
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Until next time, happy reading and much romance. Laissez le bon temps rouler.
Author Bio
Genevive Chamblee resides in the Bayou country where sweet tea and SEC football reign supreme. She is known for being witty (or so she thinks), getting lost anywhere beyond her front yard (the back is pushing it as she’s very geographically challenged), falling in love with shelter animals (and she adopts them), asking off-the-beaten-path questions that make one go “hmm,” and preparing home-cooked Creole meals that are as spicy as her writing. Genevive specializes in spinning steamy, romantic tales with humorous flair, diverse characters, and quirky views of love and human behavior. She also is not afraid to delve into darker romances as well.
Creole Bayou 