I spend more waking hours with educators than almost anyone else in my life, a trend that has persisted throughout my administrative career. We celebrate together, problem-solve together, and carry burdens together. This is what family does.
I've always embraced a family-first mentality:
- If your child is sick — go.
- If your spouse needs you — go.
- If your parent is in the hospital — go.
- If your own child is graduating, that supersedes a school commencement.
Real family comes first. But here’s where it gets complicated. When you fully embrace the “we are family” model, you start to feel all the dynamics that come with a core family unit.
We don’t always see eye to eye. Just like kids might rebel against Mom and Dad, I (the surrogate father in this analogy) sometimes hear things that disappoint me.
Recently, I left a faculty message chain. Why? Because I realized I was too deeply connected to every love, dream, heartbreak, and faculty room vent session. The constant notifications on my phone, smartwatch, and even my hearing aids felt like leadership PTSD. Snow day debates, for instance, can get intense, with some colleagues presenting every meteorological argument imaginable just to earn a day off. Meanwhile, I need to see something substantial on the ground before making that call.
In those moments, “family” feels less like Hallmark and more like Thanksgiving dinner when politics arise. So I began to wonder: Do we really need to be a tight-knit, campfire-singing, Kumbaya school family to create synergy and provide a vibrant education for the leaders of tomorrow? Or is there something else?
Enter: Rock & Roll Dysfunction
Interestingly, my inbox and social feeds soon started serving up stories about legendary bands.
And guess what? Many of the greatest bands in history weren’t exactly friends:
- 3 Dog Night
- Boston
- Led Zeppelin
- Cheap Trick
- Even The Beatles (unless your last name was Lennon or McCartney)
Highly dysfunctional by many accounts. My favorite band, STYX, literally led a mutiny against its founder, Dennis DeYoung, after the “Mr. Roboto” experiment. Not exactly a group hug. And yet? They produced beautiful, timeless music. While personal conflicts may have existed, when it came time to perform, record, and produce, they delivered excellence. None of us listening to the final product knew what went on behind the scenes.
So What Does That Mean for Schools?
Maybe synergy doesn’t require emotional closeness. Perhaps excellence is built on:
- A shared mission
- Clear roles
- Mutual respect
- Professional boundaries
- A commitment to the work, even when personalities clash
Maybe our goal isn’t “family” in the emotional sense, but rather a unity of purpose.
Families operate on unconditional belonging; teams operate on a shared mission.
Schools may need a bit of both. Here’s the danger of leaning too far in either direction:
- If we embrace “family” too strongly, we blur boundaries. Every disagreement feels personal, and every critique feels like betrayal.
- If we lean too heavily into “just a workplace,” we risk losing heart, grace, and the humanity that education demands.
There has to be a middle ground.
Finding the Sweet Spot
Perhaps the ideal balance looks like this:
- We care deeply about one another — but we don’t require emotional fusion.
- We support family-first priorities — but we don’t weaponize personal frustrations.
- We can disagree — yet still deliver excellence for our students.
- We don’t need to sing Kumbaya — but we must stay in tune.
At the end of the day, the audience isn’t listening for our backstage drama; they’re here for the music. Our students deserve a masterpiece.
The Goal: Be a Great Band, Not Just a Happy Family
Maybe the goal isn’t to be one big happy family, but to be a great band. Bands don’t always vacation together. They don’t always agree. They don’t always like each other.
But when the lights come on, they lock in. They know the setlist, understand their parts, trust the mission, and perform for their audience. In schools, that audience isn’t the adults — it’s the children.
They don’t need us harmonizing in the faculty lounge; they need us harmonizing in the classroom. They don’t need us emotionally entangled; they need us professionally aligned. They don’t need Kumbaya; they need competence, consistency, and courage.
Family language is beautiful, but it can also blur lines. Mission language clarifies them.
Maybe that’s the cultural shift we need in Catholic education — not less love, but stronger leadership; not colder hearts, but clearer boundaries; not forced intimacy, but forged unity.
Great schools are like great bands; they don’t succeed because everyone feels the same. They succeed because everyone plays their part. When that happens, the music speaks for itself.
Comments
Post a Comment