Growing up with a principal for a mother placed me way ahead of the reverse-gender-role curve. While my father tended to after-school chaperoning, activity shuttling, and dinner, my mother often arrived home much later, exhausted from a long day filled with activity of her own. From a young age, I understood two things from having a principal for a parent: I was the child of an administrator and therefore the child of a woman responsible for hundreds of other children and effective education is not accomplished from 9 to 3.
The endless sacrifices my mother made at home (missed meals, abandoned band concerts, husband-daughter bonding) fueled her diligence at work towards her ultimate goal of championing the schooling of New Haven youth. I was always happy to see her face at the door and then confused by the briefcases of paperwork she would lug behind her. The work never stopped. And she never complained. Between juggling her duties as principal and often also playing social worker, psychologist, and nurse I always wondered why she bothered. From my end, it seemed that the dedication of her and her teachers stood alone against the pettiness of a world too warped to prioritize the education of children. 
Managing a staff of equally dedicated teachers also moonlighting as miscellaneous staff professionals meant exhaustion and multitasking for everyone. This understandably led to the occasional mix-up of human emotions, egos, and instructional objectives, but through it all, they remained a family unit constantly evaluating and reevaluating how to better the system and themselves.
I suppose, as a product of hardworking parents, I grew up in a middle class home, what I definitely consider privileged compared to national and global socio-economics. But still, it always struck me as a little bizarre when people would question my mother’s salary. Yes, she’s a full-time principal. Yes, she makes a more than decent salary. No, her salary does not reflect the amount of time and energy spent before, during, and after school. There’s no overtime as an administrator, but there is an incredible responsibility and liability concerning the safety of children. This responsibility demands overseeing extracurricular events and programs until the last child is safely returned to his or her parent. If this meant my mother had to stay at school until five or six, even though the clock stopped ticking at four, then that’s what she did. But more often than not, she would remain at school until six, seven, or eight, ensuring the safety of my anonymous siblings. When I do the math, not to mention calculating the hours spent on weekends and weeknights reviewing standardized testing scores or teacher evaluations, the average principal gets paid twenty-five dollars an hour, an output that hardly represents a heavy input. The hourly rate just about equals that of a part-time personal trainer.
Now that I’m older with my own developed values and prioritization of education, I look back at that whining, privileged child sitting in the comforts of her home and reflect on how selfish and naive she must have seemed to a mother stretched between home and school. I never make the mistake of granting principals the superlative of most noble profession mankind has ever seen. I’m not equipped to make sure a declaration and neither are they. However, I consider the standing of my own education in my moral, social, and academic evolution and think back to my mother explaining why she knew she had to be a principal. For her, it isn’t the accolades, pomp, or salary. She fights hard every day for the educational rights of each one of her students because, as she puts it, “I would want someone else to do the same for you.”
Jamerlyn Brown
New Haven