I have started this particular column several times since I began writing it two weeks ago.  I even got two of them completely written and ready to submit, but I deleted both.  They just didn’t sound right.

I couldn’t get across what I wanted to. I talked too much about myself. I talked too little about the subject of the column.  Then I would just ramble. None of them suited me.

Why so much trouble? Well, I was never good at saying goodbye. In fact, I avoid it unless I just have to. This particular column is one I’ve been planning for a long time. It’s a column to say goodbye to Dr. B, my principal for many years.  He’s heading down to Florida soon to start a new chapter in his life. Retirement.

When I first became a teacher, some of us would eat our lunches in a little office down the hall. Our teachers lounge wasn’t very big. The office had glass windows. On the other side of the glass was Dr. B’s office. He was Mr. B back then.  He was the assistant principal.

During those lunches, those of us in the little office would get involved in Mr. B’s business and he in ours. We swapped stories, we solved problems, we vented, we laughed. From those days on, Dr. B was our friend, our mentor, our brother, our father, and our supportive boss.  He made a connection with us.

Later on down the line when he got his PhD, he had a problem being called Dr. B. I think maybe he thought he might lose that connection with us. For a while, he didn’t want us to call him Dr. We did it anyway and soon, it stuck. I mean, heck, he did the work and he paid for the degree. He earned the darn thing.

Many times, I’ve tried to think what made Dr. B such a good principal. I’ve gone over personal things in my memory and I’ve made mental notes.  I’ve scribbled things on scrap paper. I fished out my book on leadership that is on my shelf.

Dr. B always cared. He was a master at public relations. He is one of the few people who really can make everyone happy at the same time. Not always, but most of the time. He always had a way of making you feel that you contributed, that how you felt mattered. He listened. He gave us the benefit of the doubt and had our back as much as possible.  Even if we were in the wrong, he let us have our say and then gently guided us to see the error of our ways.

I always felt that I could vent or share my true feelings with B.  He often said “Give me your unbiased opinion, T.” Few people really do that. He was brave.

Yes, I could tell you all the personal stories about how B put up with me all those years.  I could tell you how he cared about my family and how he dressed up as Santa and visited the kids one snowy Christmas Eve. I could tell you how he fielded phone calls from upset parents, not just for me, but for many of us. He was much like Harry Truman. The buck stopped with him.  He taught us more than he will ever know.

Yes, there were times when B had to be the boss and make decisions we didn’t like. Let’s face it — that kind of stuff is going to happen with any boss.  But because B convinced us we were on the same team, it was nearly impossible for us to stay aggravated about anything.

We always appreciated the fun side of B. He was always ready with a good prank or joke. Right before Thanksgiving, many of us would cringe knowing that the disruptive turkey call would be blown.  Feathers and bird seed would be found around the building. The kids were convinced that a wild turkey was running around loose. Some of us old fogies would fuss about disruption, and I think that made it even more fun for B.

When I decided to move to the middle school after 17 years of teaching under B, he shook my hand and said “I can’t believe you’re leaving me, T.  You and I have been through a lot.”  True. He could say the same for most of us. We’ve shared so much: marriages, divorces, deaths, births, celebrations and heartaches.

It was hard for me to leave Parkview, even though I love where I am now. After so many years, your colleagues become a family. We support one another, we work as a team, we get divided, we come back together; we fuss, we fight, we laugh, we love. It’s like a regular family, really.

And at the helm was always B. He was the mediator, the cheerleader, the parent.  He was the glue. He loved us, guided and taught. He did what was best. He reminded us that, yes, we all had opinions and personal feelings, but in the end, what it all boils down to is this; we have to do what is best for our students.

We will miss you, B. Thank you for your legacy. Thank you for caring. Thanks for the high fives, the good mornings, and for opening doors both figuratively and literally.  Thank you for making us feel that our contributions always mattered. We won’t forget your own contributions. There were so many.

So long, B. We love ya. Enjoy your new chapter.