When the angry woman in my office picked up her chair to throw it at me, my mind went blank. I could only stand and watch as she struggled unsuccessfully to lift the unexpectedly heavy item. Her hands gripped the maroon leather arms tightly and she sort of heaved the chair in my direction. My eyes landed on the casters at the end of the dark brown legs. They spun quite unhurriedly around and around, searching their center of gravity. The chair, finally released in the woman’s fit, didn’t fly at all. Instead, its casters, ignorant to the woman’s fury and intended target, landed reliably onto themselves and then did their job, delivering the chair smoothly to the end of the desk with a muted thud as leather bumped wood.

Two faces appeared in the doorway behind her – faces I knew and trusted – the faces of my two assistant principals, DeeAnn and Troy. One of them asked if everything was okay, and I replied that we were fine. The parent was upset, and I understood this, but there was nothing I could do to change the consequences her child would receive. Rules were rules.

The woman, her curly, black hair springing gloriously from her head in every which way seemed to settle then. “Ésta niña,” she muttered about her child. She grabbed her purse and made her way to the door where DeeAnn and Troy stood. They both allowed her to pass and then walked her to the front desk. As they did, I heard them talking gently to her, reminding her that we cared about her daughter and that things were going to be fine. DeeAnn managed to jokingly say she was glad we didn’t have to call the cops after all.

I stayed where I was, and within a minute, they returned.

“Holy CRAP” DeeAnn said, laughing. “What’d you do to her? We can’t leave you alone for a second in here!”

“Oh my gosh, you should have seen your face, Cantú,” Troy said, also laughing.

I shook my head at them both, falling in to a fit of laughter myself, “Why didn’t anybody warn me?” I asked before falling back into the chair behind me like a prize fighter gratefully finding his stool at the end of a grueling round.

Things to note:

That wasn’t my desk.

I wasn’t the principal.

When I said “my assistant principals,” I meant my bosses.

I was actually an 8th grade English teacher working on my master’s degree and principal’s certificate, and my school, Jackson Intermediate in Pasadena ISD, allowed people like me to intern because of a longstanding “grow your own” policy. Future leaders were groomed and trained and helped and supported, and they were allowed to get the gold standard in educational administration master’s programs – real experience.

We got to do bus duty, we got to do lunch duty, we carried radios, and we were even invited to budget retreats so we could learn how public school finance worked. But the best part – the part that really made us all feel very puffy about ourselves, was the time we got to spend in the office, helping with the never-ending stream of discipline referrals. We met with students. We assigned consequences, and we called parents, and this, my friends, was a rush like no other. And I can’t tell you that it’s because the work was invigorating. I would end up being an assistant principal not long after and would do the job for six years. I can assure you the daily grind of doling out consequences was not what filled me with vim and vigor each day.

No, the reason it was so exciting back in those intern days was because we had mentors who trusted us, and this was a tiny, warm and glowing candle that burned in our hearts – a feeling of support that I struggle to capture with words to this day. We had someone to report back to who would counsel us with realness and humor and who would always make time for us. We had people who wanted to hear our ideas and who trusted us to put them into motion. We had leaders who pushed us to learn and grow and to develop our own leadership styles. What a time that was. There is no feeling in the world quite like that one, and I will never forget those days.

Do you know this feeling? Isn’t it something to have mentors like that? I don’t know what made me think of that story today, but I’m glad I did.