High School Politics: The System Versus The Needs of the Student
Victoria Fann
March 23, 2007
Two months before his high school graduation, my son decided not to graduate with the senior class. Mind you, these were his peers, friends, and classmates that he had spent the last seven years with (counting middle school). The decision to leave this upper middle class suburban high school, ranked one of the best in the state, was not a sudden one or one that any of us took lightly. It was a decision that had been slowly brewing throughout my son’s senior year and was primarily, though not entirely, related to his passion for music.
What began as minor dabbling with piano lessons at age eleven evolved into a full-fledged obsession by the time he learned earned to play bass and joined his first band at fourteen. A benefit concert for the World Trade Center families organized with his best friend in his senior year sealed his fate. This concert—host to fourteen bands (my son’s among them)—involved hundreds of hours of work, had two stages, a concessions stand, souvenirs, and raised close to $6,000. The high he experienced, not only from performing onstage, but also from doing something meaningful and helping other people, was life altering. School paled for him in comparison. He wanted more. His restlessness and desire to be out in the world (typical for high school seniors) were evident in many ways: he had difficulty getting to school on time, he grades began to slip, and he had a run in with his physical education teacher over his refusal to change his sleeveless shirt (not considered proper attire in P.E.).
I knew I needed to intervene or he might end up getting suspended or worse, kicked out. Six months before graduation, right after his eighteenth birthday, I suggested he try to find an internship in the music business. I knew he needed to get his feet wet. Unlike his peers, and to the shock of his teachers and guidance counselor, he was not applying to college. Instead, he was considering going to school to learn sound engineering. His dad and I realized, with his current attitude towards academics, college would be a waste of time and money.
He called a local nightclub that specialized in shows for teenagers, and told them he wanted to learn sound engineering. They told him he could train with their sound guy as many nights as he wanted to be there. Twice a week, he was in heaven, hanging out in a club, listening to bands, meeting musicians, and learning about the technical side of the music business. One night he met one of the promoters for a show that was coming to a town nearby, called Metal Meltdown. He asked him if he wanted to work as a production assistant at the four-day show in April. It meant missing a couple of days of school. The sound guy he was training with also mentioned that he had a couple of upcoming shows he needed help with. The attraction of this world was seductive; especially given the fact that few people his age were ever offered these opportunities. The excitement pulled on my son, drawing him more and more away from the small-constricted world of high school.
Acknowledging the reality of my son’s dilemma, I decided to talk with his guidance counselor. Luckily, a musician himself, he understood some of the feelings my son was having. Graduation was only three months away, and my son had said that he didn’t want to say no to the opportunities that were coming up, so we brainstormed about his options. There weren’t many. There were two things that would help: making his schedule more flexible, and creating an independent study program, where he could get credit for what he was learning in his field.
The only obstacle now was getting the approval of the principle—a daunting task to say the least, because he didn’t care much for my son. I’m not clear about the reasons, but suffice it to say that, my son’s spiked hair, pierced ears, and preference for black clothes, chains, and spiked jewelry, didn’t exactly endear him to the man whose closely cropped hair, conservative clothes, and traditional values seemed out of another era.
We arranged a meeting. Though the chances were slim, we all agreed that is was worth a shot. Surely, we reasoned, this high school doesn’t want to lose a student so close to graduation. In preparation, my son spent several hours working on his resume and a proposal stating his objectives. It was all very professional. I decided to attend the meeting for support. It was a good thing I did, because I never would have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.
Within minutes of sitting down and getting settled, it was clear that the principle wasn’t happy with our presence. The feeling in the room and the tension in his face spoke volumes and my palms began to sweat. My son had dressed up for the occasion, and his face gave off a rare glow of humility. He handed the principle copies of the proposal and resume and began to speak. He explained the reason we were there, his desire to pursue these internships and work opportunities in his field, and his request to have a flexible schedule and do an independent study. The guidance counselor and I said a few words, and then the principle spoke. The anger was palpable in his voice, as if we should know better than to waste his time with such nonsense. He said that he would be willing to let Julian come in one period later in the morning, but that was it. There was nothing else he could do without board approval. Julian tried to respond, but the principle cut him off and said that he didn’t have any more time to discuss it. He then dismissed us, the resume and proposal, lying unread on the table.
My heart was pounding. I was furious. How could he treat people that way? How had my son endured the last four years of high school under that kind of leadership? It took me a half an hour in the guidance counselor’s office to calm down.
We knew what we had to do. The decision to leave that high school was about more than my son’s desire to pursue a career in music. It was also a political statement, which would surely be noticed by his peers and his teachers.
In the end, my son received his high school diploma in June from a local adult high school, where he was able to finish his requirements at night. He went on to get other internships, first, at a well-known recording studio where he met The Allman Brothers, and later, at a record label and a club in NYC.
There are no regrets, but the sad ending to this tale is that I found out later there is a provision in the New Jersey State education code that would have allowed the principal to approve of my son’s proposal. Instead, my son walked out of the high school where he’d spent the previous three years and 7 months, head high, ready to embark on his dreams.
What began as minor dabbling with piano lessons at age eleven evolved into a full-fledged obsession by the time he learned earned to play bass and joined his first band at fourteen. A benefit concert for the World Trade Center families organized with his best friend in his senior year sealed his fate. This concert—host to fourteen bands (my son’s among them)—involved hundreds of hours of work, had two stages, a concessions stand, souvenirs, and raised close to $6,000. The high he experienced, not only from performing onstage, but also from doing something meaningful and helping other people, was life altering. School paled for him in comparison. He wanted more. His restlessness and desire to be out in the world (typical for high school seniors) were evident in many ways: he had difficulty getting to school on time, he grades began to slip, and he had a run in with his physical education teacher over his refusal to change his sleeveless shirt (not considered proper attire in P.E.).
I knew I needed to intervene or he might end up getting suspended or worse, kicked out. Six months before graduation, right after his eighteenth birthday, I suggested he try to find an internship in the music business. I knew he needed to get his feet wet. Unlike his peers, and to the shock of his teachers and guidance counselor, he was not applying to college. Instead, he was considering going to school to learn sound engineering. His dad and I realized, with his current attitude towards academics, college would be a waste of time and money.
He called a local nightclub that specialized in shows for teenagers, and told them he wanted to learn sound engineering. They told him he could train with their sound guy as many nights as he wanted to be there. Twice a week, he was in heaven, hanging out in a club, listening to bands, meeting musicians, and learning about the technical side of the music business. One night he met one of the promoters for a show that was coming to a town nearby, called Metal Meltdown. He asked him if he wanted to work as a production assistant at the four-day show in April. It meant missing a couple of days of school. The sound guy he was training with also mentioned that he had a couple of upcoming shows he needed help with. The attraction of this world was seductive; especially given the fact that few people his age were ever offered these opportunities. The excitement pulled on my son, drawing him more and more away from the small-constricted world of high school.
Acknowledging the reality of my son’s dilemma, I decided to talk with his guidance counselor. Luckily, a musician himself, he understood some of the feelings my son was having. Graduation was only three months away, and my son had said that he didn’t want to say no to the opportunities that were coming up, so we brainstormed about his options. There weren’t many. There were two things that would help: making his schedule more flexible, and creating an independent study program, where he could get credit for what he was learning in his field.
The only obstacle now was getting the approval of the principle—a daunting task to say the least, because he didn’t care much for my son. I’m not clear about the reasons, but suffice it to say that, my son’s spiked hair, pierced ears, and preference for black clothes, chains, and spiked jewelry, didn’t exactly endear him to the man whose closely cropped hair, conservative clothes, and traditional values seemed out of another era.
We arranged a meeting. Though the chances were slim, we all agreed that is was worth a shot. Surely, we reasoned, this high school doesn’t want to lose a student so close to graduation. In preparation, my son spent several hours working on his resume and a proposal stating his objectives. It was all very professional. I decided to attend the meeting for support. It was a good thing I did, because I never would have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.
Within minutes of sitting down and getting settled, it was clear that the principle wasn’t happy with our presence. The feeling in the room and the tension in his face spoke volumes and my palms began to sweat. My son had dressed up for the occasion, and his face gave off a rare glow of humility. He handed the principle copies of the proposal and resume and began to speak. He explained the reason we were there, his desire to pursue these internships and work opportunities in his field, and his request to have a flexible schedule and do an independent study. The guidance counselor and I said a few words, and then the principle spoke. The anger was palpable in his voice, as if we should know better than to waste his time with such nonsense. He said that he would be willing to let Julian come in one period later in the morning, but that was it. There was nothing else he could do without board approval. Julian tried to respond, but the principle cut him off and said that he didn’t have any more time to discuss it. He then dismissed us, the resume and proposal, lying unread on the table.
My heart was pounding. I was furious. How could he treat people that way? How had my son endured the last four years of high school under that kind of leadership? It took me a half an hour in the guidance counselor’s office to calm down.
We knew what we had to do. The decision to leave that high school was about more than my son’s desire to pursue a career in music. It was also a political statement, which would surely be noticed by his peers and his teachers.
In the end, my son received his high school diploma in June from a local adult high school, where he was able to finish his requirements at night. He went on to get other internships, first, at a well-known recording studio where he met The Allman Brothers, and later, at a record label and a club in NYC.
There are no regrets, but the sad ending to this tale is that I found out later there is a provision in the New Jersey State education code that would have allowed the principal to approve of my son’s proposal. Instead, my son walked out of the high school where he’d spent the previous three years and 7 months, head high, ready to embark on his dreams.
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