The principal of my daughters’ elementary school knows their names. This elementary school has 495 students, and the principal learns their names by the end of the first week of school.
I know. I’ve seen her walk in the halls saying “hello” to groups of students by name.
I also know that learning my daughters’ names is not in her job description. Here’s an official job description for a school principal:
Provides leadership for the professional staff of the school in the development, implementation, and evaluation of a comprehensive educational program, and to administer the program in accordance with school board policies and administrative rules and regulations.
It doesn’t say that she’s supposed to know names. And yet she knows them.
I thought about her today when I remembered how my new kindergartner felt when that principal saw her in the hall and announced her name–not for being bad or for being known for trouble–but for just arriving in the school.
I belong here. Even the principal knows my name.
Completely unnecessary might this task seem to some; it’s not in the job description.
As I walked around campus today, I thought about what’s not written in our job descriptions that we might do for others. Sure, it’s not part of the official policy, but what if we did that extraordinary and unnecessary thing that could forever change somebody else?
Maybe it’s as simple as learning all the names of our co-workers or neighbors.
I don’t know how she does it. I asked that principal how she memorizes every single child’s name. She didn’t answer. She was too busy announcing another name and shaking hands with a boy who passed by us.
