James Overton joined the ranks of school administrators today. Through the power of EdCamps, Twitter, and professional training days, I have gotten to know Coach O much better than 4-5 in-person interactions would typically allow. He’s an inspiring guy who is destined to accomplish great things with his staff, students and their families. Today he inspired me to think about what I would have told a younger version of me on November 1, 2011.

One of my friends was told in a grad class that an administrator should never sit at his/her desk to do work while school is in session. I asked if this course was taught in a parallel universe in which days are 32 hours long, administrators have neither families nor the need to sleep, and email does not exist.

I keep my door open because I want to convey the message that I am here to help; to borrow from a Pearl Jam song, “I’m open.” I am also mildly claustrophobic, but let’s focus on this idea of being open. Your people need to know that you are there for them. There might be a concern about a student who has begun to deteriorate emotionally. There might a shortage of copies of Bud, Not Buddy in the bookroom. Someone might have taken their drink from the faculty fridge. A teacher’s husband might need to go back for additional medical testing. There are sometimes answers, such RTI with a referral to the guidance counselor, Amazon, take a soda from my fridge, if you need me to cover your class while you make a call.

Frequently, there aren’t answers. To let you in on a trade secret: that’s ok. Sometimes your job is to listen, nod your head, and mean it when you say “let me know whatever I can do to help.” Maybe jot a quick note to self to be sure to follow up. But the greater point is that you need to be there as a non-judgmental support.

I will be honest when people ask “Do you have a minute?” I realize that “no, but what can I do to help?” might come across as rudely generous or generously rude, but I’m sincere in wanting to be of assistance. If it was important enough for someone to enter my office, whatever they came for is at least important enough to them, which means it matters to me.

With all that said, you do need to close your door sometimes. I apply the burning or bleeding rule for entry past the closed door: either something is burning or someone is bleeding. After I sit for an observation, I carve out 60-90 minutes to proofread my notes, categorize the evidence, complete recommendations & commendations (do these while you’re fresh), and then begin to score. I have found that the failure to do so results in highly stressful weekends in which I fear becoming for my boys, in the words of a young writer from my first year of teaching high school English, “some guy I’m supposed to call Dad.”

I also close my door for the time I spend each day to eat lunch and read the Boston Herald Sports online. True it’s typically 10 minutes, but those minutes belong to me and the Patriots/Red Sox/Celtics.

Take care of others, take care of yourself, and have fun!