A Day in the Life of a Headmistress
Long ago, before Laurel School meant anything other to me than a school cited by Carol Gilligan’s where she had conducted research in the late 1980’s, I went to see my mentor, Millie Berendsen, the long-serving Head of The Chapin School, who had hired me at 23. I told her that I felt ready for a new challenge. I had served for a decade as a college advisor and even longer as an English and drama teacher at Chapin. Without even blinking, she nodded and said, “Yes, now, it’s time for you to be a head of school.”
I scoffed. “Millie,” I protested, “I have little children, I’m not even a division director! What do I know about running a school, ” Holding up her hand, she interrupted.
“Ann, if you wait for the fates to align, you’ll never do anything with your life. I knew you would be a head before you were twenty-five. And do you want to know why?”
Stunned, I nodded.
“Because you are curious about every aspect of school life–you are as interested in the way we organize spaces for learning as you are in writing plays. Don’t you realize this is why I never let you stop teaching English? You will need your academic credibility. Didn’t you wonder why I insisted you teach in all three divisions? I wanted you to learn as much as you could about how a school runs. And, then there’s the summer program you and Seth direct; there, you have done so many of the things you will need to do as a Head.”
I nodded, again, mute. Millie
“And there’s another thing–”
I wondered what that could be, why this woman I admired so deeply thought I could be a school leader.
“You’ve got stamina–like a mule.”
I burst out laughing. Here, I had been hoping she would tell me I was brilliant or smart or great with people, but, instead, she compared me to a mule.
I am still curious about every aspect of school life, and in more than twenty years, I have not been bored–not for a single day. Headship has held my interest, held my heart and I do, typically, have a great deal of stamina. Some friends occasionally refer to me as an Energizer Bunny because I keep going–at least until 10 p.m.. At my best, I can work hard for long periods of time–I attribute that skill to a life in the theatre; everyone works hard when a cast and crew are preparing to open a show–tech weeks demand concentration and perseverance. And, opening a show is a lot like running a school–a new season every year; many in the cast return in their roles, but there are always new players, too, and new designs to implement and money to raise and stories to tell.
One of the best things about being a headmistress is that every day is different–some are chocker-block full of meetings and obligations; other days offer the chance to walk the school and pop into classes. And there are those glorious moments when a meeting is unexpectedly canceled and I can talk with adults and children spontaneously.. To lead a school committed to our mission and values and to witness children learning under the direction of our superb faculty are the greatest privileges of headship.
Right out of college, at 21, I taught at Northfield Mount Hermon, a large coed New England boarding school, whose founder, D.L. Moody, based his school’s philosophy on the mantra, “Head, heart, hand.” I have always loved the wholeness of that approach.
“Surely you don’t still use the term “headmistress,” Ann?” a colleague asked recently, lifting her eyebrows.
“Oh, I do go by headmistress,” I answered. “I prefer it. I’ve reclaimed it.”
While Head of School is the more conventional contemporary title for those who lead independent schools–the modern connotations of the term mistress understandably unsavory–I grew up on a steady diet of school stories with headmistresses at the helm: in Little Men, Jo March opens her own school; in The Chalet School series, Madge, orphaned, founds her own school in the Swiss Alps some decades after Jennie Prentiss founded Laurel. I adored the headmistress of my own girls’ school, which I attended for thirteen years, So, some years back, I reclaimed the more archaic title. Headmistress names me as a the lead teacher–the person charged with guiding the educational direction of the school. And, for me, the term allows me to include my full self in my identity–l my mind, my spirit, my love of teaching, and my heart.
From the moment I was invited to lead Laurel School, teaching was non-negotiable The head of my own girls’ school was a teaching head, as were all the heads I’ve worked for, so it never occurred to me that I would not teach. Most years, I’ve taught ninth grade English or drama or both; more recently, after I earned my MFA in Creative Nonfiction during Covid, I’ve taught a pass/fail class in creative writing for all ninth graders. Teaching reminds me of the fundamental purpose of our school: to inspire our girls.
Teaching even a single section reminds me that no matter how often I have taught Antigone, I need to prepare meaningful lessons, design assessments, grade papers, write comments and conduct conferences. Teaching keeps me humble and reminds me why I lead. My teaching schedule tethers me to the academic calendar that students and faculty live by. It is through teaching that I come to know the students who populate my stories.Teaching also helps me to stay attuned to the needs of our faculty. Since the pandemic, we are all aware of the ways in which the educational landscape has shifted–children need more now than they once did. Our focus on social and emotional wellbeing as a springboard for academic achievement has never been more urgent. Teaching immerses me in the day-to-day life of our school and lends a credibility to my work with prospective parents, alums and donors. The word educate derives from the Latin “ to lead out,’ and I have always imagined teachers as a joyful group of Pied Pipers, leading children in a joyful dance as they construct knowledge and make sense of the world. I am glad to have retained my identity as a teacher for more than 40 years.
Those of you on social media may know that I have kept an informal and irregular record of my various headmistressing endeavors on Facebook. Often, I post a recap of the day or the week. Looking back over those entries, I smile, so filled with gratitude about our students’ triumphs, our faculty’s incomparable talents and care, our traditions and rituals that connect one generation to another–Senior Speeches, Song Contest, Laurel rings. I have led Laurel for longer than any of our students have been alive. I have had the privilege of watching legions of students grow to adulthood.
Yet, I still remember my incredulity when Millie suggestd, blithely, that I become a Head of School. I vividly recall those first bewildering weeks of moving into Lyman House, getting uniforms for Miranda and Cordelia, cramming the ninth grade summer reading books, tucking baby Atticus into a bassinet in my office, learning everything about our school–from where the light switches are in every room to the norms and sacred traditions. How lucky we all were to be welcomed so warmly by Laurel. Seth and I have raised our family here, have learned what it is to love a community deeply, and to embark on our next adventure while the school is thriving and ready to welcome a new leader. We have felt so fortunate, so grateful, that Laurel has been such an important chapter in our lives.
My mentor was right; she knew long before I did how much I would love being a headmistess..
