Let Robin drive the Batmobile

Laura is in the running for a big job in New York City. Toward the end of this week she's having a daylong, second-round interview, meeting the whole family. It is just about all we are talking about on our long walks these days.

Given her experience, ability, and Lauraness, Laura ought to have been a head of a school for the past ten years or so. But her forehead is bruised by bumps against a thick glass ceiling. People around us seem surprised. Surely not, they say. Surely we have shattered glass roofs and ceilings and the cloudless sky is the limit on Laura's career. But no. There are exactly zero boarding schools (where Laura has spent 30 years) in the country with a Head of School who is gay. Though dozens of search consultants have approached Laura over the years, when she tells them who will be flossing next to her in the Head's house, the message changes from "we are desperate for you to apply," to "well, we still welcome your application." It's enough to make me want to stop flossing.

So that's a lot of why this past summer Laura left her ten-year post as second-in-command at a school she loves. Not the flossing; the ceiling.

Laura makes a great Robin: she has a remarkable gift for supporting Batman. She can make him look sharp, watch his back while he careens around town doing his thing, getting his credit -- whether that superhero is a student, a colleague, a head of school, or a spouse. Heck, in many cases she has taught Batman to drive. So career-wise, it's frustrating when you can do that, and you know Batman will never pass you the keys to the Batmobile. You have to sit in the back all the time. You get frustrated and carsick.

Laura and I have had a wonderful few months together while she figures out where-to-from-here. My eyes still bug out when I come out of session and supper is on the table, the library books have been returned, and there is a bowl of peeled grapes on the table. Okay, that last bit hasn't happened. That would be weird. But having Laura around most of the time, when I am accustomed to her working 65 hours a week, has been fabulous. She tells me that when she was a long distance runner, the most important day in her training was the day of rest. This year, she is having that rest.

But we can only manage that for one academic year, and then back to making dough she must go. She also needs to go back to being part of a community. Laura was born to lead, even if it means being Robin, being second in command.

Now and then Laura thinks maybe she should be a counselor again. She's done that before. In three different schools in fact, she's started out as counselor and then, like a rubber ball held under your bathwater, she bobs up to the top. The Head taps her to be Robin. She doesn't ask for these roles; she just bobs up to the top.

Having Laura do what I do would be like having Secretariat give pony rides at the county fair. What a waste of leadership muscle.

Aaaanyway, we are gearing up for this interview! I won't say where it is, but it is at another school she thinks she could love -- maybe even as much as she loves the school she felt she needed to leave. I am tossing her questions and lobbing her fer-instances. And I am coaching her on how female candidates walk around a new campus. Not that I want her to be anyone but the boxer-wearing, shoulder-swaying, tooth-flossing wife I love! But let's face it: we want her to put her best foot -- not shoulder -- first.

Here is Laura walking before today's tutorial at the reservoir:

Here is Laura walking with instructions to move her arms, not her shoulders. You be the judge. Who's Robin now?