I was convinced she was being defiant.
I was equally convinced I was going to have to suspend her.
Her hair made her impossible to miss—bright red, fire-engine red. In a high school of nearly 1,800 students, I spent a lot of time in the hallways, and that color stood out every single day.
Our code of conduct didn’t allow “unnatural hair color.” I mentioned it to her casually at first. Then again. And again. Days passed. The hair stayed red.
As an experienced administrator, I knew there were bigger battles to fight. I prided myself on not going to the mat over dress code issues. But at this point, it felt different. It felt intentional. It felt… defiant.
So during a class change, I stopped her.
I told her I didn’t want to suspend her, but she was leaving me no choice. My tone betrayed my frustration. I essentially asked, “What’s your deal?”
Her eyes immediately filled with tears.
She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t argumentative. She was ashamed—ashamed just to be standing there talking to me. This was a student who had never been in trouble, never been sent to the office, and otherwise flew completely under the radar.
Then she began to talk.
She shared pieces of the personal turmoil she was living through at home—far more than any teenager should have to carry. And then she said something that knocked the wind out of me:
“Dr. Steele, the color of my hair is the only thing in my life that I can control.”
That moment changed me.
Even now, as I write this, my eyes well up. I think about her desperation. I think about the invisible burdens so many of our students carry with them into our buildings each day. I think about how much of our students’ lives remains completely unknown to the adults tasked with leading them.
In that instant, my preoccupation with hair color felt absurd.
Yes—we need rules. And yes—students must be held accountable for following them. I understand that. But this experience reminded me of something far more important: if we don’t take the time to truly listen to our students, we will never understand them.
And listening isn’t enough.
We have to care about their stories.
When we do, our perspective shifts. Our hearts soften. Our leadership changes.
That’s when we connect.
That’s when we make an impact.
That’s when we have a real chance to make a difference.
Danny
P.S. On a personal note, I’m excited to share that I will be speaking at a district in New York in March. That’s one of the states I’ve not worked in, so I’m pumped about that opportunity. Please contact me if you’re still looking for some inspiration for your PD, leadership retreat, or back to school event.
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