French Fries or The Religious Divide

I’m the new principal. The usual frenzied activity of school start-up has settled a bit and I have a moment to breathe. It’s a beautiful fall day. “Come on,” I say to my admin assistant half-way through the lunch break. “Let’s do a posse run.”

“Posse run?” she asks.

“Check on the kids outside.”

We head first to the little convenience store just across the alley from the school. It’s a mom and pop operation and the elderly gentleman behind the counter hardly seems the type to deal with a crowd of junior high kids, but he tells us they are fine. A sigh of relief on my part, as I want our kids to have a good name in the neighborhood. We chat for a few minutes with the kids buying candy. They’ll be on a sugar high all afternoon.

Next, the service station a block down. They have the goods—slurpies, chocolate bars, ice cream – ooh and fries with gravy, I say to myself as I spot a couple of kids chowing down. “Thanks,” I say as I help myself to a fry or two. “Hum, delicious.” The kids stare back with puzzled looks, but don’t complain.

“Um,” my admin assistant says as we start the walk back to school. “Those weren’t our students.”

“What?” I sputter. She could be right as I don’t know all of our students yet.

She chuckles. “They’re from the Catholic school down that way.” She points down the street away from our school.

“Oh, good grief.” I moan. “I’ve just widened the religious divide.”

A few weeks later at a community meeting I am introduced to the principal of that school. I tell him my fry story. “Oh, so you’re the one.” He chuckles and I take it that all is forgiven.

About these ads