You can't judge a book by it's cover

Right before Mr. Strong and I got married, we were looking for a new stove to replace the aging one that came with the house we were buying. There was one department store where an obnoxious eager salesman was hoping to land a sale.

As soon as we walked in the store, he came running up to see if he could assist us. When we told him we were looking for a new stove, he proudly pointed to his name tag and pronounced he was the "Appliance Expert."

Sure enough, we looked at the name tag. And it, in fact, said he was the "Appliance Expert."

Honestly, I don't remember much of what the "Appliance Expert" said that day. I was a bit distracted by what one must do in order to become an "Appliance Expert."

Do you have to study the different breeds of appliances? Do you have to go live in the wild while simultaneously learning to coexist with appliances? And is data collected on what kinds of people order a particular color of appliance? I mean, it could be a well known fact that educators usually go for last year's "it" color since the pitiful size of their wallets help with that life altering decision.

And on a different note, why would someone want to become an "Appliance Expert?" I've met many children who have wanted to grow up to be a fireman, a nurse, a teacher, and even a principal. I've never met a future "Appliance Expert."

There are a lot of unanswered questions here and I'd appreciate some wisdom.

About a year after marrying Mr. Strong, I moved up to the position of "Principal." Even if it was never my goal, I do; however, take my job seriously. Why else would I dedicate my life to a mere 4 or 5 hours of sleep a night?

Today, a parent came in and demanded to see the principal (This surprises you? Well, it shouldn't because it happens several times a week.). She was UPSET and stamping her foot about blah, blah, blah and something that happened on the bus. When I walked out of my office, the parent was unable to hide her look of surprise. And I often get that look when someone doesn't know who I am. Many, many parents think I am a teacher. Or maybe even the counselor. But no one EVER walks right up to me and says, "Ah. You must be the principal."

And day after day, I find myself pointing to my name tag to let them know I am the "Principal." And it always takes me right back to that moment with the "Appliance Expert."

So, really. What does a principal look like?

This Tuesday (or Monday evening), the tribute is to my name tag. Without you, I might never be taken seriously.