I messed up big time.

The advocate at the meeting presented herself as an expert to parents, but all of us around the table knew she was a fraud.  When she had worked in the public schools, she had switched jobs and school districts every time that she didn’t get tenure … and she never got tenure. Her incompetence was known in our county. Finally, when she could no longer even get an interview, she became a consultant.  And there she was in the IEP meeting criticizing her former colleagues, the reports and the draft of the IEP.  She was so smug.  It was too much. I tossed my report across on the table and asked for her to explain the results to the group.

Not my finest moment.

It didn’t matter that the advocate was spewing nonsense.  I lost sight of the child and why we were there, and I let myself get drawn in. In so doing, I lost the trust of the parents.

We discontinued the meeting.

I went to a colleague about what had happened and to get advice on what to do to salvage the relationship with the parents. 

“You need to apologize, and you need to admit what you did wrong.  You can’t blame the advocate. You are the one who lost your cool. Maybe then they will meet with you and you can try again.”

I knew that she was right.  And I knew that in our litigious culture, giving a real apology – admitting fault and saying sorry – could open us up for a lawsuit.  But I also knew an apology was also the only way for us to move forward.

So, I called the parents.  I apologized.  I listened to their concerns.  I apologized again.  And then we started really talking about their child. Before the conversation ended, I apologized again. At the next IEP meeting, I apologized to the advocate and the team. Eventually, we were able to repair our relationship and work miracles with their child.  All of which would have never happened without a real apology.

“An apology is a lovely perfume; it can transform the clumsiest moment into a gracious gift.” – Margaret Lee Runbeck