The Right to Pick Your Nose
- Catherine Addor
- Jan 18
- 3 min read
There was a middle school student who struggled deeply with executive functioning. Not ability, not intelligence, but organization, follow-through, and managing materials. A team of caring teachers stepped in as a coordinated support system. They helped the student track assignments, gather needed materials, and use time intentionally so work didn’t disappear into the backpack void.
One of those teachers also saw the student later in the day during study hall. Rather than letting that time drift away, she guided the student through organizing their backpack, reviewing tasks, prioritizing assignments, and preparing for the next day. It wasn’t punishment. It was coaching. It was time spent building a lifelong skill.
That evening, the student went home and complained.
Soon after, the teacher received a letter from the parent stating that their child should be free to do whatever they wanted in study hall… including picking their nose.
The teacher brought the letter to me, stunned, hurt, and questioning whether she had done the right thing. Together, we called the parent and scheduled a conference. We affirmed rest and student autonomy, yes, but we also explained the reality:
This was not about control.
It was not about compliance.
It was an intervention grounded in care.
The student was losing ground, not because they didn’t understand the content, but because the assignments never reached the teachers. Because materials were lost. Because no one had yet taught the skills that school silently assumes students already possess.
We explained that the study hall work was not limiting the child; it was expanding their capacity.
It honored the relationship the student already had with the teacher.
It built self-management skills the student would need for high school, college, and life.
It turned chaos into capability.
By the end of the conversation, the parent understood the purpose, even if the initial reaction had been defensive.
That letter (the one I kept) remains a reminder:
Sometimes leadership means standing firmly in the space between supporting student autonomy and protecting student success.
Sometimes innovation is not flashy or new; it is the quiet work of redefining what “help” looks like.
Sometimes the most courageous thing we do is defend thoughtful intervention when misunderstanding shows up dressed as anger.
Executive functioning is not an “extra.”
It is equity.
It is inclusion.
It is access to learning.
When we help students build it, we are not micromanaging them; we are liberating their potential.
Questions to Ask Yourself: Before reacting to resistance, pause and reflect. Consider:
Am I prioritizing student comfort or student growth?
Do I clearly communicate the why behind academic and behavioral supports?
Where might families misunderstand supportive structures as control?
How do I honor autonomy while still scaffolding necessary skills?
What assumptions am I making about what students already know how to do?
Actionable Steps: Innovation in support systems requires intention and clarity. These steps help strengthen alignment between teachers, students, and families.
Normalize executive functioning as instruction, not discipline. Name it, teach it, revisit it.
Use existing relationships when assigning mentors. Trust accelerates growth.
Frame study hall as purposeful learning time, not free time by default.
Document patterns of missing work and disorganization to show the need for intervention.
Communicate proactively with families. Explain goals, structures, and supports early.
Balance structure and autonomy. Gradually release responsibility back to the student as skills strengthen.
Celebrate progress, not just outcomes. Organization is developmental and earned over time.
Innovation in education does not always look like new technology, redesigned spaces, or bold initiatives. Sometimes it looks like a teacher with a clipboard, a backpack on a desk, and a quiet belief that a child deserves the skills to navigate their world with confidence.
Sometimes it looks like the courage to stand with that teacher, even when the letter says otherwise.
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