Dark Mark Had Plans

The weekend before Andrew was fired from the dance studio was brutal. An unexpected meeting with his boss set in motion three days of turmoil and heartache.

The meeting request arrived the day before. It was unusual and Andrew’s radar was up. There were signs things were off. Decisions made without his input. Annual rhythms from which he was excluded. Then the request made of him at the meeting: take a three-month sabbatical to clear your head and recharge. And let me know tonight yes or no. Her intent was clear -- Andrew was no longer wanted.

Prior to that Friday in August, I don’t recall the last time I saw Andrew cry like that. These weren’t happy tears. They were the full realization of disappointment and betrayal. Of 15 years of sweat and effort and community being ripped out and tossed aside. There was nothing I could do about it.

Don’t get me wrong. I had ideas. Dark Mark was fully activated and ready to go.

Facebook posts drafted.

Conversation with her scripted.

Intervention and rescue plans constructed.

Reputation defense ready.

Legal support standing by.

All on my own, no AI assistance needed.

I was right in the prediction that change was coming. I was wrong about how. But none of that really matters in the moment. My son is devastated. I don’t know what to do.

Dark Mark had plans and motive. It would feel good to bring the truth and expose the fraudulent. No one knew what we knew. The truth will set you free, right? But was this the way? Was this the right time?

Throughout the weekend, as the heavy weight of grief blanketed our house, the questions found no answers. The grief came in waves, some shallower, some stronger. The anger always present, just below the surface, mostly contained but ever ready to strike out and be heard.

We don’t have assigned seats at the dinner table but we have preferred favorites. Andrew spent much of the weekend in his, turned toward us as we sat in the family room. Weeping. Questioning. Preparing his defense. Confused. Confident. Confused again. Our emotions matching his. Processing together what happened and what to do about it. All the while grieving the death of what was.

On Monday, when Andrew said no to what she wanted, she clearly stated what he already knew — he was no longer wanted. The message was delivered like divorce papers. He was asked to box up his stuff and find another place.

And another round of questions began.

How do I help him?

What is it I want? What’s best for him?

Do we need an attorney?

What can I say that would help?

What if what I say or do hurts him and the situation even more?

I wanted to right this wrong, end the injustice, strike back. This isn’t fair. I remember a young Andrew saying that once, and in a moment of clarity and wisdom I asked him, how would you define fair? Certainly not this, not this way. He didn’t deserve to be treated this way. To experience a severing of the relationships — students, parents, staff, friends -- that meant so much to him. It was all unfair.

Insecure leaders ruin their world. It is what I help leaders avoid every day. I know the patterns. The outburst, the decision made from fear, the hard conversation avoided, the nepotism, the manipulation. I know the devastating consequences when insecurity is driving. In the space of a weekend, the reality crashed into my home. And there was nothing I could do about it.