When I heard that an image of an assistant principal in my child’s school had been labeled with the n-word in a student’s Instagram video, it stung. We know there’s been a spike in hate crimes and bigotry in schools over the past three years.

When it involves someone you know, it becomes personal.

I didn’t hear about the incident through any official school communication. It’s usually the grapevine that spreads this sort of news. I called school officials to ask how it was handled. But due to privacy laws, the district cannot share information about specific punishments.

I get that.

The post was taken down, I was told, and there were consequences given. I wondered why this felt insufficient. What role should schools take in combating a rising tide of bigotry that reflects what we are witnessing in society at large? How should they address issues that more often arise on social media, outside of school buildings?

First, let’s begin by calling it what it is.

In a note that went out to teachers about a racist incident that occurred over spring break, Parkway Superintendent Keith Marty described the situation as “racially charged.” Many other districts across the region that have dealt with similar issues have used this term to describe the behavior in question. I asked Marty about this choice of words.

To him, the phrase denoted the impact felt by those targeted by the behavior.

“I’m not trying to diminish it,” he said. But to me, it sounds like mincing words to avoid calling a spade a spade.

I’ve had this same difficult conversation in my own newsroom. Recently, the Associated Press offered clarity on the issue. The AP Stylebook now advises journalists not to use euphemisms for “racist,” like “racially charged” or “racially tinged.”

You can’t confront a problem until you recognize it for what it is. This is especially true when trying to educate students on how to thrive in a diverse society. It’s also important for schools to communicate with parents when hateful incidents are reported and investigated because the impact is felt by minority students collectively. A reluctance to talk publicly about these issues suggests a reluctance to admit bigotry is a serious problem.

A parent in Missouri’s Webster Groves School District shared her frustration over how anti-Semitic incidents that happened last year were handled. Yael Shomroni, who is Jewish, criticized school officials who referred to swastikas as “graffiti.” She said the stories from students who witnessed anti-Semitic or racist acts were brushed under the rug with an unwillingness to confront them publicly.

“The parents don’t want to talk about it,” she said. “It’s uncomfortable to talk about.”

The district brought in the Anti-Defamation League for training, developed lessons on hate speech and discrimination, and created groups for students to discuss issues related to equity and inclusion.

“We’ve tried to create venues and opportunities both in structured and unstructured ways,” said John Simpson, Webster Groves superintendent. “We are talking about it because we are not there yet. Like our peer districts and the rest of the world, we have a long way to go.”

But they are making a systematic effort going forward, he said. School officials in several St. Louis-area districts have committed to hearing the concerns of students sharing what they have experienced and seen.

A way to heal and reduce future such incidents is by turning that listening into action. It’s by helping the rest of the student body understand why racist and bigoted language, symbols and acts are hurtful and unacceptable.

Young people have a way of reflecting the same messages they hear at home, in the media, from politicians, in the culture.

Schools need to be braver in pushing back.

In the fall of his senior year, Rico Beuford wasn’t sure if he was going to go to college at all.

His mom had died in a car accident when he was in grade school, and the deep sense of loss was hitting him again. He was filled with anger. He had moved out of his father’s house and was living with his aunt. Though he was taking all Advanced Placement classes at Parkway North High School in the St. Louis area, he was lashing out at his teachers. His life felt chaotic.

Then, a good friend’s mom intervened. Carla Feuer recognized what a promising student he was. She asked if he wanted a mentor to help him through the application process. He did.

She made sure he took his ACT on time. She kept him on track with application deadlines and suggested colleges for him to consider. She helped him navigate the financial aid quagmire. She read his essays for scholarship applications. She guided him in following up on emails with college officials when he wasn’t getting a response to his questions.

Next year, Beuford, now 24, will graduate from the University of Missouri at Kansas City. He was accepted into the accelerated medical school program right out of high school.

“His success is his success,” Feuer said. “I was just fortunate enough to be there to give him the support he needed.”

While the news headlines are dominated by wealthy parents cheating and bribing to get their kids into selective colleges, many low- and middle-income students don’t even have access to basic college counseling. High school counselors typically juggle hundreds of students and can’t provide the type of one-on-one counseling students need, especially those coming from families who have not been through the gantlet of college admissions.

David and Lois Zuckerman, founders of Mentors 4 College, saw this gap in 2011 when they started an all-volunteer corps of mentors to guide students in the Parkway School District, where their three children graduated. They trained other volunteers to mentor families with the aim of building college-savvy communities. The organization’s service to students is completely free to those within the district who ask for help.

The college admissions system is set up to favor those with resources, connections and know-how. A bunch of very rich families abusing the system is not surprising in the least, David Zuckerman said.

“It’s really about everyone else who is not getting any help,” he said. “There’s a much bigger problem that we are busy ignoring.” Finding the best post-high-school fit for a student, in terms of future goals and affordability, requires a few years of planning.

“Sixteen- and 17-year-olds are not the best planners,” he said. This major life decision is often fraught with emotions, which may override a student’s best long-term interests.

How remarkable would it be if parents in districts throughout the country took a similar approach to the students in their communities? Imagine if parents with recent experience adopted a student unfamiliar with the process and offered to support them through it.

Feuer said when she offered to help Beuford, her main thought was that he should have the same opportunities to succeed that her son had. She now laughs about how she wanted him to accept a full-ride scholarship that a different state school had offered him.

He was dead-set on becoming a doctor, and chose the program at UMKC.

“I was willing to gamble on myself,” he said.

Next year, he will walk across the stage with his medical degree.

Feuer plans to be there, cheering him on.

When my daughter was in third grade, she Googled “hypoallergenic dog” after years of hearing me tell her that our severe allergies prevented us from fulfilling her wish for a puppy.

She created a presentation on a rare breed, the Coton de Tulear, highlighting a list of reasons why this no-shed pup was the perfect dog for our family. I found images of this small, fluffy white dog with dark expressive eyes whenever I opened my computer.

At the time, I used the classic parenting delay tactic -- “we’ll see” -- instead of an outright rejection. I knew that with two young children and a career, I did not want to take on the responsibility of another living being. My husband had zero interest in acquiring a pet. Neither of us grew up with dogs. We both come from traditional Muslim families who believed dogs should be kept outside the home for reasons related to ritual purity when praying.

Fast-forward seven years: The kids are both teenagers. My daughter’s desire for a dog hasn’t abated. And now, I’m starting to feel a little anxious about how quickly the years of child-rearing are passing. I’m more susceptible to an adorable creature that needs nurturing. I struck a deal with my spouse that the dog would stay out of certain areas of the house, and we got on a waiting list with a reputable breeder.

When we picked up our 10-week-old puppy, we settled on the name Frankie (short for Franklin D. Woofevelt). My maternal instinct kicked into overdrive.

I moved an air mattress into the kitchen near Frankie’s crate and slept in front of him, so he wouldn’t cry at night. After being shamed by more experienced dog owners for going overboard, and worrying that I was ruining our puppy, I let him spend one night alone. He cried all night, and I didn’t sleep for a second. But it only took about a week for him to adjust to sleeping soundly in his crate without a human nearby.

I reverted to familiar concerns I had when our kids were babies. I worried he wasn’t eating enough, though the vet assured me he was growing just fine. I wondered if he would ever get potty-trained. I wasn’t sure how long his separation anxiety phase would last, or when he would outgrow his teenage rebellion. Some of the things he still does remind me of the kids’ toddler antics. When I use the restroom, he sits right outside the door anxiously awaiting my return. I entice him to eat his grain-free kibble by adding little chopped-up bits of apples, carrots or green beans to it. The first time I left him with a pet sitter overnight, I typed up a page of instructions for them.

I could tell I was becoming one of “those” dog people. I was reminded of an essay a reader sent me in 2017, in which the writer warned apocalyptically that pets were replacing children in America. Several such screeds point to the rising rate of dog ownership among millennials, the increasing amount pet owners spend on their animals and the delayed birth rate among this cohort. The reader who sent me the link seemed angry -- at her kids and the culture that has encouraged pet worship -- but she also seemed sad. Would she have to settle for grandpups instead of grandbabies?

Once I scoffed at people who described their pets as “furbabies,” and now I monitor the livestream feed of Frankie’s doggy daycare on my phone. I had to stop myself from calling the center when I witnessed a large goldendoodle bullying my baby, er, dog.

It’s easy to mock the more ridiculous aspects of pet culture, such as cosmetic procedures to fix a dog’s naturally floppy ears or doggy slings to carry a pup perfectly capable of walking. But had I known the unconditional, enthusiastic love a dog offers, I would never have waited this long to get our first pup.

Although, I think when kids enter the teenage years, that’s an ideal time to think about a puppy. Frankie is way more excited to see me than my kids have outwardly expressed in years. And while raising a dog is surprisingly expensive nowadays, they never go to college.

I was surprised by the intensity of my bond with this furry creature. I’m trying to be as objective as possible here: He legitimately looks like the cutest, sweetest, most lovable dog I’ve ever seen. No offense to other dog owners.

Even my daughter, who said getting him is one of the best things we’ve ever done, said recently that she hadn’t expected me to fall so hard for Frankie. If I had gotten a puppy 20 years ago, I can easily see how I might have put off having babies for a while.

I guess we found each other at the perfect time.

Frankie turns 1 this weekend.

You’ll have to excuse me, I have a cake to order.