Dr. Andy Szeto: Open Doors in a Closed World: What Panera Bread Taught Me About School Receptions

I still remember that day in Bay Terrace when nearly every door in New York City felt locked, when stepping outside required courage, and when even touching a door handle felt like a risk. Stores, schools, parks, and gathering places were closed. The city that never sleeps felt still. But my local Panera Bread had its doors propped open.

I will admit that Panera was not a place I missed during COVID. In New York City schools, Panera is almost part of the job. It shows up at PDs, workshops, and staff meetings. It is not the food. It is the repetition. If you work in education here long enough, a turkey sandwich and a boxed cookie stop feeling like a treat and start feeling like a professional side effect. So when the world shut down, Panera was not the place I expected to seek out.

Then I saw a Facebook post. They were selling groceries and produce in addition to their regular menu. Milk and fresh bread. Essentials that had suddenly become precious. It was close by, and after being inside for so long, even driving a short distance felt meaningful. The idea of picking up milk felt like reclaiming a small piece of normal life. I offered to go without hesitation. I do not remember ever being so eager to go out for groceries in my life. Yes, we needed the milk. But I needed the air even more.

When I arrived, the restaurant was mostly empty, a calm space in a silent city. Yet it did not feel deserted. It felt welcoming, as if someone had decided that if the world was going to close in, they would at least keep one doorway open. The doors were propped so no one had to touch handles. Balloons floated outside with a quiet welcome message. Inside, the familiar smell of bread and cookies felt grounding. I paused at the cookie case out of habit. I did not buy one, but seeing them felt strangely comforting.

No one spoke much. I picked up milk and bread and whispered thank you. Their faces were hidden behind masks, but I felt the warmth anyway. I could not see a smile, yet I felt one offered to me. In the middle of fear and uncertainty, the open door and these small gestures offered something rare: a moment of belonging. I do not remember how many times I ended up making that same quiet trip, slipping in and out almost invisibly, but I absolutely remember going even when I did not really need anything. Sometimes I went simply because stepping into that gentle welcome felt like breathing again.

I think about that moment when I stand inside school entryways. Every day, families arrive carrying hopes, questions, worries, language barriers, and fatigue. Some enter confidently. Others approach unsure of where to go or whether they will be welcomed. The first seconds matter. Before learning begins, belonging begins.

I once watched an anxious parent enter a school lobby on a rainy morning, holding a young child and a stack of paperwork in a plastic bag. She looked around for a sign, or a face, or a signal. The desk was busy. Phones ringing. People moving quickly. No one ignored her on purpose. But no one greeted her either. She stood there waiting, unsure if she was allowed to step forward. The school was safe. The school was orderly. The school was also silent to her in that moment. She did not need balloons or freshly baked cookies. She needed acknowledgment.

That is what Panera offered.

Not extravagance.

Not perfection.

Just acknowledgment.

Just welcome.

Safety matters in schools. Systems matter. But warmth is not optional. If a restaurant could hold space for humanity in a crisis, then schools, which exist to nurture growth, can build daily habits of hospitality. Belonging is not accidental. It is practiced.

During COVID, a simple open doorway reminded me that even in the most restrictive times, communities can choose generosity and kindness. Schools have that same power every day. We are not only managing procedures. We are welcoming people. And often, the smallest gestures are the ones remembered longest.

Imagine if every family entered school and felt, without a word, We are glad you are here.

Open doors are not only physical. They are cultural, emotional, and leadership choices. Sometimes they look like a greeting. Sometimes they feel like a smile beneath a mask. Sometimes they begin with a moment as simple as a door held open in a city that felt closed.

Leadership, at its core, is the art of shaping experiences. In schools, that leadership does not begin in meetings or classrooms. It begins at the door. A parent walking in with uncertainty does not feel our mission statement. They feel our welcome. A student arriving late does not enter our vision statement. They enter our tone.

The open doors at Panera reminded me that leadership is felt most in small gestures: a greeting before a request, a calm presence in a busy space, an unseen smile that still lands. We cannot always control the circumstances people bring with them, but we can influence the climate they walk into. If a chain restaurant in the middle of a crisis could make me feel seen through an open door and a quiet moment of kindness, then surely schools can do the same and more. Our students and families deserve that level of intentional care.

Sometimes the most meaningful learning begins with the comfort of simply being welcomed.

Lead Forward is an exclusive feature by Dr. Andy Szeto on The Worthy Educator. Check back regularly for new insights for aspiring leaders!