Sixth-grader Raven was suspended for throwing yogurt, but Principal Jason Smith didn’t just punish her—he asked why.
“I’ve never been to a restaurant,” she said. She had grown up in group homes with no family.
Moved by her story, Jason and his wife Marybeth, who had struggled with infertility, adopted her. Today, Raven studies social work at the University of Kentucky, determined to help other children like herself.
Raven threw yogurt. In most schools, that’s automatic suspension—discipline applied without investigation, punishment without understanding. But Principal Jason Smith made a different choice. He didn’t just suspend her. He asked why.
That question—”why?”—is what separates punishment from understanding. Most administrators would have processed the suspension, notified parents (or in Raven’s case, guardians), and moved on. Jason stopped and asked: What would make a sixth-grader throw yogurt? What’s happening in her life?
“I’ve never been to a restaurant.” Four words that revealed everything. Not “I was angry” or “It was an accident.” But a confession that exposed profound deprivation: she’d never experienced something most American children take for granted—going to a restaurant, ordering food, being served a meal in a family setting.
She had grown up in group homes with no family. No parents. No siblings who stayed with her. No family dinners. No birthday celebrations at restaurants. No normal childhood experiences that involve sitting in a booth, choosing from a menu, being part of a family unit in public. Just institutional care, group homes, foster placements—stability but not family, survival but not belonging.
Jason and his wife Marybeth had struggled with infertility. They’d probably tried for years, experienced the grief of wanting children but not being able to conceive, faced the loss of biological parenthood. And then they met Raven—a sixth-grader who’d never been to a restaurant, who threw yogurt for reasons rooted in trauma and deprivation, who needed exactly what they could provide: a family.
“Moved by her story, Jason and his wife Marybeth adopted her.” That sentence contains years of process—home studies, paperwork, court hearings, transitioning from principal-student relationship to father-daughter. But it started with Jason asking “why?” and recognizing that this child needed more than suspension. She needed family.
“Today, Raven studies social work at the University of Kentucky.” From sixth-grader who’d never been to a restaurant to college student pursuing social work. From throwing yogurt in school to studying how to help other children navigate the systems she once survived. The transformation isn’t just personal success—it’s purposeful. She’s not just escaping her past; she’s preparing to help others still living in it.
“Determined to help other children like herself.” That’s what makes Raven’s story complete. She didn’t just get saved and forget where she came from. She’s studying social work specifically to help children in group homes, foster care, situations like the one she grew up in. She’s turning her trauma into expertise, her survival into service.
The photo shows Jason and Raven in matching University of Kentucky sweatshirts, standing in front of Christmas decorations. Jason wears one that says “KENTUCKY DAD.” They’re beaming—not the awkward smile of principal and student, but the genuine warmth of father and daughter. Raven found family. Jason and Marybeth found the daughter infertility had prevented them from having biologically.
This story challenges how schools handle discipline. Raven threw yogurt. Standard procedure: suspend, call guardians, done. But Jason asked why. That single question led to adoption, transformation, a social work career. Imagine if he’d just processed the suspension without inquiry. Raven would have remained in group homes, Jason and Marybeth would have remained childless, and a future social worker dedicated to helping foster children would never have developed.
It reminds us that behavior often signals deeper issues. Children don’t just throw yogurt randomly. Raven’s action was cry for help from someone who’d “never been to a restaurant”—someone so deprived of normal family experiences that she acted out in ways that made no sense without understanding her background.
And it shows how infertility and adoption can create families that were meant to exist. Jason and Marybeth couldn’t have biological children. Raven had no family. That intersection of needs created family—not despite infertility, but in some ways because of it. They were available, open, and ready to parent a child who desperately needed them.
From group homes to college. From throwing yogurt to studying social work. From “I’ve never been to a restaurant” to having a dad who wears a University of Kentucky sweatshirt that says “DAD.” That’s what happens when a principal asks “why?” instead of just issuing suspension.