Robert Burnside felt mixed emotions in the stands at Cintas Center, witnessing hundreds of Kings High School graduates accept their diplomas.
The former Lakota East High School principal first felt acute stress, which he likened to post-traumatic stress disorder, as memories returned from his nearly two decades leading high schools. Graduation ceremonies like this one, he said, used to be his Super Bowl.
But overriding the stress and the longing for the profession he once cherished was immense pride for the graduate he was supporting that day: Landerius “DeDe” Hayes.
Not too long ago, Burnside knew Hayes to be a junior walking his halls at Lakota East, one of many students Burnside liked humoring with his “goofy pants” he’d sport every Friday.
At the time, Hayes was the student experiencing homelessness who Burnside championed when Lakota ordered his withdrawal. He was the 16-year-old who, due to circumstances out of his control, didn’t have an in-district address on file.
And Hayes was the student for whom Burnside put his career on the line, allowing the teenager to stay in classes despite his unenrollment – a situation that prompted a district investigation, Burnside’s resignation from Lakota and departure from the education field at large.
A year later, in May 2026, a freshly graduated Hayes sits at Burnside’s dining room table. Hayes, now 18, has grown accustomed to calling his former principal “Pops.”
He has spent holidays and birthdays in his new home, with his new legal guardians, Burnside and his wife, Angel, and six new siblings – four brothers and two sisters.
Hayes says he, too, was overcome with emotions on his graduation day.
In the moments he walked across the stage to accept his diploma, Hayes said, “everything just went in slow motion. It didn’t feel real.”
After months of couch-surfing, student says Lakota ‘kicked him out’
A Lakota student since the seventh grade, Hayes was weeks into his junior year, in October 2024, when an administrator hand delivered him a letter in the gym class. He was being ordered to withdraw from the district, the letter read.
“I’m getting kicked out out of nowhere,” he remembered thinking. “And then I just started asking around and trying to get help.”
Asking for help had long been Hayes’ lifeline for staying in school.
Hayes experienced homelessness for much of his high school life. He had a turbulent relationship with his biological mother, who moved out of the district’s bounds in 2023. Due to limited space and safety concerns, Hayes was unable to live at her new address. And his father, who lacked custodial rights, didn’t offer consistent support.
Crashing at friends’ houses or even with his boss from AutoZone wasn’t unusual for the high schooler. Some nights, he slept in his car, doing homework on his phone once his school laptop died and washing his clothes in the school’s bathroom sinks.
Word got back to Lakota’s central office that Hayes’ mom had moved outside of the district’s boundaries. Burnside said district officials didn’t consider Hayes had never been to that address in the first place.
Immediately after Hayes was ordered to withdraw, Burnside said, teachers and coaches at Lakota East were eager to help and be “that blanket of support around DeDe that he needed.”
His situation was out of the norm in a place like Lakota, a high-performing district in an affluent part of Butler County.
Burnside decided to allow Hayes back in classes – a choice that he ruminates on to this day.
“I own the fact that my communication could have been better. Maybe I didn’t ask the right questions,” Burnside said. “But I had nothing to gain out of this other than this is a kid that I care about, our school cares about and we want to help.”
An investigation, a resignation and a custody agreement
Burnside sat down with his wife and talked through the possibility of getting custody of Hayes so that he could continue attending Lakota. The couple were no strangers to opening their doors and expanding their family, having six children – two of whom are adopted.
After talking with Hayes’ biological mother, the Burnsides began the process of becoming his legal guardians, but not without pitching the idea to Hayes first.
“I mean, that’s a pretty big bomb to drop on a kid: ‘Hey, come live with your principal,'” Burnside said. “I get that.”
The Lakota principal sat Hayes down alongside Clint Adkins, his beloved basketball coach. The conversation was brief. Hayes quickly accepted, telling Burnside he could give him stability he never had.
But Burnside’s plans changed Nov. 1, when he was notified that he was being placed on administrative leave as the district investigated him for insubordination. A letter from Rob Kramer, executive director of human resources, told Burnside he put himself and the district “in a potentially liable position” by allowing Hayes back in school.
An email from Superintendent Ashley Whitely alerted district families about Burnside’s absence and said the district had “been investigating a concern that was brought to our attention.” Within 15 minutes, Burnside said, the principal’s picture was on “every news outlet.”
“On social media, people saying either I’m a pedophile or I embezzled [money],” Burnside said. Soon, he and his wife Angel couldn’t sleep, could barely eat.
In the 30 years they’ve been together, Angel Burnside said, “It’s the hardest thing we’ve been through as a couple.”
What they didn’t know is that hordes of social media users on Reddit and other platforms were praising Burnside for his compassion, shocked he was being reprimanded.
Burnside still remembers the words used in his formal hearing in November, with district leaders saying they didn’t believe he could go back to Lakota East and be an “effective leader.”
Those words crushed Burnside, who felt he became a professional at Lakota East – the building where he held his first teaching job for nine years before beginning his administrative career.
It was in the best interest for both his family and his financial health to make a career change, he said, handing in his formal resignation three weeks after being placed on leave.
Principal says he lost a career but gained a son and his kids gained a brother
Almost two years after resigning, Burnside said he’s still scarred by prematurely ending his education career.
But more than anything, he feels blessed knowing – once the custody agreement became permanent in February 2025 – he and his wife gained a son and their kids gained a brother, Burnside said.
“They’re my heroes,” Angel Burnside said of her kids. Her two sons specifically, both of whom had moved out for college, gave up their bedroom so Hayes could have his own space.
As for Hayes, he’s still learning how to make use of his closet and resist the urge to gather his possessions every time he leaves the house, like he often did while couch-surfing. And to Angel Burnside’s dismay, he’s still getting the hang of telling the Burnsides his whereabouts.
“He ran his own life for so long,” she said. “He wasn’t used to having to tell people, ‘I’m going here. I’m going there.'”
Hayes has his sights set on entering the aviation industry and is working as a car mechanic in the meantime, earning money that for the first time he doesn’t need to put toward food or other necessities.
And Burnside is returning to his long-held belief in public education as means of changing lives.
“I think we all wonder, when push comes to shove, [if] we’ll put it all on the line for our students,” Burnside said. “I’m really envious of the people who never have to, but I’m thankful that I know how I answer that question.”
This article originally appeared on Cincinnati Enquirer: Ohio principal resigns over helping homeless teen, then adopts him
Reporting by Grace Tucker, Cincinnati Enquirer / Cincinnati Enquirer
USA TODAY Network via Reuters Connect
By Grace Tucker, Cincinnati Enquirer | USA TODAY Network
