Transitions

Perhaps the primary thing that motivated me to burn my other bridges and accept the job at CHS was that I really connected with the CEO. He seemed to be that rare (in my experience) combination of smart, passionate, warm, funny, and driven. We saw eye-to-eye on a lot of things, and I knew – particularly after my chilly interview at Suburban School District’s RHS – that this was a man I’d like to work with.

Nevertheless, last year was rough. More than once, I had conversations with myself about whether I wanted to stay at CHS another year. The conversations usually ended with the acknowledgement that there weren’t likely to be openings anywhere else, and that I really didn’t want to move my books again so soon.

Then I had a sit-down with H (the CEO) for my end-of-year evaluation, and our conversation inspired and/or guilted me into wanting to stay. He told me how much he valued me, how much good I was doing, and that they had been lucky to find someone like me who could do so much good for our struggling population of students. I still wasn’t sure that I’d make CHS my “forever-for-now home,” but now I wanted to come back. Anyone who thinks flattery doesn’t work is a fool.

This summer, we thought CHS was going to hire Mr. Bees. I figured, in part, that they’d know that hiring Mr. Bees would cement my decision to stay here longterm. But there were politics, and Mr. Bees wasn’t hired. I was angry for several days, spitting venom about how they’d just made my (eventual) decision a lot easier.

Then school started, and I remembered that I basically love this school.

And now, H is leaving us. He’s taken a position in California to help with his ailing parents, and it’s clear that he’s heartbroken about it, but what are you going to do? I haven’t gotten a read on the new guy yet, other than the impression that he’s a very good administrator and a very conservative person – not necessarily a problem. But I’m sad that H is leaving. I’m not sure if I took a job with CHS so much as I took a position with H, and that’s going away. I don’t know what will fill the gap.

I guess it does make an eventual decision, if there’s ever one to make, that much easier. I love CHS, but it’s not a 100% perfect fit. The commute is tiresome and will get dangerous in a month or two. I’m still not a good social fit, for whatever reason, and with every passing day I realize the extent of the differences in our educational backgrounds. (Case in point: my fellow English teachers don’t seem to know whether end puncutation goes inside or outside quotation marks.) If Mr. Bees can get a position closer to home – please God, any position – then the temptation to look myself will become very strong.

Plus – and this is me pushing myself to be honest here, so forgive me – while I do think I’m doing a lot of good for these kids, this isn’t what I feel I ought to be doing. This is a tough demographic. Far more of my kids will be in the military or in prison after high school than will go to college. They’re not motivated to work hard, and their parents don’t value education. I love helping them, love the idea of making their future brighter, but I know I have a real gift for working with TAG/GATE kids, and I miss that level of interaction and that sense of doing something. I don’t like coming home from school and having a lessened opinion of humankind.

Perhaps worst of all… I made the mistake of looking at some pictures from my LMS days, and it broke my heart. Five years ago, I would have guffawed vigorously at the suggestion that I would miss teaching middle school so much. Vigorously.

Huh.

Not much point to this post. There’s no transition for me to make, other than a mental one where I accept that I don’t have to put down roots here. I do that, you know. Feel an obligation to stay, the need to put down roots and commit to an employer. And I don’t need to do that. It’s okay.

Anyway… H’s farewell party is in twelve minutes, so I’m off.

Had Just About Enough.

They gave the government teaching position to some coaching friend of theirs who already had a job.

It’s funny how quickly your spirit can turn. One moment, I was happily making unit plans and searching for the perfect desk calendar to map out the rest of my school year. The next moment, I was calculating whether I’d be Category I if I quit my job and took a position in a different district. There’s allegedly an English job – although I’ve never seen it posted – at the school where Mr. Bees student-taught. There’s also a language arts position at an area alternative high school, and one of the other LA teachers there was my freshman English teacher. She likes me. I bet she could get me in the door.

How easily all the fun can be taken out of a year. Now what am I supposed to do? How do I plan for the new year, get my room all fixed up, talk about all of the preparation and back-to-school stuff, knowing that every word of it is a dagger of disappointment for my husband – not to mention for myself? Moreover, do I even want to? Right this minute, I don’t even care.

My back isn’t broken – we’re going to get through this. Mr. Bees can keep working on his Masters, and we’ll get him subbing. He’s going to see if he’s qualified for the position Coach McJockstrap is vacating at a middle school. But I have to dump all of this venom somewhere so that it gets out of my heart and away from my job. It’s all going to be okay. But yesterday, and today – blech. We’re so disappointed. I can’t even put it into words. And after the other crap that has happened this summer… we needed this.

I know that we can’t take this personally – but I can’t help wishing they HAD taken it just a little bit personally for me. They had to know how much this was going to hurt.

Flat

Well, I didn’t get in.

This is a pancake layer of disappointment on top of so many other layers. I am positively stratified with disappointment.

No Writing Project for me, I guess! It’s too bad, really. I would have been a really good addition. They really could have used me. I have expertise that they want, and passion that they want. I know that they are banking on me applying next year. I suppose I will. But I wonder if they know that they are gambling on the possibility that someone will even be a teacher the following year? What if the one thing helping you hang on through that rough patch – that “most teachers quit the profession within their first three years” patch – was the thought of joining this community, and then they reject you?

As it turns out, I am not very good at being rejected. In all honesty, I haven’t had much experience at it. I guess it was just my turn.

On top of that, I don’t know what this does to my MA, other than screw it all the hell up. I’m on a strict three-semester schedule, and now that six of my credits have gone up in smoke…

God, but this has been a week. Or a fortnight. I don’t even know how long things are lasting. Parent-teacher conferences tonight, all day tomorrow, and tomorrow evening. Grading essays like a madwoman up to the very end. Having to file for an extension on my own schoolwork. Mr. Bees lost his job. My allergies have kicked in, and the inside of my mouth is lined with stress-induced cold sores. Some, er, personal plans of mine are being sidelined due to schoolwork and conferences. Friends and family members raising my blood pressure over politics. I’m feeling flatter and flatter. How flat, you ask? The only thing getting me to and from work every day is my eponymous Third Eye Blind CD, blasted at top volume. Talk about angsty teenage flashback.

Okay. I have 20 minutes until dinner, and conferences start in 80 minutes. Got to clear off my desk, brush my hair, and load up the laptop. Ready… break.

Sick

After coughing and wheezing for over a month, and after Mr. Bees finally got tired of telling me to see a doctor and just started giving me a long-suffering look every time I doubled over with coughs, and after my stomach muscles got torn up badly enough that – well, let’s just say I was carefully monitoring my fluid intake and bathroom breaks… after all this, I finally took a sick day and went to see a doctor.

(For what it’s worth, I didn’t resist out of sheer stubbornness. I just figured that it was another persistent cold virus, and that all a doctor would do would be to say, “rest and drink OJ, that’ll be $60.” Figured I could save myself the trouble and the $60.)

Well, the doctor had a different idea. After talking about it for a while, and about other things bouncing around in my medical history, he came up with two possible prognoses.

The first – and most likely – is that I have inflamed lungs, post-cold virus, and related to a long-undiagnosed case of The Asthma. I have always suspected that I had a minor case of The Asthma, so this diagnosis made a lot of sense to me.

The second is that I work with poor, often under-immunized teenagers, and that one of the darling dears may have given me PERTUSSIS.

Let’s be clear: if my kids gave me whooping cough, so help me I will fail every last one of them.

Anyway, the doctor gave me some beautiful little yellow capsules called benzonatate that reduce the reflex to cough, and a ventolin inhaler, which is a bronchodilator. If they make a big difference by the end of Sunday, he told me, it’s probably The Asthma, and I should get a pulmonary exam. He also gave me a prescription for some antibiotics in case I was still sick by Monday; they’re to treat potential pertussis.

Fortunately for my kiddos, the inhaler and yellow pills have made a world of difference. I still have a cough, but it’s a controllable, infrequent cough that doesn’t hurt, break me in half, make me wet myself, or disrupt conversations within a thirty-foot radius.

So I guess I’ll be back at school on Tuesday (hooray, holidays!) and may even be able to talk. That’ll be a novel experience for my classes; I don’t think they’ve heard my normal voice since they came back from Christmas break.

Back to School

I’m sitting here in my perfectly turned-out classroom with about twenty minutes left in my ludicrously long and luxurious prep period. (A girl can get a lot done in ninety minutes!)

The advantage to having first period prep on the first day of school is that I’m not the first person anyone sees, and I get a chance to eavesdrop on other people to see what they’re doing to kick things off. Just hearing other people talking to their classes without self-destructing makes me breathe a little easier.

I say that, but it’s kind of silly, because I’m not scared. I thought I would be nervous about starting the school year, but I feel pretty dang confident about it all. I’m looking forward to working with sophomores again. I’m looking forward to teaching again. The only thing that really gives me pause is the block scheduling, and I think I’ve got a grip on it now.

A few notes:

• There were flowers and earrings – golden CHS mascots – on my desk when I got here, and I’m still not sure how Mr. Bees did it. Going to have to tickle it out of him, I think.
• Instead of a ear-shattering buzzer, the morning bell – and the warning bells leading up to it – is Westminster Chimes.
• A girl came in during my prep to ask if she could be my TA, somehow not realizing that it was my prep despite the emptiness of the room (they don’t TA during your prep).
• High school students are considerably taller than middle school students. I’d forgotten that.
• A girl looked into my classroom from the hall and saw my Australia poster. She said to her friend, “Australia! I love that movie! Except that there was this one part that was pretty inappropriate.” Her friend replied that she had a book she’d like, but that it had an inappropriate part. The girl said, “That’s okay, I’ll skip over that part.” When she said that part of the movie was pretty inappropriate, it sounded just like my sister at that age.

It’s my first day of school all over again. Wish me luck, and best of luck to all of you out there for whom it is also your first day! Happy teaching!

Ruining My Spring Semester

I am doing a better job at teaching than I am at blogging about it. (Although to be fair, I’ve got some notes and drafts stowed away. Probably ought to finish them and get them posted, huh.)

I love what I’m doing. Some days are hard, and some weeks – like this one – exhaust me with the sheer emotional load of caring about and for these children. I’m told that I’m doing well. I feel like I’m doing a good job. I’m feeling more comfortable, more at home, here at LMS. I’m settling in.

Too bad it seems to all be falling apart around me.

I’m what they call a Category 1 teacher, which means that I was hired at the very last minute. Technically, I suppose, I was a desperation hire. The enrollment numbers turned out higher than was anticipated just before school started, and I lucked into a position. I would have put my whole heart into my teaching anyway – why do something less than 110%? – but this was extra incentive. I had to do a good job if I wanted to keep my job next fall. See, Category 1 teachers are on a non-renewing one-year contract. I knew from the outset that I was going to be gently terminated at the end of the school year and, if all had gone well, rehired for the following year. This, of course, was also contingent on there being appropriate enrollment numbers. Unfortunately, it could take until the last minute (again) to find out about those numbers. That creates a very real possibility that I’d be Category 1 again: no tuition reimbursement, and no job security.

None of this seemed too worrisome in the fall. I reckoned it would all work out in the end.

But now the economy has fallen apart. They’re talking about laying off teachers, among many other things.

Apparently, and according to a friend and a contract expert, this is the scenario I’m facing:

At the end of the school year, I’m done. I will pack up and empty out my classroom. I am going to be paid through August, because it was a one-year contract, but I am in the same place I was before I ever got the job. I am not an employee of the school district. I’ve gained one important thing, in that the school knows me and (allegedly) wants me back. That’s a very important foot in the door.

The schools have to wait for the state, and the state has to wait for the feds. Once everyone gets their ducks in a row, they’ll know how many teachers they need for next year. If last year is any indication, this will be late in the summer.

Soooo… all summer, again, I’m going to be worrying about whether or not I’m going to have a job. I’m going to have to print out resumes again, get my application into the aggravating HR pool again, interview again. I could be back at LMS in my same classroom, or I could be in a high school on the other side of the district, or I could be sitting on my couch at home. If they are even hiring at all, it’ll probably be late, and I’ll probably end up Cat 1 again – which means we’ll do this again.

It isn’t supposed to be like this. Once you get hired, you’re supposed to be able to teach if you want to and if you aren’t awful. You’re supposed to get a job, work hard, get tenure three years later, and be able to breathe. You’re not supposed to fall in love with a school and the people in it just in time to get kicked back to the curb.

I’ve been assured by several coworkers that our admins are going to fight to keep me, but I know as well as anyone that these things are rarely within anyone’s control.

Worse, I know how miserable Mr. Bees is. He has graduated. His diploma (three emphases, a minor, and certification to teach two different subjects) is sitting on the mantle. He wants to be in a classroom so much, but if it was going to be hard for him to get a job as a social studies teacher before, it’s going to be nigh unto impossible now. When they’re cutting loose existing teachers, they aren’t hiring untested ones.

I figured I’d teach a year, get tenure within reach, and then consider that whole “baby” thing I’ve heard so much about. (Don’t get me started – I want to start a family so bad that my teeth hurt when I think about it.) Now I don’t know what to do.

I don’t want to lose this job. But I guess, in a manner of speaking, I already have.

Unpleasantly Small World

A second school campus in Arkansas – this time, the University of Central Arkansas – was shot up last night. Two young men were killed, and another was shot in the leg.

One of Mr. Bee’s students recently moved to our area from Arkansas. (Not to be too specific, but Mr. Bee’s school is approximately 1,700 miles from the University of Central Arkansas campus.) Last night, the student – we’ll call him Art, Art from Arkansas – decided to call up one of his buddies back home. He was on the phone with his friend at the moment when he was shot in the leg.

From what I hear, Art heard a loud noise and then the phone hit the ground. A moment or two later, someone else picked up the phone and shouted, “He’ll call you back later,” before hanging up. Apparently, the friend had immediately blacked out from the pain. Meanwhile, Art had no idea what was going on. He learned later that there had been a shooting, but it wasn’t until he was in the school library this morning that he heard his friend’s name on the news. Fortunately, he was able to get hold of his friend’s parents and find out that he was going to be okay.

Junior High Job

After school I checked my phone and found that I had a phone message. The exact transcript of the message follows:

Hi, [Mrs. Bees]. This is [Principal], from [Junior High]. Thank you so much for your interview. You did one of the best interviews I’ve ever been involved in, and I also appreciate the note you followed it up with today. We really had a tough choice, to be honest. You were second on the list. We did end up offering the position to someone else; he was just a little more experienced in this area. But please continue to apply for jobs in the [Urban] School District; you are an awesome candidate and I will do what I can to help in any way I can in you getting a position with [Urban] schools. If you have any questions please give me a call at [cell phone number]. Thank you and good luck! Bye bye.

I knew it was a “no” by the time she said her name – you can just tell, you know? A completely different timbre to the voice. My consolation is that if a person must be rejected for a job, this is a very nice way for it to happen. (Someone “in the know” has since confirmed that I was their second choice, and not by a wide margin, so she wasn’t just being kind.) Not only do I have an advocate on the inside – which is more precious than gold – but I know that I did very well on my first interview and that I have what it takes to get hired if there is an opening.

I’m disappointed. Could I not be? The school is beautiful, conveniently located, well-regarded. I had a good rapport with the staff I met. Moreover, it was a job – a job in my preferred district, which rarely falls within reach of those of us fresh out of student teaching. (The other day someone asked me if I hadn’t done my “year of subbing” as if it were a written requirement of applying for a job in Urban District.) A job means Mr. Bees and I can stop worrying, means that we’ll have income and benefits, means that we can officially start the countdown before we start our family.

But I’m okay. It’s just… one of those things, right? It will turn out for the best, I really do believe that. As excited as I had become about the possibility of teaching ninth grade English, I still have a desire to teach seniors. Maybe an opportunity is just waiting for me to stumble upon it.

 

* I wrote a thank-you note and had Mr. Bees, who was available while I was busy teaching, hand-deliver it for me.

Pomp, Circumstance, and Two Districts

I was invited to attend CHS’s graduation, as a teacher, which meant that I got to promenade ahead of the graduates and sit on the floor for the ceremony. Although I taught sophomores, I had gotten to know several seniors through their relationship with my mentor and was happy to witness their big day.

No graduation ceremony is very interesting – including, in my experience, one’s own graduation ceremony(s) – but I enjoyed the new perspective on the occasion. Someone mentioned to me that I must be especially dedicated (her comment had a perhaps imagined undertone of “are you trying to suck up?”) but the fact of the matter is that I honestly think it these moments are so important for young people – and it seems important to me to share in that. Goodness knows that the high school diploma no longer holds the value it once did, and it seems to me that a kid has to go out of his/her way to not make it to graduation; regardless, this is the one rite of passage remaining for American youth, and one shouldn’t underestimate the potency of these rites.

The following week I went with Mr. Bees to CeHS’s graduation, which we attended as regular guests. Unlike me, Mr. Bees has been teaching seniors and has developed relationships with about 150 of them. It was heartwarming to stand by him as one after another gowned senior approached him afterwards with warm exclamations and the occasional declaration of gratitude.

I went to high school in Suburban School District, although not at CeHS, and their version of the graduation ceremony was more like my own than CHS’s. At CHS’s graduation ceremony I had been gratified to find that the people had apparently “grown up” a bit since my own walk across the stage. There was very little showboating on the stage, no inappropriate footwear, appropriate levels of respect paid to speakers, and only two airhorn blasts. From where I sat, it appeared that the vast majority of the audience stayed in their seats for the entirety of the ceremony. While some students received uproarious applause from their large families, there was no one who didn’t receive a round of applause. Every teacher seat was taken.

Then I went to CeHS’s graduation and discovered that things hadn’t changed so much after all. The national anthem and superintendent speech were drowned out by audience members bellowing their graduates’ names. Airhorn blasts punctuated the role call at regular intervals, deafening the unfortunate spectators in front of them. After every name was announced, another group of spectators stood up and walked out of the arena. At least two graduates were wearing the kind of light-up plastic heels more traditionally seen at strip clubs, and there were a startling number of male graduates sporting bare legs and dirty tennis shoes. At least half of the seats in the teacher section were empty.

Urban School District (CHS’s district) and Suburban School District (CeHS’s district) are separated by few enough miles that children who grew up on the other side of my street attended the other district. They both have high-quality schools and teachers and a lot of community support. Personally, I would be quite happy to work for either district – I think that they both have significant strengths and comparable weaknesses. And yet, they are miles apart in many fundamental ways. There is something intangible there that made their two graduation ceremonies vastly different. The first felt sacred, important. The second felt like I must have missed the kegs on the way in. I am not at all sure what is going on there.

Paycheck!

I got a job!!

Well, kinda.

I was in the right place (next to my mentor teacher) at the right time (the moment when the principal of our summer school learned that one of their English teachers quit at the eleventh hour) and now I’m going to teach a semester of ninth grade English this summer. It will last about 3 and a half weeks, mostly in June, two classes a day. The pay is awesome (around $23 an hour) and the experience is priceless. Plus, it’s at CHS. Mr. Bees will be in classes at the time anyway, and we could definitely use the money.

The first semester of 9th grade English is pretty cool. Short stories and poetry. I’m excited…

In other good news, both DR and BR recently expressed confidence that I will be able to get a job this year. Feels good to hear it from people “in the know.”