In June of 2007 I met with a hiring committee. During the interview, I asked the committee what the district’s philosophy of education was. Instead of receiving a lengthy diatribe, I was given blank stares. After the interview, I had a feeling that I got the job, but wasn’t really sure that I WANTED it. Sure, I needed the job, but did I really want to work for a joint that didn’t even know how to explain their beliefs? Did I want to go back into a middle school classroom? I hate middle school and really didn’t feel like an effective teacher when in those middle school rooms.
I make it to the second round. At this point I wasn’t really excited, since during this time I was waiting to hear back from a school I reeeeally wanted the work at. I agreed to meet with the principal, regardless. I immediately liked her style. She seemed to appreciate my desire to teach in an urban setting and was excited by my ideas for the curriculum. Kind of like my love life, I liked that she liked me…so I accepted the job offer and signed the contract on the spot.
A few weeks pass. In the mail I receive a letter announcing the arrival of a new principal. Immediately I get this oh-sweet-Jesus-help-me-I’m-in-deep-shit feeling. I don’t say a word of this to anyone for a few days, since I’m so scared of jinxing the job. The year prior I had quit another teaching job, so I kept telling myself to just be grateful that someone was willing to pay this kind of money for me to teach at ALL.
I make a few phone calls, inquiring about the basic stuff for starting up the school year. They tell me that the orientation information is in the mail. More weeks pass. I still haven’t received anything in the mail about my benefits, what I would actually be teaching, what I should be planning for, how many kids I might have in the classroom, how and when I need to order supplies. At this point I was getting nervous enough to discuss it with friends and family, worried that this was going to be yet another disastrous year at a poorly organized school. And for the record, if a school is disorganized, you bet your ass the kids are a little out of control. But I kept trying to move forward, thinking that this could be a great move.
The orientation materials come. I start trying to get excited. I make my way to the orientation and immediately connect with the other new hires (all slightly sarcastic chicks new to the building, but not new to the profession). We sit through a few gazillion presentations. One of my new friend turns to me and says, “I think I’m getting an ulcer already.” During orientation, the state publishes a report on the top violent schools. Ours is at the top of the list. I’m getting bad vibes, but keep trying hard to ignore them, thinking that I’m just being paranoid due to the prior years’ horrific experience. Lightening doesn’t strike twice, right?
So let’s fast forward to day one. I have no textbooks. I have no curriculum. I have no laptop which I need for attendance. No printer. I have no supplies other than the stuff I spent $500 on for my classroom…posters, markers, folders, stuff…(Which I later learn won’t be refunded). At this point, I get the Groundhog’s Day feeling coming on. I make it to week 2 without making a complaint. The kids are horrible. I’m the second one in the building at 7am and the last one out at 5:30…everyday.
In the middle of week three a kid pushes me. I then learn that when I made a phone call home the prior week, Kid decided it would be a good idea to impersonate his/her mother, and I fell for the ploy. Kid gets a slap-on-the-wrist one day suspension for pushing me.
I still have no books. No one else seems too worried about it, but it freaks the shit out of me to teach literature without a BOOK. I’m REALLY freaked out that a kid put their hands on me and isn’t expelled. I had been in bad schools before, but I never had a kid lay a hand on me. I finally get the courage to voice my complaints, since I really do like my new boss. Boss is sympathetic, encouraging, and tries hard to be helpful. At the same time, Boss has no idea where we can locate…BOOKS. Boss seems to think Kid who pushed me has problems, so I back off, and agree to make a better effort with him/her.
By week four, I’m nursing a three week long cold. I’m dying, but don’t have the time or the courage to ask for a sick day to figure out why I can’t shake the cold. The last time I was this sick was 5 years before. I have a horrible day, kids screaming at me, throwing paper at me…the type of stuff you see in movies…I had been in (and handled) some of the toughest high school classrooms in the city, but middle school was clearly NOT the place for me. I turn the overhead off, after practically begging them to do their journal starter (something I had been doing with them for four weeks, yet they hadn’t seemed to get the hang of coming into the classroom, calming down, and shutting the hell up…), I calmly walk over to the phone to call for assistance, something I really hate doing…and tell my boss that I’d like to take an emergency personal day. So we get class coverage, I go home and go to the doctor. I discover that I have a double ear infection and bronchitis…oh…and anxiety. When the doctor mentioned anxiety, I looked at him dumbfounded. I had had my own bouts of depression, but never ever felt anxious enough to make myself sick. Doc mentions that I’ve lost 20 pounds in the month since my check-up. The weight loss makes me realize that this job is taking its toll on my body, which is uncool. Doc offers anxiety med script and hands it to me. I fill it, but wonder if a job is really worth THIS. I took a long walk with my dog, talk to a friend, and decide that this isn’t going to work out. I return the following day and explain everything to by boss. Boss seems to think that the problem is the lack of cohesive team. I try to politely tell him/her that yes, this could play a part, but the lack of direction, curriculum, and…BOOKS is what was making it so difficult. I explain that I always had a soft-handed approach to classroom management, an approach that works in high schools, but certainly doesn’t in middle schools. He still maintains that the main problem isn’t me and offers a reference for future jobs. I don’t take up the offer, wishing I could completely erase the experience from my memory and resume.
Later I learn from friends that the person who replaced me quit within a few weeks, via a 6am voicemail. The school later fires a much beloved teacher because his/her test scores are too low. When I hear both stories I confirm to myself that I’ve made the right decision despite knowing how quitting TWO contract jobs are going to look on a resume.
I go into my cave. I sit around watching Montel and soap operas. After two weeks of this, my friend reminds me that I still have bills to pay, and encourages me to go back to per dium subbing until I decide what I want to do with my life.
I end up going to a school I knew little of. The first day is easy; the faculty was wonderful, the support staff was even better. From day one I felt happy being there. I quickly make connections and get to know the kids. Another teacher introduces me to a few admins, which helps me guarantee that I’ll be in this building for the time being. A freak mishap puts a long-term sub into the hospital and my new boss comes to me asking if I’m certified. I end up teaching…again…in a maternity leave spot. I get sucked back in. The kids are decent. I get to teach what I know how to teach—high school lit.
When that maternity leave ends, my boss offers another one that will bring me all the way to April. I don’t think twice and take it. I’m happy being in this false reality, acting as a “real” teacher, while knowing that it will soon be over. Kids ask why I’m not a “real” teacher when I act like one. Colleagues ask why I’m only subbing. My answers come slowly, but I eventually spill it for a few. They shake their heads, knowingly. I hear other educators’ countless horror stories.
I consider trying to go back to the first job I quit and begging my boss (who many refer to as The Devil) for a job back. I remind myself that even if this person was gracious enough to give me a placement, I would likely end up in another horrible middle school (where all the newbies are placed, regardless of experience). Put me at the center of a high school with drug dealers, truants, gangstahs and potheads and I can cope. I can get along with the baddest of badasses and even have a few of said badasses realize that reading isn’t that bad. I can do all of this when I get to work with a community of teachers and administrators who intrinsically care about the kids they’re working with. I can do this when I have BOOKS to woo the badasses with. I can do this when I have working copying machines. I can do this when I have time to talk to my colleagues in my subject area. But put me in the middle of a classroom with 30 14 year olds and I’ll leave within a month….
A long time ago, in a drunken argument with my then housemate, we debated the question, “What’s more important: the journey or the destination?” I advocated for the journey. I don’t think at 21 I anticipated the journey would be smooth pavement in some areas and roadblocks for miles. And where’s the free ride when I need it?
No to be too dramatic, but the reality of leaving teaching is, at times, a little difficult to hold onto. I keep getting sucked back in. I quit, go back to subbing for money until I figure out what I really want, get recruited to take on long-term placements, start applying again for real jobs…repeat spin cycle, two years and counting… I know what keeps bringing me back. And though it always sounds cliché, the kids keep bringing me back. My calling isn’t noble. I like that they need me and selfishly enjoy helping them. They make me a better person.
Two days ago a kid (who was once suspended for calling me a f—–g b—h) came up to me in the hall to tell me in a hushed voice that she “did the right thing” and had an abortion after telling her mom that she was pregnant. As other kids walked past and the bell rang, all I could do was squeeze her hand and say, “Oh honey, I’m so sorry.” This wasn’t my first abortion conversation of the year; something that makes me really uncomfortable…This wasn’t the first time a kid’s real life story made me want to scream from a roof top. This wasn’t the first time that someone came to me with their life and wasn’t looking for advice, but just an ear and a shoulder to maybe take a little burden off of theirs. They rarely come for sympathy, but more so confirmation that no matter what, things are going to be okay, that they’ll get through the pregnancy, the drug addiction, the physical abuse, the neglect, the boyfriend in jail, the cousin shot dead in the middle of the street, the three bus rides it takes to get to school, the after school job that keeps them out until 11 and prevents them from doing homework, their 6 other siblings from 4 different dads, their mom addicted to crack far off in another state, or their abortion … (which of course reminds me of a Carly Simon song):
They don’t know that you’re striving to be someone
And you’re not sure how you will fare.
They just want you to be there.
Just as long as you’re somewhat right
You can do no wrong.
Their trusting eyes looking up at you
Believing you’re so strong.
They Just Want You To Be There, Carly Simon
Like a petulant girl-child, I want what I want, when I want it. I WANT to be there, but want to be WHERE I choose. This sense of entitlement seems to be perpetuated by the people I love—people who seem to have a greater vision of me than I have of myself….Which makes me wonder, maybe that’s half the problem.
You Said It