For Every Victory, Defeat

Not a week after writing about what this new community means to me, fear, loss, and defeat rise to the surface.

It started with a text message at 6:30 in the morning this past Wednesday from a colleague--one of the new, first-year teachers who I will call Laura. She wrote to say our principal had asked her that morning to stay late that evening for a meeting. My friend worried that she was in trouble and asked me if she was right to be worried. Laura had had a rough go of it since the beginning of the year, specifically with classroom management. Our administration had been hovering, and at times the fine line between supporting and breathing down her neck had been crossed. I could see where Laura was coming from, but I encouraged her to keep an open mind, reminding her that our administration wanted her to be successful so the kids could be successful. These words, at the time, were what I knew to be true but would later haunt me.

Wednesday flew by, and it wasn't until Thursday before I thought about Laura's meeting. After school I wanted to check in, but I was inundated with kids, so I waited for a break before I went to her room--that is until I heard one of our mutual students say something about Friday being Laura's last day. I instantly stopped the conversation I was having and went up to her. I begged her not to joke about something like this, but she assured me she was being truthful, and when she said she heard this directly from Laura, I ran next door to Angela's room. Angela is also a first-year teacher, and the expression on her face when I told her what my student said must have mirrored my own. She asked me to watch her kids while she went to go talk to Laura. I could see the two of them speak briefly at the door, and when Angela walked into Laura's room and closed the door behind her, my stomach sank.

Fifteen minutes must have passed before Angela returned, but she didn't need to say a thing--I already knew. I asked Angela to watch my kids while I talked to Laura even though I had a million questions and no words.

Laura opened the door, and I said, "It's true?" At first she nodded calmly. I asked what happened, and she said something about budget issues, but we both knew that wasn't it. Administration had viewed her as a weak link since the beginning of the year because of classroom management. Everyone knew that, especially Laura, but the teachers knew how hard she was trying despite being undermined, at times, by administration. Support can be a vague word, especially when applied to this situation. Various people from the central office were sent to her room for observations, and at a certain point this became a distraction to Laura and her students. Too much advice from too many perspectives became overwhelming and she wanted people to allow her the time to find what worked for her. She had more bad days than good, but our school is not an easy place to teach at let alone be a first-year teacher at, and no one could say that Laura wasn't trying. She was in it for the long-haul, and finally she realized that was it--she was out--and she started to sob. Like I said, I had no words. I just hugged her then walked away so she could clean out her room.

The following day we had a morning meeting, and our little group wore their emotions on their faces. The awkwardness, the tension, the sadness were a physical presence. I don't think anyone was listening to our principal talk about accreditation when we knew this was Laura's last day. For an hour we sat, and I thought for sure our principal wasn't going to say a thing, which made me angry, but when she did speak up the last few minutes, I was even angrier. It was a footnote in the meeting, it was dismissive, and it was not heartfelt. That's not how my principal operates, and I was confounded. After all we had overcome since the layoffs and the merger, how could this be an Ooops! We don't have the money to pay Laura, so we have to let her go!? Something felt off, wrong, suspicious. Then my principal said she wanted to thank Laura for her time at our school and started to clap. Our group looked at each other, as if asking one another if this was really happening. Laura looked like she wanted the floor to swallow her. I raised my hand before our meeting ended and said, "I just have to say that Laura, you were my first friend amongst the new teachers, and I'm devastated about this. We all have grown to love you and your absence will be felt." She started to cry, and we all went over to her to give her a hug.

The rest of the day felt like something from a parallel universe--reality but not. We all had knots in our stomachs that even our Friday happy hour could not subside. We compared stories and theories, we joked around, we got a little drunk, Laura got a lot of drunk, but at the end of the evening, everything felt so unresolved, so unsettled.

Losing a colleague in a situation like we are in is something that one does not just get over. When a group bonds in a crisis situation, which is what we are always in, the bonds grow fast and they grow strong. We are separate entities that operate as one because to face this as an individual is too much. To be down a person is like losing a limb. We are no longer complete. We no longer function the same way. We are, in fact, disabled, and for that there is no cure.

Depression

It's been ten days since my last post. Ten long days. Spring break is about a month away, and it can't come soon enough. Juggling three different grade levels and curriculum on an accelerated schedule is unmanageable. This past week I've stood before my students totally unprepared and "winging it." While in the past I've done that--scrapped a lesson plan and let the students' interest guide the day's discussion or the topic of study--this is not like before. This is "I'm going on four or five hours of sleep and I'm trying to read three novels simultaneously and develop lesson plans and grade essays and homework and I'm too exhausted to do it all so something has to give."

On top of my day-to-day work struggles, I have another battle I'm fighting. I'm going to go out on a limb here and be more honest with you than I've probably ever been before. I've fought depression since my adolescence, but since my early twenties, my mood and outlook have been steady and optimistic. Two years ago, when I lost my job, that all changed, and today, as I stand against waves of uncertainty in my professional life, my personal life is taking a beating. My depression is back and in full force in a way it hasn't been in a long, long time.

There were many situations when I was a child that rendered me powerless. My teachers were my protectors; my education was my escape. Becoming a teacher was a not-so-obvious next step for me, but once my career started, it all made sense to me--my classroom was a place of empowerment for me. I wrapped up my identity in who I was to my students, so when I lost my job and the "teacher" was stripped from me, I didn't know who I was. I didn't know where to find that empowerment.

Now that I am back in the classroom, a place of betrayal, in a sense, there is part of me that feels like a powerless child. My work environment mimics a place and pattern I know all too well--instability, chaos, hurt--in other words, the need to protect and flee. Only I'm the adult, and there are 30 or so children depending on me.

Since December, I've been back on anti-depressant and anti-anxiety medication. While both are helping me keep my head above water, I know they are only a band-aid to the larger issue. There's a lot of healing and rebuilding to be done, and at times I don't know where to start. While I need to find another job, I question if I can continue a profession that requires so much of me personally.

Hi. It's Me. I'm Still Alive.

Sort of. Between reading three novels simultaneously, grading, and having at least a vague sense of what I'm doing each day, I barely have time for things like sleeping . . . eating. You know, having a personal life outside the classroom. Laundry occurs when I'm out of underwear. Mail piles up unopened. Calls go unreturned. Dishes? I'll just rinse out yesterday's coffee mug.

My once well-thought-out lesson plans have dwindled down to two to three bullet points in a 1960s-ish lesson plan book. Four bullet points if I'm feeling fancy. And I'm barely keeping my head above water.

Most days feel like doing the dog paddle in the middle of the ocean. I'm trying to get off Gilligan's Island, but I'm pretty exhausted. A ship or helicopter could save me, or I could save myself. Or, I could die trying to find the mainland.

Maybe I should just stay on Gilligan's Island. At least it's entertaining and No Child Left Behind doesn't exist.

News Flash

Wow, the CEO of our charter just emailed us this evening to tell us we will make payroll this month AND actually get books--quite possibly enough for each student!

Golly, I wonder if this means we will get more supplies than the ONE dry erase marker we received, or if the pigeons will be removed from my ceiling (or at least the bird droppings from my walls), or if our PE teacher will get a budget for equipment, or if we will finally get paper for the copier? Holy smokes, maybe we could get a bulk supply of toilet paper and toner for the copier so we never run out again!

Man, we're really college-prep now!

Shit Hitting the Fan

It's been awhile, so here is a quick update:

• Last Monday, a fight broke out in the middle of our morning assembly.
• The fight carried over into our passing period between 1st and 2nd period, becoming two additional fights.
• NONE of kids were suspended, and we have not addressed the issue as a school.
• I found out this past weekend (only through my own efforts to get a second and third opinion) that my school gave me bad information and my credential will expire this summer before I meet all the necessary requirements, so now I have to file for an appeal.
• I have to pay for the appeal.
• Even though the "semester" ended like a week before Thanksgiving, the kids are just now getting their report cards. One of my kids said today, "I bet it's because we can't afford stamps."
• We ran out of toilet paper on Wednesday and did not get more until today.
• The most depressing: my best kids are telling me they can't keep up with this schedule and several of them are looking for a new school. But hey, who can blame them? I'm doing the same thing.

Things Your Education Program Will Never Tell You

1) You must have a bladder made of steal. You will drink copious amounts of coffee to keep the momentum throughout the day, but you will never be allowed to pee.

2) Get a second job. Schools these days will give you the bare minimum, like a pen and a pencil, and if you're lucky, a dry erase marker. If you want anything else, it's coming out of your paycheck.

3) Wear a bullet-proof vest (I'm speaking metaphorically here). Kids will hurl some nasty insults. Some I've heard as of late: "You're a hypocrite!" "I'm not choosing between your class and my future!" "I wish you would have been fired and not Mr. So And So." Ouch. It hurts, and there are days I just want to cry.

4) Long gone are the schools on TV that have gleaming hardwood floors and a plant in the window and the secretary who has been there for 20 years and knows everyone. If those places exist, I've not found them. Welcome to the understaffed urban school where pigeons live in the ceiling, termites are in the walls, and the roof leaks. Oh, and the cleaning crew is you!

5) Be prepared to form attachments, and don't buy into that "Never touch a student." Looking at the list so far, why would anyone endure this? The kids. I've loved them, and I love them still. Earlier this week, one of my kids said, "You look like you need a hug." I did, and that hug allowed me to make it through the rest of the day.

6) You need to be able to eat in 15 minutes. You know how corporate America gets "hour lunches?" Yeah, not in the world of education. If you don't inhale your food as a teacher, you just won't eat.

7) Say farewell to lazy weekends. Most teachers I know, myself included, work a 60-80 hour workweek.

8) You have to have a no-nonsense attitude, especially when teaching in an urban environment. Kids will come up with a million and one reasons why they can't or won't, and they will challenge your authority. You have to stand firm in your expectations and your positions. My new favorite comeback: "Your 14-year-old-self doesn't get to tell me what and how. Until the day comes when you've attended college for eight years and you've been in the classroom for seven years, you don't utter a peep about how and why I do things. You read me?"

9) Every teacher drinks. It's just a no-brainer.

10) Personal space? They want to know everything about you. Be prepared to know where the line is, then draw it with a really, really thick marker.    

11) The lightbulb moments are amazing. When a kid get it--or even better--when a kid teaches you something, it's the best high. It's like climbing a mountain then reaching the summit. It's simply breathtaking.

12) It's better to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission. My master teacher taught me this. If you ask for permission, then all these other people get involved and it takes a month for an answer. Do it anyway, then in the meantime, practice the "Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't realize I needed to consult you about this matter."

13) You're not a real teacher until you think you're the worst teacher ever, and you're screwing up the lives of your kids.

14) You will quit your job in your mind (and maybe even for real) more times than you'd ever want to publically admit.

15) Everyone has an opinion on how to fix education, but the teachers' voices are the ones that need to be the loudest. Outside of parenting, this is the hardest job and the most important job there is. The education of the next generation rests upon our shoulders. Every doctor, politician, actor, police officer, lawyer, teacher, CEO, etc., was once a student and had a teacher. Without us, none of those jobs would be possible. Yet at the same time, teachers have very little input on the decisions that directly impact their jobs. That's why we can't do this alone, and that's why teachers need to educate their community about what is really going on in their classrooms so we can fix this.