Getting Started, year 12

First day of in-service training was today. I took absolutely every day of the summer for myself and my family. On the last day of my professional duties in June, I turned in the key to my classroom, got in my car, picked up my family, and drove to the beach. After a week getting into summer mode by the sea, we launched on a six week tour of California and New England, hiking, swimming, reading, playing, sleeping, cooking, eating, doing whateverthehellIwant... It was amazing. I arrived home last night happy and refreshed, and today barely made it to school in time for our continental breakfast and staff introductions. As it is entirely inappropriate to retire at the age of 41, I guess it's time to get back to work.

It was great to see my colleagues who have become friends. It's a diverse group of men and women in all stages of their careers. All fundamentally good people. All characters. There are over 100 people on staff. After two years, I can say I know over half of their names.

This is my third year at My School, and the grime and disfunction I found so disturbing during my first year is now just comfortable background noise. I find the fact that the staff bathroom has a quarter inch of water on the floor and a broken stall door charming. The missing ceiling tiles and the worn rugs are just part of the ambiance. The broken AC, however, is not cute. We are experiencing an extended heat wave, and there was another heat advisory issued today. The index was in the 100s. The cafeteria felt oppressively humid and stuffy, but when I went to my classroom it was literally an oven. When I opened the door, I felt a blast of heat. After a few minutes the cheese on my sandwich started to melt. After an hour of shoving desks around, the water in my bottle was warm enough to steep tea. I left when I started to feel nauseous.

Two years ago I would have rushed to the office to inform someone about the problem. (Surely, no one knows about this. If they KNEW it would be fixed, right?) Today I didn't bother. When I happened to see the head of maintenance in the hall, he looked exhausted himself, and said, "Yeah, the whole building is out. It's a mess. I'll put in a work order." Which is code for, "Buy a fan."

After 12 years of preparing for the first day of school, and after a summer of serenity, I am not panicking as I once would. If the AC doesn't come on, we'll figure it out. If my classroom library isn't set up on the first day, I'll have the kids do it in teams. There is no such thing as perfection in this business. It's all process.

Snow Days

Today is the fifth day of no school since the blizzard and they have already called school for tomorrow. More than a week out. At this rate we’ll be in school until July.

My own children also missed the week before that, Son for a school trip and Daughter for an ear infection, and then two days from the week before that for a family trip. Nine, going on ten, days of missed school.

It’s been wonderful.

I moved to this school district for weeks like these, when I would have been screaming my head off about school endless closures and scrambling for childcare so I could get to work, but instead I am having a pleasant, impromptu vacation with my children. We’ve been reading books, sledding, making food, watching movies. Today, since roads are all clear and it’s a mystery why school is closed in the first place, we may hit up some museums.

But that’s not the case for all of my students.

Jaime Rodriguez has called me five times every day since the snow fell. Each day when I finally pick up he says in his impossibly small voice (Jaime was retained once, is 11 years old in the fourth grade, and towers over his peers), “Is there school tomorrow?”

“Well, I hope so. I sure miss you guys... But most likely we’ll be closed so they can fix up the streets and plow the parking lots.”

“Oh, ok.” There is silence, but he doesn’t hang up.

“What have you been up to, Jaime?”

“Nothing. Watching tv.”

“Are your grandparents around?” Jaime lives with his grandparents who both work early shifts, so they are never at home when he has to wake up for school. Many days he doesn’t wake up for school. We exchanged cell phone numbers so I could call him when he doesn’t show up. Or so he can call me five times a day to ask if there will be school.

“No, mostly I’m just here by myself…. So when will there be school?” I picture him on the couch in a living room crowded with furniture, photos, plastic flowers and hand crocheted doilies, a widescreen tv, no siblings or adults around, on the phone with me.

“I don’t know,” I admit. I hope there’s school on Friday... If we do anything fun tomorrow, I’ll give you a call and maybe you can join us.” I say this because I mean it, but even as the promise escapes my lips I wonder if I could really pluck Jonathan out of his life for a day (for a lifetime). How many more of my students are sitting at home, by themselves, nothing much to do, each snow day? How many kids could I pluck? I am reminded of the teacher in Bridge to Terabithia who takes Jesse to the Smithsonian for the day without telling his parents so everyone thinks he is dead. I never understood how that teacher could be so irresponsible (except for the fact that she was an art teacher in the 70s). Now I know. Maybe I am that teacher.

I return to my fantasy of buying an old school bus, painting it bright green, getting my CDL license, and taking my whole class on field trips every week. I am Miss Frizzle, magic wand in hand.

Jaime is a year older than most of his peers, tall, rail thin, sweet.  He never sits down, a reality which I mostly ignore. When I absolutely need him to be still (because I am losing my mind) I give him a piece of playdough and that absorbs his energy for a minute. He does not read. At age 11 he has learned to sound out most words, and to hear him you might place him at a late second grade reading level. But he will not pick up a book unless there is an adult sitting directly by his side. He cannot spell most sight words and his handwriting looks as if he has never been taught to form letters. Even in my class of below grade level students, he is an outlier.

Jaime cannot afford to miss school. He does not want to miss school.

“Ok,” he tells me. “See you Friday maybe.” His voice doubts that I will call him tomorrow. I will be at home, typing on my computer, no magic wand in sight, waiting for him to call me.

(Happy) New Year: a return to joy

It's five a.m. on New Year's Day and all is not well. After a year and a half at my new school, I have returned to a state of despondence. Many days I do not look forward to work. I do not always enjoy teaching. I have lost hope for myself and my students.

But why?

I would chalk it up to a poor professional fit. Maybe I just chose the wrong career path fifteen years ago. I've given it a good go, but after all that, turns out I really don't have what it takes to be a teacher. Time to do some soul searching and move on.

But I see it everywhere. When I look at the faces of my best and brightest colleagues on any given day I feel the same hopelessness and exhaustion reflected back at me. When I ask almost teacher in my building on a Monday morning, "How was your weekend?" I can bet you the answer will be, "Too short." Even after a three day weekend. Even after a holiday break. Even after a seven week summer vacation. It's always, "too short."

This should not be the case. Schools should be fun, dynamic environments where everyone looks forward to coming to work. Learning is fun. Children are never boring. We chose this profession because (most often) we were called to it.

So what's the problem?

That's what I want to continue to explore with this blog: How is it I have come to a place where I no longer look forward to going to work to do what I love to do? What makes a school (and teacher) successful? How can schools become place where everyone thrives?

Is there hope? And, of course, where is the joy?