Just when you think you can't do it anymore, can't hack the (seriously) early mornings, the impossible, sometimes whiny, sometimes ludicrous demands, the line at the copier in the mornings, where you--still being fairly junior--carefully defend your turf-- there is a break. A week, nine days including weekends, and a stillness that's so unusual it feels odd. Your ears adjust to the quiet, embrace it; you hear the sound of falling rain, notice that somehow, while you've been working away, the seasons have changed. That's just how out of touch you are, with the world around you.
My dad used to struggle with 'transitions'; vacations were always hard for him, I think, because they were long (he's a college professor), and that meant spending more time than he would have liked without 'work' to do, without touching, somehow, that part of his identity. I've wondered sometimes if in this I'm my father's daughter, a workaholic, addicted to the predictability, the stability, the status, the self-righteousness, that having good work to do brings.
But, after a few vacations days, a few here, and a couple in a new city, I'm pretty sure I'm only a *sometimes* workaholic. I love when time slows to a crawl, when I can build whole days around a single meal, or activity, or call friends without having to make plans six weeks in advance. My rhythm changes when I'm on vacation, not in huge ways (I still go to bed around the same time, and wake up early, though not *so* early), but in the way I move from task to task, which becomes more organic, less tethered. My body even feels different...sort of...even, and steady. I always wonder how to take that feeling with me, back into the work week, but it doesn't travel well, it resists capture, it's beautiful, but fleeting.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Saturday, March 28, 2009
this job is fun
I've read a lot about teachers who burn out after year five (or before), attempts to keep them in the profession, to make the job more sustainable, etc. Some weeks, especially in the spring months, I think I'm *burnt* out, not just in the process, but toasted, basically.
We've been interviewing candidates for the new principal position at South (though 'interviewing' isn't the right word; we ask questions, the candidate answers, and we, the faculty, fill out feedback forms. I'm not really clear on who makes the final decision, or how). And my favorite candidate, a guy who's been the principal at one of the only exam schools in Boston, said something that surprised and impressed me. "Schools are fun places," he said, with an emphasis on the word 'fun' and an easy smile. He meant it. No matter how crazy/hectic/impossible/frustrating/maddening things get, it's still, you know, *fun*.
So I've been trying to look for the things that make me laugh in every day. Sometimes it's something as simple as a look or a laugh from a kid...other days it's something a colleague writes on a white board, filling up with comments (both tongue-in-cheek and not). The fun will keep the job sustainable.
And, more seriously, sometimes the job is more fun than some other parts of my life, which tend to wound and cut in ways that I wish they didn't. With kids I feel relaxed and easy; they can laugh at themselves, and I don't have to put up walls to protect myself, because they're just not difficult that way. They may be tired, or cranky, or reluctant, or sad, but they are such troopers...they come every day, they work (even hard sometimes), they go home, sleep a little, and do it all over again. I admire them so much.
We've been interviewing candidates for the new principal position at South (though 'interviewing' isn't the right word; we ask questions, the candidate answers, and we, the faculty, fill out feedback forms. I'm not really clear on who makes the final decision, or how). And my favorite candidate, a guy who's been the principal at one of the only exam schools in Boston, said something that surprised and impressed me. "Schools are fun places," he said, with an emphasis on the word 'fun' and an easy smile. He meant it. No matter how crazy/hectic/impossible/frustrating/maddening things get, it's still, you know, *fun*.
So I've been trying to look for the things that make me laugh in every day. Sometimes it's something as simple as a look or a laugh from a kid...other days it's something a colleague writes on a white board, filling up with comments (both tongue-in-cheek and not). The fun will keep the job sustainable.
And, more seriously, sometimes the job is more fun than some other parts of my life, which tend to wound and cut in ways that I wish they didn't. With kids I feel relaxed and easy; they can laugh at themselves, and I don't have to put up walls to protect myself, because they're just not difficult that way. They may be tired, or cranky, or reluctant, or sad, but they are such troopers...they come every day, they work (even hard sometimes), they go home, sleep a little, and do it all over again. I admire them so much.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
A more perfect union
I've been busy this winter, so haven't had a chance to write much, which is to say, I've been writing, just not blogging. I'm still trying to figure out what writing belongs here, in a more public forum, and what belongs elsewhere. This blog is ostensibly about school, so...I'll (more or less) stick to that.
One of the things that I've been thinking about this winter (as the economy continues to falter/fail, and people collectively, and in the best spirits they can muster, tighten their belts), is our responsibility to each other in times of crisis. Does it increase, because we're all going through the same, collective difficulty? Or are people justified in wanting to keep more of what they have for themselves, because they're afraid that if they don't, they might regret it later.
No where was this question/conflict more evident at our most recent union meeting. Several hundred people from the districts' elementary, middle, and high schools gathered in a closed door meeting in an elementary school gymnasium...and it quickly felt like a war room. How would we do battle with the city this contract negotiation year?
I should say that I know I'm lucky to work in a district with a union. In VA, where I grew up, there are no teachers' unions, and I suspect this is the case throughout the south, where organized labor never really caught on as a trenchant cause. I should also say that I don't have a choice about being in my union: our membership dues are required, and are pretty high. My grandparents, and great grandparents were union types, and I've heard that they were heroic in their actions, and words.
I had a hard time, though, at this meeting. The list of proposed 'non-negotiables' the union folks presented included: retention of control over health care (the % we pay/year), continuing the step system, contracts for temp workers (maybe?) continuation of the COL increase (cost of living). (So, essentially: nothing changes). When someone asked if the city would be able to afford to keep things 'as is', no one knew the answer. That's a HUGE problem, and made me feel like my negotiators purposefully hadn't done their homework (you know, the thing I'm paying huge dues for them to do).
Instead, people spoke of the necessity to preserve the salaries for the highest earners (people nearing retirement), whose penions might shrink if we agreed to a wage freeze. There were raucous cheers when someone sugegsted that whatever we agree to now, when the recession ends, we'll be stuck with until the next contract. Only a few (who, importantly, were among the older teachers there) said what was needful: that everyone was hurting, and that the best thing we could do would be to spread resources as intelligently as possible to prevent lay offs. There were fewer, and far more subdued, cheers, after these speakers.
Some people in this town already think teachers are essentially layabouts, who clock in and clock out, whose performance is really never evaluated, who keep family friendly hours, and who spend summers vacationing. They're, of course, totally misguided: I invite them to spend a day in my life, which includes rising before dawn, returning at dusk, and grading LOTS of papers. But in some ways, I understand why people might be under this misapprehension. While lawyers or doctors are 'successful' if they win cases or cure patients, teachers are successful if they...do what exactly? Their success may be palpable, but it's hard to measure, and rarely measured publicly. In what other job, as Bill Gates noted recently, does your supervisor have to ask you in advance if you can be observed or evaluated? In what other job does your union negotiate the terms of that evaluation?
The union meeting wound down. The second to last speaker made an empassioned plea: "we deserved" better, we work so hard, etc. All true. She also said that if this meant that some poeple would lose their jobs during the recession ("there's *always* a recession," she said) that this was probably be 'for the best', for the union as a whole. In other words, in spite of mandatory membership, the union is actually only for some of its members: the ones with tenure, not its newest recruits. You know. The ones who earn less money.
But it was the last speaker who stole the show, as far as I'm concerned. She was a social worker, a single mom, who had worked for the district for twelve years, and was recently laid off. She said she was a "huge lefty" but that after the trauma of being laid off, she really didn't want anyone else to go through that particular hell. She suggested that we do whatever we can to save jobs.
We teachers talk about not wanting to be treated like factory workers, but like the professionals we are, some of us with multiple degrees from ivy leage universities, and yet, we agree to a system better suited to garment workers (who, by the way, desperately need it). We've really outgrown the union we have, and we need a better, more perfect one, to help us meet the goals which we'll--undoubtedly--be asked to meet. The ones we should *want* to meet. The ones I want to meet.
One of the things that I've been thinking about this winter (as the economy continues to falter/fail, and people collectively, and in the best spirits they can muster, tighten their belts), is our responsibility to each other in times of crisis. Does it increase, because we're all going through the same, collective difficulty? Or are people justified in wanting to keep more of what they have for themselves, because they're afraid that if they don't, they might regret it later.
No where was this question/conflict more evident at our most recent union meeting. Several hundred people from the districts' elementary, middle, and high schools gathered in a closed door meeting in an elementary school gymnasium...and it quickly felt like a war room. How would we do battle with the city this contract negotiation year?
I should say that I know I'm lucky to work in a district with a union. In VA, where I grew up, there are no teachers' unions, and I suspect this is the case throughout the south, where organized labor never really caught on as a trenchant cause. I should also say that I don't have a choice about being in my union: our membership dues are required, and are pretty high. My grandparents, and great grandparents were union types, and I've heard that they were heroic in their actions, and words.
I had a hard time, though, at this meeting. The list of proposed 'non-negotiables' the union folks presented included: retention of control over health care (the % we pay/year), continuing the step system, contracts for temp workers (maybe?) continuation of the COL increase (cost of living). (So, essentially: nothing changes). When someone asked if the city would be able to afford to keep things 'as is', no one knew the answer. That's a HUGE problem, and made me feel like my negotiators purposefully hadn't done their homework (you know, the thing I'm paying huge dues for them to do).
Instead, people spoke of the necessity to preserve the salaries for the highest earners (people nearing retirement), whose penions might shrink if we agreed to a wage freeze. There were raucous cheers when someone sugegsted that whatever we agree to now, when the recession ends, we'll be stuck with until the next contract. Only a few (who, importantly, were among the older teachers there) said what was needful: that everyone was hurting, and that the best thing we could do would be to spread resources as intelligently as possible to prevent lay offs. There were fewer, and far more subdued, cheers, after these speakers.
Some people in this town already think teachers are essentially layabouts, who clock in and clock out, whose performance is really never evaluated, who keep family friendly hours, and who spend summers vacationing. They're, of course, totally misguided: I invite them to spend a day in my life, which includes rising before dawn, returning at dusk, and grading LOTS of papers. But in some ways, I understand why people might be under this misapprehension. While lawyers or doctors are 'successful' if they win cases or cure patients, teachers are successful if they...do what exactly? Their success may be palpable, but it's hard to measure, and rarely measured publicly. In what other job, as Bill Gates noted recently, does your supervisor have to ask you in advance if you can be observed or evaluated? In what other job does your union negotiate the terms of that evaluation?
The union meeting wound down. The second to last speaker made an empassioned plea: "we deserved" better, we work so hard, etc. All true. She also said that if this meant that some poeple would lose their jobs during the recession ("there's *always* a recession," she said) that this was probably be 'for the best', for the union as a whole. In other words, in spite of mandatory membership, the union is actually only for some of its members: the ones with tenure, not its newest recruits. You know. The ones who earn less money.
But it was the last speaker who stole the show, as far as I'm concerned. She was a social worker, a single mom, who had worked for the district for twelve years, and was recently laid off. She said she was a "huge lefty" but that after the trauma of being laid off, she really didn't want anyone else to go through that particular hell. She suggested that we do whatever we can to save jobs.
We teachers talk about not wanting to be treated like factory workers, but like the professionals we are, some of us with multiple degrees from ivy leage universities, and yet, we agree to a system better suited to garment workers (who, by the way, desperately need it). We've really outgrown the union we have, and we need a better, more perfect one, to help us meet the goals which we'll--undoubtedly--be asked to meet. The ones we should *want* to meet. The ones I want to meet.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
the half-moon monster
Insomnia is a strange beast. It's unpredictable, unwieldy, difficult to slay. And because I used to be a night owl, making coffee at midnight and writing through the night, it's especially cruel. Everyone has a demon; I haven't figured out why this beast likes me, exactly, but I've struggled to keep it at bay on and off for years.
My last real encounter with the beast was during my first year of teaching. I thought I would be up late thinking about kids and their problems (why does Josh like poking himself with a pencil? How can I help Emily actually improve her writing instead of just thinking she is?), but instead, I'd go to sleep thinking about what hadn't gone well that day, and worried about how my lessons would work the next. My heart often pounded in my chest; I'd wake up, try to take notes to calm down, and then find myself in the same place as before: anxious, sleepless, frustrated. I had a long commute to work, so I was usually up by six anyway; in a bad cycle, I slept only a few hours a night during the week. When I needed to rest in the middle of the day, so overcome by exhaustion, my colleagues thought I was slacking, a totally baseless, and really painful accusation, which still sort of smarts.
I tried: switching the half-caf, then de-caf; turning the clock around; wearing thick socks; running more (to tire myself out); lavender Badger Balm; hot baths. Not much worked. Over time, though, the beast retreated slightly, and became a once a week thing (usually Sunday nights). And now, emotional stress (of my own making) keeps me up. Still not ideal, but at least not so workplace related.
Teaching is the kind of vocation that attracts people with perfectionist tendencies. In order to be a better teacher, and keep insomnia at bay, I've had to let go of some things: grading every paper, planning every class out the night before, emailing kids, and sometimes, parents, right away. But I've only been able to do that as I've become more confident in my own innate abilities as a teacher--abilities I lacked completely that first year.
My last real encounter with the beast was during my first year of teaching. I thought I would be up late thinking about kids and their problems (why does Josh like poking himself with a pencil? How can I help Emily actually improve her writing instead of just thinking she is?), but instead, I'd go to sleep thinking about what hadn't gone well that day, and worried about how my lessons would work the next. My heart often pounded in my chest; I'd wake up, try to take notes to calm down, and then find myself in the same place as before: anxious, sleepless, frustrated. I had a long commute to work, so I was usually up by six anyway; in a bad cycle, I slept only a few hours a night during the week. When I needed to rest in the middle of the day, so overcome by exhaustion, my colleagues thought I was slacking, a totally baseless, and really painful accusation, which still sort of smarts.
I tried: switching the half-caf, then de-caf; turning the clock around; wearing thick socks; running more (to tire myself out); lavender Badger Balm; hot baths. Not much worked. Over time, though, the beast retreated slightly, and became a once a week thing (usually Sunday nights). And now, emotional stress (of my own making) keeps me up. Still not ideal, but at least not so workplace related.
Teaching is the kind of vocation that attracts people with perfectionist tendencies. In order to be a better teacher, and keep insomnia at bay, I've had to let go of some things: grading every paper, planning every class out the night before, emailing kids, and sometimes, parents, right away. But I've only been able to do that as I've become more confident in my own innate abilities as a teacher--abilities I lacked completely that first year.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
breakout space
So, I'm writing this while students are completing one of three, very different tasks: writing their papers, getting help with their writing from a tutor, and reviewing/editing each others' work. And, remarkably, even though my sophomores are technically in three different spaces in the school, I don't have anything to do. The ones who are writing are behind enough with their work that they really need the work time; the ones getting help the need help, and the ones reviewing are doing so quietly, effectively, productively. This is what teaching should be: flexible and feasible. Students who finish in the lab can join the peer review; students who no longer need help can go to the computer lab to write. Students who don't know what to do with an aspect of their peers' writing can ask me. So I get to feel useful, without feeling overwhelmed. :-) This happens so rarely anyway; it's particularly impressive so close to winter vacation.
Of course one of the reasons I can structure class this way is that there's some accountability built in. And, I've been walking between my classroom, the computer lab, and the writing center. It's not a long walk (though this morning it sort of feels like it) but I definitely wish I had ten computers in the back of the room. Or an adjoining space where a peer tutor could help kids who need it. Since I don't, I'm breaking school rules by leaving kids unattended (at least few a few minutes at a time).*
*Addendum: I did, in fact, get caught breaking this rule, by another teacher in the department. She was within her rights to enforce it, but the rule needs changing. One continuing frustration is that the school's infrastructure lacks the flexibility good teaching (and what we're calling 'differentiated instruction) requires. We don't trust students enough to give them freer access to the computer lab, and, as a result, the lab is often unoccupied (leaving kids who have no computer access at home stranded). Which makes me think of Parker Palmer's thoughts on trust in a community: you can have the best teachers working in a school, but a school community where people in the building don't trust each other will only enjoy limited success.
Of course one of the reasons I can structure class this way is that there's some accountability built in. And, I've been walking between my classroom, the computer lab, and the writing center. It's not a long walk (though this morning it sort of feels like it) but I definitely wish I had ten computers in the back of the room. Or an adjoining space where a peer tutor could help kids who need it. Since I don't, I'm breaking school rules by leaving kids unattended (at least few a few minutes at a time).*
*Addendum: I did, in fact, get caught breaking this rule, by another teacher in the department. She was within her rights to enforce it, but the rule needs changing. One continuing frustration is that the school's infrastructure lacks the flexibility good teaching (and what we're calling 'differentiated instruction) requires. We don't trust students enough to give them freer access to the computer lab, and, as a result, the lab is often unoccupied (leaving kids who have no computer access at home stranded). Which makes me think of Parker Palmer's thoughts on trust in a community: you can have the best teachers working in a school, but a school community where people in the building don't trust each other will only enjoy limited success.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Sticks and stones
When I was in eighth grade, Patrick, a boy who shared my busstop called me some horrific names. I don't really remember what he said, exactly, just that the language was intensely sexual, threatening, and that I felt sort of weird afterwards. (I think he used the 'c' word). A few years later, an older boy in my driver's ed class whispered something similarly offensive, and mysterious, to me after class.
I didn't know what to make of these words, their meaning obscure (to me, anyway, and possibly to them, too), and their intent unclear. I knew I didn't want to have sex with either of the offenders (or with anyone, at that point, for that matter). And I knew that it wasn't okay for them to speak the way they did, to me, but I wasn't sure why, or, what to say.
So, after the incident at the busstop, I enlisted my best friend, and decided I had to seek revenge; I literally didn't know what else to do. Telling an adult would have been so embarrassing, and, I was old enough to fight my own battles. Limited means and resources meant that our options were limited; we decided on toilet papering his house (using eggs and liquid soap as an adhesive). Not my finest moment, but in some ways, a glorious one. Somehow, it seemed just right: the mess of it all. I had no idea if he would suspect me, but I didn't care. As far as I was concered, he was getting off easy.
One phone call from the cops (which turned out to be a hoax) later, my mom marched me up the street to apologize. I can't remember what I said, but I apologized to his mom, for making a mess, and not to Patrick, who was outside, picking toilet paper out of the trees and scowling. It was all I could do to keep from grinning with pride and glee. Even though my parents were furious with their would-be vandal of a daughter, I was, and still am, so not sorry. Revenge was sweet. Patrick never picked on me again.
What I am sorry about is that there was no other recourse available to me at the time. My parents were too obtuse to imagine their daughter would encounter sexual taunting (even though I'd alluded to it before). Counselors and school administrators were too busy dealing with 'real' problems (vagrancy, violence, and, ironically, vandalism), and were an unfriendly bunch; I can't think of anyone I might have approached, or what I would have said. I did well in school; no one would have guessed that I needed any kind of assistance, except maybe more challegning classes. But never in my life had I felt more vulnerable, and more powerless, than in middle school. I wish I'd been more able to speak my mind. When I have kids, I want them to be able to.
And while I'm amazed at the advocacy skills of my students, sometimes I wonder if there are any among them who need help but lack the access, or resources, or both, to get it.
I didn't know what to make of these words, their meaning obscure (to me, anyway, and possibly to them, too), and their intent unclear. I knew I didn't want to have sex with either of the offenders (or with anyone, at that point, for that matter). And I knew that it wasn't okay for them to speak the way they did, to me, but I wasn't sure why, or, what to say.
So, after the incident at the busstop, I enlisted my best friend, and decided I had to seek revenge; I literally didn't know what else to do. Telling an adult would have been so embarrassing, and, I was old enough to fight my own battles. Limited means and resources meant that our options were limited; we decided on toilet papering his house (using eggs and liquid soap as an adhesive). Not my finest moment, but in some ways, a glorious one. Somehow, it seemed just right: the mess of it all. I had no idea if he would suspect me, but I didn't care. As far as I was concered, he was getting off easy.
One phone call from the cops (which turned out to be a hoax) later, my mom marched me up the street to apologize. I can't remember what I said, but I apologized to his mom, for making a mess, and not to Patrick, who was outside, picking toilet paper out of the trees and scowling. It was all I could do to keep from grinning with pride and glee. Even though my parents were furious with their would-be vandal of a daughter, I was, and still am, so not sorry. Revenge was sweet. Patrick never picked on me again.
What I am sorry about is that there was no other recourse available to me at the time. My parents were too obtuse to imagine their daughter would encounter sexual taunting (even though I'd alluded to it before). Counselors and school administrators were too busy dealing with 'real' problems (vagrancy, violence, and, ironically, vandalism), and were an unfriendly bunch; I can't think of anyone I might have approached, or what I would have said. I did well in school; no one would have guessed that I needed any kind of assistance, except maybe more challegning classes. But never in my life had I felt more vulnerable, and more powerless, than in middle school. I wish I'd been more able to speak my mind. When I have kids, I want them to be able to.
And while I'm amazed at the advocacy skills of my students, sometimes I wonder if there are any among them who need help but lack the access, or resources, or both, to get it.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Why blog?
So, this afternoon it occurred to me that while I have three blogs for my students (who haven't been using them), and one blog to which I occasionally contribute for the department (which doesn't really use it), I don't have one that's my own. This is because I haven't ever really felt the need to broadcast my thoughts, since, a) I'm a pretty private person in most ways, and have always sort of thought blogs were for divas and b) I guess, in some ways I do broadcast some of my thoughts, every day, as a teacher. And, time being what is (always scarce), this has always seemed like more than enough output.
But actually...it's not. Writing and thinking with students isn't the same as writing for myself. I haven't kept a diary in ages (I tried. Really), and apart from the odd poem or essay, I haven't written much recently, or written consistently. I joined a poetry group last year but didn't have the time to attend (at least not properly). It's odd: I spend so much time helping kids craft and revise their writing. Why should they listen to me?
The worst part about my hiatus from writing isn't that I'm rusty. (Though I'm pretty sure I am). It's that I've been so out of touch with this integral part of myself for so long. (The reasons for the hiatus belong in a separate posting, but are what you'd guess: preoccupation with learning how to teach well, and learning to navigate the difficult waters of that vocation). I've missed writing...deeply, truly. I think (I hope, anyway), it's missed me too. While my parents and my brother have music to sustain them (and, have found amazing and interesting ways to make it a part of their careers), writing has remained a distant part of my own work. A prerequisite, but not necessarily a living, breathing element.
So, while I don't imagine this blog will have much of an audience, it won't really need one.
But actually...it's not. Writing and thinking with students isn't the same as writing for myself. I haven't kept a diary in ages (I tried. Really), and apart from the odd poem or essay, I haven't written much recently, or written consistently. I joined a poetry group last year but didn't have the time to attend (at least not properly). It's odd: I spend so much time helping kids craft and revise their writing. Why should they listen to me?
The worst part about my hiatus from writing isn't that I'm rusty. (Though I'm pretty sure I am). It's that I've been so out of touch with this integral part of myself for so long. (The reasons for the hiatus belong in a separate posting, but are what you'd guess: preoccupation with learning how to teach well, and learning to navigate the difficult waters of that vocation). I've missed writing...deeply, truly. I think (I hope, anyway), it's missed me too. While my parents and my brother have music to sustain them (and, have found amazing and interesting ways to make it a part of their careers), writing has remained a distant part of my own work. A prerequisite, but not necessarily a living, breathing element.
So, while I don't imagine this blog will have much of an audience, it won't really need one.
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