Honor Where Honor is Due

It is not my intention to establish a trend of negative gripe-sessions. My best efforts are often directed at putting distance between myself and those who demand more than their share of "cheese with whine." There will always be a wrench in the gears, a hitch in the crawl, or a greenie missing from the Tinker-Toy set of life. In the words of those whose grit and resolve were fashioned in the merciless tides of nautical exploration, "You can't control the winds, but you can adjust your sails."

Since August, I can honestly say that my sails have been left luffing in the shifting winds of a new career rather than full and tight, positioned, adjusted, and properly reefed before the howling gusts. To be plain, it has not been what I expected and I have often wanted to shout down the corridors of the educational infrastructure with all the force I could muster: "Just leave me alone and let me teach my students!"

But I won't. I refuse to do just that because of a refreshing realization that broke itself upon my thinly-spread comprehension this past month: They have, in point of fact, given me my unspoken wish. They have left me alone.

By "they" I am referring to those whom I work for and work with: from the district department heads, to the administrators of my school, my mentor teacher and my fellow-teachers, and to the parents of my students, every one who has contributed to the monumentous tide of endless to-do's has neither reprimanded, scolded, badgered, or even so much as hinted at the countless mis-steps, mistakes, loose-ends, and inconsistencies that I, as a new teacher, have committed (with the exception of the sharp phone calls to my classroom from the PEIMS Clerk who has about had it with my botched attendance efforts. I can't blame her, really. She should get a cushy holiday bonus just for the extra work I've given her).

Much to the contrary, since the week of professional development, I have been treated as if I hung the moon, invented the multi-purpose Xerox machine (a teacher's indispensible ally), and discovered coffee (a teacher's indispensible addiction). I am stopped in the halls by colleagues whose names I can't even remember (for which I sincerely apologize - thank God for name badges) to extend congratulations for all the great things they have heard about me. My administrators publish observations that paint a Harry Wong-esque picture of my interactions with students and clap me on the back as if I am an authority in the field. While horror stories are swapped in the teachers lounge about volatile encounters with lunatic parents, I have had only "thank-you's," "great-job's" and "I'm-so-glad-you're-my-child's-math-teacher's" cascading into my email from grateful, encouraging mothers and fathers.

Now, I am not so naive enough as to believe that my faux paux's have managed to slip by unnoticed; in point of fact, they have been all-too-obvious. Still, the people I work for and with have proven patient, supportive, encouraging, and, most importantly, forgiving. The past 3 months would have swallowed me whole were it not for their confidence in me inspite of my more-rookie-than-Wong teaching abilities. It is to them I am indebted, and them I honor. Thank you.

Mountain-Dwellers: An Observation of Over-Worked Teachers

It is nearing the end of October and I am still standing. Better than standing, I am healthy, having already undergone the initiation rites for obtaining immunity against the onslaught of the minions of organisms that plague a middle school facility. Furthermore, I have developed the audacity to do in my new career what I failed to do in my last career: to stop when the day and week is over and go home to my family, free from an obsession with things undone. Invariably, however, this creates a tension: the accumulation of to-do's pouring in from seemingly countless sources tends to pile up into an exhaustive mountain of peripheral urgencies that can only be managed by, well, ceaseless work. This I have found to be true in the world of business and, now, in education.

Of all the types of teachers I have observed in my first year, one stands out in sharp relief: this type I will call "Mountain Dwellers." These educators possess a driving tenacity, even after years (some 30 + years!) in the field, and have found that the best way to cope with the flood of meetings, surveys, bloggings, trainings, paper-pushings, etc. (and still reserve a brain cell or two for what actually takes place in the classroom) is to simply take up semi-permanent residence within the mountain itself.

From the perspective of non-mountain dwellers, it seems thier cars are  permanent structures in the school's parking lot, never having moved from their original spots, everlasting monuments to the souls haunting the halls of the school. In truth, these devotee's of the Great Mount do in fact visit their personal homes; however, it is only after all would-be witnesses have retired to the company of their families that they darken the exits of the school. Even at home, they continue working until the sun has long dipped below the horizon, completing what could not be completed in the mountain because of the meetings that monopolized their legally-alotted planning time. After nabbing a few hours of much-needed, however, stress-compromised sleep, they awake a few hours later to return to the mountain and do it all over again, and again, ad nauseum.

Amazing! I hope that in 20-30 years I will have developed the same tireless stamina and devoted aquiescence to my position so as to never require a moment of respite in which to look back and feel a sense of completion or accomplishment from time to time. Hopefully, my family will not miss me.

Stay with me. There will be a positive twist to my sarcastic, yet profoundly sincere rantings. Nonetheless, my hope is for myself and the countless other new teachers out there to stop an reconsider why they entered the profession. As for myself, I'm in it for my family and for my students. Everything else is peripheral. In my stalwart opinion, if any accumulation of to-do's flooding down the pike begins to detract from the ability of the teacher to create and deliver spirited, inspiring lessons in the classroom and compromises one's reasonable time and devotion to family, it must be left undone. Let your family and your students come first . . . always. Let everyone and everything else ride in the back of your already-packed bus.