"With the certitude of a true believer, Vellya Paapen had assured the twins that there was no such thing in the world as a black cat. He said that there were only black, cat-shaped holes in the universe."
-- Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things
Showing posts with label teachers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label teachers. Show all posts

Friday, July 20, 2012

Science Fair (or The Time My Dad Blew Up the Fifth Grade) – Part 2

My dad, David Kinder,
with his coon skin cap and Bowie knife


Things were different when my dad was a kid.  

When he was in the fifth grade in 1953 in Richardson, Texas, his class once took a field trip, by foot, to a farm a few miles away.  They were pretending to be a wagon train, pulling little red “covered” wagons full of their supplies.   Since they were allowed to dress up as pioneers, the kids carried pitch forks, cap guns, knives, and (some of them) real rifles as they traipsed across town with their teacher.

Things were just different. That’s really all there is to it. 

This is my dad’s story of his fifth grade year, including the time he brought his chemistry set to school and became infamous at the age of eleven.

Enjoy.



When I was about eight years old, I got to wanting a chemistry set (chemical set, as I always used to call them).  I was very interested in mixing things up, and creating my own version of Gruesome Ingredients.  I was also fairly interested in making gunpowder, like Roy Rogers and the Lone Ranger would occasionally have to do in my funny books; but I didn’t stress that part to my parents (Tiny and Pappy) when making my request.  Neither Bailey’s Variety, nor Mr. and Mrs. R.L. Johnson’s Richardson Hardware Store carried anything like that, not even at Christmastime.  But you could find a Gilbert Chemistry Set at the big Sears and Roebuck store on Ross Avenue in Dallas, usually around Christmas, and since my birthday is December 6
th, they were available, and I got my heart’s wish for my birthday present that year!




It was the smaller set, that came in a cardboard box of about the size that a Monopoly set comes in, and didn’t have too much apparatus, and only a few brown bottles of chemicals; but that was all right, I was thrilled to have it!  I used it (probably not proper OR correct to say that I “played” with it) a LOT, and in the course of a few months, I had pretty much gone through it.  I tried just about all the experiments laid out in my manual, and used up most all of my chemicals, and quite a bit of household ingredients, such as vinegar, and borax, that were called for but not supplied in my set. 


And I don’t know if Tiny and Pappy knew it, but I tried a few of the recipes and concoctions mentioned in Pappy’s book of chemistry, too…the big thick red-jacketed volume that he kept on his bookshelf, that got into all manner of interesting concoctions.  Gunpowder, for one…

Anyway, after a few months, about all that was left of my first set, was the box, some empty brown glass bottles, and a couple of pieces of equipment that hadn’t burned up, or broken when dropped because they were hot, or mysteriously corroded and crumbled away, even though they had started out as metal.  So for Christmas when I was ten years old, I begged for a new, BIGGER chemical set.  They knew how much I had enjoyed the other one and nothing had (at that point) ever exploded, there had been no serious injuries, and the smell of burnt sulphur DOES go away… eventually…

So under the Christmas tree that year, was a rectangular present that turned out to be the BIG Gilbert Chemistry Set, the advanced one, in the hinged blue case, full of metal tip-out racks of exotic chemicals, and pipettes, and test tubes, and a flask; tubing, black rubber stoppers (some with a hole through them); tweezers, measuring spoons… just EVERYthing!  Except one little brown bottle, that was supposed to contain Nickel, only had a paper note inside, saying that Nickel was not available at that time.  ???  The Korean War was brewing, I don’t know…?  Anyway, I was ecstatic, and right away I plunged into bigger, more elaborate, more complicated, and DARKER experiments and mixtures!  (Several of them were, of necessity, SECRET experiments…)



I learned a lot, with those chemistry sets.  And I was fairly careful, and was almost always alone in my endeavors, so not putting anyone else… usually… at risk.  I did have a few mishaps.  Sometimes things would go boiling up, or foam out of control, when they weren’t really supposed to, and certainly when I wasn’t expecting it.  Several pieces of clothing got ruined, either by staining, or by burning, or by being eaten through by some experiment spilled or gone wrong.  I got burned on the fingers or hand, often.  And I had glass break, right in my hands, when I would substitute ordinary glass jars or bottles for the Pyrex ones that came with the set, but had already been cracked or scorched or broken.  So there were a couple of minor cuts.  Nothing serious.  Mostly, the occasional noxious smell.

We had two fifth grade classes that year, taught by sisters, Miss Rountree and Mrs. Shaw.  They were both large women and fairly attractive, when I see their pictures in my old yearbook.  They were probably about thirty-five and forty years old.  They were both new to Richardson the year I was in fifth grade, and became very popular teachers.  Mrs. Shaw (the older of the two) was a widow, maybe a war widow, I don’t recall for sure.  I was in her class.

Fifth grade was the year that almost all homework, except math and art, had to be done in ink.  Those were fountain pen and ink years, no ball point pens allowed.  It was the year we studied each of the forty-eight states in great detail, drawing elaborate maps of each one.  (Most kids drew all their states about the same size, pretty well taking up the full sheet of paper, regardless of whether it was Rhode Island, or California.  But I insisted on drawing mine all to scale.  Thus, Texas took up about half a sheet of paper, and Colorado was about 2 ½ inches by 3 inches, and Rhode Island and Connecticut were teeny.  Mrs. Shaw told me I could use as much room as I needed, but I wouldn’t do it any other way.)  It was the year that we did art in watercolor, and I fell in love with watercolors, right there.  Priscilla Waters and my buddy Donnie Skiles were the first kids I knew that ‘dated’, and they were a couple.  It was the year I had (serious) pneumonia for the first time.  It was also the year that I had to fight Larry Lester several times at recess, because we had gone from “best friend” status in fourth grade, to “mortal enemies” in fifth, and I never knew why.

We had a spelling bee in class several times that year, and I always won it.  Then one day, there was a “prize” to be awarded to the winner, and we were all excited.  I won the bee, as usual, and the prize turned out to be, that Mrs. Shaw said I could KISS the girl of my choice in our class!!!  WHAT???  What kind of a deal was THAT???  I thought there was supposed to be a PRIZE!?  Looking back, I think it was a set-up job.  Mrs. Shaw knew I always won those spelling bees and she and my mother were pretty good friends.  Anyway, I didn’t know what to do!  There was NO WAY I was going to kiss ANY girl in that class right about then!  Even though I was sweet on one or two of them, in secret, of course. 

I stood there, stunned and speechless, and I could feel my face turn SCARLET red, and I wished I was ANYwhere else.  Mrs. Shaw said, “Come on, David, you won, you have to do it…” and EVERYBODY was hooting and hollering and laughing… I was trapped, so I thought fast.  I got up and walked up to Mrs. Shaw’s desk, took her right hand, and barely kissed the top of it, and then, humiliated, walked back to my desk and sat down amid much laughing and cheering.  Mrs. Shaw just sat there, still holding her hand out, and still smiling, but now SHE was blushing, too, and I think it pretty much backfired on her.  That was the last time she did anything like that to me, or anyone else.  And I finally got over it, about the end of my senior year…

Actually, except for that one instance, I really liked Mrs. Shaw.  We all thought she was nice, and pretty, and we all thought that those two sisters were PROGRESSIVE (wherever we heard that), and they were always coming up with something new. 

Mrs. Shaw frequently encouraged us students in whatever activities we did for fun, and when she found out that I had a chemical set, she insisted that I bring it to school, and do some experiments for the class for what we (at that point) didn’t yet call “show-and-tell”.  I was overjoyed!  My experiments were now OFFICIALLY SANCTIONED!  NOW, maybe I could get something DONE!  Tiny and Pappy asked me several times, if I had permission to take my chemistry set to school, and cautioned me SEVERAL times, to be careful doing whatever I was going to do…

The day after I brought all my gear in, Mrs. Shaw cleared most of the top of her teacher’s desk, and allowed me to set up, and granted about an hour of the class to me.  Normally very shy, and horrified at being in front of the class, I was now TOTALLY unaware of the rest of the students, completely absorbed in what I was doing, and sublimely confident of the future outcome.  Without any of my normal self-consciousness whatsoever, I began my scientific lab work.

I don’t remember what I did, but I conducted two fairly simple experiments, that I had already tried out at home, and got good results, no big surprises (which was often apt to happen to me, as I sometimes “adjusted’ amounts of chemicals, or added extra ingredients on the spur of the moment).  But on these trials, I played it safe.  Mrs. Shaw frequently had to remind me to “say something”, talk to the class, let them know what I was doing.  I was mostly too absorbed, and was completely unaware of my classmates, but gradually I got to where I would briefly describe what I was up to, Mrs. Shaw constantly telling me to “speak up”.

As I said, things went well.  Blue litmus paper magically turned red; clear liquids weremixed in a test tube, and then an invisible cloud of scent, maybe ripe bananas, would drift across the room.  I was “oohed” and “aahed” in awe, especially by some of the girls.

I kept my set there for a few days, and one day Mrs. Shaw frowned and said something like, “Drat, I’m out of ink!”  We all used ink in most of our subjects that year, and we all kept our bottles of ‘washable blue’ in our desks.  She also used red in a separate fountain pen, to grade with, and she had run out.

In an instant, I shot my hand up in the air, and told her I could MAKE her some red ink!  (I had seen this experiment somewhere in my lab book, but I had never tried it.) She was surprised, and pleased, and told me to come on up and get started!  I cleared off an area of her desk, and set up my gas line and Bunsen burner, and pored over my manual, to see what was required.  I had all the chemicals I needed, and I began measuring and mixing away, and adding water, and then boiled my concoction over the Bunsen burner.  I had never tried this, and it was going to go into a fairly expensive fountain pen, belonging to my teacher, but like my son Pat (who had never taken archery before but signed up for the ADVANCED class at UT because “how hard could it be?”) I was supremely confident.

And it turned out!  In about a half hour, I had her a sufficient supply of red ink, to fill her pen and her empty bottle!  And just for the record, it did not dissolve the innards of her pen, nor the paper she marked on, nor her ink bottle, nor her hand!  It was a complete success!  And then she, and everyone else (except maybe Larry Lester, my mortal enemy, and Glenn Williams, the boy who called me the teacher’s pet) was convinced that I was a child prodigy, and an absolute chemistry genius!

At least I was pretty convinced…

So Mrs. Shaw suggested that I plan and conduct one more experiment the next day (a Friday) before I took my laboratory back home.  She said I could pick anything I wanted to, and we would do it the next day.  Then she asked me if I would like an assistant, and asked the class if anyone else had a chemistry set?  And old William Thomas Tawwater’s hand just SHOT up!

William had been one of my friends since we had met in first grade.  He was not as tall as me, but may have been even skinnier, and he had a mop of really red hair.  He had a slim face, and was ALWAYS grinning, and he laughed his evil little “Hee hee hee” frequently.  William Thomas was a good kid, from a big family, but he was always into something, and he had already gained fame, or maybe infamy, from a fourth grade assignment the year before.  Mrs. Churchwell had assigned us to think up the title of a book that we might someday write.  William Thomas’ choice was “Flowing Yellow Rivers, by William T.T.”  =)  I personally thought it was destined to become one of the classics…

William said that he used to have a chemistry set, and I really liked old William, and so we got together at recess and plotted what we would do.



(To be concluded…)



(And yes, I know what you are all waiting for and, trust me, you will get it in part 3.)


Thanks to Dad for sending these pictures of me and my science projects.  
I had completely forgotten about the wooden display board he made for us.  :)
Left is fourth grade and sugar crystals.  Right is fifth grade and toothpaste.
(I do not know why I am holding a hammer.)



And sixth grade was static electricity.  
Hmm... static electricity... that must be why I have all those ribbons stuck to my shirt.







Thursday, June 28, 2012

Confessions of a Former Teacher #2: Sins of Provision










Unforgivable:  A Sonnet

A mug of warmth, a jolt to heart and mind
Most ev’ry morn we teachers this do crave;
When pupils fail and parents be unkind,
By sweet ambrosia oft the day be saved.
Unwritten rules say, “He who fills his cup
Must then in turn make more for friends in need--”
To drain last drops without then stocking up
Is deemed a truly heinous crime indeed.
For thirteen years I lectured, graded, shushed,
And many a pot o’ coffee I did finish,
But though my comrades thirsted for a rush,
Not once in my career did I replenish.
     Look down on me with hatred if you will--
     You must admit; a streak like that takes skill.


  


Monday, June 25, 2012

Confessions of a Former Teacher #1: I Stole the Baby!


[Ok, first of all, the last part of the title should be read in the voice of the brownie in the movie Willow.  If you missed that on the first read, try again.  If you don’t know what I’m talking about (sigh heavily) then check out this clip before reading: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=keKbt3dyXhA ]



As you know by now, I have quit teaching.  And now that the dust has settled a little… the three-hole punch is packed away and the glue has dried on the “about me” collages…  I feel it’s time to let you all in on a few choice secrets from my thirteen-year career.  Prepare to gasp.

This first shocking tale of mayhem comes from my very first semester as a teacher.  I was twenty-three years old and teaching 7th grade language arts in Cedar Park, TX.  And I warn you, there are so many things wrong with this story, your judgmental brain won’t even know where to begin.

Let me set the scene.

It’s December.  The chilly Texas air keeps threatening to drop below 40°F.  It’s nine school days before the holiday break.  The students are restless.  The teachers are restless.  Tacky Christmas sweaters are being donned with no irony at all.  And then, quite suddenly, it appears in the break room:  a nativity scene made out of chocolate.

Chocolate Nativity Scene.  Just as you pictured it.
I don’t know who brought it.  I never heard anyone say a word about it.  But there it was.  Every day as I ate my homemade peanut butter sandwich or my cafeteria-bought chicken nuggets, out of the corner of my eye, hovering in my periphery, making a comfortable nest in the back of my mind, it was there.  Milk chocolate Mary.  Juicy Joseph. Scrumptious shepherd. Cocoa camel.  Mouth-watering wise men.  And that sweet, savory morsel—baby Jesus himself.

Every day for two weeks, I walked past this gaudy display and three thoughts occurred simultaneously to my brain.  Is a nativity scene really allowed in a public school?  Isn’t it kinda sacrilegious to cast our Lord and Savior in chocolate?  Why can’t I stop salivating? 

Every day for two weeks, it sat there, getting a little drier, a little more chalky in appearance, a wise man or two wilting just a bit.  Taunting me.

And then school was out for the holidays.  Students fled the campus, half-eaten candy canes hanging from their smile-stretched mouths.  Teachers sped away in their sensible sedans, the gleam of freedom shining in their eyes like starlight.  The campus would be a ghost town for two full weeks.

Except…

Two days after school let out, my Crazy Cousin Kelley came to visit me.  And she brought along her friend Matt.  And, proud new teacher that I was, I wanted to show them where I worked. 

Matt, Crazy Cousin Kelley, Me
Since the tour of my classroom (an extremely unimpressive space in a portable building with chalk boards and fake wood paneling) only took about a minute and half, I decided to wow them with a trip into the school building itself.  I showed them the rows of maroon lockers and pointed inside locked classrooms at the dry erase boards.  (Look!  Look at the fancy stuff the INDOOR teachers get!)  I pointed at posters advertising upcoming dances and demonstrated how my key unlocked both computer labs AND faculty restrooms, and my fans oohed and ahhed appropriately.

After I showed them the cafetorium (a fantastical place where people can both eat fish sticks AND enjoy off-key choir performances) and pointed out my favorite sign in the whole school (handwritten, hanging over the gym door, proudly proclaiming Do Not Take Balls Out—good advice by the way), we finally found ourselves in the break room.  And IT was still there.  In the rush to disperse at the last bell of the year, the chocolate nativity had been forgotten.

And, come on, from that point on it was really a no-brainer. 

The heavenly dessert

So, yes, Crazy Cousin Kelley and I stole the baby chocolate Jesus from the candy nativity scene in the break room of the middle school where I taught.  Matt, bless his pious little heart, cannot be blamed.  He tried to talk us out of it.  He said it wasn’t right.  And later, when the conquest was complete and Kelley and I indulged in our very guilty pleasure Matt adamantly refused to participate.  His soul remained pure.  His teeth remained free of the devilish brown stain left by the sweet baby Jesus.

However, my Crazy Cousin and I were beyond reasoning.  Satan had a hold of our taste buds and he wasn’t letting go.  We barely made it to the parking lot before we had to satisfy our craving and taste our victory.  And our victory tasted like… a two-week-old piece of chocolate that had been sitting out in the germ-infested air of a school.  Ah well.  We were in our twenties.  Our immune systems were strong.

The first sacri-licious bite

After the giddy drive home, Cousin Kelley and I celebrated our baby-Jesus-stealing in the obvious way:  we wrote a song about it.  Borrowing the tune (and quite a few of the lyrics) from REM, we commemorated our triumph with a ballad.  The lyrics are found below.  [Beware:  Once you read them, you may never be able to listen to “Losing My Religion” in the same way again.  So, if you wish not to sully that sacred musical experience, I suggest you use the utmost restraint and stop after the next paragraph.]

So there you have it.  Confession #1.  The sweet, caring, hard-working young woman you trusted to educate the next generation is nothing more than a thief, a heretic, a baby Jesus eater.  It feels good to admit it.


“Losing Our Religion”
Lyrics by Carie and Kelley
Music stolen from REM

[Note:  I have no doubt that I could do better than this today.  I believe my musical spoof skills have improved considerably in the past thirteen years.  But I am resisting the urge to revise.  This is the song, unchanged, as it was written in December of 1999.  Don’t hate.]

Oh Christ, is smaller
Smaller when molded
Into chocolate
The lengths that I would go to
To see it in bite size
Oh no, I've said too much
I set it up

That's me in the break room
That's me in the bright light
Stealing baby chocolate Jesus
Trying to sneak it out with you
And I don't know if I can do it
Oh no, I've said too much
I haven't said enough

I thought that I felt it melting
I shouldn’t be doing this thing
I think I heard Matt start to cry

With every swallow
I’m waiting to devour
I'm losing to temptation
Trying to keep my mind off it
Like a hungry and sinful fool, drool
Oh no, I've said too much
I set it up

Consider this
Consider this
Jesus is calling to me
Consider this
 I bit
It brought me to my knees
STALE
Now my whole theology has
Crashed to the ground
Now I've bit too much

 "STALE!"

I bet that it was fattening
I shouldn’t have eaten this thing
I think if asked I will deny

I wish it was a dream
CHOCOLATE NATIVITY SCENE

That's me in the break room
That's me in God’s light
Stealing baby chocolate Jesus
Trying to sneak it out with you
And I know now that I can do it
Oh no, I've said too much
I think I’ve said enough

I bet that it was fattening
I shouldn’t have eaten this thing
I think if asked I will deny

I wish it was a dream
Try, die, cry, why
CHOCOLATE NATIVITY SCENE
Caused a scene
Just a scene, seen


Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Letter From an Angry Parent


Thank you to everyone who participated in my Mad Lib experiment!  I enjoyed reading all the submissions and have decided to post two different versions of the story.  Thanks to Maggie W. and Sarah D. for your winning contributions.



[The following blog entry is a work of fiction.  Names, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual persons, events, or emails sent to me by parents is entirely coincidental.]

Letter From an Angry Parent

Dear Ms. Wit (or should I say grandiose idiot),
            As you are aware, my daughter Ima is a student in your 7th grade language arts class, and I am writing to tell you that I am appalled by your teaching methods.
            First of all my subterranean child is obviously extremely dinky.  She writes lovingly and scrambles with such maturity and excitement that anyone should be proud to have her as a bottle.  When my good friend Denzel Washington read Ima’s poems, he said, “Racklefratz!  These should be tickled immediately!”  And yet you gave her a grade of 7 on those assignments.  It breaks my belly button to see Ima’s talent go unappreciated like that.
            And in regards to her behavior in class, I instantly became cerulean blue in the face when I received your email saying my cavernous little girl served a 13-minute detention for perambulating koalas in class and acting foppish to you.  She was simply expressing herself!   How dare you infringe upon her right to freedom of basket!  When my dear friend Meryl Streep heard of this, she said, “Oops!  That behavior simply shows she is creative and surly!”
            Ms. Wit, I graduated number 3 in my class from the University of the Mountains, and I will not tolerate my child being cavorted by such vigorous lips.  That is why I have created a petition to have you meandered.  I have already received 1 signature.  Expect to hear from my street sweeper soon.

Languorously,
Parent of a Perfect Child

Dear Ms. Bach (or should I say stinky idiot),
            As you are aware, my daughter Willow is a student in your 7th grade language arts class, and I am writing to tell you that I am appalled by your teaching methods.
            First of all my shy child is obviously extremely hideous.  She writes perfectly and dances with such maturity and distress that anyone should be proud to have her as a squirrel.  When my good friend Prince read Willow’s poems, he said, “Cheese Pizza!  These should be swum immediately!”  And yet you gave her a grade of 4815162342 on those assignments.  It breaks my armpit to see Willow’s talent go unappreciated like that.
            And in regards to her behavior in class, I instantly became chartreuse in the face when I received your email saying my rotund little girl served a 7-minute detention for bouncing scissors in class and acting sticky to you.  She was simply expressing herself!   How dare you infringe upon her right to freedom of bookmark!  When my dear friend Zoey Deschanel heard of this, she said, “Geronimo!  That behavior simply shows she is creative and sweet!”
            Ms. Bach, I graduated number 806 in my class from the University of the Land, and I will not tolerate my child being smelled by such a shiny kneecap.  That is why I have created a petition to have you phoned.  I have already received eleventy signatures.  Expect to hear from my time lord soon.

Splendidly,
Parent of a Perfect Child

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

Why I am Leaving Teaching


As most of you know, I am a teacher.  And as many of you know, I have decided to quit teaching.  This week, I officially declined my contract for next year.  The district then sent me an “Exit Survey” which amounted to about 10 multiple-choice questions and a small box which asked, “Do you have any additional comments?”  It turns out, I did.  Below you will find my “additional comments” to my district.




The System is Down

The easy answer to why I am leaving the district after 13 years of teaching 7th grade Language Arts, the one everyone likes to hear, is that I am quitting my job to pursue a career as a writer.  It is true, and it is exciting and scary and inspiring and all those wonderful adjectives that people use when they hear it. 
                 It is true that I have always wanted to write.  It is true that I am at the right place in my life, personally and financially, to take a stab at my dream.  But the bigger truth lurking behind my decision is that I no longer love being a teacher.  And that makes me so sad. 
For 12 years, I loved my job.  I loved it DESPITE all of the craziness that comes with it.  I loved my students (well… most of them), and the few parent issues I faced were easy to laugh off later.  I talked about my students to anyone who’d listen, telling silly classroom stories and describing the antics of those select few every year that make themselves memorable in one way or another. 
I spent too much time during those 12 years working at home and grading wherever and whenever I could, but for the most part I loved that too.  I loved reading my students’ poems and essays and, especially, their memoirs.  I loved helping them to dig deep into their stories to find the real feelings and themes and life lessons stored there and seeing them emerge on the page.  I can still remember the cartoons that D.S. used to draw in the margins of his work in 1999, the story N.H. wrote in 2004 about accidentally hitting his brother in the head with a shovel, the poem about electrons that L.C. got published in 2009 and read in front of a large audience at Ruta Maya Coffee House.



I have so many wonderful memories of teaching at both of the middle schools where I was employed.  And in any other year, I would have never taken a break from loving it long enough to realize I wanted to do something else.
But this year… is different. 
This year, I went from teaching 56 students 90 minutes a day and getting to know each and every one of them as readers, writers, and people, to teaching 126 students 52 minutes a day and having almost no connection at all with any of them.  Believe it or not, I don’t know what books my Language Arts students are reading.  I can’t remember which ones have dogs or cats or little siblings at home.  I get mixed up about who is in choir and who is in cheer, and I am having trouble bringing to mind what most of them wrote for their personal narratives two months ago.
This year, all the “little things” that used to be easy to shrug off after a quick happy hour are staying with me, weighing me down.  Common assessment score due dates that I have missed yet again, standardized test rules and regulations that change (literally) every single day, 29 students that I am supposed to keep detailed documentation about weekly, a computer grading system that doesn’t allow me much control over my grades, writing that has to be condensed into 26 handwritten lines, pointless meetings held by people who are too out of touch to understand how much we are suffering and how valuable our time really is, and parents emailing to tell me that their son wouldn’t clean his room for weeks so finally his mom cleaned it for him and it made him really happy- oh by the way, how is he doing at school?  (Yes, that was a real email—you should see the whole thing.) 
This year, our school’s focus is student ownership of learning, but I don’t even have enough time to teach them to write a metaphor, much less teach them the valuable accountability and time management skills they so desperately need.



I know I sound like a complainer.  I know that other districts have been teaching more students than this in a tighter schedule than this for years.   I know (now) how very spoiled I have been.  But we were doing it RIGHT.  And those other teachers, in those other districts?  There is no way that they are using the same in-depth curriculum with authentic assessments that we are.  No way.  The only bubble test my students have taken this year is STAAR.
So, yes, I am quitting being a teacher so that I can try to be a writer.  And (fingers crossed) someday you may be able to buy my novel at Book People, and that would be awesome.  But the bottom line is, I wouldn’t be venturing out into this new endeavor if this school year had not been so terrible.   People have asked me, would you stay if things went back to the way they were last year?  No.  This year has damaged me.  I need a break.  Besides, my trust in the system has been shaken, and I wouldn’t believe in the perfect schedule even if they promised it.  People have asked me, are you just taking a year or two off, or are you quitting for good?  I don’t know what the future holds.  It’s possible that I’ll be back in the classroom in a couple of years.  But that is not my plan.  I know that I will miss teaching, but I do not believe that I will miss schools.  
For now at least, I am done.   Although part of me still can’t believe it, after forty-three readings of The Outsiders, I have survived my final rumble with the Socs, seen Dally crumple under the streetlight with a look of “grim triumph” for the last time, and will tell Ponyboy to “stay gold” no more.  And now, I leave the lives of S.E. Hinton’s gang, and the fate of my students in your hands.  Don’t let them down.



TEN IMPORTANT THINGS YOU DIDN’T ASK BUT NEED TO KNOW:
(And I have a hunch there are quite a few others out there who could say the same.)

1.  Most days, I use every single minute of my “off” periods and usually every minute of my lunch to work.  Then I work after school.  Then I work at home. 

2.   Here’s a math problem for you.  I have 126 students.  If they all turn in an essay and it takes me 3 minutes to grade each essay (which would actually be quite a fast time for me!) then it would take me 378 minutes, or 6 hours and 18 minutes to grade them all (assuming I did not have to eat, sleep, or go to the bathroom during that time).  If you add up all of the contract time that I have during the day that is not automatically taken up with teaching (i.e. before school, conference periods, lunch, and after school) you get 214 minutes, or 3 hours and 34 minutes.  So… in order to NOT have to grade that assignment at home, I would need TWO FULL work days where I did not have any meetings, ARDs, tutoring, or any other tasks to complete, in which I could spend EVERY SINGLE MINUTE THAT I WASN’T TEACHING to get those assignments graded.  Ok, I did the math for you, but I hope you can still see the problem.



3.  My stress is making me physically ill.  By 10:00AM on the Monday of spring break, my backache, constant indigestion, shortness of breath, and acne had all gone away.  By the Tuesday following spring break, most of it was back.

4. I believe in the standards-referenced grading system.  I think it works and, when it is properly administered, is the best thing for kids.  But I do not see HOW to properly administer it with our current schedule, student load, and curriculum demands.  I hope it can be saved, but it is going to take a lot of hard work and a lot of flexibility.

5.  The new APS class isn’t working.  And it never will.  I would hate to see teachers lose jobs, but you’ve got to give that time back to the core subjects. 



6. I firmly believe that it only takes 3 years out of the classroom to be out of touch with the reality of teaching.  Whether you just forget what it’s like day-to-day or whether the curriculum/technology/culture changes and passes you by, it happens to everybody.  I have seen it happen to principals, counselors, and facilitators, and I know it is going to happen to me, and I dread it.  Even though people have good intentions, after a few years out of the classroom they start too many sentences with, “Well, why don’t you just…” or “It only takes a few minutes to…” and we sigh and try not to roll our eyes.  A counselor at my school (an excellent counselor who is compassionate with the students and supportive of the staff) once asked the Language Arts teachers to complete a non-academic task with our classes to help with the upcoming open house.  When we politely grumbled later about how it took 20 minutes of our time, he was flabbergasted.  “Are you serious?!  I thought it would take about 5!”  No, sorry, but you’ve forgotten the speed of the 7th grade animal.  To his credit, he did not ask us to do it again.

7. Following up on #6, I believe that every single person who works in the district should be required to spend at least three hours a year observing in classrooms.  I mean EVERYONE.  From the Document Production Center Employee to the Help Desk Person to the Facilitator of Facilitating, if that exists.  (And if it does, do we really need it?)  And I don’t mean a 5-minute snapshot either.  Sit, stay, listen, watch.  Note:  I did NOT say that they should schedule outside meetings with teachers to take up their time with random feedback.  Just go, just be, just observe.  No dog and pony show, no big ordeal.  Just get in the classrooms and be reminded what it’s like.

8. I have the utmost respect for my principal.  I admire and appreciate my assistant principals.  I adore my campus Language Arts department.  All of the adults I work with at my school are amazing and I will miss them dearly.

My door for the decorating contest last year

9.  My coworker J.S. is one of the most incredible people I have ever worked with.  She is a creative, dynamic, dedicated teacher who pushes her students to perform at high academic levels.  I am in awe of her as a person and as an educator.  She teaches 140 students this year, and she works ALL THE TIME for them.  Teachers like J need a break.  They need someone to listen to them and to give them the freedom and the time and the adequate technology they need to create their magic.  Be careful, because if you keep pushing our teachers to the brink, they will keep leaving.  And losing someone like her would be a much bigger loss than losing me.  Take care of her.

J.S.'s door for the decorating contest last year
(Yes, real steam came out of it.)
10. I have wanted to be a teacher since I was in the 9th grade.   Until September of this year, I had never seriously pictured myself doing anything else.  I thought I would teach until I was dead and love every second of it.  I hope there are still plenty of others out there who feel that way.  I hope they are staying in this profession, not because they have to, but because they want to.