Chapter Eleven: A Not Uncommon Recipe for Melancholy

Chapter 11: A Not Uncommon Recipe for Melancholy

The whole world smiles with me

I dance out of bed to an imaginary orchestra playing an optimistic tune. I run in the rain. It isn’t raining hard and slows to a dripping drizzle by the 4th and 5th miles. I splash with the joy of a preschooler as some of the larger puddles surprise me in the dark. The rainy run invigorates and makes me feel real. I sigh with contented calm as I climb into my Saturn. A rainbow appears on the way to work. My grin rivals the Cheshire cat’s. At work I see the hem of my maroon and brown dress is unraveling; I staple the dress and forge ahead. No speed bumps will trip me up today. Today is an early release day. These monthly half days are usually on Wednesdays and provide a much-needed opportunity for staff development. Today is the first early release day of the school year.

Also, my wonderful new teacher, Daphne, starts today. I have never felt so positive about a new teacher. I still can’t believe she is going to teach here! She moved to Florida from New Mexico with her husband to work at our school and pursue her degree at the University of Florida. Her mother is a principal at an alternative school in New Mexico and she, Daphne, has worked with incarcerated youths. Her intelligence and enthusiasm make me giddy. When the busses pull into the parking lot, I waltz past the puddles, bursting with unborn smiles.

Funny thing though about the rain here, unlike rain in the northeast, this rain doesn’t leave the air smelling fresh and clean. In Herald County Florida, after it rains, there is this awful stench in the air that Lynne says comes from the sewage treatment plant and water logged septic tanks. It makes me inadvertently wrinkle my nose as it burns my throat. No one else seems to notice, or if they do, they just accept it as normal.

First Ingredient for the fading smile of melancholy: Dream Team Hanky Panky

The minutes between the morning meeting and bus arrival go by way too fast. It is a breathless time of photocopying, gathering materials, making coffee. Teachers hurry in and out of my office, but not Tammie or Neeley. I begin to notice this trend. Neeley and Tammie disappear after the morning meeting and reappear after the busses arrive. My curiosity piqued, I call them on the walkie-talkie. No reply. I take a walk around campus, they aren’t in the teacher’s room, the library or their classrooms. I cross the field toward south campus. I am on a mission but I remove my blinders long enough to take in the beauty of a Florida morning - the grass is wet and the crape myrtle is blooming; reds and purples shimmer in the bright morning light. Crossing the road by the baseball diamond I hear faint laughter. I round the corner to see Neeley and Tammie embracing, kissing and smoking on the back porch of an unused portable. If they are planning anything during this planning period it seems unlikely it is something from which their students will benefit. I’m disconcerted but still smiling.



Second Ingredient: Staff woes

Around 10:00, we have our first fire drill and everyone performs perfectly. We prepped for it and knew it was coming, which helped. I congratulate teachers and students smiling a substantial smile.

Sonya, the head custodian, is yelling at me: my teachers left four desk/chairs outside the classroom in the rain, the lights were left on in two classrooms, someone parked in her spot (in the grass under the tree). She has been parking there for five years and now some bus driver comes along and takes her spot. I apologize (rule one, suck up to the custodian) and suggest maybe we need a reserved parking sign. Sonya scowls, but I’m still smiling.

Jenna arrives from Ohio. She wants to teach at Prospect and is here to see the school. I spent a long time interviewing Jenna on the phone. She was in medical school but dropped out when she decided she wanted to teach. She’s read all of Jonathan Kozol’s books (I am a big fan so this impresses me). She wants to drive from Ohio to Florida immediately after the phone interview. She is very enthusiastic about seeing the school and meeting the “kids.” Jenna arrives just after the fire drill. I send her to observe Stone’s class. I forgot Tina/Natasha is back. Stone is doing a lesson on states and capitals. Somewhere between Mississippi and Missouri, Brock, one of Stone’s students, whispers that Tina/Natasha is a “ho.”. Tina/Natasha leaps from her seat shouting obscenities, threatens to kill Brock and begins to make stabbing punches in the air. Stone radios for help. I arrive and escort Tina/Natasha out the front door. At the same time, Jenna slips out the back door and makes a dash for her car. I never hear from Jenna again. My smile starts to fade, but just a little.

Third Ingredient: Children’s Tears

I learn of Lenny’s arrest as he is being guided into the back seat of the squad car, in handcuffs and in tears. Lenny is a tough, fourteen year old white kid from a rough family well known to our deputies. Lenny’s mother heats a coke bottle on the stove then presses the bottom of the hot bottle on Lenny’s shin to cure itchy mosquito bites. Lenny usually lives with his mother and her boyfriend but sometimes he ends up with his father who beats him.

Today Lenny has been charged with “disruption of school day.” Deputy Jones explains that Lenny pulled his pants halfway down while waiting to use the bathroom then offered some candy to the girls, which he identified as “penis colada” flavor. Inside the deputy’s office, Lenny also gave up three lighters he had stashed in his pant pockets. Lenny has been arrested many times before, so why is he crying? Rosie, my teacher who wants to be a counselor, says Lenny is crying out of fear, fear of the abuse he’ll suffer at the hands of his father. My early morning smile begins to tremble.

At dismissal time I learn Ernie suspended many students from the bus but neglected to ask or inform me or Shasta, the transportation coordinator. I am really regretting that I didn’t make Ernie’s resignation stick. By permitting Ernie to “unresign” I have created more pain for myself than if I had insisted his resignation was irrevocable. Now Ernie and I talk and in the spirit of progressive discipline, I write up a warning. I try to talk to him about how I know last year Mel was happy to have Ernie take charge of suspensions and arrests, but I am not Mel. I need to give permission. He can recommend but not implement. Ernie is nodding and smiling, yes m’am, I understand. Our meeting is interrupted when the man from the Division for Children and Families (DCF) comes to haul off Chloe.

The Division for Children and Families: such a falsely reassuring name for this agency. Years of under-funding have bred widespread incompetence and apathy, making DCF more of an adversary than an ally for children. I’d heard of the infamous DCF before I moved to Florida. In New York, DCF was front-page news for losing children in their care. DCF scandals include ignoring reports of abused or neglected children and failing to protect those children in their system. According to DCF, in 2003, 81 children died in Florida due to neglect or abuse. Of those 81 children, at least 36 of them, 44%, had been reported to DCF previously with allegations of abuse.

While no state fully complies with the federal standards regarding the protection of children, (an April 2004 report by the Department of Health and Human Services revealed that nationwide in 2002 over 900,000 children were victims of abuse or neglect and 1,400 of those children died) the federal government penalizes states that do not correct deficiencies with their child welfare programs. The largest penalty was charged to California; Florida was number two. Financially penalizing states that do a poor job protecting children is illogical and counter-intuitive since these states need more, not less, money to spend on child protection. Florida, like all states, struggles to recruit and retain caseworkers to investigate reports of abuse and monitor children in foster care. But Florida also struggles to find foster homes for children. The “state board rate” (the amount paid to a foster family for each foster child) ranges from $369 to $400 per month depending on the child’s age. , thus it costs Florida less than $15 per day to house a child. It costs more than that to kennel a dog.

Anyway, thanks to DCF Lenny isn’t the only person leaving campus in tears today.

About ten minutes before dismissal, a DCF worker arrives demanding to speak with a thirteen-year-old white girl named Chloe. People who observe Chloe feel mystified as to why she is at Prospect. Our own Eddie Haskell, Chloe has both the ability and the desire to play the good girl. Teachers report she isn’t as good as she appears, but I counter with the cliché: fake it till you make it. If all our students decided to “fool” us, think how much we could teach them! Chloe is an avid note writer and some of her intercepted notes detail taking crank, parties with marijuana at her house with Dad smoking it too, boys with whom she is sexually active and those with whom she would like to be.

DCF caseworkers frequently show up on campus and asking to speak to a specific child. There is never a phone call first or an explanation. If I ask why – was there an incident? An allegation of abuse? I am told it is confidential. I advise this DCF worker it is a half-day and we are about to start dismissal. He insists it is urgent and won’t take a minute, but he must speak with Chloe. I reluctantly bring him to Chloe and he stands outside the cafeteria in fire ant hills and pine needles to question Chloe regarding abuse by her mother. Chloe, who lives with her father, starts to cry. She is worried this conversation means her mother is going to regain custody. The DCF worker promises Chloe she will get to stay with her father. He escorts her to the bus. As the bus pulls away I see her tear-stained face pressed against the window looking small and frightened. I want to hurt the DCF man but he is long gone, charging out of our lot before the busses. I know there are some good, caring people who work for DCF; I just haven’t met them. I need to paste a smile, a social smile, to face my team for the afternoon in-service.

Fourth Ingredient: Staff Meetings

In our morning meeting today we had discussed plans for the afternoon’s in-service. Starting at 12:30 in the back cafeteria, I would run a demonstration of some hands-on math manipulatives and critical thinking games. Several people suggested we all go out to lunch instead. I nixed this saying we had too much to accomplish. (Yeah, yeah I know, I am such a witch.) After the meeting Noreen said her “dream team” planned to order Chinese food and Neeley brought beer and is that okay since the students won’t be on campus. Ah the Noreen charm. I quote her the policy, no alcohol on campus, but I fear I was not adamant or clear enough.

12:30 arrives but my staff does not. The dream team has been involved in a parent conference with Marcus’s mother for over thirty minutes. Usually they are skilled at wrapping up their conversations with her, but not today. Rosie, Daphne and Stone are the only people attending my training, Rosie and Daphne learn the African math game, mancala. Stone reads the paper scowling that the idiots in his room don’t need anything hands-on, they need to learn to keep their hands off! My smile is painful to maintain.


Fifth Ingredient: Fundraising for things that should already be funded

After everyone leaves, I work on grants. I continue my work on the Memorial Hospital grant, start the application process for a United Way Grant, and start a rewrite on a Title One grant. Writing grants is part of my job description and is a necessity. The public school dollars we receive for our students do not even cover the minimum costs of educating them, there are several reasons for this.

First, everyone gets a piece of the action. The State of Florida has a complicated school funding equation. When we contract with the public schools, they pay us as much “per student” as a regular public school would get. But then, both the public schools and Ebencorp take a percentage for administrative fees. By the time they are done skimming dollars, my very difficult, at-risk students receive 25% less than their public school counterparts. Ironically, of course, they are sent to my school because the public schools, with all their resources, couldn’t handle them. They need more resources. They need smaller classes. They need counselors and deans, not two people who zip around campus playing both roles. But instead of more, they get less.

Another reason I have to write grants is that Prospect spends roughly five times as much on transportation as the contract with the public schools allocates. At 1,652 square miles, Herald County is bigger than the state of Rhode Island and my students come from all over the county. I must pay for the bus drivers’ salaries and benefits, gas, oil, tires, and regular and unscheduled maintenance on the busses. Transportation costs make up to over 25% of my budget: money that should be spent educating my students is spent getting them to and from school.

It is also sad that while every public school in our county has a business partner who donates money each year and also helps fund special projects, the businesses I contacted didn’t want to support the school for “bad kids.” Also the school for “bad kids” is not entitled by the state to compete for funds based on student performance on standardized tests. No matter how I manipulate the numbers, we come up short.

One of the grants I am writing is for Title One. Title One is a Federal grant for schools with a high percentage of children who receive free or reduced lunch. My school easily meets the criteria. The original grant was written by Mel, my predecessor. Corinna, the Title One liaison, tells me she nearly lost her mind and job last year because Mel didn’t administer the Title One grant money properly, didn’t save receipts and wrote up the grant application incorrectly. Not only do I need to change the application, I want to do it. The Title One grant application Mel wrote calls for most of he money to be spent on computers. I want to use the money for a Title One reading teacher, a Title One math teacher and books, books, books.

Writing grants is very time consuming. You inevitably need information that is not readily available: the minutes of an Ebencorp board of directors meeting, the population of the school broken down by race, grade and income, etc. Kind, well-intentioned people are always telling me “there is all this money out there, just apply.” Grant writing is something I can’t do with a smile on my face.

Sixth Ingredient: Dealing with The Boss

My cell phone rings at 7:00 p.m. It is The Boss. He is upset with my cell phone bill and the cost for the walkie-talkies. I spend a long time explaining that his predecessor, Sheila, told me to get a cell phone with at least 1000 minutes and his other predecessor, Stephen approved the walkie-talkies. But he is not happy. Finally my morning smile turns into an out and out scowl. I try to slow my breathing and look for calm. I know the Boss’s new role as Education Director is not an easy one. He probably isn’t getting the guidance or support a new administrator needs from Clyde, his boss. I try to find the seemingly bottomless patience I have for everyone else to use with The Boss. When parents demean, condescend, curse and worse I remain untouched and non-plussed. Why is it I can cope with bad children, screaming parents, challenging employees, wild eyed custodians, power hungry deputies and balancing imbalanced budgets, but not angry, chastising calls from my boss? Do I secretly want his job? I don’t think so. I am energized by the hands-on work of talking to students and teachers everyday. His job would be too administrative and bureaucratic for me. Then why am I so annoyed by The Boss?

The Boss frequently phones me in the evening; his calls are not a good way to end my day. I awaken at 3:00 am and can’t sleep. I go to Wal-Mart to buy tennis balls as per Noreen’s request so she can teach her students to play tennis. When I return from shopping, I run, but my time is way off, I am distracted trying to formulate a plan for managing a difficult boss. Coping effectively with The Boss is an area where I need improvement! As I run I chant: “If I’m so smart I should be able to handle him.”

The Boss, the ultimate smile thief.