Chapter 28 – More Spice than Sugar
Boys are bad, girls are good
To some extent, we, as Americans, condone boys who curse, fight and misbehave. We may not encourage these behaviors, but we don’t consider them outside the norm for boys. Thus when most boys are sent to Prospect, they fall somewhere along a familiar continuum, their behavior has clearly crossed a line between acceptable and unacceptable, but their behavior isn’t classified as abnormal, it’s the frequency or intensity of the misbehavior.
Girls are another matter. We don’t expect girls to handle disagreements with fists, we expect them to gossip, scapegoat, exclude and use mean words. The girls at Prospect defy these female stereotypes. That is not to say they don’t gossip, scapegoat, exclude and use mean words, but that they also pack a mean punch.
Prospect girls make up only 20% of my student population but 80% of my problems. I have a theory that when girls start to act out, the signs are more subtle than with boys, thus it isn’t until the girls are really in crisis and have become violent and out of control, that they are sent to Prospect. At Prospect there are almost no girls who are “somewhat” difficult, most are “incredibly challenging.” My Prospect girls, as a group, are worse than the boys and their behavior is worse when they are around boys.
The girls use their verbal skills to focus on and exacerbate brewing disagreements. They form and reform cliques. Harassing phone calls are made in the middle of the night. Minor skirmishes break out – hair pulling, pencil stabbing, objects are thrown, clothes are torn. Then, if we aren’t careful, if we don’t read the tea leaves and heed the rumors, there is a full-fledged rumble.
We have a girl problem.
I recognize the girl problem early in the semester and began reading books and articles about it. I decide to try single-sex classrooms. Segregating people by sex is in opposition to my beliefs; I know separate is not equal. But we need to do a better job with these girls and other schools have reported success with single sex middle school classrooms. I am desperate; I need to try something.
My desire for an all-girl classroom is really not terribly radical, even for Lakeboro. SBAA, one of the four alternative schools in town is a school for forty middle and high school girls. I can’t attest to the results, but I know SBAA has a long waiting list and I have only heard positive comments about it.
So I am ready to give a single-sex classroom a shot. The trouble is, my staff is not. In fact they agree they would rather be shot than give all-girl classrooms a shot. I point out that most of the girls’ problems are related to boys: Nishonda stole Selma’s boyfriend, Eli, and since Tyryona and Selma are friends they plan to fight Nishonda who calls on Estralitta for back-up but since Estralitta stole Tayshaun from Jillane, Jillane will join Selma and Tyryona to fight Nishonda and Estralitta. Separating the girls from the catalysts of their anger could help.
My teachers counter by half-heartedly citing many girl problems unrelated to boys, but I think my teachers believe an all-girl environment is a fine idea actually - just not in their classroom (NIMC!). I know forcing someone to run an all-girl classroom will doom it to failure. So instead I begin a slow campaign to persuade someone to try it. I photocopy articles on the success of single sex classrooms and try to mention the idea at least once a week. In the meantime, the walkie-talkies continue to blare with the names of girls, girls, girls.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Chapter Twenty-Seven: And Smile, Smile, Smile
Section III: Autumn & Winter 2002 – the second academic quarter
Chapter 27: And Smile, Smile, Smile
The first quarter is complete, the second quarter is young and full of potential. I am energized to be back and, full of optimism, I make a “big picture to do list.” During the second quarter I want to focus on the needs of two smaller groups of students: girls and elementary students. I want to improve relationships between students and teachers, parents and faculty, between me and the staff and between me and The Boss. To achieve this I will need to hold onto the part of me that keeps me sane in an insane world: my sense of humor.
I confess: I seek out and nurture comedy. My need for hilarity is almost as basic as my need to run. I learned at a young age to use my wit to defuse tense situations and calm angst. I also have the bad habit of using humor to defeat boredom, making me quite undesirable in long, dreary meetings, lectures or classes. But my love of comedy does allow me to relate to our many class clowns at Prospect. Despite the pace and stress of most Prospect days, I can usually find time to marvel at the absurd and share anecdotes that evoke laughter from my staff.
During the first few days of the second quarter humor is provided by two unlikely sources: a new, highly educated teacher and Darius, one of my favorite students. Of course, the walkie-talkies are a constant source of amusement and since the dialogues are broadcast across campus, we all have a front row seat to these comedy routines. Often two conversations will take place simultaneously and confusion will reign as the messages mingle. Many of the walkie-talkie skits involve counselor Rusty.
Buffy, my new elementary teacher, is not having a good time with her class. She is on the walkie-talkie at least once an hour. She has a high-pitched voice that doesn’t always translate well across the air waves, especially not to people who are hearing challenged.
“This is Buffy I need a counselor.”
“Yes Buffy this is Rusty.”
“Rusty none of them are listening.”
“None of them are missing?”
“No, none of them are listening!”
“Who is missing?”
“Rusty no one is missing, no one is listening.”
“This is Rusty, I can’t understand who is missing, please say again.”
**************************
“Mr. Rusty?”
“Yes this is Mr. Rusty.”
“I need a student removed....”
“Who is the student?”
“Claymont Peters.”
“Did you say Kwayme McPhee?”
“No, Claymont Peters!”
“Peter who?”
“CLAYMONT PETERS!!!!”
“Please don't shout, I can't understand you.”
“I need Claymont removed from my room.”
“OK Mr. Simmons.”
“No this is Mr. Neeley.”
“OK Mr. Neeley, send Kwayme to me.”
Rusty isn’t the only staff member who makes us smile. One of our short-lived teachers gave us a punch line bound to get a chuckle every time it’s mentioned.
Is there a Doctor in the House?
I was amazed when Dr. Marsha Scott Dudley said she wanted to teach at Prospect. She was a part-time professor of education; she taught college students how to be teachers of at-risk students. But while getting her doctorate she somehow managed to escape teaching the very youngsters about whom she would later instruct. She said she was excited about getting out of the “Ivory Tower” and doing the real work of teaching. I hired her and she spent her first week instructing me and my staff on better ways of doing things. Ruth, my cafeteria manager, referred to her simply as “Doctor” as in “Doctor says I should cut up the fruit before serving. Doctor wants fruit cut she can cut up her own damn fruit.” After two days on the job, Doctor submitted to me a single spaced, seven-page list of “suggestions” filled with helpful hints such as: “students should sit, feet flat on the floor and hands folded when listening to the teacher” and “each student should have his own text book.” I looked forward to her first day in the classroom: the students would keep her too busy to stick her nose into everyone else’s business.
On Doctor’s first day in her classroom, the day did not start well. At 7:30 am, Rusty called me on his walkie-talkie (he inadvertently took it home). A car accident happened right where our school driveway meets 35th Street. Rusty said it looked like a serious accident. A car made a left turn into our driveway across oncoming traffic and plowed into a car that was just leaving the school and was then sideswiped by the oncoming traffic. Both front doors of the car were smashed in and it looked like it would be a long time before the wreck was cleared. All of my employees would be late given their inability to navigate past the accident.
The driver of the car was Doctor Marsha Scott Dudley.
Incredibly neither Doctor nor any other crash victims, was injured. Her car was totaled. She came to see me in my office. Her car was a Mercedes and she loved it and she was horrified that it was gone and that she might have to drive some hideous rental car while insurance sorted itself out. I listened to her car concerns thinking she was in shock. Did she need some days off? Yes. She took a week.
On Doctor’s first actual day in her classroom she had four students: two boys and two girls. Owen and Tayshaun told Doctor they “got rid” of a previous teacher and they would get rid of her. Doctor told Tayshaun to tuck in his shirt. Tayshaun pulled his jeans down to do so; he pulled them down far enough that Doctor could see his boxer shorts. She got on the walkie-talkie and demanded the Deputy arrest Tayshaun immediately. I dashed off to remove Tayshaun from her classroom for the rest of the day. Counselor Rusty enlightened Tayshaun on the definition of sexual harassment. After student dismissal, Doctor came to see me. She was agitated. I tried to make small talk about how she was feeling post-accident and how the car buying was going, but Doctor had a single focus. She was livid to learn Tayshaun was not arrested. “That boy dropped his pants and showed me his underwear when I told him to tuck in his shirt! He must be arrested!” Clearly Doctor had yet to see the worst of what my students have to offer!
On the day that was to be Doctor’s second day in her classroom, when I got to school, Lynne, my business manager, showed me a fax from Doctor - it was her resignation. It was a wordy resignation. She explained how she told her story of Tayshaun’s underwear to many of her fellow professors and they all agreed she was not safe at Prospect. Doctor Marsha Scott Dudley lasted a single day in a classroom full of troubled students (well four students actually). But you can find her in a college classroom, instructing future teachers thus doing her part in making true the cliché: “Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach. Those who can’t teach, teach teachers.”
Over a year after Doctor left, teachers who never met her, know the saga. When someone starts complaining about a poorly behaved child, a common reply is “Yes but did he show you his underwear?” When someone has had a really hard day they’ll ask, in parting, whether I left the fax machine on.
*****
Sometimes it is just the simple juxtaposition of events that creates the humor for us. In the morning meeting, Shasta, my transportation coordinator tells me about Timmy’s situation and by lunchtime I observe another related event.
On a sunny autumn day, Timmy urinated in the bus. He admits this but believes it was warranted because he really had to pee and the driver wouldn’t stop. Shasta tells Timmy he must wash out the bus. While he mops the bus Timmy chants to himself, “I’ll piss again if I have to, I’ll piss again if I have to…” While Timmy is moping and chanting, a car pulls in next to the bus carrying Marcus’s mother and another woman. When Marcus’s mom comes into the office to sign him out, the unidentified woman gets out of the car, pulls her pants down and urinates in the middle of our parking lot. Was she inspired by Timmy’s mantra?
Mostly it is our students who provide the humor that helps us get through the day.
One morning one of my students, Keith, knocked on the imaginary door to my office. Could he ask me a question? Sure. “Ms. Smee how many grandchildren you got?” Lynne, my office manager, begins to laugh out loud causing poor Keith to look confused. I try to explain the age insult; I tell Keith I have one son in college and no grandchildren. Keith says he was asking because he just got a job at Lakeboro’s new ice rink and he can get free tickets and wanted to give me some for my grandchildren. I thank Keith for his kindness and he goes to leave but first he wants to apologize. “Ms. Smee, I’m sorry for assaulting you.”
Darius, in spite of (or perhaps because of) living life in a succession of foster homes, has a great sense of humor and sometimes can even laugh at himself while putting a smile on my face.
One morning Darius is in my office explaining why he was removed from class. He tells me there is no good reason, he just cursed a bit. I tell him Daphne, his teacher, will soon be in my office and I will ask her the same question. How does he think she will respond? I convince Darius to role-play.
I ask “Daphne”: “What happened with Darius this morning?”
I can’t hear his whispered reply, so I ask him to repeat it. In a faint, trembling voice he says: “I don’t eat meat so I am too weak to speak loudly.”
I laugh and remind him that I don’t eat meat and he can hear me just fine.
Darius replies: “But you eat dairy. Miss Daphne is a vegan and that makes her weak.”
I am still laughing as I move on to the interrogation. “Daphne” answers my original question as to why Darius was removed from class.
“Darius was awful, he kept cussin’ and cussin’ and then he went in the other room and lay down and fell asleep.”
I say: “Daphne, why do you think Darius did this? He isn’t usually a bad student.”
“Daphne” replies: “I think he was really tired.”
I say: “Daphne, would you call Marva (Darius’s foster mother) and ask her to get Darius to bed earlier. His lack of sleep is impacting his school life.”
Darius leaps out of his role indignantly: “Ms. Smee, I already go to bed at 9:00 how early do you want me to go?!”
The humor of my students often lightens up a tense discussion.
Last week I was in the counseling office chastising Brock (the marijuana possessing football player) for calling Keith a Nigger. Brock is giving me a play by play “Keith spit on me and I spit on Keith then Keith kicked me and I said ‘stop it Nigger’ and all the black kids in the class got real mad at me but I didn’t mean it as a racial thing, obviously, since Keith is white.” I ask Brock if he could do it over again would he use a racial slur. Brock says no, he would call Keith a Jackass.
Karla, also in the counseling office for sleeping in class, decides to add some levity to this serious interrogation: “Jackass? But Brock, that would be a racial slur against me.”
Despite my anger at Brock, I have to laugh at Karla’s quip.
Joining Darius, Karla or any of my students in laughing at a shared joke is one of the joys of my job. During these unscripted moments of happiness, the problems and traumas of my students are momentarily forgotten. When, in the face of their difficult lives, they manage to smile, crack jokes and laugh, they appear so normal. Knowing their personal horrors, one might look at these laughing faces and pronounce them tough and resilient. But their happiness is a veneer that is not strong enough to protect them, only to distract them for a moment. But oh how we relish those moments.
Chapter 27: And Smile, Smile, Smile
The first quarter is complete, the second quarter is young and full of potential. I am energized to be back and, full of optimism, I make a “big picture to do list.” During the second quarter I want to focus on the needs of two smaller groups of students: girls and elementary students. I want to improve relationships between students and teachers, parents and faculty, between me and the staff and between me and The Boss. To achieve this I will need to hold onto the part of me that keeps me sane in an insane world: my sense of humor.
I confess: I seek out and nurture comedy. My need for hilarity is almost as basic as my need to run. I learned at a young age to use my wit to defuse tense situations and calm angst. I also have the bad habit of using humor to defeat boredom, making me quite undesirable in long, dreary meetings, lectures or classes. But my love of comedy does allow me to relate to our many class clowns at Prospect. Despite the pace and stress of most Prospect days, I can usually find time to marvel at the absurd and share anecdotes that evoke laughter from my staff.
During the first few days of the second quarter humor is provided by two unlikely sources: a new, highly educated teacher and Darius, one of my favorite students. Of course, the walkie-talkies are a constant source of amusement and since the dialogues are broadcast across campus, we all have a front row seat to these comedy routines. Often two conversations will take place simultaneously and confusion will reign as the messages mingle. Many of the walkie-talkie skits involve counselor Rusty.
Buffy, my new elementary teacher, is not having a good time with her class. She is on the walkie-talkie at least once an hour. She has a high-pitched voice that doesn’t always translate well across the air waves, especially not to people who are hearing challenged.
“This is Buffy I need a counselor.”
“Yes Buffy this is Rusty.”
“Rusty none of them are listening.”
“None of them are missing?”
“No, none of them are listening!”
“Who is missing?”
“Rusty no one is missing, no one is listening.”
“This is Rusty, I can’t understand who is missing, please say again.”
**************************
“Mr. Rusty?”
“Yes this is Mr. Rusty.”
“I need a student removed....”
“Who is the student?”
“Claymont Peters.”
“Did you say Kwayme McPhee?”
“No, Claymont Peters!”
“Peter who?”
“CLAYMONT PETERS!!!!”
“Please don't shout, I can't understand you.”
“I need Claymont removed from my room.”
“OK Mr. Simmons.”
“No this is Mr. Neeley.”
“OK Mr. Neeley, send Kwayme to me.”
Rusty isn’t the only staff member who makes us smile. One of our short-lived teachers gave us a punch line bound to get a chuckle every time it’s mentioned.
Is there a Doctor in the House?
I was amazed when Dr. Marsha Scott Dudley said she wanted to teach at Prospect. She was a part-time professor of education; she taught college students how to be teachers of at-risk students. But while getting her doctorate she somehow managed to escape teaching the very youngsters about whom she would later instruct. She said she was excited about getting out of the “Ivory Tower” and doing the real work of teaching. I hired her and she spent her first week instructing me and my staff on better ways of doing things. Ruth, my cafeteria manager, referred to her simply as “Doctor” as in “Doctor says I should cut up the fruit before serving. Doctor wants fruit cut she can cut up her own damn fruit.” After two days on the job, Doctor submitted to me a single spaced, seven-page list of “suggestions” filled with helpful hints such as: “students should sit, feet flat on the floor and hands folded when listening to the teacher” and “each student should have his own text book.” I looked forward to her first day in the classroom: the students would keep her too busy to stick her nose into everyone else’s business.
On Doctor’s first day in her classroom, the day did not start well. At 7:30 am, Rusty called me on his walkie-talkie (he inadvertently took it home). A car accident happened right where our school driveway meets 35th Street. Rusty said it looked like a serious accident. A car made a left turn into our driveway across oncoming traffic and plowed into a car that was just leaving the school and was then sideswiped by the oncoming traffic. Both front doors of the car were smashed in and it looked like it would be a long time before the wreck was cleared. All of my employees would be late given their inability to navigate past the accident.
The driver of the car was Doctor Marsha Scott Dudley.
Incredibly neither Doctor nor any other crash victims, was injured. Her car was totaled. She came to see me in my office. Her car was a Mercedes and she loved it and she was horrified that it was gone and that she might have to drive some hideous rental car while insurance sorted itself out. I listened to her car concerns thinking she was in shock. Did she need some days off? Yes. She took a week.
On Doctor’s first actual day in her classroom she had four students: two boys and two girls. Owen and Tayshaun told Doctor they “got rid” of a previous teacher and they would get rid of her. Doctor told Tayshaun to tuck in his shirt. Tayshaun pulled his jeans down to do so; he pulled them down far enough that Doctor could see his boxer shorts. She got on the walkie-talkie and demanded the Deputy arrest Tayshaun immediately. I dashed off to remove Tayshaun from her classroom for the rest of the day. Counselor Rusty enlightened Tayshaun on the definition of sexual harassment. After student dismissal, Doctor came to see me. She was agitated. I tried to make small talk about how she was feeling post-accident and how the car buying was going, but Doctor had a single focus. She was livid to learn Tayshaun was not arrested. “That boy dropped his pants and showed me his underwear when I told him to tuck in his shirt! He must be arrested!” Clearly Doctor had yet to see the worst of what my students have to offer!
On the day that was to be Doctor’s second day in her classroom, when I got to school, Lynne, my business manager, showed me a fax from Doctor - it was her resignation. It was a wordy resignation. She explained how she told her story of Tayshaun’s underwear to many of her fellow professors and they all agreed she was not safe at Prospect. Doctor Marsha Scott Dudley lasted a single day in a classroom full of troubled students (well four students actually). But you can find her in a college classroom, instructing future teachers thus doing her part in making true the cliché: “Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach. Those who can’t teach, teach teachers.”
Over a year after Doctor left, teachers who never met her, know the saga. When someone starts complaining about a poorly behaved child, a common reply is “Yes but did he show you his underwear?” When someone has had a really hard day they’ll ask, in parting, whether I left the fax machine on.
*****
Sometimes it is just the simple juxtaposition of events that creates the humor for us. In the morning meeting, Shasta, my transportation coordinator tells me about Timmy’s situation and by lunchtime I observe another related event.
On a sunny autumn day, Timmy urinated in the bus. He admits this but believes it was warranted because he really had to pee and the driver wouldn’t stop. Shasta tells Timmy he must wash out the bus. While he mops the bus Timmy chants to himself, “I’ll piss again if I have to, I’ll piss again if I have to…” While Timmy is moping and chanting, a car pulls in next to the bus carrying Marcus’s mother and another woman. When Marcus’s mom comes into the office to sign him out, the unidentified woman gets out of the car, pulls her pants down and urinates in the middle of our parking lot. Was she inspired by Timmy’s mantra?
Mostly it is our students who provide the humor that helps us get through the day.
One morning one of my students, Keith, knocked on the imaginary door to my office. Could he ask me a question? Sure. “Ms. Smee how many grandchildren you got?” Lynne, my office manager, begins to laugh out loud causing poor Keith to look confused. I try to explain the age insult; I tell Keith I have one son in college and no grandchildren. Keith says he was asking because he just got a job at Lakeboro’s new ice rink and he can get free tickets and wanted to give me some for my grandchildren. I thank Keith for his kindness and he goes to leave but first he wants to apologize. “Ms. Smee, I’m sorry for assaulting you.”
Darius, in spite of (or perhaps because of) living life in a succession of foster homes, has a great sense of humor and sometimes can even laugh at himself while putting a smile on my face.
One morning Darius is in my office explaining why he was removed from class. He tells me there is no good reason, he just cursed a bit. I tell him Daphne, his teacher, will soon be in my office and I will ask her the same question. How does he think she will respond? I convince Darius to role-play.
I ask “Daphne”: “What happened with Darius this morning?”
I can’t hear his whispered reply, so I ask him to repeat it. In a faint, trembling voice he says: “I don’t eat meat so I am too weak to speak loudly.”
I laugh and remind him that I don’t eat meat and he can hear me just fine.
Darius replies: “But you eat dairy. Miss Daphne is a vegan and that makes her weak.”
I am still laughing as I move on to the interrogation. “Daphne” answers my original question as to why Darius was removed from class.
“Darius was awful, he kept cussin’ and cussin’ and then he went in the other room and lay down and fell asleep.”
I say: “Daphne, why do you think Darius did this? He isn’t usually a bad student.”
“Daphne” replies: “I think he was really tired.”
I say: “Daphne, would you call Marva (Darius’s foster mother) and ask her to get Darius to bed earlier. His lack of sleep is impacting his school life.”
Darius leaps out of his role indignantly: “Ms. Smee, I already go to bed at 9:00 how early do you want me to go?!”
The humor of my students often lightens up a tense discussion.
Last week I was in the counseling office chastising Brock (the marijuana possessing football player) for calling Keith a Nigger. Brock is giving me a play by play “Keith spit on me and I spit on Keith then Keith kicked me and I said ‘stop it Nigger’ and all the black kids in the class got real mad at me but I didn’t mean it as a racial thing, obviously, since Keith is white.” I ask Brock if he could do it over again would he use a racial slur. Brock says no, he would call Keith a Jackass.
Karla, also in the counseling office for sleeping in class, decides to add some levity to this serious interrogation: “Jackass? But Brock, that would be a racial slur against me.”
Despite my anger at Brock, I have to laugh at Karla’s quip.
Joining Darius, Karla or any of my students in laughing at a shared joke is one of the joys of my job. During these unscripted moments of happiness, the problems and traumas of my students are momentarily forgotten. When, in the face of their difficult lives, they manage to smile, crack jokes and laugh, they appear so normal. Knowing their personal horrors, one might look at these laughing faces and pronounce them tough and resilient. But their happiness is a veneer that is not strong enough to protect them, only to distract them for a moment. But oh how we relish those moments.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Chapter Twenty-Six: The Award Ceremony
Chapter 26: The Award Ceremony
Award Ceremony: the pre-show
The grades from the end of the first quarter have been tallied, recorded, entered in the computer, printed on report cards and sent home. It’s time for an award ceremony. My team is not enthusiastic. There is no precedent for this and it means another evening event when they still haven’t recovered from the Fall Festival. I work on selling the importance of honoring our best performers and best behaved. We devote several Tuesday afternoon meetings to planning the details. These Tuesday meetings generate more positive energy than our usual “how do I cope” agendas. When we discuss students who are doing well, the teachers and counselors who work with these children feel pride for a job well done and we are all able to focus on a macro level as we discuss students who are succeeding.
Nora is doing more than succeeding, she is flourishing. After her brother, Noah, was sent to boot camp, her homeless family “relocated” their van to Jacksonville to be near Noah. Nora did not join them, instead she moved in with her aunt. Nora’s aunt lives in another county so Nora can’t officially attend our school; but since her aunt drives Nora across the county line at 6:00 every morning to deliver her to one of our regular bus stops, we look the other way. Nora’s aunt has been to school several times to talk with me, the counselors and Nora’s teachers. Nora no longer wears make up and her thin face is looking rounder, her cheeks rosier. The circles under her eyes are gone. Nora smiles, raises her hand and participates in class. I meet with her aunt to suggest Nora may be ready to try public school again. Her aunt is reluctant. She agrees Nora is doing well, but feels this may be due to our structured program and our willingness to counsel children. Her aunt tells me Nora is still a challenge at home. Unused to rules and chores, Nora protests everything, often with crying fits. Nora is in sixth grade, this is the first time in her life she has received a good report card and positive comments about her behavior. Nora will be receiving more than one award at our upcoming ceremony. We thank her aunt, she thanks us. For now, Nora will stay at Prospect; her aunt is afraid to mess with success.
We decide to combine a Geography Bee with the award ceremony. The students have been studying states and capitals and have had round one of the Bee in their classrooms. Now the winners from each class will come together for the final round. We plan for the ceremony to be held in the “cafetorium” at King Middle School where my friend and mentor, Rex Stewart, not only generously offers his school, but puts a welcome note on his marquee in front of the school: “Congratulations Prospect Students and Parents.” As plans for the evening shape up the staff grumbles less and even expresses some enthusiasm; it is contagious and soon the students are buzzing about the Bee and awards.
Thursday afternoon, the day of the award ceremony, Noreen plays basketball with her class. Shasta, who in addition to being the transportation coordinator is also the safety coordinator, reminds Noreen that staff must not play sports with the students - especially basketball - too many injuries. Noreen ignores Shasta and continues to play. At dismissal time, I notice Noreen has her finger in a cup of ice; she injured it playing basketball. I inquire about her injury, express concern about her discomfort and remind her of the rule against playing sports. I also remind her tonight is our award ceremony. Will she be able to make it? She assures me she will.
Selma and DCF part two
Teachers have been told to call their students’ homes to remind their families about tonight’s ceremony. Daphne is upset: she can’t reach Selma. Selma has been absent since that awful DCF meeting in which she made allegations of sexual abuse against her stepfather. Daphne called Selma’s home last night and spoke with Selma’s mother. Daphne learns that after the DCF meeting, a police officer and DCF worker came to Selma’s home when she was alone with her stepfather. They told the stepfather about the allegations. He denied them. They left. Daphne is incredulous that they actually left Selma home alone with her stepfather. Selma’s mother tells Daphne she doesn’t want us getting into her business. Her husband, Selma’s stepfather, has a job and his money pays the rent and pays for groceries.
This is not an uncommon refrain. Many of my students’ mothers, after expressing frustration, anger or disappointment with their boyfriend or husband, will defend him saying he “puts food on the table.” I recently read about women in Lesotho, Africa who, to support their families, leave their husbands and children to move to the city chasing “good jobs” only to find the pay isn’t enough to both survive and send money back home. So these wives and mothers take on a series of “boyfriends”: one man will help pay the rent, one has a car and drives the woman around, one pays for food. These women of Lesotho often develop AIDS from “paying” all these budget-balancing men. Lesotho is a third world country. But how different is it here in Herald County where women admit to staying with men who abuse their children in order to feed those same children?
As for Selma’s absences, her mother has no idea. She and her husband kicked Selma out of the house, and Selma now lives with a cousin who is a couple years older. Daphne gets the cousin’s phone number but only reaches an answering machine. She left a message and hopes Selma will attend tonight, but she isn’t counting on it.
The Big Night – first quarter awards
As I’m hustling about making my final preparations for the big night, Daphne comes in my office asking me to chaperone two students, Darius and Seth, and bring them to the ceremony.
The plan had been for Daphne to take them, but her mother has come for a visit. Missing her mother has been one of Daphne’s frequent themes of depression. Now that Mom is here, Daphne wants to savor every minute and can I please help her out in a pinch? Daphne explains that although Darius’s foster mother can’t bring him to the ceremony, she’ll attend to see him receive his award for public speaking (based on his performance at the Ebencorp conference). Darius’s DCF worker is due to attend as well; together they are as close to family as Darius gets. Seth’s mother, in her wheelchair, also plans to attend but she asks that we transport Seth and award him his certificate early in the program so they can leave right away. Before dining with her mother, Daphne asks me for cash to buy dinner at McDonalds for Darius and Seth. I put the two boys to work helping me photocopy and fold programs.
Seth is a gangly, acne-faced, fourteen year-old, white boy who can be witty and sweet but who has a frighteningly dim future. He has an intact family (unusual among my students) but dysfunction reigns. His mother is handicapped and in a wheelchair. His father has been known to beat her. Both parents drink excessively. The deputy tells me he has been to their home on several occasions for domestic disputes. The dirt around their trailer is always littered with empty beer cans.
Seth’s brother is in jail and Seth expects it is just a matter of time before he joins him. Seth doesn’t glorify prison nor does he cry for pity. I grew up knowing I would go to college. It was inevitable - college is where kids like me ended up. Substitute “prison” for college and you have Seth’s mindset. He is not violent on campus. Actually our biggest challenge is getting him to do his work. He likes to write but refuses to write in school. He takes his schoolwork home and does it as homework. The papers are often soiled and written in different hues (marker, ball-point, pencil) but his writing is pretty good. For years Seth has refused to blacken any ovals on the FCAT (Florida’s standardized test). When pressured he says “If you make me, I’ll just Christmas tree it, so why not save us both the time.”
Tonight I use this opportunity to talk with Seth about his FCAT avoidance and try to convince him it is worth his time to attempt the test this year. I tell him I think he is afraid others will find out what both he and I know: he is really smart. I have touched a nerve. He tells me he will think about it and maybe this year he will try, but he doesn’t sound very convincing.
Arriving at King Middle School, the evening begins inauspiciously. Jordan, one of my newest teachers, had a car accident when he left Prospect to get some dinner. He is okay and shows up shaken but not deterred. The next crisis is when Trey’s parents arrive without Trey.
Trey, a black, fourth grader and one of the smallest students in the school, is always hungry. Midge, his teacher, brings food each morning so he can eat as soon as he gets off the bus. Trey is a gifted writer; he writes stories with vivid imagery and exciting characters. He does his best writing in the morning. By late morning or early afternoon, Trey is overtaken by a bad mood and he will remain angry the rest of the day. In his moody state, Trey will throw books, desks and peers. He curses at Midge and picks fights with everyone. We’ve tried shortened days for Trey; a midday departure would be ideal. But Trey’s mom works at Wal-Mart and starts work at 11:00 a.m. She is willing to bring Trey late, dropping him off on her way to work, but she tells us she cannot pick him up early. We try the late arrival option, but as Midge observes, all we do is lose the good hours with Trey. Trey’s mother and stepfather are encouraged to come to the classroom to observe Trey. They do. They are not surprised by his behavior, they say he is the same at home and they have no suggestions. Of their three children, (in addition to Trey there is a baby and an older child), only Trey has these “problems.”
Two months ago, Trey’s stepfather attended our open house sucking a pacifier; tonight he arrives at the award ceremony without the pacifier but also without Trey. Mom with infant in arms, lets stepfather do the talking. He angrily points his finger at me. “Trey is lost. You lost our son!” I am beginning to wish he did have his pacifier. Shasta, my transportation coordinator, joins me. She calls Ellie, Trey’s bus driver, at home and finds Ellie isn’t back from her route yet; she is running late. It seems likely Trey was probably dropped off late, but if his parents are here, they aren’t at home to get him. Is Trey home alone? Since Ellie is still on the bus, Shasta can’t reach her without a CB radio. The radio is back at Prospect, five miles away. Shasta leaves to get it, Trey’s parents don’t have a working phone, they leave to see if he is home.
A few minutes later, just before the ceremony starts, Neeley, my youngest teacher, phones. He says he won’t be able to attend. He says he is sick with food poisoning. He says he’ll try to make it for the “second half.” This is a common tactic with some of my employees. In an effort to temper the bad news when they call in sick, they will often say they will try to make it in later. They never do and I learn not to expect them.
Noreen, the teacher with the injured finger, doesn’t show, nor does she call. Some of the parents in Neeley and Noreen’s classes inquire as to their whereabouts. Before I can respond, several of Noreen’s students volunteer that Noreen told her class she had no intention of attending tonight. She told them she was going to see her son in a class play and they overheard her tell Neeley to call in sick. Apparently she thought it wouldn’t be as bad for her if both of them were absent. This is the first I’ve heard of Noreen’s son performing in a play. No time to ponder. The show must go on.
Teacher Stone Simmons volunteers to be the moderator for the Geography Bee. He agrees to ask only easy questions for the first round so everyone gets one right before anyone is “out.” Unfortunately Glenn is out on his first question: “Boston is the capital of what state.” Stone waits a long time for Glenn to answer, but after no reply he gently tells him the answer, congratulates him for making it to the finals and asks him to sit down. Glenn is upset. Glenn, the white 13 year old who looks and acts like a small child, shouts he knew the answer was Massachusetts, but he got it wrong because he was still thinking and Mr. Simmons interrupted him. Despite his embarrassing, protesting outburst, the Bee continues. Everyone else is a good sport and tough questions are handled well. Parents are impressed. The students are stressed but proud. Trey, unlost, shows up in time to participate. Jillane, of sex-in-the-bus -with-Tayshaun fame, wins the Bee.
After the Bee we award certificates and honors. Our students try to be cool and poker-faced, but most can’t conceal their pride as they are called up on stage to receive their certificates. These are students whose school careers have consisted of detentions and suspensions, not awards and honors. There are tears in the eyes of many parents.
Darius is proud of his award for public speaking, but no one remotely related to him is here to witness the event, no foster mother, no DCF caseworker, no one. At the end of the ceremony I hand Darius my cell phone so he can call his foster mother to ask for a ride. She says no. Daphne assured me that Darius would have both an audience and a ride home. I now ask Daphne how Darius will get home. She says she called this afternoon and spoke with Telma, the babysitter. Telma said if no one made it to the ceremony, then when the ceremony is over Darius should call and someone would come get him. But Darius is here with no ride home, and he lives in a rural section of the county about twelve miles southeast of the school. Daphne tells me she needs to spend time with her mother and they both leave. Shasta the transportation manager to the rescue again. When Roxanne had to be transported to DCF in the rain, Shasta was there. Tonight Shasta, with her six-year-old son, Quinn, offers to take Darius home. Shasta and Quinn live 26 miles southwest of Prospect but Shasta knows where Darius lives and piles Darius and Quinn into the cab of her pickup truck.
I eat bag salad at 9:00 and think about what it is like to be Darius: so many adults in your life, but none of them yours. No one to say, “I love you. I’m proud of you.” It is so incredibly sad. I go to bed crushed by these thoughts, but when insomnia hits a few hours later, I am thinking not about Darius, I’m thinking about Noreen and Neeley. As I think about their absence tonight, their dissembling and dishonesty, I feel teeth gnashing anger. My morning run doesn’t reduce much of my fury and when my phone rings at 6:15, just as I return from my run, my lividity is revived: it’s Noreen’s husband calling to say she has strep throat and won’t be in today and I don’t believe a word he says.
What’s happening to me? I am becoming cynical, jaded, expecting the worst, - - and all this after only a few months. This is not the kind of boss I want to be; this is not who I am. Was this metamorphosis unavoidable given that every since I came to Prospect people have been failing and disappointing me over and over again? Maybe this is exactly the problem my teachers and students face as they struggle to achieve, to even to get by: poor performance causes low expectations which cause poorer performance which causes even lower expectations. . . how do I break this cycle? What can I do to make it different? Isn’t this why I can here in the first place – to make a difference? I need to get a grip, put my Noreen seething on the back burner, roll up my sleeves and head to work.
Award Ceremony: the pre-show
The grades from the end of the first quarter have been tallied, recorded, entered in the computer, printed on report cards and sent home. It’s time for an award ceremony. My team is not enthusiastic. There is no precedent for this and it means another evening event when they still haven’t recovered from the Fall Festival. I work on selling the importance of honoring our best performers and best behaved. We devote several Tuesday afternoon meetings to planning the details. These Tuesday meetings generate more positive energy than our usual “how do I cope” agendas. When we discuss students who are doing well, the teachers and counselors who work with these children feel pride for a job well done and we are all able to focus on a macro level as we discuss students who are succeeding.
Nora is doing more than succeeding, she is flourishing. After her brother, Noah, was sent to boot camp, her homeless family “relocated” their van to Jacksonville to be near Noah. Nora did not join them, instead she moved in with her aunt. Nora’s aunt lives in another county so Nora can’t officially attend our school; but since her aunt drives Nora across the county line at 6:00 every morning to deliver her to one of our regular bus stops, we look the other way. Nora’s aunt has been to school several times to talk with me, the counselors and Nora’s teachers. Nora no longer wears make up and her thin face is looking rounder, her cheeks rosier. The circles under her eyes are gone. Nora smiles, raises her hand and participates in class. I meet with her aunt to suggest Nora may be ready to try public school again. Her aunt is reluctant. She agrees Nora is doing well, but feels this may be due to our structured program and our willingness to counsel children. Her aunt tells me Nora is still a challenge at home. Unused to rules and chores, Nora protests everything, often with crying fits. Nora is in sixth grade, this is the first time in her life she has received a good report card and positive comments about her behavior. Nora will be receiving more than one award at our upcoming ceremony. We thank her aunt, she thanks us. For now, Nora will stay at Prospect; her aunt is afraid to mess with success.
We decide to combine a Geography Bee with the award ceremony. The students have been studying states and capitals and have had round one of the Bee in their classrooms. Now the winners from each class will come together for the final round. We plan for the ceremony to be held in the “cafetorium” at King Middle School where my friend and mentor, Rex Stewart, not only generously offers his school, but puts a welcome note on his marquee in front of the school: “Congratulations Prospect Students and Parents.” As plans for the evening shape up the staff grumbles less and even expresses some enthusiasm; it is contagious and soon the students are buzzing about the Bee and awards.
Thursday afternoon, the day of the award ceremony, Noreen plays basketball with her class. Shasta, who in addition to being the transportation coordinator is also the safety coordinator, reminds Noreen that staff must not play sports with the students - especially basketball - too many injuries. Noreen ignores Shasta and continues to play. At dismissal time, I notice Noreen has her finger in a cup of ice; she injured it playing basketball. I inquire about her injury, express concern about her discomfort and remind her of the rule against playing sports. I also remind her tonight is our award ceremony. Will she be able to make it? She assures me she will.
Selma and DCF part two
Teachers have been told to call their students’ homes to remind their families about tonight’s ceremony. Daphne is upset: she can’t reach Selma. Selma has been absent since that awful DCF meeting in which she made allegations of sexual abuse against her stepfather. Daphne called Selma’s home last night and spoke with Selma’s mother. Daphne learns that after the DCF meeting, a police officer and DCF worker came to Selma’s home when she was alone with her stepfather. They told the stepfather about the allegations. He denied them. They left. Daphne is incredulous that they actually left Selma home alone with her stepfather. Selma’s mother tells Daphne she doesn’t want us getting into her business. Her husband, Selma’s stepfather, has a job and his money pays the rent and pays for groceries.
This is not an uncommon refrain. Many of my students’ mothers, after expressing frustration, anger or disappointment with their boyfriend or husband, will defend him saying he “puts food on the table.” I recently read about women in Lesotho, Africa who, to support their families, leave their husbands and children to move to the city chasing “good jobs” only to find the pay isn’t enough to both survive and send money back home. So these wives and mothers take on a series of “boyfriends”: one man will help pay the rent, one has a car and drives the woman around, one pays for food. These women of Lesotho often develop AIDS from “paying” all these budget-balancing men. Lesotho is a third world country. But how different is it here in Herald County where women admit to staying with men who abuse their children in order to feed those same children?
As for Selma’s absences, her mother has no idea. She and her husband kicked Selma out of the house, and Selma now lives with a cousin who is a couple years older. Daphne gets the cousin’s phone number but only reaches an answering machine. She left a message and hopes Selma will attend tonight, but she isn’t counting on it.
The Big Night – first quarter awards
As I’m hustling about making my final preparations for the big night, Daphne comes in my office asking me to chaperone two students, Darius and Seth, and bring them to the ceremony.
The plan had been for Daphne to take them, but her mother has come for a visit. Missing her mother has been one of Daphne’s frequent themes of depression. Now that Mom is here, Daphne wants to savor every minute and can I please help her out in a pinch? Daphne explains that although Darius’s foster mother can’t bring him to the ceremony, she’ll attend to see him receive his award for public speaking (based on his performance at the Ebencorp conference). Darius’s DCF worker is due to attend as well; together they are as close to family as Darius gets. Seth’s mother, in her wheelchair, also plans to attend but she asks that we transport Seth and award him his certificate early in the program so they can leave right away. Before dining with her mother, Daphne asks me for cash to buy dinner at McDonalds for Darius and Seth. I put the two boys to work helping me photocopy and fold programs.
Seth is a gangly, acne-faced, fourteen year-old, white boy who can be witty and sweet but who has a frighteningly dim future. He has an intact family (unusual among my students) but dysfunction reigns. His mother is handicapped and in a wheelchair. His father has been known to beat her. Both parents drink excessively. The deputy tells me he has been to their home on several occasions for domestic disputes. The dirt around their trailer is always littered with empty beer cans.
Seth’s brother is in jail and Seth expects it is just a matter of time before he joins him. Seth doesn’t glorify prison nor does he cry for pity. I grew up knowing I would go to college. It was inevitable - college is where kids like me ended up. Substitute “prison” for college and you have Seth’s mindset. He is not violent on campus. Actually our biggest challenge is getting him to do his work. He likes to write but refuses to write in school. He takes his schoolwork home and does it as homework. The papers are often soiled and written in different hues (marker, ball-point, pencil) but his writing is pretty good. For years Seth has refused to blacken any ovals on the FCAT (Florida’s standardized test). When pressured he says “If you make me, I’ll just Christmas tree it, so why not save us both the time.”
Tonight I use this opportunity to talk with Seth about his FCAT avoidance and try to convince him it is worth his time to attempt the test this year. I tell him I think he is afraid others will find out what both he and I know: he is really smart. I have touched a nerve. He tells me he will think about it and maybe this year he will try, but he doesn’t sound very convincing.
Arriving at King Middle School, the evening begins inauspiciously. Jordan, one of my newest teachers, had a car accident when he left Prospect to get some dinner. He is okay and shows up shaken but not deterred. The next crisis is when Trey’s parents arrive without Trey.
Trey, a black, fourth grader and one of the smallest students in the school, is always hungry. Midge, his teacher, brings food each morning so he can eat as soon as he gets off the bus. Trey is a gifted writer; he writes stories with vivid imagery and exciting characters. He does his best writing in the morning. By late morning or early afternoon, Trey is overtaken by a bad mood and he will remain angry the rest of the day. In his moody state, Trey will throw books, desks and peers. He curses at Midge and picks fights with everyone. We’ve tried shortened days for Trey; a midday departure would be ideal. But Trey’s mom works at Wal-Mart and starts work at 11:00 a.m. She is willing to bring Trey late, dropping him off on her way to work, but she tells us she cannot pick him up early. We try the late arrival option, but as Midge observes, all we do is lose the good hours with Trey. Trey’s mother and stepfather are encouraged to come to the classroom to observe Trey. They do. They are not surprised by his behavior, they say he is the same at home and they have no suggestions. Of their three children, (in addition to Trey there is a baby and an older child), only Trey has these “problems.”
Two months ago, Trey’s stepfather attended our open house sucking a pacifier; tonight he arrives at the award ceremony without the pacifier but also without Trey. Mom with infant in arms, lets stepfather do the talking. He angrily points his finger at me. “Trey is lost. You lost our son!” I am beginning to wish he did have his pacifier. Shasta, my transportation coordinator, joins me. She calls Ellie, Trey’s bus driver, at home and finds Ellie isn’t back from her route yet; she is running late. It seems likely Trey was probably dropped off late, but if his parents are here, they aren’t at home to get him. Is Trey home alone? Since Ellie is still on the bus, Shasta can’t reach her without a CB radio. The radio is back at Prospect, five miles away. Shasta leaves to get it, Trey’s parents don’t have a working phone, they leave to see if he is home.
A few minutes later, just before the ceremony starts, Neeley, my youngest teacher, phones. He says he won’t be able to attend. He says he is sick with food poisoning. He says he’ll try to make it for the “second half.” This is a common tactic with some of my employees. In an effort to temper the bad news when they call in sick, they will often say they will try to make it in later. They never do and I learn not to expect them.
Noreen, the teacher with the injured finger, doesn’t show, nor does she call. Some of the parents in Neeley and Noreen’s classes inquire as to their whereabouts. Before I can respond, several of Noreen’s students volunteer that Noreen told her class she had no intention of attending tonight. She told them she was going to see her son in a class play and they overheard her tell Neeley to call in sick. Apparently she thought it wouldn’t be as bad for her if both of them were absent. This is the first I’ve heard of Noreen’s son performing in a play. No time to ponder. The show must go on.
Teacher Stone Simmons volunteers to be the moderator for the Geography Bee. He agrees to ask only easy questions for the first round so everyone gets one right before anyone is “out.” Unfortunately Glenn is out on his first question: “Boston is the capital of what state.” Stone waits a long time for Glenn to answer, but after no reply he gently tells him the answer, congratulates him for making it to the finals and asks him to sit down. Glenn is upset. Glenn, the white 13 year old who looks and acts like a small child, shouts he knew the answer was Massachusetts, but he got it wrong because he was still thinking and Mr. Simmons interrupted him. Despite his embarrassing, protesting outburst, the Bee continues. Everyone else is a good sport and tough questions are handled well. Parents are impressed. The students are stressed but proud. Trey, unlost, shows up in time to participate. Jillane, of sex-in-the-bus -with-Tayshaun fame, wins the Bee.
After the Bee we award certificates and honors. Our students try to be cool and poker-faced, but most can’t conceal their pride as they are called up on stage to receive their certificates. These are students whose school careers have consisted of detentions and suspensions, not awards and honors. There are tears in the eyes of many parents.
Darius is proud of his award for public speaking, but no one remotely related to him is here to witness the event, no foster mother, no DCF caseworker, no one. At the end of the ceremony I hand Darius my cell phone so he can call his foster mother to ask for a ride. She says no. Daphne assured me that Darius would have both an audience and a ride home. I now ask Daphne how Darius will get home. She says she called this afternoon and spoke with Telma, the babysitter. Telma said if no one made it to the ceremony, then when the ceremony is over Darius should call and someone would come get him. But Darius is here with no ride home, and he lives in a rural section of the county about twelve miles southeast of the school. Daphne tells me she needs to spend time with her mother and they both leave. Shasta the transportation manager to the rescue again. When Roxanne had to be transported to DCF in the rain, Shasta was there. Tonight Shasta, with her six-year-old son, Quinn, offers to take Darius home. Shasta and Quinn live 26 miles southwest of Prospect but Shasta knows where Darius lives and piles Darius and Quinn into the cab of her pickup truck.
I eat bag salad at 9:00 and think about what it is like to be Darius: so many adults in your life, but none of them yours. No one to say, “I love you. I’m proud of you.” It is so incredibly sad. I go to bed crushed by these thoughts, but when insomnia hits a few hours later, I am thinking not about Darius, I’m thinking about Noreen and Neeley. As I think about their absence tonight, their dissembling and dishonesty, I feel teeth gnashing anger. My morning run doesn’t reduce much of my fury and when my phone rings at 6:15, just as I return from my run, my lividity is revived: it’s Noreen’s husband calling to say she has strep throat and won’t be in today and I don’t believe a word he says.
What’s happening to me? I am becoming cynical, jaded, expecting the worst, - - and all this after only a few months. This is not the kind of boss I want to be; this is not who I am. Was this metamorphosis unavoidable given that every since I came to Prospect people have been failing and disappointing me over and over again? Maybe this is exactly the problem my teachers and students face as they struggle to achieve, to even to get by: poor performance causes low expectations which cause poorer performance which causes even lower expectations. . . how do I break this cycle? What can I do to make it different? Isn’t this why I can here in the first place – to make a difference? I need to get a grip, put my Noreen seething on the back burner, roll up my sleeves and head to work.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Chapter Twenty-Five: The Score at the End of the First Quarter
Chapter 25: The Score at the End of the First Quarter
May to October – tallying the score
I became principal of Prospect in May 2002, now it is October. During those five months I hired eleven new faculty members, three of whom departed before the ink was dry on their paperwork. Of the thirteen employees I inherited, six are still at Prospect. I also hired four new bus drivers and lost five leaving me with five drivers.
The staff turnover is troubling. I didn’t expect it would be quite so difficult to recruit and retain great teachers. When I accepted this position I didn’t realize my staff would be expected to work twelve months a year while their public school counterparts work ten, and that Prospect salaries would be below the public school pay scale. I didn’t realize the budget would be so tight that I would be forced to respond to the unremitting flow of students from the public schools to Prospect by operating in a constant hiring mode. One of my challenges is to hire teachers “just-in-time” to meet the ever-growing student population. If I hire too soon, I waste money and can’t balance the budget; if I hire too late, I have overcrowded classrooms with highly stressed teachers. I never expected the advertising, recruiting, interviewing, contacting references and hiring process to be all my responsibility with no support from Ebencorp’s HR department. Nor did I realize that all this hiring would have so many dead ends and be so frustrating. I’ve spoken with The Boss about the need to move the staff to a ten-month calendar and to work on raising salaries. So far he has not been supportive. In the meantime I need to find not just adequate, but terrific teachers to help my desperate students. I remain optimistic but I’m not sure I am being realistic.
During this nine-week academic quarter, we enrolled 87 students and lost 19, enrolling, on the average, half a dozen students every week. The growth in student enrollment was, on one hand, expected and planned. My contract with Herald County calls for a maximum of 200 students to be moved to Prospect over the course of the year. This is the nature of my school: as students misbehave they are transferred to us from public school. However, the increase in enrollment over these first three months has been more dramatic than it should have been. Enrollment trends for the past three years indicate we receive a steady flow of 3-4 students per week in August and September. We often don’t enroll any new students in October due to FTE week. (FTE stands for full-time equivalent and this is the week when students are counted for the purpose of school funding dollars. Very few principals are willing to lose “heads” just prior to or during FTE week.)
Since one of Mel’s last acts was to approve the transfer of over 100 students back to public school, most of whom were not ready to return, these students are now bouncing back to Prospect. These returning students are very upset to be back at Prospect especially since “Mr. Mel” told them they were ready to leave. Moreover this great influx of students in the first quarter has been very difficult for me and my staff to manage.
In the first quarter, I did not approve any child’s return to public school. Given the stigma associated with Prospect students, I wanted to be sure any child who returned would be able to cope, succeed and flourish. Henry has expressed a sentiment shared by many of his public school peers: a child who is transferred to Prospect needs to stay at least an entire school year. The students who have left Prospect this year either moved out of the county, were being homeschooled or took advantage of the loophole that allows parents to reenroll their child in public school without any administrator’s approval.
Any Prospect student who is not a “felony transfer” or was not expelled from public school, is considered a “voluntary placement.” Principals typically tell parents “Your child is heading toward an expulsion. We should transfer him now to Prospect to avoid having an expulsion on his record.” Most parents don’t know this means they can remove their child from Prospect at anytime, but some do and have been known to transfer their child against Prospect’s recommendation. Most of the children who leave Prospect for homeschooling or by the “voluntary loophole” ultimately return. Prospect parents typically don’t have the skills, academically or emotionally, to homeschool their children. Those children who return to public school with all their anti-social skills still in evidence, are quickly suspended or returned to Prospect. When Prospect parents go to reenroll their child in public school, the principal often phones to ask me whether I recommend this particular student return. When I say no, we both know it is but a matter of time before the child is back at Prospect. This revolving door doesn’t benefit anyone - not the students, not my staff and not the public school teachers, deans and principals. Henry and I often talk about how to close this loophole. So far we have many ideas but nothing Henry feels he can bring before the School Board.
My discussions with Henry over the first quarter have made me conscious of a fissure in our relationship. Like an itch just out of reach in the small of my back, I am dimly aware, but ignore it thinking it will go away. With so many challenges, I want to maintain the Henry harmony and thus I tend to glaze over problems. But as we talk it is clear that Henry is more interested in quickly and smoothly transferring troubled students to Prospect than in preventing children from being bounced between schools. It also seems he is not nearly as concerned as I am about the less than equivalent education children receive at the alternative schools. After just a few months at Prospect, my views on education policy and educating “on the ground” are shifting and coalescing.
As a former teacher, I am sympathetic to teachers who need to remove violent and disruptive students from their classrooms. I also know that many alternative school employees and proponents believe that “at-risk” children need a different atmosphere in which to learn, i.e. strict, structured classrooms, low teacher-pupil ratios, engaging, intensive, relevant lessons and counseling for those in need. What I am most acutely aware of now is that the money and resources don’t follow the need. So what do you do when you go to work in the morning and see hundreds of the most needy children who aren’t learning, who aren’t getting an equal education?
I am starting to seriously doubt the wisdom of putting all these poor, troubled students together in a school with fewer resources than the public schools. The public schools might be benefiting from this arrangement, but are my students? This creates some personal dilemmas: if moving children from public school to Prospect isn’t the best answer, should I work, as Mel did, to move more students back in public school? If this system is wrong and has to change and I am part of this system, am I part of the problem? John Dewey’s once said, “What the best and wisest parent wants for his own child, that must the community want for all its children.” I’m starting to worry that the Herald County public school system may not want to provide the same quality of education for all the children of Herald County.
On the other hand, I rationalize that whether I’m here or not, the children would still be here. And, I firmly believe that before I came these children were not getting the same level of education and rehabilitation that we are now providing. And I can be a voice for these disenfranchised kids. I can to fight to get more resources for them. I have to help the Herald County School Board and community see that marginalizing and segregating these children is not only wrong, but will haunt the community in the future. These children will grow up and if we don’t counsel and educate them now, they will, at best, become a financial burden on the taxpayers of Herald County and, at worst, will victimize the community with their criminal behavior.
But at the end of the first academic quarter, I find I am not speaking for the children. I am struggling just to keep pace with the influx of students, with hiring good teachers and with running the school. I still believe Prospect will work if I could just get organized, hire the right people and get enough grant money. I can’t afford to let my doubts take over. I jumped into this job with both feet. My husband and I are building a home here and putting down roots. I can’t accept that Prospect won’t work – that I can’t make it work.
May to October – tallying the score
I became principal of Prospect in May 2002, now it is October. During those five months I hired eleven new faculty members, three of whom departed before the ink was dry on their paperwork. Of the thirteen employees I inherited, six are still at Prospect. I also hired four new bus drivers and lost five leaving me with five drivers.
The staff turnover is troubling. I didn’t expect it would be quite so difficult to recruit and retain great teachers. When I accepted this position I didn’t realize my staff would be expected to work twelve months a year while their public school counterparts work ten, and that Prospect salaries would be below the public school pay scale. I didn’t realize the budget would be so tight that I would be forced to respond to the unremitting flow of students from the public schools to Prospect by operating in a constant hiring mode. One of my challenges is to hire teachers “just-in-time” to meet the ever-growing student population. If I hire too soon, I waste money and can’t balance the budget; if I hire too late, I have overcrowded classrooms with highly stressed teachers. I never expected the advertising, recruiting, interviewing, contacting references and hiring process to be all my responsibility with no support from Ebencorp’s HR department. Nor did I realize that all this hiring would have so many dead ends and be so frustrating. I’ve spoken with The Boss about the need to move the staff to a ten-month calendar and to work on raising salaries. So far he has not been supportive. In the meantime I need to find not just adequate, but terrific teachers to help my desperate students. I remain optimistic but I’m not sure I am being realistic.
During this nine-week academic quarter, we enrolled 87 students and lost 19, enrolling, on the average, half a dozen students every week. The growth in student enrollment was, on one hand, expected and planned. My contract with Herald County calls for a maximum of 200 students to be moved to Prospect over the course of the year. This is the nature of my school: as students misbehave they are transferred to us from public school. However, the increase in enrollment over these first three months has been more dramatic than it should have been. Enrollment trends for the past three years indicate we receive a steady flow of 3-4 students per week in August and September. We often don’t enroll any new students in October due to FTE week. (FTE stands for full-time equivalent and this is the week when students are counted for the purpose of school funding dollars. Very few principals are willing to lose “heads” just prior to or during FTE week.)
Since one of Mel’s last acts was to approve the transfer of over 100 students back to public school, most of whom were not ready to return, these students are now bouncing back to Prospect. These returning students are very upset to be back at Prospect especially since “Mr. Mel” told them they were ready to leave. Moreover this great influx of students in the first quarter has been very difficult for me and my staff to manage.
In the first quarter, I did not approve any child’s return to public school. Given the stigma associated with Prospect students, I wanted to be sure any child who returned would be able to cope, succeed and flourish. Henry has expressed a sentiment shared by many of his public school peers: a child who is transferred to Prospect needs to stay at least an entire school year. The students who have left Prospect this year either moved out of the county, were being homeschooled or took advantage of the loophole that allows parents to reenroll their child in public school without any administrator’s approval.
Any Prospect student who is not a “felony transfer” or was not expelled from public school, is considered a “voluntary placement.” Principals typically tell parents “Your child is heading toward an expulsion. We should transfer him now to Prospect to avoid having an expulsion on his record.” Most parents don’t know this means they can remove their child from Prospect at anytime, but some do and have been known to transfer their child against Prospect’s recommendation. Most of the children who leave Prospect for homeschooling or by the “voluntary loophole” ultimately return. Prospect parents typically don’t have the skills, academically or emotionally, to homeschool their children. Those children who return to public school with all their anti-social skills still in evidence, are quickly suspended or returned to Prospect. When Prospect parents go to reenroll their child in public school, the principal often phones to ask me whether I recommend this particular student return. When I say no, we both know it is but a matter of time before the child is back at Prospect. This revolving door doesn’t benefit anyone - not the students, not my staff and not the public school teachers, deans and principals. Henry and I often talk about how to close this loophole. So far we have many ideas but nothing Henry feels he can bring before the School Board.
My discussions with Henry over the first quarter have made me conscious of a fissure in our relationship. Like an itch just out of reach in the small of my back, I am dimly aware, but ignore it thinking it will go away. With so many challenges, I want to maintain the Henry harmony and thus I tend to glaze over problems. But as we talk it is clear that Henry is more interested in quickly and smoothly transferring troubled students to Prospect than in preventing children from being bounced between schools. It also seems he is not nearly as concerned as I am about the less than equivalent education children receive at the alternative schools. After just a few months at Prospect, my views on education policy and educating “on the ground” are shifting and coalescing.
As a former teacher, I am sympathetic to teachers who need to remove violent and disruptive students from their classrooms. I also know that many alternative school employees and proponents believe that “at-risk” children need a different atmosphere in which to learn, i.e. strict, structured classrooms, low teacher-pupil ratios, engaging, intensive, relevant lessons and counseling for those in need. What I am most acutely aware of now is that the money and resources don’t follow the need. So what do you do when you go to work in the morning and see hundreds of the most needy children who aren’t learning, who aren’t getting an equal education?
I am starting to seriously doubt the wisdom of putting all these poor, troubled students together in a school with fewer resources than the public schools. The public schools might be benefiting from this arrangement, but are my students? This creates some personal dilemmas: if moving children from public school to Prospect isn’t the best answer, should I work, as Mel did, to move more students back in public school? If this system is wrong and has to change and I am part of this system, am I part of the problem? John Dewey’s once said, “What the best and wisest parent wants for his own child, that must the community want for all its children.” I’m starting to worry that the Herald County public school system may not want to provide the same quality of education for all the children of Herald County.
On the other hand, I rationalize that whether I’m here or not, the children would still be here. And, I firmly believe that before I came these children were not getting the same level of education and rehabilitation that we are now providing. And I can be a voice for these disenfranchised kids. I can to fight to get more resources for them. I have to help the Herald County School Board and community see that marginalizing and segregating these children is not only wrong, but will haunt the community in the future. These children will grow up and if we don’t counsel and educate them now, they will, at best, become a financial burden on the taxpayers of Herald County and, at worst, will victimize the community with their criminal behavior.
But at the end of the first academic quarter, I find I am not speaking for the children. I am struggling just to keep pace with the influx of students, with hiring good teachers and with running the school. I still believe Prospect will work if I could just get organized, hire the right people and get enough grant money. I can’t afford to let my doubts take over. I jumped into this job with both feet. My husband and I are building a home here and putting down roots. I can’t accept that Prospect won’t work – that I can’t make it work.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
