Chapter 46: Nightmares and Dreams Deferred
It isn’t the most creative of assignments: “Think about Dr.King’s I have a Dream speech and write down your dreams for the future.” I grudgingly give Jana and RitaMae credit for at least acknowledging the holiday. Last week I printed up, discussed and distributed MLK celebration lesson plans from a few web sites to generate some enthusiasm for the holiday. Unfortunately my staff was more focused on the fact that MLK day is a day off from work. I know I should be happy that at least Jana and RitaMae are devoting some class time to Dr. King.
Aeron misbehaves during the writing assignment and is sent to my office. Aeron is a white fifteen-year-old boy the height of a nine-year-old with a mouth full of decaying, twisted teeth. He could be a poster child for the effects of poor nutrition and lack of medical care both pre and post natal. First Aeron tells me he acted up because he was bored and this is his second time in eighth grade and he already did this assignment last year. Then, after some discussion he says the real reason he is upset is because his dream is wrecked. He won’t divulge his dream to me or tell me what “wrecked” it, but I make a guess since I know his house burned down last week. Aeron tearfully admits fire is what wrecked his dream. I talk to him about Dr. King and how at times he felt his dreams were wrecked but he kept going. After a while Aeron returns to class and writes about his dream of becoming a cab driver.
RitaMae sends Ian, a white fourteen-year-old blond boy, to my office to share his essay about his dream. Actually Ian chose to illustrate his dream rather than write an essay. He drew a headstone bearing his name with the caption: “For my dream to come true I’ll have to be dead.” When RitaMae asks him about the drawing all Ian says is that he wants to make everyone happy and that to accomplish this he must die. RitaMae tells me when she saw his drawing she immediately called Ian’s mother. Ian has a history of depression and has been prescribed drugs for his condition. Has he been taking them? His Mom doesn’t know and told RitaMae that recently Ian has been living with the neighbors since he gets along better with them than with her. I ask our Deputy to Baker Act Ian and radio for counselor Rusty. If Rusty has a favorite student, it’s Ian.
When Ian first arrived at Prospect, he used to go AWOL several times from every class. It was not unusual to see Ian standing outside a classroom, fists clenched starring at his feet muttering “I’m not going back in there and you can’t make me.” Then Rusty began to meet with him regularly and Ian thrived. Ian began to make phone calls to Rusty every evening, “just to talk.” He began to stay in class and even to participate. When I tell Rusty Ian’s dream is to die, Rusty is crushed. He sits and talks with Ian until the deputy arrives to take Ian to the hospital.
Mookie refuses to write an essay about his “dream” and asks Jana if he can be sent to my office. Looking at Mookie sitting across the desk from me, I remember the last time he was in my office. It was the morning he created a major disturbance during a talk by one of our Career Day speakers who annoyed Mookie by repeated references to the future.
Today when I ask him why he won’t write about a dream, he replies with a question: can anyone make dead people come back alive? He tells me his only dream is to have his mother and father alive again and he knows it can’t happen so why write about it? I radio for Rosie telling her we could use her counseling expertise.
Julio, a quiet, Hispanic fourteen-year-old boy who lives with his father and is frequently absent for minor maladies, writes about his dream. Julio writes about how he wants to become a lawyer and sue the people who sent him to Prospect.
Now Darnell is in my office telling me he has no dreams. Darnell is a fourteen-year-old black boy who mostly wears his face frozen in an expressionless mask. He is very good looking and many of the girls flirt with him, but Darnell shows as little interest in them as he does in his assignment – Darnell is the picture of apathy. In the beginning of our school year, Darnell’s mother came to our open house with Darnell and his younger sister. His sister has cerebral palsy and Mom was pushing her in a wheelchair/stroller. Darnell gets his good looks from his mother. She came to the open house straight from work and was professionally dressed, her face calm and wrinkle-free, not revealing one iota of the heartache and turmoil I now know has rocked her life.
Last June, after I came to Prospect but before I met Darnell, he had been living with his sister, mother and step-father. For over a year his step-father had been physically abusing Darnell (in relaying this story, his mother says, by way of an explanation, “I didn’t know until after how bad the beatings were, but he put food on the table and paid the rent.”) However, the beating he gave Darnell last June was the worst ever. He beat Darnell until he lost consciousness. His mother witnessed the beating but even when she tells the story it is unclear how hard, if at all, she tried to intervene. She didn’t call the police for two weeks. Her call was the catalyst that ultimately landed step-father, now also ex-husband, in prison. Since June, Darnell has been angry at, and unforgiving of, his mother for allowing him to be beaten. He has openly stated his goal: to get his mother arrested so she too can go to jail. His method – be so bad she beats him then call 911 about the abuse.
Darnell’s plan is partially effective: he can usually inspire his mother to beat him with a belt. We have counseled Mom saying especially given Darnell’s history of beatings, she should never resort to physical punishment with him. We’ve offered suggestions for sanctions and revoking privileges but when Darnell provokes her, she instinctively goes for the belt. Part two of Darnell’s plan hasn’t worked as well – when he dials 911 the police only sometimes come and when they do and see this mother with a handicapped girl and stone-faced Darnell, they usually lecture Darnell and threaten next time they’ll give him a whuppin themselves.
But today Darnell is sitting in my office saying he doesn’t have a dream. I think of Langston Hughes poem about what happens to a dream deferred, but I share a different Langston Hughes poem with Darnell: Mother-to-Son that begins “Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.” Darnell and I read and reread the poem talking about what Langston Hughes meant and how he wasn’t really describing a staircase. When we’re done, Darnell still says he doesn’t have a dream to write about but if nothing else, he got a language arts lesson from me although I’m fairly certain our analysis of the poem was more than an academic exercise.
A few nights later, about 8:00 pm, I’m working late when Darnell phones to say he wants me to call the police on his mother because they won’t listen to him. He tells me how he intentionally disobeyed his mother and refused to wash the dishes and start dinner so that when she came home from work and from picking up his sister at day care, the kitchen was filthy and there was nothing to eat and Darnell goaded his mother saying he didn’t feel like cooking and cleaning and what was she going to do about it? She beat him with the belt, then went out with her daughter to McDonalds leaving Darnell home alone. He asks me again to please to call the police to arrest her. I do make a phone call for Darnell, but not to the police. I call Cressler House.
I later learn that the staff at Cressler counseled both Darnell and his mother by phone that night and then had Darnell stay at Cressler House for a week and got him and his mother enrolled in a group counseling for parents and adolescents.
Life for Darnell, Aeron, Ian, Mookie and even Julio, ain’t been no crystal stair, and I can only hope they keep climbing.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Chapter Forty-Five: A Mime, A Wrestler, A Soldier, A Sailor and an Officer
Chapter 45: A Mime, A Wrestler, A Soldier, A Sailor and an Officer
I start 2003 much the way I started at Prospect last May, with a flurry of hiring – six new teachers to be exact.
I went into Christmas Break knowing I’d have to hire three teachers: the two Title One positions and another I’d budgeted for based on enrollment projections. I was actually pretty excited about hiring those three teachers since the “vacation” provided me the time to focus on reading resumes and interviewing without the daily stress of running the school. I found three candidates I felt very positive about. I used the interview tip provided by my mentor, Rex. He told me it’s not the specific questions or answers that are key, it is more the sense you get as you converse – do you feel a bond, chemistry? For this approach, I have to use the other side of my brain, but I think get it. When I think back to my interview with “Doctor” she aced all my questions and had all the qualifications and then some, but when we spoke, she sort of “creeped me out.” I remember feeling annoyed and irritated by her. My discussions with my three new candidates are just the opposite. After conducting enough phone interviews to wildly exceed my mobile minutes for the month, I find them: two black women and one white man, all veterans, two Army and one Navy. I so enjoy talking with them I don’t want the interviews to end and I sense they feel the same.
One of them is Frank, but he wants to be called Theo. He is an experienced and recently retired math teacher from Scranton, Pennsylvania, an Army veteran with experience teaching urban poor students. He sounds tough but with a compassion for children – when he talks about his former students and his grandson (who he and his wife are raising) Theo’s voice lights up. Theo isn’t as creative as former math teacher, Noreen, but he seems far more honest and trustworthy. I can encourage and develop creativity in a teacher. I don’t know how to teach honesty and morality.
Dana has a Master’s Degree in English and grew up in Jamaica. She and her husband are both retired Navy and they are now raising four school age children here in Lakeboro. Dana is bursting with wonderful, creative ideas for our Title One reading program. She is familiar with children’s literature and is passionate about working with at-risk children. My cell phone battery almost dies we talk so long.
Valerie was an Army brat who grew up to become an Officer. A single parent raising a kindergarten-aged son, she loves mathematics and science. Valerie would rather work with poor, challenging middle school students than with “typical” children. She is a computer whiz, no nonsense with a sense of humor. I want her for my Title One math teacher.
I was patting myself on the back for finding, recruiting and hiring Theo, Dana and Valerie, though my self-congratulatory moments were tainted by the end-of-Christmas Break departure of Daphne. But I rallied with two “back up” resumes: The Mime and The Wrestler. Neither The Mime nor The Wrestler gave me that same warm feeling I got with Theo, Dana and Valerie, but at least I didn’t get that skin crawling feeling I got when I spoke with Doctor. The Mime is a bit too effervescent and emotional which sort of annoys me while The Wrestler is laconic, shy or just really quiet which sort of unnerves me. I will count on Jordan and Sam to give me feedback and their preference for working with The Mime, The Wrestler or neither.
I feel like the hiring situation is under control, but at Prospect there is ALWAYS another shoe waiting to drop.
It is 7:10 am. I am driving to work and answering cell phone calls. Teacher Yvonne calls to tell me she is sick and won’t be in today. Stephanie, the orientation leader calls next. She was in the hospital over Christmas Break having a kidney stone removed, but they couldn’t get it so now she has a shunt and she starts to give me more details about having to urinate into a strainer to “pan” for the elusive kidney stone, but I stop listening for fear of losing my recently consumed yogurt. Then I become suspicious, I have learned that when employees call in sick and give me TMI (too much information) they are often lying. It crosses my mind that Stephanie may be taking a sick day not due to physical pain, but for emotional pain regarding the departure of Rufus, her new “love-of-her-life.” I read in the morning paper that Rufus’s Army reserve unit just got called up and will be heading to Kuwait today. No time to ponder, the cell phone rings again. Before I can stop her, my PE teacher, Billie launches into a long and very disgusting story about her dog. Yesterday her dog had some wound that was “squirting blood” so, Billie explains, she put a sanitary napkin on the wound but she wanted to keep checking it and like a perverse child picking a scab, Billie kept unwrapping the sanitary napkin from the wound and every time she did the blood would start to “squirt” again. So last night she took the dog to the vet and he cauterized the wound and bandaged it (presumably not with a sanitary napkin) but Billie decided to “check it” before work today (naturally) and guess what, it started to squirt blood so Billie is taking the dog back to the vet and she’ll be late today. I am too busy gagging to ask her for an ETA. But wait, one more phone call to round out the morning. Ruth, the cafeteria manager, has a dear friend who is dying somewhere near Miami. She calls to tell me she is driving south right now to care for her. I hang up and walk in the office where Lynne greets me with a fax that just arrived. I nod absently, strategizing how to configure my team to cover all these absences, but Lynne insists I read the fax immediately.
The fax is from North Carolina, from a bank, from a man with the same last name as my sick teacher, Yvonne. Oh, it’s from Yvonne’s father’s office. The fax is Yvonne’s resignation. I am momentarily baffled. Less than an hour ago she called in sick but now she is faxing from North Carolina to say she quits?
I forget about strained urine and Kotex covered canines. Yvonne’s departure means I need to hire yet another teacher. I jump on it and set up an interview with a teacher candidate who tells me he was a principal at a charter school in Michigan but left because he “got bored.” As we talk I realize this guy isn’t passing the “Rex test”, but I am desperate for teachers so after he departs, I do a reference check. When I call one of his former supervisors, she tells me he was a slob and threw chalk at his students. I decide I’m not that desperate. Strangely, before I can call to tell him thanks but no thanks, he calls me to say he just got a better position and he must resign. How can he resign before I offer him the job?
Jordan and Chris tell me they like The Mime but that The Wrestler isn’t bad either. Fine, teacher shortage solved: I hire both The Mime and The Wrestler. The Mime will replace Daphne, The Wrestler will take Yvonne’s class. Neither one can hold a candle to Theo, Dana and Valerie, but they are both “certifiable” (possibly in every sense) and I do need teachers. I make another decision as I shuffle staff to cover for my absent employees: I decide it is imperative to have some substitute teachers I can call on when needed.
With teeth-gritting determination I take home the eight-page list of approved substitute teachers for Herald County public schools and start calling. I skip no one. I offer ten dollars more per day than the public schools. It makes no difference. No one wants to work with my student population. After going through all eight pages I have only three tentative “yeses.” They are coming in tomorrow.
The first sub candidate brings her husband to the interview. She says she was afraid to come on campus without him. This is not promising. After a brief interview in which it is clear she is not interested, she offers this advice: “you should find a big, strong man to substitute.”
The second potential sub is very upbeat and talks a tough game. I give her a quick orientation and a walkie-talkie and ask her to cover Buffy’s elementary class while Buffy takes orientation. Lynne bets she’ll only last until lunch. Lynne is wrong. She lasts just over an hour and leaves in tears saying she never heard such language “in all her born days.”
I find myself trying to convince the third substitute to quit before she starts. Her lip quivers and she says she can handle it. I put her in Buffy’s room and check on her every 30 minutes or so. She lasts until dismissal but at 4:00 she hands me the walkie-talkie, tells me she will never be back and wishes me luck.
Three strikes and no more batters on the roster. But I am not easily defeated. I shred the approved substitute list and call the local unemployment office. Substitutes don’t need to be certified or certifiable. The unemployment office has two candidates to send me, both already drug tested and background checked. One was a prison guard the other a probation officer.
The Prison Guard is a screamer. When she isn’t yelling at the students she is in my office shouting on the phone. She calls her lawyer and social worker and a judge and her x-husband spewing out details on her child support and custody arrangements. Lynne doesn’t have to eavesdrop, all the phone conversations are conducted at the same earsplitting volume. At the end of her first day The Prison Guard approaches Lynne to demand her pay. Lynne explains we have to send a voucher to Tampa and the pay will come in about two weeks. The Prison Guard loses any semblance of sanity and starts screaming at Lynne, at me, at strangers who walk in the office. Lynne offers to try to expedite payment and after several phone calls she tells The Prison Guard the check will arrive in two days, on Friday, by UPS. The Prison Guard continues to substitute teach the next two days. She is awful, but she is a warm body and with our current teacher shortage we need her. On Friday the UPS man drops off some parcels but no check. As the brown truck drives off and The Prison Guard realizes there is no check she takes off, on foot, waving her arms, chasing the truck screaming. It is a strange sight.
That was the last time we saw The Prison Guard. When her check arrives the following Monday, we mail it to her.
The other substitute from the employment office is too good to be true. Marci, the probation officer, has only completed two years of college so I can’t hire her as a teacher, but her rapport with the students combined with her enthusiasm, flexibility, creativity and tough demeanor make her one of my most valuable staff members. I hire her as a full-time substitute teacher. Her pay is low and the budget is stretched but it is such a relief to know when a teacher calls in sick I have a plan B. Of course when more than one teacher is absent I am still in a bind, but hiring Marci is one my smarter moves!
When cafeteria manager Ruth phones to say she will stay with her dying friend until the end, Lynne and Shasta pick up the slack and scramble to make sure our students have food to eat. Having to take on this responsibility in addition to their regular jobs is stressful. Empowered by my Marci experience, I make a call but this time not to the unemployment bureau, but to Kelly Temp services. They promise me a trained cafeteria worker within a week. They do and she is fantastic, in many ways she is better than Ruth. For example, I never hear Lenora say “nigger.”
Staff math: on one side of the equation I added Theo, Dana, Valerie, Marci and Lenora. On the other I have The Mime, The Wrestler and for a few days at least, The Prison Guard. When I add it up, I’m not sure, but I think I'm ahead.
I start 2003 much the way I started at Prospect last May, with a flurry of hiring – six new teachers to be exact.
I went into Christmas Break knowing I’d have to hire three teachers: the two Title One positions and another I’d budgeted for based on enrollment projections. I was actually pretty excited about hiring those three teachers since the “vacation” provided me the time to focus on reading resumes and interviewing without the daily stress of running the school. I found three candidates I felt very positive about. I used the interview tip provided by my mentor, Rex. He told me it’s not the specific questions or answers that are key, it is more the sense you get as you converse – do you feel a bond, chemistry? For this approach, I have to use the other side of my brain, but I think get it. When I think back to my interview with “Doctor” she aced all my questions and had all the qualifications and then some, but when we spoke, she sort of “creeped me out.” I remember feeling annoyed and irritated by her. My discussions with my three new candidates are just the opposite. After conducting enough phone interviews to wildly exceed my mobile minutes for the month, I find them: two black women and one white man, all veterans, two Army and one Navy. I so enjoy talking with them I don’t want the interviews to end and I sense they feel the same.
One of them is Frank, but he wants to be called Theo. He is an experienced and recently retired math teacher from Scranton, Pennsylvania, an Army veteran with experience teaching urban poor students. He sounds tough but with a compassion for children – when he talks about his former students and his grandson (who he and his wife are raising) Theo’s voice lights up. Theo isn’t as creative as former math teacher, Noreen, but he seems far more honest and trustworthy. I can encourage and develop creativity in a teacher. I don’t know how to teach honesty and morality.
Dana has a Master’s Degree in English and grew up in Jamaica. She and her husband are both retired Navy and they are now raising four school age children here in Lakeboro. Dana is bursting with wonderful, creative ideas for our Title One reading program. She is familiar with children’s literature and is passionate about working with at-risk children. My cell phone battery almost dies we talk so long.
Valerie was an Army brat who grew up to become an Officer. A single parent raising a kindergarten-aged son, she loves mathematics and science. Valerie would rather work with poor, challenging middle school students than with “typical” children. She is a computer whiz, no nonsense with a sense of humor. I want her for my Title One math teacher.
I was patting myself on the back for finding, recruiting and hiring Theo, Dana and Valerie, though my self-congratulatory moments were tainted by the end-of-Christmas Break departure of Daphne. But I rallied with two “back up” resumes: The Mime and The Wrestler. Neither The Mime nor The Wrestler gave me that same warm feeling I got with Theo, Dana and Valerie, but at least I didn’t get that skin crawling feeling I got when I spoke with Doctor. The Mime is a bit too effervescent and emotional which sort of annoys me while The Wrestler is laconic, shy or just really quiet which sort of unnerves me. I will count on Jordan and Sam to give me feedback and their preference for working with The Mime, The Wrestler or neither.
I feel like the hiring situation is under control, but at Prospect there is ALWAYS another shoe waiting to drop.
It is 7:10 am. I am driving to work and answering cell phone calls. Teacher Yvonne calls to tell me she is sick and won’t be in today. Stephanie, the orientation leader calls next. She was in the hospital over Christmas Break having a kidney stone removed, but they couldn’t get it so now she has a shunt and she starts to give me more details about having to urinate into a strainer to “pan” for the elusive kidney stone, but I stop listening for fear of losing my recently consumed yogurt. Then I become suspicious, I have learned that when employees call in sick and give me TMI (too much information) they are often lying. It crosses my mind that Stephanie may be taking a sick day not due to physical pain, but for emotional pain regarding the departure of Rufus, her new “love-of-her-life.” I read in the morning paper that Rufus’s Army reserve unit just got called up and will be heading to Kuwait today. No time to ponder, the cell phone rings again. Before I can stop her, my PE teacher, Billie launches into a long and very disgusting story about her dog. Yesterday her dog had some wound that was “squirting blood” so, Billie explains, she put a sanitary napkin on the wound but she wanted to keep checking it and like a perverse child picking a scab, Billie kept unwrapping the sanitary napkin from the wound and every time she did the blood would start to “squirt” again. So last night she took the dog to the vet and he cauterized the wound and bandaged it (presumably not with a sanitary napkin) but Billie decided to “check it” before work today (naturally) and guess what, it started to squirt blood so Billie is taking the dog back to the vet and she’ll be late today. I am too busy gagging to ask her for an ETA. But wait, one more phone call to round out the morning. Ruth, the cafeteria manager, has a dear friend who is dying somewhere near Miami. She calls to tell me she is driving south right now to care for her. I hang up and walk in the office where Lynne greets me with a fax that just arrived. I nod absently, strategizing how to configure my team to cover all these absences, but Lynne insists I read the fax immediately.
The fax is from North Carolina, from a bank, from a man with the same last name as my sick teacher, Yvonne. Oh, it’s from Yvonne’s father’s office. The fax is Yvonne’s resignation. I am momentarily baffled. Less than an hour ago she called in sick but now she is faxing from North Carolina to say she quits?
I forget about strained urine and Kotex covered canines. Yvonne’s departure means I need to hire yet another teacher. I jump on it and set up an interview with a teacher candidate who tells me he was a principal at a charter school in Michigan but left because he “got bored.” As we talk I realize this guy isn’t passing the “Rex test”, but I am desperate for teachers so after he departs, I do a reference check. When I call one of his former supervisors, she tells me he was a slob and threw chalk at his students. I decide I’m not that desperate. Strangely, before I can call to tell him thanks but no thanks, he calls me to say he just got a better position and he must resign. How can he resign before I offer him the job?
Jordan and Chris tell me they like The Mime but that The Wrestler isn’t bad either. Fine, teacher shortage solved: I hire both The Mime and The Wrestler. The Mime will replace Daphne, The Wrestler will take Yvonne’s class. Neither one can hold a candle to Theo, Dana and Valerie, but they are both “certifiable” (possibly in every sense) and I do need teachers. I make another decision as I shuffle staff to cover for my absent employees: I decide it is imperative to have some substitute teachers I can call on when needed.
With teeth-gritting determination I take home the eight-page list of approved substitute teachers for Herald County public schools and start calling. I skip no one. I offer ten dollars more per day than the public schools. It makes no difference. No one wants to work with my student population. After going through all eight pages I have only three tentative “yeses.” They are coming in tomorrow.
The first sub candidate brings her husband to the interview. She says she was afraid to come on campus without him. This is not promising. After a brief interview in which it is clear she is not interested, she offers this advice: “you should find a big, strong man to substitute.”
The second potential sub is very upbeat and talks a tough game. I give her a quick orientation and a walkie-talkie and ask her to cover Buffy’s elementary class while Buffy takes orientation. Lynne bets she’ll only last until lunch. Lynne is wrong. She lasts just over an hour and leaves in tears saying she never heard such language “in all her born days.”
I find myself trying to convince the third substitute to quit before she starts. Her lip quivers and she says she can handle it. I put her in Buffy’s room and check on her every 30 minutes or so. She lasts until dismissal but at 4:00 she hands me the walkie-talkie, tells me she will never be back and wishes me luck.
Three strikes and no more batters on the roster. But I am not easily defeated. I shred the approved substitute list and call the local unemployment office. Substitutes don’t need to be certified or certifiable. The unemployment office has two candidates to send me, both already drug tested and background checked. One was a prison guard the other a probation officer.
The Prison Guard is a screamer. When she isn’t yelling at the students she is in my office shouting on the phone. She calls her lawyer and social worker and a judge and her x-husband spewing out details on her child support and custody arrangements. Lynne doesn’t have to eavesdrop, all the phone conversations are conducted at the same earsplitting volume. At the end of her first day The Prison Guard approaches Lynne to demand her pay. Lynne explains we have to send a voucher to Tampa and the pay will come in about two weeks. The Prison Guard loses any semblance of sanity and starts screaming at Lynne, at me, at strangers who walk in the office. Lynne offers to try to expedite payment and after several phone calls she tells The Prison Guard the check will arrive in two days, on Friday, by UPS. The Prison Guard continues to substitute teach the next two days. She is awful, but she is a warm body and with our current teacher shortage we need her. On Friday the UPS man drops off some parcels but no check. As the brown truck drives off and The Prison Guard realizes there is no check she takes off, on foot, waving her arms, chasing the truck screaming. It is a strange sight.
That was the last time we saw The Prison Guard. When her check arrives the following Monday, we mail it to her.
The other substitute from the employment office is too good to be true. Marci, the probation officer, has only completed two years of college so I can’t hire her as a teacher, but her rapport with the students combined with her enthusiasm, flexibility, creativity and tough demeanor make her one of my most valuable staff members. I hire her as a full-time substitute teacher. Her pay is low and the budget is stretched but it is such a relief to know when a teacher calls in sick I have a plan B. Of course when more than one teacher is absent I am still in a bind, but hiring Marci is one my smarter moves!
When cafeteria manager Ruth phones to say she will stay with her dying friend until the end, Lynne and Shasta pick up the slack and scramble to make sure our students have food to eat. Having to take on this responsibility in addition to their regular jobs is stressful. Empowered by my Marci experience, I make a call but this time not to the unemployment bureau, but to Kelly Temp services. They promise me a trained cafeteria worker within a week. They do and she is fantastic, in many ways she is better than Ruth. For example, I never hear Lenora say “nigger.”
Staff math: on one side of the equation I added Theo, Dana, Valerie, Marci and Lenora. On the other I have The Mime, The Wrestler and for a few days at least, The Prison Guard. When I add it up, I’m not sure, but I think I'm ahead.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Chapter Forty-Four: The Disappeared
Section IV: Winter & Spring 2003 – the third academic quarter
Chapter 44: The Disappeared
Prospect students don’t return from Christmas Break with tales of holiday gatherings, new games, toys, bikes, books, or even new clothes. In fact this morning, despite the cold, (48 degrees at 9:00 am) many of my students are bare armed, lacking jackets or sweaters. A couple shiver hugging threadbare blankets around their shoulders. For many Prospect students, Christmas Break is a time of hunger, cold and unsupervised misbehavior. The end result is that some Prospect students don’t return at all. Rusty and Rosie explain it to me: every time we have a school vacation, we lose kids.
At 9:00 on our first day back after Christmas Break, the first day of the third quarter, the busses arrive, but Trey doesn’t. Apparently Nine-year-old Trey is still in the Juvenile Detention Center. Midge, Trey’s elementary teacher, bites back tears as she realizes Trey spent Christmas in jail. Counselor Rusty promises to pay him a visit after school today.
RitaMae is upset when she learns Nora isn’t on the bus. She calls Nora’s aunt from her cell phone as she stands by the empty school bus. The aunt explains: just before Christmas, Nora’s parents, who were living in a car, upgraded to a welfare motel and insisted Nora join them. Nora’s brother, Noah, is still in a boot camp in Jacksonville, but Nora is thrilled to be back with her parents, older sister and sister’s baby. After all, that was her Christmas wish. Nora’s aunt isn’t sure Nora will make it to school today, she tells RitaMae Nora’s parents are pretty disorganized and when Nora last lived with them she was absent more than she was present. RitaMae is furious. She vents to me: “Nora was doing so well! She had safety and structure with her aunt. She was thriving emotionally, academically and behaviorally. Remember, we were talking about sending her back to public school but now… Why couldn’t her parents see she was in a better place?” Counselor Rosie volunteers to call the welfare motel this morning and tell Nora’s mother she needs to bring her to school.
Football players Tayshaun and Eli are not on the bus. Our Deputy on Duty knows the details of their story: “On December 26th, the day after Christmas, Tayshaun stole a “three wheeler” (all terrain motorized vehicle) and deputies found it in his possession and reported he had stripped it. Eli was an accomplice. Eli was released and his court date is next month. Tayshaun is still locked up. Both boys can expect to be sent to a program.” I want to ask the Deputy dozens of questions, but I know he can’t really answer the one I most need answered. In fact even if Tayshaun and Eli were here they probably would just shrug and stare blankly if I asked them the question directly: “What were you thinking?!”
All the students, especially the girls, seem to already know about the arrests of Eli and Tayshaun. Their names are on everyone’s lips and various theories are proposed to explain why they would do it and who was the ringleader. Selma is crying and asks to speak to Rosie about Eli. Eli was Selma’s boyfriend and after the murder of her brother and getting kicked out of her house, Eli was the one constant in her emotional universe.
Tayshaun, who spent some time with Jillane on a bus during our Fall Festival, was also romantically linked to Estralitta and Nishonda. We‘ve had several girls fighting over Tayshaun. Today Jillane, Estralitta and Nishonda are united in alternately grieving for, and being angry at, Tayshaun. Later in the morning, Eli’s mother calls. It is hard to understand between her tears and Spanish accent but she is calling to thank us for trying to help Eli and to tell us he won’t be back – by the time he completes his program he’ll be in high school.
Midge tells me she received a call from Jaysen’s mother last night. Mom decided this school is not a good place for Jaysen since Midge allows him to get beaten up and never teaches him anything, so she is enrolling him in public school. Midge is more relieved than insulted. Jaysen was difficult and his large size made her worried he’d hurt a smaller child in a tussle.
Jaysen’s mother isn’t the only one who decided to return a child to public school. Business manager Lynne tells me she just took a call from Ruby Lakes Elementary School. DerMarr has been reenrolled! His mother told the principal that DerMarr’s probation officer suggested it. The Ruby Lakes principal told Lynne he is not happy to have DerMarr back, especially since he knows DerMarr didn’t return with my blessing. The principal makes a self-fulfilling prediction that DerMarr won’t last long at Ruby Lakes. I head to Jana’s classroom to share this news with her. I know she’ll be upset. She worked extra hard, really we all did, and along with DerMarr’s aunt we made some real progress with him, but public school at this time seems a stretch. We were excited about presenting DerMarr the “Most Improved Student” award at our next assembly. Receiving such an award would probably be a first for DerMarr and he, his aunt and maybe even his mother would be proud and pleased. Jana tells me she’ll say a prayer DerMarr can cope and survive. I think she is praying for a miracle.
Amidst all the departures, there is one unexpected arrival: Lorayne, the girl with the tongue ring whose relationship with a forty-something man resulted in her placement in a foster home in another county. She is back and living now in a foster home in Herald County. She looks healthy and happy, but Rosie’s rumor network tells her we need to do a search on Lorayne. Lorayne asks Rosie if this will be a strip search. Rosie didn’t intend on it, but bluffs and puts on plastic gloves to show she means business. Lorayne then pulls from her underpants a package of cigarettes and retrieves from her vagina, a lighter. As she hands them to Rosie, my counselor is glad she is wearing gloves.
At the end of the day, after the students and most of the staff leave, two people are waiting outside my office to see me: one is a teacher, Jordan, the other is a woman I’ve never met. Jordan says he just wanted to tell me Daphne stopped by the classroom this afternoon and she did a wonderful job explaining to the students why she is leaving and she made sure they understood it isn’t about them but she wants to learn more. There were hugs and tears but no anger or acting out. For a moment I think it is odd Daphne didn’t seek me out to say goodbye, but then I guess she was embarrassed knowing her last minute “notice” was less than kosher.
Jordan hesitantly asks whether I have found a new teacher to replace Daphne. I tell him I have two potential candidates and I want Jordan and Sam to spend time with both and give me their input. Since they will be working closely with this teacher, I will give great weight to their opinions. One teacher is a former mime, the other a wrestler. The wrestler will spend tomorrow morning at Prospect, the mime will arrive after lunch. Jordan raises his eyebrows and looks carefully to see if I am joking. I’m not. He shrugs and says he appreciates my speed in finding a replacement teacher. I assure him it is not necessary to pick the mime or the wrestler, and if he and Sam don’t feel comfortable with either, I will keep looking. Jordan goes on to say he is really sad about Daphne’s departure. He describes how incredible she was with students and tells me how much she helped him. We agree Daphne will be difficult, impossible, to replace.
After Jordan leaves, I introduce myself to the patiently waiting stranger woman. She tells me she is Tyryona’s cousin and Tyryona will now be living with her. The family friend with whom Tyryona was living had a tough time with Tyryona over Christmas Break. They threw in the towel and were ready to put Tyryona “into the system” when they made one last effort and called some contact numbers and found Tyryona’s cousin. The cousin is a teacher, young and very upbeat and optimistic. I bite my tongue when she says, “I know Tyryona and I will get along fine and she is really no trouble at all.” I am happy Tyryona is with this cousin and not in foster care, but I’d feel better if this woman had more realistic expectations. She says she’ll continue to take Tyryona to her play practices at the art museum saying she knows about Tyryona’s starring role and is supportive of this extra-curricular activity. The cousin leaves my office with a smile and a bounce in her step. I am scared for her and for Tyryona.
We do see Nora again. After two weeks and two days of unsuccessfully trying to get in touch with her, Rusty finally makes a late night stop at the welfare motel and threatens Nora’s parents with truancy court. The next day Nora’s father brings her in late saying she has been ill. Nora is thin, pale, not in uniform (she has on a dirty white, too tight, t-shirt) and is back to wearing Goth makeup. After her father signs her in and leaves, Nora stays in my office a minute. She hugs me, tells me she is happy to be back and she can’t wait to see her teacher. As she turns to leave she adds, “You know he was lying Ms. Smee. I wasn’t really sick.” And with that she dashes off to RitaMae’s class.
It is good to have Nora back and eventually Trey too will return. But as for Eli, Tayshaun, DerMarr, Jaysen and Daphne - goodbye and good luck.
Chapter 44: The Disappeared
Prospect students don’t return from Christmas Break with tales of holiday gatherings, new games, toys, bikes, books, or even new clothes. In fact this morning, despite the cold, (48 degrees at 9:00 am) many of my students are bare armed, lacking jackets or sweaters. A couple shiver hugging threadbare blankets around their shoulders. For many Prospect students, Christmas Break is a time of hunger, cold and unsupervised misbehavior. The end result is that some Prospect students don’t return at all. Rusty and Rosie explain it to me: every time we have a school vacation, we lose kids.
At 9:00 on our first day back after Christmas Break, the first day of the third quarter, the busses arrive, but Trey doesn’t. Apparently Nine-year-old Trey is still in the Juvenile Detention Center. Midge, Trey’s elementary teacher, bites back tears as she realizes Trey spent Christmas in jail. Counselor Rusty promises to pay him a visit after school today.
RitaMae is upset when she learns Nora isn’t on the bus. She calls Nora’s aunt from her cell phone as she stands by the empty school bus. The aunt explains: just before Christmas, Nora’s parents, who were living in a car, upgraded to a welfare motel and insisted Nora join them. Nora’s brother, Noah, is still in a boot camp in Jacksonville, but Nora is thrilled to be back with her parents, older sister and sister’s baby. After all, that was her Christmas wish. Nora’s aunt isn’t sure Nora will make it to school today, she tells RitaMae Nora’s parents are pretty disorganized and when Nora last lived with them she was absent more than she was present. RitaMae is furious. She vents to me: “Nora was doing so well! She had safety and structure with her aunt. She was thriving emotionally, academically and behaviorally. Remember, we were talking about sending her back to public school but now… Why couldn’t her parents see she was in a better place?” Counselor Rosie volunteers to call the welfare motel this morning and tell Nora’s mother she needs to bring her to school.
Football players Tayshaun and Eli are not on the bus. Our Deputy on Duty knows the details of their story: “On December 26th, the day after Christmas, Tayshaun stole a “three wheeler” (all terrain motorized vehicle) and deputies found it in his possession and reported he had stripped it. Eli was an accomplice. Eli was released and his court date is next month. Tayshaun is still locked up. Both boys can expect to be sent to a program.” I want to ask the Deputy dozens of questions, but I know he can’t really answer the one I most need answered. In fact even if Tayshaun and Eli were here they probably would just shrug and stare blankly if I asked them the question directly: “What were you thinking?!”
All the students, especially the girls, seem to already know about the arrests of Eli and Tayshaun. Their names are on everyone’s lips and various theories are proposed to explain why they would do it and who was the ringleader. Selma is crying and asks to speak to Rosie about Eli. Eli was Selma’s boyfriend and after the murder of her brother and getting kicked out of her house, Eli was the one constant in her emotional universe.
Tayshaun, who spent some time with Jillane on a bus during our Fall Festival, was also romantically linked to Estralitta and Nishonda. We‘ve had several girls fighting over Tayshaun. Today Jillane, Estralitta and Nishonda are united in alternately grieving for, and being angry at, Tayshaun. Later in the morning, Eli’s mother calls. It is hard to understand between her tears and Spanish accent but she is calling to thank us for trying to help Eli and to tell us he won’t be back – by the time he completes his program he’ll be in high school.
Midge tells me she received a call from Jaysen’s mother last night. Mom decided this school is not a good place for Jaysen since Midge allows him to get beaten up and never teaches him anything, so she is enrolling him in public school. Midge is more relieved than insulted. Jaysen was difficult and his large size made her worried he’d hurt a smaller child in a tussle.
Jaysen’s mother isn’t the only one who decided to return a child to public school. Business manager Lynne tells me she just took a call from Ruby Lakes Elementary School. DerMarr has been reenrolled! His mother told the principal that DerMarr’s probation officer suggested it. The Ruby Lakes principal told Lynne he is not happy to have DerMarr back, especially since he knows DerMarr didn’t return with my blessing. The principal makes a self-fulfilling prediction that DerMarr won’t last long at Ruby Lakes. I head to Jana’s classroom to share this news with her. I know she’ll be upset. She worked extra hard, really we all did, and along with DerMarr’s aunt we made some real progress with him, but public school at this time seems a stretch. We were excited about presenting DerMarr the “Most Improved Student” award at our next assembly. Receiving such an award would probably be a first for DerMarr and he, his aunt and maybe even his mother would be proud and pleased. Jana tells me she’ll say a prayer DerMarr can cope and survive. I think she is praying for a miracle.
Amidst all the departures, there is one unexpected arrival: Lorayne, the girl with the tongue ring whose relationship with a forty-something man resulted in her placement in a foster home in another county. She is back and living now in a foster home in Herald County. She looks healthy and happy, but Rosie’s rumor network tells her we need to do a search on Lorayne. Lorayne asks Rosie if this will be a strip search. Rosie didn’t intend on it, but bluffs and puts on plastic gloves to show she means business. Lorayne then pulls from her underpants a package of cigarettes and retrieves from her vagina, a lighter. As she hands them to Rosie, my counselor is glad she is wearing gloves.
At the end of the day, after the students and most of the staff leave, two people are waiting outside my office to see me: one is a teacher, Jordan, the other is a woman I’ve never met. Jordan says he just wanted to tell me Daphne stopped by the classroom this afternoon and she did a wonderful job explaining to the students why she is leaving and she made sure they understood it isn’t about them but she wants to learn more. There were hugs and tears but no anger or acting out. For a moment I think it is odd Daphne didn’t seek me out to say goodbye, but then I guess she was embarrassed knowing her last minute “notice” was less than kosher.
Jordan hesitantly asks whether I have found a new teacher to replace Daphne. I tell him I have two potential candidates and I want Jordan and Sam to spend time with both and give me their input. Since they will be working closely with this teacher, I will give great weight to their opinions. One teacher is a former mime, the other a wrestler. The wrestler will spend tomorrow morning at Prospect, the mime will arrive after lunch. Jordan raises his eyebrows and looks carefully to see if I am joking. I’m not. He shrugs and says he appreciates my speed in finding a replacement teacher. I assure him it is not necessary to pick the mime or the wrestler, and if he and Sam don’t feel comfortable with either, I will keep looking. Jordan goes on to say he is really sad about Daphne’s departure. He describes how incredible she was with students and tells me how much she helped him. We agree Daphne will be difficult, impossible, to replace.
After Jordan leaves, I introduce myself to the patiently waiting stranger woman. She tells me she is Tyryona’s cousin and Tyryona will now be living with her. The family friend with whom Tyryona was living had a tough time with Tyryona over Christmas Break. They threw in the towel and were ready to put Tyryona “into the system” when they made one last effort and called some contact numbers and found Tyryona’s cousin. The cousin is a teacher, young and very upbeat and optimistic. I bite my tongue when she says, “I know Tyryona and I will get along fine and she is really no trouble at all.” I am happy Tyryona is with this cousin and not in foster care, but I’d feel better if this woman had more realistic expectations. She says she’ll continue to take Tyryona to her play practices at the art museum saying she knows about Tyryona’s starring role and is supportive of this extra-curricular activity. The cousin leaves my office with a smile and a bounce in her step. I am scared for her and for Tyryona.
We do see Nora again. After two weeks and two days of unsuccessfully trying to get in touch with her, Rusty finally makes a late night stop at the welfare motel and threatens Nora’s parents with truancy court. The next day Nora’s father brings her in late saying she has been ill. Nora is thin, pale, not in uniform (she has on a dirty white, too tight, t-shirt) and is back to wearing Goth makeup. After her father signs her in and leaves, Nora stays in my office a minute. She hugs me, tells me she is happy to be back and she can’t wait to see her teacher. As she turns to leave she adds, “You know he was lying Ms. Smee. I wasn’t really sick.” And with that she dashes off to RitaMae’s class.
It is good to have Nora back and eventually Trey too will return. But as for Eli, Tayshaun, DerMarr, Jaysen and Daphne - goodbye and good luck.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Chapter Forty-Three: The First of Three Epiphanies
Chapter 43: The First of Three Epiphanies
Christmas break provides me with some much needed R&R, but the best thing about Christmas break is that it gives me a chance to think and plan. Not just my usual thinking about how I coped with the disaster de jour and an emergency plan on controlling the damage, but to really ruminate about essential questions to guide me going forward: How am I different now than I was when I began eight months ago? What do I know now that I didn’t know then? How will I change my behavior in light of this knowledge?
On the flights from Rochester to Orlando, my holiday reflections take the shape of what I come to view as my first Epiphany, my Christmas Epiphany:
I wasn’t sure before but I am certain now: it is wrong to put the misbehaving children together in one school, no matter how well funded (which Prospect isn’t) and wonderful the school (again, not Prospect). This is a flawed concept. I am not ready to say my participation in this school is wrong, but I now know the theory behind the school is absolutely wrong. The fact that nearly all my students are poor and score poorly on standardized tests makes their ostracism more offensive. I do not believe Herald country principals and Henry, my liaison, intentionally target children who fit these demographics, but it is the reality and has the potential for abuse.
The reason Herald County contracts with Ebencorp to run Prospect is because it is cheaper, plain and simple. As a rule, the Herald County School Board does not want to spend taxpayers’ money and that goes double when the money is earmarked for poorly behaved, poorly scoring, poor children. (This insight potentially leads to a series of related questions I am still too afraid to ponder: Does the Herald County School Board believe and expect the children of Prospect can learn? Does Ebencorp care at all about teaching Prospect children the academics? Does the Boss? Does Henry? Am I the only one who believes the primary goal of Prospect is to educate children? These queries threaten to unravel my reality and must be saved for a future epiphany)
My Christmas Epiphany has the power to change my behavior and view of my work: I realize I must accept that I will not be able to buy the materials I need, hire the quality and quantity of teachers I need or give the children what they need. I must accept these unmet needs and do the best I can, provide the best educational environment possible and know that any given day can be horrible and bizarre and unbelievable and I just need to roll with the punches and try to do better tomorrow.
So I return to Lakeboro rested. Despite Daphne’s abrupt departure and my lock box ruminations, I feel renewed and full of energy. My new view of my role at Prospect has the unintended consequence of making the next three months feel like weeks and weeks like days. I feel as though during the first semester I was running at marathon pace (slowly to conserve energy) and now I am sprinting in a 5K. Speaking of marathons, shortly after Christmas my husband and I run in our first (and so far only) marathon. Running 26+ miles is a pretty unique experience about which I could write extensively. In the interest of brevity just the facts:
On a cool Sunday morning In January 2003 my husband and I ran in the Walt Disney World Marathon. The good news: we ran the whole race and finished in under four hours. The bad news: The Boss “forgets” he approved time off for me post-race and demands I return to work. (Yes I have a copy of the email he sent approving the time, no he does not want me to send it). When I am forced to leave my husband, son and son’s fiancé in our hotel suite, I permit myself to open the lock box a bit, crying as I drive north, back to Prospect.
Christmas break provides me with some much needed R&R, but the best thing about Christmas break is that it gives me a chance to think and plan. Not just my usual thinking about how I coped with the disaster de jour and an emergency plan on controlling the damage, but to really ruminate about essential questions to guide me going forward: How am I different now than I was when I began eight months ago? What do I know now that I didn’t know then? How will I change my behavior in light of this knowledge?
On the flights from Rochester to Orlando, my holiday reflections take the shape of what I come to view as my first Epiphany, my Christmas Epiphany:
I wasn’t sure before but I am certain now: it is wrong to put the misbehaving children together in one school, no matter how well funded (which Prospect isn’t) and wonderful the school (again, not Prospect). This is a flawed concept. I am not ready to say my participation in this school is wrong, but I now know the theory behind the school is absolutely wrong. The fact that nearly all my students are poor and score poorly on standardized tests makes their ostracism more offensive. I do not believe Herald country principals and Henry, my liaison, intentionally target children who fit these demographics, but it is the reality and has the potential for abuse.
The reason Herald County contracts with Ebencorp to run Prospect is because it is cheaper, plain and simple. As a rule, the Herald County School Board does not want to spend taxpayers’ money and that goes double when the money is earmarked for poorly behaved, poorly scoring, poor children. (This insight potentially leads to a series of related questions I am still too afraid to ponder: Does the Herald County School Board believe and expect the children of Prospect can learn? Does Ebencorp care at all about teaching Prospect children the academics? Does the Boss? Does Henry? Am I the only one who believes the primary goal of Prospect is to educate children? These queries threaten to unravel my reality and must be saved for a future epiphany)
My Christmas Epiphany has the power to change my behavior and view of my work: I realize I must accept that I will not be able to buy the materials I need, hire the quality and quantity of teachers I need or give the children what they need. I must accept these unmet needs and do the best I can, provide the best educational environment possible and know that any given day can be horrible and bizarre and unbelievable and I just need to roll with the punches and try to do better tomorrow.
So I return to Lakeboro rested. Despite Daphne’s abrupt departure and my lock box ruminations, I feel renewed and full of energy. My new view of my role at Prospect has the unintended consequence of making the next three months feel like weeks and weeks like days. I feel as though during the first semester I was running at marathon pace (slowly to conserve energy) and now I am sprinting in a 5K. Speaking of marathons, shortly after Christmas my husband and I run in our first (and so far only) marathon. Running 26+ miles is a pretty unique experience about which I could write extensively. In the interest of brevity just the facts:
On a cool Sunday morning In January 2003 my husband and I ran in the Walt Disney World Marathon. The good news: we ran the whole race and finished in under four hours. The bad news: The Boss “forgets” he approved time off for me post-race and demands I return to work. (Yes I have a copy of the email he sent approving the time, no he does not want me to send it). When I am forced to leave my husband, son and son’s fiancé in our hotel suite, I permit myself to open the lock box a bit, crying as I drive north, back to Prospect.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Chapter Forty-Two: Christmas Break
Chapter 42: Christmas Break
Daphne keeps calling it “Winter Break.” I am usually pretty sensitive about political correctness, but clear communication trumps PC and “Winter Break” can be misconstrued to mean the week school is off in March, so I use the designation the rest of Herald County employs: Christmas Break. My husband, son and I spend the first half of Christmas Break in Florida after which my son returns to his college dorm to work at his part-time job, my husband returns to his job and, so I can be near him, I spend the remainder of Christmas Break doing Prospect work in Rochester, New York.
Alone in the tiny Rochester apartment while my husband is at work, I attack two front-burner projects: spending the Title One money and hiring more teachers. Just before Christmas Break I received formal approval to hire two Title One teachers for January through June and an okay to order books – literature to supplement, not supplant. I am making a list of books I want to order with the Title One money. I was finally able to get a few suggestions from staff including, surprisingly, several from Stone. I want to order most of the items from Amazon but I can’t just order them, I have to print out the desired order on Title One forms including title, author, quantity, price and publisher, get final approval from Corinna, the Title One liaison, then place the order. The joys of Federal funding.
To find new teachers, I gather scads of resumes and conduct dozens of phone interviews. I line up several face-to-face interviews for January with some good, strong candidates, I hope.
Over Christmas break, my husband and I drive from Rochester, through Syracuse to Cazenovia, to visit friends. From I-690, I can see my old Verizon building. I find it hard to look these days, my Verizon job feels like paradise lost.
Once upon a time, when I was working at Verizon, as a senior manager in the training and education department, I had a corner office. It was in downtown Syracuse on the third floor of a landmark art deco building. It was this great spacious office with a wall of windows and a door that closed and locked. Outside the office, in a large room, were secretaries and receptionists and then along the exterior walls were more offices like mine along with a huge conference room. In one office was my friend and coworker, Mack. At least once a day we stopped by each other’s office to share news and views.
In my office I had a radio/cd player so I could listen to NPR’s morning edition and later in the day, to soothing classical music. Music to help me write reports, design multi-media presentations, analyze spreadsheets, conduct conference calls and meet with coworkers and employees. I remember standing by the window, sipping hot tea from a ceramic mug, looking at the snow falling on the park across the street while children bounced about to keep warm in the bus shelter waiting for the school bus.
When my computer had a problem, Sandy came and made it right, joking and talking about his motorcycle and his plans for lunch at Dinosaur BBQ. When people spoke with me their voices were mostly muted, quiet and calm. Even the angriest union steward was unlikely to shout loudly, at least not very often. Mostly my boss, my coworkers and employees liked me and complimented my work. And even when things went wrong, politeness prevailed. Most days I took a lunch break: went to the library, met my husband for a sandwich or just took a walk. I usually arrived at work by 7:30 and left by 4:30 permitting me to run in the morning or evening depending on the weather and my mood. I had time after work to read, write, laugh. I didn’t take this life for granted. I knew it was good.
I knew I’d take a substantial pay cut to become the Prospect principal. I knew I would give up many of the material, tangible perks of my corporate life. I didn’t know how much I would have to sacrifice. I never expected abuse would come so often, so harshly and from so many people – even from a boss who I expected to be an ally. I didn’t know that “doing the right thing” would hurt so much.
Mack tells me our co-worker, Norm has my office now. He got it when he had an affair with rising Verizon star, Natalie. That affair ended her second marriage (or was it her third). So my office is gone, my Verizon job is gone. The woman at the window, tea in hand, is gone. Driving by the Verizon building, I am painfully aware of what I lost, what I gave up and what I left behind.
Christmas Break also provides me with much needed space for reflection. When Al Gore was campaigning for the Presidency, he made references to an imaginary “lock box” into which he planned to put Social Security. I have a similar lock box, but mine is for emotional security. I work hard at squelching emotion, especially at work. Wrapped up now in sweatshirts and blankets in the chilly (to me, of thin Florida blood) Rochester apartment, I read through my journal entries from the past seven months thinking about where I’ve been and where I am going. I allow myself to open the lock box a crack to take some of the pressure off.
Some of my sadness comes from being apart from my husband. When we’re apart I ache for him. Sometimes my arms want so much to hug him they twitch at the unrequited urge. We talk on the phone at least once a day, often more, but it is not the same. I miss him when we’re apart and when we wave goodbye at the airport security line on Sunday nights, often some of the sadness leaks out of the lock box and drips down my face.
During this past half year, there have been many, many days when I wanted to cry. I rarely permit myself the luxury of tears. But so many times I was so frightened, so angry, so incredibly sad. Displaying these emotions at work does no good and has the potential to result in real harm since I don’t want my staff or students to think I can’t cope. I know I need to be tolerant when these emotions spillover in others, but I don’t accept them in me, at least not in school and not in public. Sometimes at night, alone in my apartment, when it is so late that neither my boss nor my staff is likely to phone, sometime after my nightly call with my husband, the tears flow. And flow and flow.
Sadness isn’t the only emotion in the lockbox. I also trap that emotion for which Emily Dickenson said she had no time: hate. It pounds on the lid and bulges the seams. The Boss is the most common catalyst. His lack of support and frequent harassment are breaking me down. Sometimes when he talks to me I wonder if he can see the hate in my eyes. It takes some conscious effort to keep my face blank.
I know it is wrong to hate The Boss. I have lectured myself on the pressures I imagine he faces and the life experiences that made him what he is today. But what sounds logical in my mind has no effect on the boiling emotions in my lock box. I use my journal to try to ease the pressure on the lock box. I write what I can’t admit or say aloud.
But it really is mostly sadness that fills my lock box, it flows from the gap between the tragic horror of my students’ lives and my very limited power to change it. I can’t give their parents well-paying jobs. I can’t cure the mental and physical illnesses from which so many of my students suffer. I don’t have the resources to make a dent in the drug, alcohol, physical and sexual abuse that have damaged them and continue to do so. I don’t know how to take away the hunger, anger and violence my students consider a part of normal, everyday living.
When I let down my guard, when I loosen the latch on that lock box and imagine what it would be like to be one of my students, to be Karla, Darius, Perry or Tyryona, I feel searing pain and profound guilt. If I took them home, just a few of them, I could keep them safe and warm and fed. I could rescue them. Karla, Darius, Perry, Tyryona and all my other students are not merely names on a spreadsheet. Every day I see them, touch them and then return them to their lives of hell. Is being their principal really enough? Am I making any difference at all? If I didn’t have the lock box, I would cry every day like Rosie, my counselor, who is often in tears as the reality of her students crushes her.
But my lock box is not just for the empathy and concern I feel for my students. I am also worried about me. I often feel overwhelmed and scared. I try to project confidence but I feel vulnerable and unsure. Have I bitten off more than I can chew? What kind of leader am I? Have I become what my disgruntled employees call me: a witch, a jerk? Sometimes I look around and feel surrounded by incompetence, but is it them or is it me? These self-doubts are disturbing. I shove them deep into the lockbox knowing they will slither out in the dark of night when my guard is down to steal my precious sleep.
On the second to last day of Christmas Break I stand up to stretch and gaze out the sliding glass door at snow blowing sideways on I-490 . I am thinking that when my husband finishes work we should go to dinner at that new noodle place. Then my cell phone rings. It is not The Boss. It is Daphne. She almost sounds drunk as she spins out fragmented thoughts stringing together paragraphs without topic sentences:
a graduate program University of Florida some night classes but day classes can’t get into program college picks classes for you no control of schedule was your grad school like this education classes landscape design student loans classes full only one car mother says husband’s job roommate gone money classes money job
Finally I interrupt and take a stab at her meaning, rather like I do with some of my less articulate Prospect students.
“Daphne are you planning to take some graduate classes?”
“Yes I…”
“Will these classes impact your teaching?”
“I can’t, I mean some are day classes and…”
“Would you be able to teach at Prospect at all, even part-time?”
“No I…”
“How soon do classes begin?”
“Monday and I…”
“Monday as in two days from now?”
“Yes.”
I tell Daphne she needs to come to school to say goodbye to her students, she owes them that. She reluctantly agrees.
I am pretty angry at Daphne. My best teacher is quitting and giving me 60 hours notice. In part I blame myself. I recall once telling Daphne I needed her to stay at least through Christmas. I guess she took that as a hard and fast deadline, while I expected her to give me more warning, perhaps two week’s notice. If she had told me BEFORE Christmas Break, I could have been searching for her replacement. I open the lock box and toss Daphne in. There is nothing to be gained now from fuming. I go through the resumes I collected over Christmas Break. I look for teachers who might be able to teach English and could work well with Jordan and Sam. Another item for Monday’s to do list.
Daphne keeps calling it “Winter Break.” I am usually pretty sensitive about political correctness, but clear communication trumps PC and “Winter Break” can be misconstrued to mean the week school is off in March, so I use the designation the rest of Herald County employs: Christmas Break. My husband, son and I spend the first half of Christmas Break in Florida after which my son returns to his college dorm to work at his part-time job, my husband returns to his job and, so I can be near him, I spend the remainder of Christmas Break doing Prospect work in Rochester, New York.
Alone in the tiny Rochester apartment while my husband is at work, I attack two front-burner projects: spending the Title One money and hiring more teachers. Just before Christmas Break I received formal approval to hire two Title One teachers for January through June and an okay to order books – literature to supplement, not supplant. I am making a list of books I want to order with the Title One money. I was finally able to get a few suggestions from staff including, surprisingly, several from Stone. I want to order most of the items from Amazon but I can’t just order them, I have to print out the desired order on Title One forms including title, author, quantity, price and publisher, get final approval from Corinna, the Title One liaison, then place the order. The joys of Federal funding.
To find new teachers, I gather scads of resumes and conduct dozens of phone interviews. I line up several face-to-face interviews for January with some good, strong candidates, I hope.
Over Christmas break, my husband and I drive from Rochester, through Syracuse to Cazenovia, to visit friends. From I-690, I can see my old Verizon building. I find it hard to look these days, my Verizon job feels like paradise lost.
Once upon a time, when I was working at Verizon, as a senior manager in the training and education department, I had a corner office. It was in downtown Syracuse on the third floor of a landmark art deco building. It was this great spacious office with a wall of windows and a door that closed and locked. Outside the office, in a large room, were secretaries and receptionists and then along the exterior walls were more offices like mine along with a huge conference room. In one office was my friend and coworker, Mack. At least once a day we stopped by each other’s office to share news and views.
In my office I had a radio/cd player so I could listen to NPR’s morning edition and later in the day, to soothing classical music. Music to help me write reports, design multi-media presentations, analyze spreadsheets, conduct conference calls and meet with coworkers and employees. I remember standing by the window, sipping hot tea from a ceramic mug, looking at the snow falling on the park across the street while children bounced about to keep warm in the bus shelter waiting for the school bus.
When my computer had a problem, Sandy came and made it right, joking and talking about his motorcycle and his plans for lunch at Dinosaur BBQ. When people spoke with me their voices were mostly muted, quiet and calm. Even the angriest union steward was unlikely to shout loudly, at least not very often. Mostly my boss, my coworkers and employees liked me and complimented my work. And even when things went wrong, politeness prevailed. Most days I took a lunch break: went to the library, met my husband for a sandwich or just took a walk. I usually arrived at work by 7:30 and left by 4:30 permitting me to run in the morning or evening depending on the weather and my mood. I had time after work to read, write, laugh. I didn’t take this life for granted. I knew it was good.
I knew I’d take a substantial pay cut to become the Prospect principal. I knew I would give up many of the material, tangible perks of my corporate life. I didn’t know how much I would have to sacrifice. I never expected abuse would come so often, so harshly and from so many people – even from a boss who I expected to be an ally. I didn’t know that “doing the right thing” would hurt so much.
Mack tells me our co-worker, Norm has my office now. He got it when he had an affair with rising Verizon star, Natalie. That affair ended her second marriage (or was it her third). So my office is gone, my Verizon job is gone. The woman at the window, tea in hand, is gone. Driving by the Verizon building, I am painfully aware of what I lost, what I gave up and what I left behind.
Christmas Break also provides me with much needed space for reflection. When Al Gore was campaigning for the Presidency, he made references to an imaginary “lock box” into which he planned to put Social Security. I have a similar lock box, but mine is for emotional security. I work hard at squelching emotion, especially at work. Wrapped up now in sweatshirts and blankets in the chilly (to me, of thin Florida blood) Rochester apartment, I read through my journal entries from the past seven months thinking about where I’ve been and where I am going. I allow myself to open the lock box a crack to take some of the pressure off.
Some of my sadness comes from being apart from my husband. When we’re apart I ache for him. Sometimes my arms want so much to hug him they twitch at the unrequited urge. We talk on the phone at least once a day, often more, but it is not the same. I miss him when we’re apart and when we wave goodbye at the airport security line on Sunday nights, often some of the sadness leaks out of the lock box and drips down my face.
During this past half year, there have been many, many days when I wanted to cry. I rarely permit myself the luxury of tears. But so many times I was so frightened, so angry, so incredibly sad. Displaying these emotions at work does no good and has the potential to result in real harm since I don’t want my staff or students to think I can’t cope. I know I need to be tolerant when these emotions spillover in others, but I don’t accept them in me, at least not in school and not in public. Sometimes at night, alone in my apartment, when it is so late that neither my boss nor my staff is likely to phone, sometime after my nightly call with my husband, the tears flow. And flow and flow.
Sadness isn’t the only emotion in the lockbox. I also trap that emotion for which Emily Dickenson said she had no time: hate. It pounds on the lid and bulges the seams. The Boss is the most common catalyst. His lack of support and frequent harassment are breaking me down. Sometimes when he talks to me I wonder if he can see the hate in my eyes. It takes some conscious effort to keep my face blank.
I know it is wrong to hate The Boss. I have lectured myself on the pressures I imagine he faces and the life experiences that made him what he is today. But what sounds logical in my mind has no effect on the boiling emotions in my lock box. I use my journal to try to ease the pressure on the lock box. I write what I can’t admit or say aloud.
But it really is mostly sadness that fills my lock box, it flows from the gap between the tragic horror of my students’ lives and my very limited power to change it. I can’t give their parents well-paying jobs. I can’t cure the mental and physical illnesses from which so many of my students suffer. I don’t have the resources to make a dent in the drug, alcohol, physical and sexual abuse that have damaged them and continue to do so. I don’t know how to take away the hunger, anger and violence my students consider a part of normal, everyday living.
When I let down my guard, when I loosen the latch on that lock box and imagine what it would be like to be one of my students, to be Karla, Darius, Perry or Tyryona, I feel searing pain and profound guilt. If I took them home, just a few of them, I could keep them safe and warm and fed. I could rescue them. Karla, Darius, Perry, Tyryona and all my other students are not merely names on a spreadsheet. Every day I see them, touch them and then return them to their lives of hell. Is being their principal really enough? Am I making any difference at all? If I didn’t have the lock box, I would cry every day like Rosie, my counselor, who is often in tears as the reality of her students crushes her.
But my lock box is not just for the empathy and concern I feel for my students. I am also worried about me. I often feel overwhelmed and scared. I try to project confidence but I feel vulnerable and unsure. Have I bitten off more than I can chew? What kind of leader am I? Have I become what my disgruntled employees call me: a witch, a jerk? Sometimes I look around and feel surrounded by incompetence, but is it them or is it me? These self-doubts are disturbing. I shove them deep into the lockbox knowing they will slither out in the dark of night when my guard is down to steal my precious sleep.
On the second to last day of Christmas Break I stand up to stretch and gaze out the sliding glass door at snow blowing sideways on I-490 . I am thinking that when my husband finishes work we should go to dinner at that new noodle place. Then my cell phone rings. It is not The Boss. It is Daphne. She almost sounds drunk as she spins out fragmented thoughts stringing together paragraphs without topic sentences:
a graduate program University of Florida some night classes but day classes can’t get into program college picks classes for you no control of schedule was your grad school like this education classes landscape design student loans classes full only one car mother says husband’s job roommate gone money classes money job
Finally I interrupt and take a stab at her meaning, rather like I do with some of my less articulate Prospect students.
“Daphne are you planning to take some graduate classes?”
“Yes I…”
“Will these classes impact your teaching?”
“I can’t, I mean some are day classes and…”
“Would you be able to teach at Prospect at all, even part-time?”
“No I…”
“How soon do classes begin?”
“Monday and I…”
“Monday as in two days from now?”
“Yes.”
I tell Daphne she needs to come to school to say goodbye to her students, she owes them that. She reluctantly agrees.
I am pretty angry at Daphne. My best teacher is quitting and giving me 60 hours notice. In part I blame myself. I recall once telling Daphne I needed her to stay at least through Christmas. I guess she took that as a hard and fast deadline, while I expected her to give me more warning, perhaps two week’s notice. If she had told me BEFORE Christmas Break, I could have been searching for her replacement. I open the lock box and toss Daphne in. There is nothing to be gained now from fuming. I go through the resumes I collected over Christmas Break. I look for teachers who might be able to teach English and could work well with Jordan and Sam. Another item for Monday’s to do list.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
