The Resurrection

I don't know where to begin. It's all so ironic. Most people are happy at acquiring a job in this bad economy; I was happy to lose mine. Now my lost job is suddenly re-gained, risen from the dead like the "killed" antagonist in a movie, who, with a blast of music, reaches out and grabs the ankle of the heroine, for an encore battle.

Here's how the story goes. Originally, the principal told me my job was being cut because they had too many teachers. It's no secret that three people in the Administrative clique don't like me, so they were probably overjoyed at the tight-budget basis for a lay-off.

But when my principal sent the paperwork to the Board of Education, they informed him that my job cannot just be "cut" because I am tenured in the secondary system! My school had not done any background research; they had just assumed I was only in my second year because I'd been with them two years. This is my sixth year in the system altogether, and apparently there is a tacit understanding within the state system that one is tenured after x number of years. It's very tacit because I had never been told by anyone, anywhere, that I was now officially tenured.

Anyway: A few days later, upon learning this, the principal called me into his office again and said that it would be so much better for my career if I simply resigned. He held out a pre-written letter for my signature. He said if I didn't resign, they would now have to change me to the category of "Non-renewed, not recommended." Why would I not be recommended, I asked? Oh, because of classroom management, he replied. But he couldn't give any specifics. In fact, there has been no documentation of bad classroom management, only the Curriculum Director standing outside my door once and hearing noise coming from the classroom. The Assistant Principal heard noise too---because I had allowed two high-performing students to create a Jeopardy game based on the literature, and the students were playing it---and making noise because they were having fun. What a sin! I told him that hearsay and rumors do not constitute poor classroom management. It has never occurred to any of them to actually look at any of my graded papers or the variety of tasks and assignments and projects I give, or the like. It's all about the noise level.

I said no to the resignation. What if I someday needed to collect unemployment? (I didn't mention to him that my SAT grading pays far better than unemployment, and it would be one heck of a last resort to have to collect it.) But still, I said no resignation and that I'd get back to him. Meanwhile I called my union rep. I belong to the Georgia Association of Educators, which offers free legal consultation. My rep said not to resign. Instead, he said, I must request that the principal send a letter stating the reasons for my dismissal because if they were going to claim incompetence, I am entitled to a hearing, and they had darn well better have documentation. The irony in all this is that my annual evaluation observation this year by another unbiased AP was Satisfactory (you can only get Satisfactory or Not) and the principal himself had signed yet another document three days earlier stating that I was Satisfactory in all categories.

I waited a week from the time I notified the principal for the letter. In the interval, he tried intimidation tactics. He called me into the office to ask about a near-fight that occurred in my room between two girls. I had assigned the students to write a How-to paper, describing the process of how to do whatever topic they chose, from sports to cooking to make-up to hunting. At the last minute, I decided to have them do this in the form of brochures in a Publisher program on the computers. After all, use of technology is one of the Georgia standards, and---forgive my sin of wanting them to have some fun---doing brochures on Publisher would allow for some color, creativity and clip art, along with written instructions. One of two girls mentioned above made a mean brochure about the other girl. I wrote up the girl who did it, and she got 5 days ISS. The AP asked to see a copy of the brochure, so I sent it. When the principal called me in again, he wanted to hear from me what had happened. He had a copy of the brochure in front of him. I explained the assignment and what had happened. With a look of disgust (no doubt at my poor judgment at having them do brochures instead of old-fashioned papers) he dropped the guilty brochure into a file that was labeled with the name of our Curriculum Director. I immediately got the impression it was a file in which they will accumulate evidence documenting what a bad teacher I am. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed me the way Judge Judy does: "That's all." I was tempted to resign at that moment. During the week since that meeting, several people in the school told me they have to offer me a contract for next year because they screwed up. All week I waited and did nothing. I didn't want to hear the response to my letter. They might send a response listing all the ways I am horrible, and I just didn't need that. Getting through the week, with finals and hyper students, was enough to handle.

All week, Liberto and I avoided discussing the issue, or at least I did. But I knew it was on his mind. On Thurday, I got angry and demanded that he tell the truth---wasn't it true that he wanted me to return to that job if I was offered a contract after all? I would have loved it if he had said, "No sweetheart, I don't want my true love to go through all that; we'll make it on my salary, blah blah blah." But that's not what he said. I do believe he's concerned about the bigger picture and the longer run. He pictures me as an old lady, perhaps alone, with the life insurance all gone, living on cat food, without a lifetime pension I can count on, other than social security. But the way he has acted this week has actually made me feel more strongly about being financially independent from him. He's been bossy. He's been crabby. I never want to be so financially dependent that I can't make my own choices or take a vacation from him if I needed it. Ironically, this makes me lean towards going back to the job.

In any event, here's what happened yesterday. I received a brief email from one of the Assistant Principals telling me that my new classroom for next room will be room 118, and that another teacher was to swap with me and move into the portable. I took that to mean that they're being forced to keep me and that a contract will arrive in the mail sometime soon. I could have asked her for further details, but I really didn't want to. I preferred the temporary peace of not knowing. Because when and if a contract comes, then there will be decisions to be made, such as, am I willing to go through this for another year? Will the differences in outlook between Liberto and me grow bigger? If I do go back, will I resent him for wanting me to; if I don't, will he resent me for a major setback in our retirement plans?

The other teacher who got cut and who doesn't have tenure has sent out 37 resumes in the last few weeks to all the school systems in a 20-mile radius. She's heard squat so far. The job market isn't exactly thriving. Another teacher who resigned because she doesn't like being there told me at first that her husband gave her the ideal answer when she said she was resigning: "Of course, darling, I want you to be happy and that's all that matters!" but later she confided in me that they are up to their necks in credit card and student loan debt, because he has a la-di-da attitude about money and about the future. And she doesn't have another job yet. That gave me pause too. Hundreds of thousands of teachers across the country who have been cut, from California to right in my very own district, would gladly grab my job if they had the chance. A lot of stress, yes, but also very high pay and only three classes. Sigh. Paid summer vacations. Health, dental, flex accounts.

Once, long ago, I romanticized the idea of poverty (along with millions of other back-to-the-land people). I have to keep in mind that I may be doing the same thing now, imagining myself at home full-time hanging clothes on a line and baking bread, with Lifetime movie music playing in the background. Maybe we could live on Liberto's salary, but would we begin to feel the tension every time the annual Hurricane insurance policy arrives or the car needs a new set of tires, etc?

I don't know yet what I'm going to do, but I have the feeling that I may have to suck it up for another year, at which point I might be able to buy three retirement years from my three years at FMU, for a total of 10, which is what I need in the Georgia system for a pension. If I do go back, I am going to do something really nice for myself at the end of the year, as a reward. Maybe a trip to Italy or London or Amsterdam. I'm sure if I go back, they'll be ready to pounce on me like a duck on a junebug each and every day for anything they perceive as wrong. This time, they'll document it. On the other hand, I might just go back to piss them off.

Friday night thoughts

The week has felt like a millenium. Feeding the hungry monster has taken all the energy out of me. Why do I continue to give it my best effort, knowing that I'm leaving anyway? Because I want that through-July paycheck that I'm entitled to. If the Administration heard rumors that I was slacking in class, they could probably cut me off immediately. Depends on who you are, I guess. The teacher who was having the affair with the student was allowed to resign rather than be fired, and on top of that, was given two months additional pay. A similar teacher in Garden City who had an affair with a student was on the local news wearing an orange jumpsuit. At our school, however, they were willing to do whatever it took to keep it quiet, which meant a quiet resignation rather than a scandalous public firing.

Liberto has been emailing me job possibilities. In a way, it makes me tired. I'm at work just trying to survive these last few days, exhausted beyond belief, and here comes another link on my blackberry to a job possibility that he has run across. By the time I get home in the afternoon, I'm too tired to fill out long, on-line applications. Maybe the real problem is that I would be too tired to take another job if I were to be so fortunate as to be offered one right away. I need a little break if at all possible.

Yesterday, Liberto told me he happened to run into a local politician he knows at some community event. This man knows the Supt. of Schools in Chatham County. He and Liberto got talking about the teacher lay-offs throughout the state, and Liberto just happened to mention that I was one of them. Although it may be political B.S. in a big way, the man said to Liberto, "Oh, you just give me the word, and I can get your wife a job at the schools in Chatham County." Liberto recounted this conversation with me and asked hopefully, "Should I ask him to help you get something?" And I said emphatically, NO! His face fell. I could tell by his disappointed, even angry expression, that he just doesn't understand---and I don't have the words to make him understand that I just can't do that anymore! It's a matter of self-preservation. But he doesn't get it. He slept only two hours last night. I have the feeling he was tossing and turning and stressing about how his slothful wife will drag us all down. But I promise I will get something, somehow, eventually, but I'm drawing a line in the sand. I'll teach college, I'll write, I'll do SAT's, I'll hire myself out as a temp, I'll work at Belk's, I'll sell all the books I own on ebay, but I will not teach high school.

I've just gotten over some kind of cold---Saturday night was the first night in a week that I was able to sleep well without coughing myself awake. It wasn't bad enough to stay home from work (plus I'm fantasizing that they'll give me a Perfect Attendance check, as they did last year). To look at me last week, you wouldn't have known I was under the weather until I spoke, revealing a cracked, raspy voice. I had a very stuffed nose but not at all runny; a scratchy, sore throat, sore eyes and a cough. Maybe it was allergies---and I don't even have them. This year was supposed to have been one of the worst allergy years in history, so maybe I've acquired them. Wow, my throat was so sore I couldn't swallow. But today, I feel 100% all better. Darn. Does that mean I have to stop taking that lovely Robitussen that carries one off to dreamland on a cloud of whatever narcotic is in it?

Last Monday, before the cold broke out in earnest, I had a very pleasant interview with the Chair at Armstrong, during which I waxed enthusiastic about peer review, the process approach, interesting assignments, and so on. They don't have the final budget figures yet, but when the numbers come in in July, he needs to see how many of their full time staff will lose their jobs before he knows how many part-time spots there will be to fill.

Liberto found an ad for a non-teaching job that he is positive has my name written ALL over it. I love the way he thinks I'm so capable of so much and says that I constantly underestimate myself. Thus, on Saturday, I re-worked my vita towards this particular job description and created a spot-on cover letter. However, doing this occupied several hours. You can't just shoot off the same generic vita and letter for every position. This gave me a preview of what's in my future. . .

On Sunday, we had a fish pond emergency. Three of them were swimming sideways and looking sick. The pump wasn't working, so we rushed to Home Depot and bought a new and much better waterfall type of pump. I admire people who can put things together in the blink of an eye. Liberto is one of those. He had the new waterfall cascading down the rocks and aerating the pond with white caps in the time it would have taken me to open the box. As of this morning, two of the three sick ones had made a full recovery, but the third one didn't make it. Liberto offered to get me two new koi, to replace the white one who died and this latest one, but I always worry about bringing outside diseases into the pond, which is always a risk when adding new fish.

13 more class days. We're doing Romeo and Juliet.

The Department Chair at school wants to give a farewell luncheon for me and for Jennifer, who was also cut, on the one teacher post-planning day, May 24. Soon after that, I may go ahead and have a hysterectomy, which is somewhat needed right now, but will probably be needed more urgently in forthcoming years. We're afraid if I wait until a merely uncomfortable situation gets worse, I'll be without my own health insurance, and Liberto's will only pay 80%. I've already talked to my doctor about it for the past few years during regular visits.

A Death and a Re-birth

Matt died a week ago Friday. The guidance counselor waited until after school to page the three faculty who had been his homebound teachers and relay the news. I was weepy all weekend. Every time I thought about him, I could see him sitting at the table beside me writing, reading, discussing the literature. I spent five months with him in a one-on-one capacity and had grown very fond of him, so his death was a blow. I hadn't known until the guidance counselor told us last Friday that he was already at stage 4 when he was first diagnosed last July. I went to his funeral on Wednesday. On Thursday, the chair of the English Department requested the names of high-performing students for the annual Honors Awards, so I nominated Matt for a posthumous Awards Certificate to be sent to his parents.

The other transformative event this week----but I assure you, in a good way---was that I was formally told I would not be renewed next year due to budget cuts. The other teacher who got cut, the one I shared a classroom with last year, was crying all over the place and had to leave work for the rest of the day because she was so upset, but I could hardly suppress my joy. Yes, I was too much of a coward to resign on my own when I submitted my intention forms. For Liberto, bless his heart, there's not enough money in the universe to stave off the many possible catastrophes in life that require cash, so he wanted me to stay on as long as I could. But when the decision to leave was made for me, I felt like a caged seagull just released to soar into the blue sky over the ocean. Auspiciously, the very next day, I was contacted by the Chair of English Department at Armstrong, who wanted to know my availability for teaching next fall. I emailed back and told him that my availability had just become more flexible than ever, and he invited me for an interview on Monday. I'm sure they'll be offering part-time work, but that's okay!I won't earn the kind of money I made at the high school, but I also most likely won't have to break up fights in the classroom such as I did last week when one boy jumped another one and was seriously choking him. I had to intervene and whack the guy with a folder repeatedly and scream, to get him to stop. Old ladies like me should not be involved in brawls with teenage boys.

In high school, the standard of success for a teacher is control. How well do you control your classes? Do the students stay engaged at all times? Are they following the dress code, staying in their seats, refraining from eating or drinking? I just don't have a forceful enough or dominant enough personality to be the kind of teacher that school systems want now. Maybe that's because I don't see education as a matter of controlling. I once attended a workshop in which a Nazi type demonstrated for a group of teachers how a class "should" be run. From the point of view of the "student", I found it overbearing and obnoxious. I'd barely completed or absorbed her first 10-minute task, when she was all over us saying, "Okay! Chop, chop! Move on! Right now!" and segued into another. Lickety split! Not a second to waste! I hated it.

I have another philosophical difference. In my 11th grade class, we read literature of the Puritan period and discussed the Puritanical concept that any activity considered fun would automatically be considered a sin. In The Crucible, for instance, the bewitched girls had been out dancing! I've found this to be true with school system policies. I found a cool song assignment on the web that involved comparing modern song lyrics to romantic poetry of the 19th century. When students presented their lyrics, they wanted to play the songs with their ipods for everyone to hear, which would be a natural complement to a presentation on lyrics. But I found myself cringing, thinking, "Oh, no! What if an administrator walked in, and caught us playing music or using ipods! That would be a sin equivalent to the dancing in The Crucible.. Maybe I'll be accused of witchcraft, or at the very least, breaking the school rules."

I've run myself ragged creating endless assignments that I've hoped would interest the students enough to keep them engaged and controlled and quiet for 90 minutes every day. Doing this has been like feeding a gigantic hungry monster one teaspoon at a time. As soon as the first teaspoon is swallowed, he's already hungry again, and if he doesn't get fed right away, he's going to start thrashing and growling and creating havoc. Loss of salary or not, I'm ready for it to end. I've lasted twice as long as people half my age. Remember, about half of new teachers leave the profession in the first three years.

While Jennifer sobbed, I walked around with a S***-eating smile for the rest of the day.

Between my on-line grading gigs (right now I'm grading the Virginia 8th grade writing test; next week it's the SAT's), some courses at Armstrong, and whatever else I can scare up, I think we'll survive. With our house refinanced at a phenomenal 4.25%, the new mortgage is a lot less than the previous one.

In any event, come what may, I see it as a re-birth. I shouldn't be this happy about it, but I can't help myself.

Matt

Heartbreaking news about Matt today. The guidance counselor emailed me yesterday that she had an update on his condition and wanted to see me; however, I had to rush off the minute school ended to attend the closing for our refinancing. So I went to see her today during my planning period. I was actually expecting her to give me good news, optimistic fool that I am. Instead she said that recent tests showed that his cancer has matastacized to his lungs and the doctor doesn't think he'll live more than a few more days. He's in the hospital now. I burst out in tears. My heart has felt like lead ever since.

When I first started his homebound schooling last fall, he looked and acted perfectly heathy. I knew he'd been diagnosed with some aggressive form of cancer a week before school started, but he looked like any other 14-year-old boy. As the weeks passed, his hair fell out, but he still looked very well, to me, and was energetic enough to do more work than most of the lazy students who inhabit my classes, and to do it well. In January, I felt he had done enough to be considered certified in 9th Grade Comp/Lit because I knew he was about to be schooled in math and science too, so I finished up our work. From time to time, I've asked the math teacher about him when I'd pass him in the hall. About a week ago, he said Matt had gone to the hospital because of fluid in the lungs that needed to be drained. But he didn't act as though it was anything life-threatening. During the time I homeschooled him, he had to spend occasional nights in the hospital.

Then the bad news this morning. Apparently, the math teacher had found out yesterday and was equally devastated. Things like this help create perspective.

Guest in a college class

Yesterday, I had fun speaking to a college class about Back from the Land and the principles underlying environmental conservation. Months ago, the Dean of Liberal Arts, who teaches Environmental Technology, noticed the book listed on my vita, and called requesting a guest appearance. I had forgotten what it's like to speak in front of a group who listens attentively! With interest! No hoots, whoops, fart-sounds or shouts across the room, such as I experience every day in the classroom. The class lasted 50 minutes, which is just the right amount of time. What moment of insanity ever caused the secondary school system to decide that 90-minute classes are in the best interest of squirmy 14-year-olds who have the attention span of 8-year-olds? Of course, when the Dean and I conversed privately before class, he talked about the growing problems at the college level, which include salary cuts, heavier workloads, higher expectations, more furloughs for professors, possible lay-offs for tenured professors, larger classes, and cut programs. He sighed heavily, indicating that the grass may not be much greener over there.

Another professor who joined the class shared that she lives by conservation principles and rides her bike 14 miles to campus every day to save the environment from fuel emissions and car expenses, uses a clothes line instead of a dryer, and has no internet at home. While that's admirable, at least the car part because I cannot see any reason on earth for not having internet, the problem is that there are virtually no bike paths for travel within Savannah. Bike riding is dangerous! I wouldn't do it around here for all the tea in China. I agree that we use cars too much in this country, but what is the alternative? The majority of people live too far away from work to bike there, even if it happened to be safe. Around here, we have very few options in public transportation, within the city or between cities. Obama has proposed high-speed rail systems between major cities in Georgia, Florida and South Carolina, and that would be awesome. I would go to Atlanta every weekend if I could hop on a train and read, while shuttled at Warp Factor 8 to the big city.

It's all about principles versus time. I don't want to spend hours every day hauling water to pour into a wringer washer, doing the wash, wringing the wash, hanging the wash, carrying the freeze-dried clothing back inside to stand around the house like frozen headless humans. This may have been environmentally friendly when I did it in Maine, but it took large chunks of my days and the clothes never got very clean anyway. It's so much more efficient for Maytag to do the job for me, so that I can move along on my continued climb up the Maslow scale. I know that we're destroying the earth, and I'm no longer doing my part to save it, but I don't know what I can do to overturn the direction the human race has taken.

The week has gone by too fast. I've been doing nit-picking busywork to prepare for our house refinancing closing next week, such as faxing an authorization letter to the current mortgage holder allowing them to release the pay-off amount to the lawyers, waiting on hold while helpful associates ask security questions; you know, the little tasks that can take big chunks of time. I've been grading research papers, and am appalled at how horrible they are (a reflection on me, as a teacher?) and have vowed never again to use this particular topic. I should have used the I-search topic, so students would have more interest and some type of voice, as well as keep plagiarism to a minimum. I've had to read ahead for my classes too. I also brought home all the students' notebooks, which I grade every few weeks to see if they're doing the classwork.

Last night's Idol news was shocking. But as Simon always says to contestants, "If I had seen you for the first time tonight, and knew no history, I wouldn't be impressed." Part of my admiration for Big Mike has been based on accumulation. Maybe if I'd only heard his rendition of Eleanor Rigby Tuesday night, in isolation, with no backstory, I wouldn't be as excited about him. They're all highly talented people, but what makes a voter like one more than another? It's more than just vocals. While I like Lee because he's a dynamite singer, I also like Tim because while his voice isn't perfect, he is appealing in his awkward, likeable way. Isn't that what draws us to any celebrity; their personality (real or imagined)? And yes, old Granny here still likes David Archuleto, who appeared last night. I had no idea he played piano. Did he do that at all last season? I've forgotten. David Cook was also hot last week, as Randy would say.

Spring break

Spring break was launched Friday with another teacher furlough day. Fine with me! I woke up at 6:45, a whole hour and a half later than I normally arise. Liberto doesn't need an alarm clock, so I don't set it on nights before I don't have to work. He is always already awake when I wake up naturally. I had coffee with him, and after he left for work, I hosed down Shawn's pollen-covered car in the driveway, then went to the backyard, added water to the koi pond, and watered the new flowers I planted to spruce up the house before the appraiser came a few weeks ago. The backyard is blooming. Both the apple and the lemon tree have blossomed, along with the azaleas, and a patch of jasmine that I planted, but which Paul accidentally mowed over, has made a full comeback, and is now climbing across the fence, with the heavenly-smelling yellow flowers opening. The birds are in full chorus.

I spent the morning puttering, but forced myself to grade the 11th graders' unit test from last week. The day involved a lot of mundane tasks, but I felt overjoyed being at home. As usual, I began to get tired on cue at 9:00, and crawled into bed at 9:30. This morning, I slept till 8:30. Liberto, Paul, and I went to the gym for our workouts, then on to the mall, where we bought a few articles of clothing. The day just flowed along sweetly. I read a book by the pond, entered a few grades in PowerTeacher, and took a walk with Paul. The days feel longer when I'm home, but in a good way.