It's Never About the Money

Two recent events, one national news (the Chicago teachers' strike) and one a local issue, have got me thinking about money. Besides my normal personal financial worries, I don't usually think about money on a professional level. In some ways, because I believe in fairness, parity, and solidarity, I've felt rather forced into thinking about salaries and benefits and other moneyish things these past few weeks. And I am both bothered and sad.

That's because, in this profession (in nearly every profession, right?), we're not in it for the money. We don't stay in it for the money. Some of us leave it under the pretense of (lack of) money, but most of us are here despite the money. Granted, I work in the state with the highest teachers' average salaries. Still, those salaries don't come close to matching the salaries or potential salaries for other professions with similar degree requirements. So when education critics complain about our high salaries, or when the focus of a walkout turns to what Chicago teachers make, or when anyone questions the teachers' (or in my case, my local union's) motives for demanding a fair deal, two things happen to me: I get my back up, and I get down.

The best way to combat these feelings (for I can only control how I feel; I certainly cannot control anyone else's emotions) is to make a list of why we are here, and what does motivate us:

• The kids. The ones who struggle and the ones who soar. The ones with the newest technological devices and the ones who come to school in too-tight sneaks and dirty hair. The ones who pay close attention, the ones who can't pay attention, and the ones who refuse to pay attention.  The ones who appreciate us now, and the ones who will only appreciate us later. The athletes, the artists, the talkers, the thinkers. Those on the edges and those firmly grounded in the center. Those with baggage and those who think baggage is what you take on a vacation to Cancun. First, foremost, and always, it's about the kids. 

• The collegiality. Our work wouldn't be nearly as meaningful if we didn't, or couldn't, share it with our peers. We, veterans and rookies, learn from each other about classroom management, websites and apps, supplemental texts and new studies, and the kids. Again, and again, it's about the kids.

• The discipline. Not discipline as in self- or how-to, but the subject area that intrigues us and powers our own interests and ambition. Scientists in the lab. Language Arts teachers reading. PE teachers moving in new ways. Library Media Specialists researching. Social workers guiding families to success. And the great thing about our jobs is that we get to do all this, share all this for, with, and because of, the kids. There they are again. Even our chosen areas of study, in the end it's about the kids.

Many of us started our paths to teaching long before college, when we were just young kids setting up classrooms in our basements and quizzing our unsuspecting friends on grammar and math skills. Some of us discovered a love for a subject in high school and decided to parlay that into a teaching career, perhaps because we had a teacher who saw our potential and told us so. Still others came to the profession after unfulfilling first ones elsewhere. Regardless of our myriad journeys to classroom, though, hardly any of us were thinking about how much money we could make. And those very few who did, I'd wager, no longer work among us, or shouldn't. In this profession, if you're not in for the kids, you're not in it. 

Dreaming and Scheming

I've been lucky this summer. The month of July seemed to pass, if not slowly, at least not quickly. The good news is that I feel as though I used every day well, and on a good chunk of those days, I spent time refueling, mostly. The "bad" news (but really, how dare I say "bad" when we have this much time away from the classroom) is that now, sufficiently refueled, it is time to put it in overdrive as August speeds by. And it will. This I know. The month is booked already.

I spent yesterday and today organizing. Listing. Emailing. Prioritizing. Phone-calling. Calendar-ing. Anyone who knows me can confirm that the color-coding of calendars and the listing of to-dos and tasks are some of my favorite things. Give me some lined paper and fine-tipped Crayola markers and my multiple calendars (Google, Outlook, wall, and planner) and I am an organizing machine. But I also quite enjoy the more abstract parts of preparing for the school year: dreaming and scheming.

So this is what I'm thinking about and these are the questions I'm asking as August looms, as the school year beckons, as I shift into high gear:

A new advisement component for new teachers in the union
Engaging 14-year-old boys in reading literature
My role as a leader within the parent group at my younger daughter's college
Using Twitter as a resource for students and parents
My professional goal(s) for the year
How do we build capacity within our local Association?
Changes to my classroom expectations and grading policies
Student interventions
Building relationships in Advisory
Parent involvement in the classroom and beyond
Goals and topics for this blog
Collegial outreach
What is exciting about English?
Collaborative work in my gradel level for the first time in 3 years
How can I bring more of the union membership together for service or social events?
Piloting the new state evaluation document
How will our curriculum revisions work?
What do I do well?
What do I need to work on?
What should I stop doing?

These are not simple ideas or easily-answered questions; there's no check-off box for this list. But I hope to address each and every one of these items as I spend August preparing for another school year.

First, though, I think I'll go to the parent-teacher store. I feel a new lesson plan book, bulletin board borders, and desk calendar in my future. Bring on the markers!!

Liberte, Egalite, Fraternite

The French had it right when they decided that "Liberty, Equality, Fraternity" should be the goals of their Republic. I believe that teachers, also, benefit when we interpret these ideals for ourselves.

I often lament the thing that most frustrates me about my particular job, and that is the inordinate amount of correcting I must do. Before I settled down today to grade quizzes, reader responses, active viewing charts, and unit projects, I weighed my teacher bag. 17.2 pounds. The equivalent of a 6-month-old baby. I should have bulging biceps by now (I don't). But that baby is mine, mine, mine. I chose to have that baby. So I really shouldn't complain too much, right? I really shouldn't so vociferously discourage those in teacher prep programs to avoid my discipline, right? I really should buckle down and just do it, right? Right. Same goes for complaining about my pay (we should get paid what others with our equivalent degrees get paid), or my too-early wake-up time (it's inhuman to rise at 4:45 a.m.), or having to dress professionally (I'd wear jeans and a t-shirt every day if I could). Sometimes it feels good to complain, and sometimes the complaining is necessary. But I also need to remind myself often that I. Chose. This.

Something that's always bothered me about this profession is the odd division between us - between elementary and secondary teachers, between disciplines, or between classroom teachers and specialized personnel. Somehow, we get to thinking that our jobs are the toughest, or someone else's is the the easiest. We assume that PE teachers have an "easy gig," English teachers claim they have the most correcting, elementary teachers "get to play all day," high school teachers "have so much prep time," specials teachers' classes don't count, and the list of (misguided) comparisons goes on. But I know that we all have requirements and standards and burdens and struggles that not only do we all not fully grasp, but that make each of our jobs difficult in different ways (and let's not forget that the rest of us didn't choose those other areas for a reason - most likely because we couldn't hack it there).

Most importantly, though, we are a union, some of us by formal definition and membership, but all of us by the labels of "teacher" and "educator." We are a  fraternity (you'll pardon the gender-specific word choice, I hope). Whether we teach private or public, young or old, struggling or gifted, core or specials, humanities or sciences, rural or urban, our common denominators are our passion, our devotion, our concern, our commitment, and our love for this work. We want to preserve our rights, fulfill our obligations, and do what is right and good for our students, always. There's no argument there. We can debate about reform, we can respectfully disagree about methodology and pedagogy, we can discuss the merits of merit pay. But when we do, we must remember that we are first brothers and sisters in this work.

And so, to all (other than high school English) teachers, I can say only this: I don't know exactly what it is you do, or even how you do it, but I know I could not do it. I do not have the desire, energy, talents, or skill set that is required of your work. I appreciate your dedication and your drive, and I am grateful to labor beside you and amongst you and call you my colleagues.

Balancing Acts

This has been quite a week of highs and lows, starts and stops, rights and wrongs. These kinds of weeks (or months) are the hardest to adapt to, but sometimes also the most rewarding (at least that's what I keep telling myself). In this career, as perhaps in many others, keeping a balance is paramount to another goal, keeping perspective. It's necessary to not only understand, accept, and honor the reasons why things happen the way they do and their relationship to everything else occurring around us, but to work diligently to place them in balance with everything else, too.

If I had a dime for every time I thought this week, "This is why I love my job" after having thought "I just want to move to Maine and sell fleece pants at Reny's," I'd have quite a few dimes. I like best when the former follows the latter naturally, but I will readily admit, sometimes I must force my thinking into balance. When this happens, though, the balancing act seems awkwardly unbalanced; this was one of those weeks. It took an entire group of eager learners to balance the one cranky student from an earlier class. It took several supportive emails of appreciation for my union work to balance the one or two critical missives I received. It took a lunchtime of laughter and debate about the word "portmanteau" to balance the one run-in with an administrator. Looking forward, it's going to take something pretty remarkable to balance the grading odyssey on which I am to depart tomorrow morning.

Why such an unbalanced balancing? By our natures, we teachers are quick to take responsibility for the negatives and credit others for the positives. We give to others readily, but deny ourselves frequently. We strive to combat misguided and offensive criticism by working harder and harder and harder still. We tend to operate from a place of guilt, having adapted to, or even adopted, the repeated messages, explicit or implied, of our incompetence. In short, we're too nice (except to ourselves), too easy (except on ourselves), too accommodating (except toward ourselves).

Ultimately, though, I'm okay with it. I can say with honesty that I'm not sure I'd want it any other way; of course, I also don't think it could really ever be any other way. But I'll always strive for the balance, create it when I have to, and recognize its occasional unbalanced-ness. Because, like the indomitable Popeye, "I yam what I yam."

Testing, Testing

For teachers in my state, and many others, the real March Madness has begun. Now is the time of standardized testing, stressed-out students, altered schedules, classroom coverage, and get-a-good-night's-sleep-and-eat-a-healthy-breakfast admonitions, all in the name of meeting goal, and soon enough, also in the name of teacher evaluation.

My Governor, that unfriendly one whom I mentioned here, is making the rounds in town hall meetings to talk about his reform plan. His remarks about teachers thus far have been offensive (degrading the value of our work: "In today's system basically the only thing you have to do is show up for four years. Do that, and tenure is yours.") and incorrect (defending his proposal that links evaluation and certification: "This is the evaluation system that the teachers' unions negotiated through a two-year process.").

Here is what the unions have negotiated, and what will most likely be used in this state. We may not like certain aspects of the plan, and we may not know just how the plan will be implemented, but the plan (or one similar to it) will be here to stay.

45% Multiple student learning indicators (half, 22.5%, comes from standardized test scores)
  5% Whole-school student learning indicators or student feedback
40% Observations of teacher performance and practice
10%  Peer or parent feedback

But it's not using test scores (student learning indicators), particularly, that irks me about evaluations, though I cannot get my head around the application of this concept to specials teachers, library media specialists, school counselors, social workers, psychologists... you get it. In fact, I'm pretty okay with using test scores as such a small part of the evaluation process. What bothers me is the assumption that everything that's come before, everything we use now, is broken or wrong. That we've not been evaluated fairly, or adequately, or frequently enough. That it's our fault, or the unions' fault, that those few teachers who are unsuccessful (you know, "bad teachers," like they're rotten fruit) somehow remain on the job.

In fact, it's not our fault, nor is it the unions'. Under our current evaluation policies and tenure laws, bad teachers can be, and are, let go. Released. Counseled out. Fired. This happens when administrators have the time, talent, and skills to observe and evaluate their teachers. More times then not, though, administrators drop the ball, or don't have time, or aren't willing (or don't know how) to engage in the intensive supervision that might be required when a teacher is struggling. I'm not sure how this will change with any new evaluation tool.

Does it matter? We will still be subject to evaluation. I don't know a teacher who doesn't welcome evaluation, who doesn't want to improve and grow as a professional. Evaluation, in whatever form it takes, is our "test," our skills-based assessment that is hopefully authentic and meaningful. We want to meet goal, to achieve, to go beyond mastery. We want to succeed.

My Constellation of Stars

My favorite constellation is the Corona Borealis, a gorgeous crown that I wear on my right ankle, actually. Mostly I love the arc of this gathering of seven stars, but I also love the story behind its name. And lately, I've been thinking of some other stars, another constellation that surrounds me and gives me the same sense of comfort every time I think of it.

My other constellation is made up, of course (if you know me and metaphors), of people in my work. Sure, I could write about my own personal constellations (there are many stars, rest assured), but this blog is about teaching, and this constellation of which I write is comprised of the brightest with whom I interact on a daily basis, in my classroom, in my hallway, and in my school. And sure, I could write about my students, whom I value as creative, diligent, ambitious, and filled-to-the-brim with potential. But this blog is about inspiration, and these are the people who inspire me professionally.

My brightest star and I begin every school year by trading funny, upbeat greeting cards with encouraging words about how great it is to be back at work. Somewhere around January or February, those cards become tongue-in-cheek jaded reminders of the hard work we do and how we just might not make it to the end. By June, we exchange notes of gratitude for the year gone by and for each other. If I could only pick one colleague with whom to work, she would be it. She is the first I ask for advice about rubrics, expectations, and new assessment ideas. She is the first I complain to, the first I share news with, and the last I would question as to her judgment or decisions. Together we are superbly collaborative; in many ways, she is the academic yin to my yang.

My union yin I could not do without either, though. This star's brain works in tandem with mine and yet, often provides the opposing side, the other considerations, the whys to my why nots. To say I bounce ideas off of her is an understatement. What I really do is bounce them off her, bat them back at her, catch them, hold them, and then probably throw them back for another round of bouncing. It's a complex process, but with her input, I most definitely do a better job as a leader.

The special ed stars are, indeed, special. What a gift, to be able to work with the varied skill sets and abilities that present themselves in our classrooms and in the Learning Center. Yesterday, I sat with one at the beginning of the day and then at the end to hash out an assessment for a student based on several issues: the difficulty of the original assignment, the modifications I thought might work, the modifications she thought might work, the parents' needs, and of course, the student's needs. Whew.

Two stars are in the guidance suite way down at the other end of the building. One has been burning brightly for so many years in my constellation. She is my go-to for all things not academic. Calm in a crisis, and smart as hell. The other is a new addition, but one who gives me confidence in the next generation of education professionals. Great with students, great with parents, and defers to teachers about classroom issues. Brilliant.

And then there are all the rest. My administrator, who, as a curricular guide, is tops. The custodial staff, especially the morning guys, who care about the building, care about teachers, care about students, and care about education. The cafeteria worker who tells me all about her adventures with the local ARC program - this week it was a trip to the theater, where she saw a play. The ESP in my classroom whose foremost thought is how best to help a student demonstrate mastery and always balances student need with educational (and often, societal) expectations. My after-lunch mates, who make me laugh and make me smarter, frequently at the very same time. And frankly, everyone else, too: secretaries, teachers, paras, subs, staff members. I am grateful for their light always.

Perhaps, instead, my teaching world is a galaxy.

Ground Control

While the usual daily and weekly chaos is an amalgam of homework, correcting, extra help, tutoring, planning, prepping, intervening, finger-in-the-damming, and keeping up, this week's swirl is of a different nature. This week, I am Odysseus and my Charybdis consists of the educational-political state in my state, some panicky (but perhaps reasonably so) reactions to the Common Core State Standards, and several connected issues needing attention within my union. As as only a Homeric hero can, I am persevering and finding my way back home, to a place of peace and comfort. But it's been quite a journey.

My governor, my Democratic governor, my union-endorsed friend-to-education governor, turns out to be just the opposite. He's no friend now. The teachers in this state have an uphill battle against his so-called reforms; I'd rather call them mal-forms. Poor ideas, delivered poorly, with mal-intent. He says all teachers have to do to get tenure in this state is "show up for four years." I've tossed and turned at night over his words, over his plans, over my colleagues' discontent, over the future of my profession, over the outright hatred and misunderstanding shown by many in government and in the public toward educators and the work we do.

Bill Gates is on my list of worries, too. So is David Coleman. And even Nick Kristof, that Times reporter from war-torn countries whose work I've admired for years. Now Kristof is a self-proclaimed "education reformer." Coleman and Gates are behind (in front of?) the drive to implement the CCSS, which I'm struggling with on several levels. These are people white guys (remember the dominant domain) with no experience in the classroom who are espousing changes to the way things are done, it seems, for change's sake. I'm pretty darn confident that making change for change's sake won't change much, least of all the achievement gap. And at the local level, we're missing the conversation about what it is we're doing, when it is we're doing it, and why we're doing it.

And I've got to mobilize my membership. But like our own children, who become Mommy-deaf, and our students, who become teacher-deaf, I'm afraid my members have become union-deaf. So much has come down the political pike in the last few years, and so much negativity has been thrown at teachers, that we just want to close our doors and teach. Some of us will contact our legislators, but many (most?) of my colleagues are too beaten down to put up much of a fight. It's all they can do to do the job they chose because they love their content area and they love kids. There is something very wrong in education when those who guide our students are so maligned in the media and by our government; we are exhausted by the constant negative public sentiment. We are tuckered out. We are tired. We are spent.

I've given much thought to what I can do (and what I can't do) about all these problems. In the end, of course, it becomes about control: what I can control, what I choose to control, what I recognize as outside of my control, and how to react and respond to every situation. This week, I needed to spend my "home time" doing the equivalent of closing my door and teaching: I curled up in the fetal position and thought a lot. I also shared my concerns with my like-minded colleagues. Luckily for me, they took up the mantle and did some important work where I could not. And I wrote it all down, here and elsewhere. I've memorialized my frustrations and my worries, and in doing so, I've honored them, too. I've got some hard work ahead of me.

I have a strong and influential voice, and I must use it. To refrain from doing so would be a disservice to my colleagues. I will not devalue my beliefs by inaction. But I did need to break from the fray, to center myself, to reconnect with all that I know to be good and right, and to remember the way.

I've taken my protein pills and put my helmet on. I'm ready once again. Will it be an odyssey or an oddity?

Inspiration for TeacherBites

How long do teachers have, actually, to ingest their lunches? In my school, it's 30 minutes, door-to-door, which means more like 20 minutes, tops. First there's the student who needs to ask me a question about the essay rubric. Then there's the kid who dashes back to the room to pick up his forgotten hat or planner - just as I'm locking the door. Next, the colleague who has a union question, or needs to consult on a student, or just wants to know how my weekend was, stops me for a moment. Perhaps the principal will see me in the hallway and we'll quickly review how my professional goal for the year is going (it's going well, actually), and finally I'll head to the cafeteria to pick up my salad, where I'll run into the custodians, one of whom lays on his daily joke: "You're here today!" When I finally get into the teacher lunchroom, I'll eat and chat and think and laugh and take in all I can from my colleagues without whom my days at school wouldn't be as rich or as meaningful as they are. Then I'll repeat similar steps on the way back to my room to get there before my next class does.

We don't have much time together. The intent of this blog, then, is to offer up small plates of inspiration for teachers: weekly musings about the work we do and ways to infuse our daily  (and nightly... and weekend...)  work with enthusiasm and gratitude. And if you need a daily snack to nosh on, catch me on Twitter (@TeacherBites).