The Ripple Effect

The picket line has introduced me to a special kind of exhaustion.  I'm not accustomed to spending long hours in the hot sun, so my very pasty-white skin prefers the cool confines of my classroom.  The spotlight and its scrutiny are uncomfortable for me, which is why the largest groups I ever want to stand and speak in front of are the students who fill the desks in my classroom each day.  The anxiety that's produced each time I open the newspaper or switch on the evening news to see our school as the top story continues to be a harsh reality in my world, and I'm certainly not used to spending my days constantly defending my character and integrity.  I'm so tired. 

Teachers are not strangers to adversity. We deal with problems in our respective classrooms on a daily basis.  If your first grader is having trouble reading, it's a teacher's job to find a solution.  If your twelve-year-old has trouble with his multiplication tables, or your high school freshman just can't figure out how to transfer the thoughts in his brain into proper essay form, teachers make it their mission to resolve that issue.  We are the fixers of problems.  The solvers.  So with no clear resolution in sight at the completion of day eight on the picket line, to say we are frustrated would be an understatement. 

For the past eight days I've had plenty of time to look at the school building that I am currently not legally allowed to enter.  I've watched as a handful of individuals have crossed our picket lines in an effort to make a few quick bucks, and I've become physically ill at the thought of a strange teacher in my classroom teaching our kids.  I've been at my gate each morning to watch board members and administrators, the ones who trusted me enough to give me my job in the first place, practice their now infamous policy of silence as they pass by their teachers without a word.  I've listened to parents on both sides of this issue, and I've put myself in their shoes. 

While I continue to be bolstered and inspired by the supporters, because I'm a parent, I can also commiserate with the opposition.  I can sympathize with the headache and extra cost of lining up daycare, and with the frazzled mothers of children who are upset because they can't actually use their new backpacks.  It's difficult trying to explain to those kids why their teachers are standing on the side of the road outside the school.  It's probably as difficult as explaining to my daycare provider what a financial strain this strike could pose to my family.  My heart bleeds for the married couples who work for our district.  They have kids, too.  There are members of the staff that have one income households, new families, new mortgages, and potentially no income.  The ripples of this strike are wide and far-reaching. 

So why would we willingly involve our families in this struggle?  Why would we subject YOUR families to this? Because the teachers of Illini Bluffs believe that the outcome of this strike will change things at our school for the better, and we are fiercely committed to making the school a better place for your kids.  We want a school that holds the school board and the administration accountable for doing what's best for your children.  And while I don't harbor any delusions of a workplace utopia, I do believe that the teachers at Illini Bluffs are entitled to being treated with at least a shred of human decency.  Those are the reasons I'm on the picket line. I have nothing to fear and nothing to hide. 

Our detractors say we should just suck it up and get back to work, and I'd be lying if I said that option wasn't an attractive one.  Teachers are not picket line naturals.  I hate this angry, uncomfortable, picketing version of myself, but I'm certainly glad to know she exists.  I now know that if my son's school was in a situation like the one at IB, I would be the parent on the front lines trying to get the facts.   I would be forcing the elected officials to make MY voice heard, and I would not let my ELECTED officials use a lawyer from outside the community as an all-encompassing voice.  The teachers may not be allowed in the building, but, parents, YOU are.  On the line we may voice our displeasure to "replacement teachers" who cross, but a teacher with a picket sign WANTS to talk to community members, no matter what side you're on. After all, the school belongs to the community.  The school board, the administration, and the staff work for YOU, so please ask questions.  Get involved.  I truly believe that an army of angry, frustrated, frazzled mothers have the power to end this strike.  And I should know.  I am one. 

When I finally get back to school, my students may have to do a double-take when they see the tan, freckled, exhausted version of me walking through the hallway.  They may notice the physical toll the strike has taken, but once we're back in my classroom, it won't take long for them to recognize that little else has changed.  When this is all over, I'll still be the teacher who expects nothing less than their best in English class.  I'll still be the teacher they can joke around with, rely on, and trust.  And when I begin to hear the familiar complaints from my seniors about the workload in English Composition, I'll tell them that I'm trying to prepare them for their future, and I'll explain that the real world will most assuredly be filled with hard work that they sometimes don't want to do, and with challenges that they sometimes don't want to face.  I hope that they'll believe me and see me as living proof of that.  I hope they'll see me as a role model. 

Walkin' The Line

I hate conflict.  I'm uncomfortable with confrontation and try to avoid it at all costs.  I am easily flustered when it comes to engaging in anything resembling a spirited argument.  The sweat-slime that's created after applying multiple layers of sunscreen, and the feeling of sweat-drips rolling down my back bring out the crabby whiner in me. For these reasons, I'm probably not the person you hope to have standing next to you on the strike line.  However, it's important to remember that even if your jokes are dumb, I'm a guaranteed laugh.  And when it comes to my bladder, I'm like a camel, so I rarely have to be shuttled off-site to a restroom.  I enjoy organizing, so I'll always set up a food station and keep the cooler stocked, and I can flash a winning smile and wave to cars all day long when I'm fueled by a cause I believe in.    

I make it a point to surround myself with people who spend most of their time on the bright side.  My people prefer to picnic on a sunny hillside where the grass is always greener, or at least die trying.  It's my nature to seek a silver lining, but even my stalwart optimism was squashed when I found out a teacher's strike at my school was unavoidable.  It turns out, nothing puts a damper on a sunny disposition like having to defend a spotless record of service, and nothing is more infuriating than being considered guilty until proven innocent.  Having the names of both my school and my friends dragged into an absolutely unwarranted, negative spotlight has been profoundly disheartening, but the time I've spent "on the line" has been exactly the opposite.  It's been inspiring. 

Don't get me wrong.  I hate almost everything about this picket purgatory.  I want a resolution YESTERDAY, but when the other side refuses to even open a dialogue, what's a glass-half-full gal like me to do?  You guessed it. This Pollyanna pinpoints the positive (and then writes about it =).

Being united for a good cause provides a sense of community that I always hoped to be part of, but was never sure could actually exist.  Getting to know teachers outside your own building isn't easy...until you're forced to sit on the side of a country road together for eight hours a day.  Providing an elementary school teacher with "where are they now" accounts of the grown-up versions of the tiny people who nervously entered their classrooms, or talking to a middle school teacher about the students who awkwardly navigated their pre-teen years only to find their footing in high school is an awesome and important experience.  Hearing that the problems teachers are facing in our middle and elementary schools are pretty much the same problems we face in the high school only serves to unite and empower teachers to continue fighting the good fight.  And I can assure you that every single teacher at Illini Bluffs IS fighting the GOOD fight. 

Families and other community members continue to deliver an over-abundance of food and supplies to our picket posts, and some hold sign-making parties and donate their time to help spread a message of support for teachers.  Kids take it upon themselves to rally, and past, present, and future students have all shown up to stand on the line with us.  And it means everything.

Out on the line, the teachers are still teaching.  They're teaching me that change is slow, but it CAN happen. They're teaching me about handling myself with grace under pressure.  I'm learning from the best what it means to have an endless capacity for hope. 

From To-Do to Ta-Da!

Nobody loves a good to-do list more than me, and with only one official week of summer left, I have an urge to organize.  Below is a list of what I hope to accomplish in the next seven days.  Each item will include photographic documentation (for entertainment purposes and because I need structure and accountability to help me follow through). I can only hope to get as much satisfaction checking items off this list as I did creating it. 

Last Week of Summer To Do List:

1.  Cherish lazy couch, coffee, and cartoon morning routine.

   

2.  Visit favorite places and linger a little longer than usual.

 

3.  Find Make time to hang out with the girls


Thank you for being a friend...

Just so you know, when I made this list last week I hoped to actually hang out with my own girlfriends.  However, that was the one item I wasn't able to check off my list.  I think the topic of girlfriend time (or lack thereof) deserves its very own blog entry, so stay tuned for that.  To satisfy this to-do list, I was able to trade actual girl time for some Golden Girl time.  Here's a fun Fifey factoid: I LOVE The Golden Girls, and one of my favorite things about summer is that I can stay up past 10:00 to catch an episode or two.  I have a hard time justifying the existence of either the Hallmark or Lifetime channels, but because they are the only ones airing my beloved Golden Girls, I'll forgive them for producing such embarrassingly sappy movies and for continuing to suck so royally. 

4.  Get house in order so that brain will follow suit.

Bleach drops on ovens and swiffers in kitchens,

Clutter-free surfaces keep me from itchin'.

Sparkling clean toilets shining like bling,

These are a few of my favorite things...  

5.  Make chalk draw, trucks vroom, trains choo-choo, tricycles race, animals talk, and create secret shrubbery clubhouses.

 

6.  Go school clothes shopping!



It's a start. 
I love you, Target.

7.  Read a book that provides an escape from reality without making me dumber for having read it.

Did you know women actually existed in the early 1800s?  And did you realize that some of them did amazing things that helped shape our country?  Yeah, me either...until I read this book.  Aside from the obligatory mention of Harriet Tubman or Eleanor Roosevelt, history textbooks tend to focus on the old white dudes, so the existence of the Peabody sisters was certainly a surprise to me. If you're a history and/or literature nerd, you'll enjoy this one. 

8.  Make a point to officially end my obsession with Eddie Vedder and his ukulele (that sounds dirty, but it really isn't) and find a new (or, more likely, new-to-me) fall music favorite to put on constant repeat.  This marks the official summer to fall transition:

9.  Create a video snapshot of what Owen is like at age two to add to my memory movie reel.

10.  Speak more than two uninterrupted sentences in a row to my husband during some head-clearing, grievance-airing, giggle-inducing, after hours porch time.

   


There you have it.  From to-do to to-DID.  Ta-Da!!!  And now I think it's time we have a little talk, Bubble...Deep, cleansing breath...I think I finally have the strength to do this:

It's been a good run, Bubble.  You were an integral part of making Summer 2011 one of the best so far, but it's over.  It's not you, it's me.  I must make the transition from romantic to realist, and there's just no place for you in my new reality. Sure, maybe we'll meet up for an occasional fling on the weekends, but our long term relationship is over.  I did love you, Bubble, but I popped your ass for a reason.  I've got important work to do, and this train is pulling out of Procrastination Station.  I'll always treasure our misty water-colored memories, but I have a kid who sings ballads about pork (see # 9), so Mama's gotta bring home the bacon. 

Thanks again, Bubble, for everything. 



Great Expectations

You know when you blow a really big bubble-soap bubble and as it slowly drifts to a surface, instead of popping, it lands and becomes a half bubble?  That's the status of my bubble life now.  When I look up, there's still a beautifully dreamy, swirly-colored shield protecting me, and it continues to enable me to see the outside world with a rose-colored hue. But when I look down at my feet, I see they are clearly planted on the solid ground that gravity has forced me to land on. 

I think the occurrence of a half bubble can be scientifically explained by using phrases like "surface tension" and "resistance to external force," but as the properties of the bubble aren't really my science, I'm more inclined to metaphorically apply those terms to my own life (English is sort of my science), and right now I'm in the business of bubble preservation.  But it's getting so difficult.  And in my bubble blowing experience, which is extensive, once a half bubble is created, it's only a matter of a few short seconds until it pops. 

I certainly feel the tension on this surface where I've landed.  And resistance to the external forces that will obliterate my bubble can only last until, roughly, August 16th.  That's the date that school will either start or not start.  And because I only have a half bubble of protection now, and the sad and incredibly frustrating reality is becoming entirely too real, I'm experiencing an emotion that I haven't felt in a while:  Anger.

I'm mad that despite the BEST EFFORTS of some of my very good friends who have given up their ENTIRE summer to fight for bubble-dwellers like me, school still might not start on time.  I'm mad that the same people who hired me based on their faith in my ability as a teacher are now working so hard to portray me as a villain.  I'm mad that the school I love, a school that houses amazing teachers and works hard to produce amazing graduates, is getting such negative press AGAIN.  I'm mad that as a result of a ridiculous waiting game, quality teachers and staff members have slipped away to use their considerable talents at other schools.  I'm mad because even when we do get back to the business of education, there will still be so much frustration; A morale that's as banged up and bruised as ours takes a lot of effort to heal. 

I am not comfortable using the word "leader" to describe myself, and as the title of this blog implies, on most subjects I consider myself unqualified to give advice that exceeds the boundaries of good old-fashioned common sense.  But for over ten years now I've stepped in front of a classroom filled with tired, droopy-eyed teenagers on the first day of school.  Each year I work to engage them in the subject matter and prepare them for their future.  I teach a subject that many kids loathe, but as their leader I do my best to make their hard work worth their while.  Even if they hate reading Dickens' Great Expectations or despise the constraints of MLA format, my students know that I'm there for them, that I genuinely WANT to see them succeed, and that I'm proud of them when they do.  And, for the most part, this leadership technique is foolproof.  In my entire career as a teacher, I've given maybe four detentions and failed only students who decided to expend zero effort.  I foster an atmosphere based on mutual respect and positivity, and most of the students who pass through my English class succeed, and many of them actually like being there....Or at least they don't HATE it.  I've used my good old-fashioned common sense to recognize that people, no matter their age or station in life, generally succeed when they feel cared for and supported. And it is in that sort of environment that they are likely to exceed expectations as well. 

As Tina Fey would say, "I want to go to there."