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.