The Stoplight Oracle

We slowed to a stop at the red light.  Jessica, my best friend of 16 years, sat in the passenger seat of my mom’s Chevy Lumina, and she was in the midst of revealing to me the identity of her latest crush.  Blues Traveler provided the soundtrack for the evening (and most of 1994 for that matter), and aside from an occasional stop to socialize in J.C. Penney’s parking lot, or a driving-too-fast-detour over the dip on 11th Ave., we stuck to the prescribed cruising route:  up Main Street, around McDonald’s, down First Avenue, and around the square in one continuous loop.

Jessica and I sat stranded at a red light in mid-loop when she completed her romantic revelation. “I’m going on a date with Neil Coulter next weekend,” she exclaimed excitedly.  I stared straight ahead at the red light, my hands tightening around the maroon leather of the steering wheel.  "Neil Coulter?" I thought. "My Neil Coutler?" 

Of course, he wasn't technically mine.  I mean, I was sort of dating someone else, and so was he. Sort of. Technically.  At that point in my life I'd had, maybe, a total of three minutes of conversation with Neil, and I'd certainly never told another living soul about my clandestine crush.  But I'd hung out in his area of the parking lot a little.  I'd laughed at all his jokes, and I think I leaned on his station wagon once while I was there. 

“Erin, the light is green,” said Jessica, and with those words I was startled back into reality. “Oh, sorry,” I replied as I stepped on the gas and shook my head in an effort to physically remove myself from the twenty second stupor I’d just experienced.

As we made our way around the loop again, Jessica continued to talk, but I didn’t really hear what she was saying. Hadn’t I told her I liked Neil? Or did I dream that?  Okay, maybe I'd never actually mentioned it out loud, but wasn't there a mind-reading clause in this best friendship?  Perhaps I'd thought about it so much in the privacy of my own brain that I simply felt transparent.  And asserting oneself isn't really part of the giggly, quiet side-kick code of conduct, I suppose. 

Her detailed description of the courtship rituals that led to the making of her date with Neil lasted an entire cruising loop, and so did the silent struggle in my head. Should I say something?  And, if so, what?  No, you can't date my secret, fake boyfriend?  That wouldn't work. My 16-year-old self did not possess the strength to risk looking like a crazy person in the eyes of both my best friend and a boy who was quite possibly unaware of my existence.  But had she noticed that funny way Neil sucked in his breath after he laughed really hard?  Or paid attention to that sweet way he naturally took care of all of his friends?   

As we finished the loop, we slowed to a stop at the same stoplight we'd sat at earlier in the night. It was red. Stop. Wait. Again. Perhaps it was a sign. “That sounds great,” I said. “Neil seems like a really nice guy. I’m happy for you.” The strain in my voice produced by the lie was barely detectable. As I sat at that stoplight for the second time that night, something inside me said stop. Wait. So I did.

The light turned green; the night continued, as did my friendship with Jessica. Nine years later I ran into Neil again. Two years after that I took his last name. The stoplight on Main Street, the one that decided my future, is visible from the bedroom window of the house that I now share with Neil. I came full circle thanks to one continuous loop.

Back and Blue

One of the first pieces we read in my American Literature class is The Crucible by Arthur Miller.  The Crucible is a work of historical fiction based on the tragedy of The Salem Witch Trials.  It's the story of a group of Puritan girls who accuse innocent members of their community of witchcraft.  The false accusations are fueled by both fear and personal vengeance.  The girls abuse their power to the detriment of their community, and the accused are brought before a court and given two options:  Admit to the crime of witchcraft or be executed.  Many of the accused compromise their own beliefs and lie to save their lives, but as the hysteria grows, a few refuse to abandon their moral code.  They are taken to the gallows for refusing to give in to the pressure caused by a gross abuse of power.

I read this play with my students every year, but this time the themes feel strangely familiar.  No, the struggle of a bunch of striking teachers from Central Illinois can't be literally compared to the tragic circumstances surrounding the Salem Witch Trials, but when the discussion in my classroom produces terms like witch hunt, punishment, unwarranted accusations, and abuse of power, it's hard not to make some connections.  The characters in the story are forced into a situation in which they are unjustly assumed guilty until proven innocent.  Yes, I've experienced that.  In the story, the people in charge claim their actions are for the good of the community.  Uh-huh.  I think I've heard that somewhere before.  And as the story comes to its conclusion, the accused characters are forced to choose the lesser of two evils.  Yep.  I can relate to that, too. 

The teachers at Illini Bluffs stood on the picket line for eight days to show that we are not willing to accept a claim by the school board and administration that states a random drug testing policy for teachers, the first of its kind in any Illinois public school, and intended to address a problem that the board itself admits does not exist, is in the best interest of the students and community.  I still believe it is a ridiculous claim, and still CAN'T believe how it all turned out. 

I sat on a sidewalk outside of our school for six hours during the last night of negotiations, waiting to hear if I would report to the classroom or the picket line the following morning.  When the news finally arrived that I would, in fact, be headed back to my classroom, I cried tears of happiness and relief.  I left that night not knowing the terms of the new contract, but full of hope that it was the beginning of a reconciliation between the teachers and the school board.  The next day, after hearing the newly proposed terms, I fought back tears of regret as I voted to accept terms that I do not agree with, and faced the fact that the small shred of human decency that I had hoped to be treated with may never come from my employers. 

The teachers accepted a contract that proposed a voluntary random drug testing policy for teachers already employed by the district.  As stated in our contract, the names of any teacher who "volunteers to be included in the random drug testing program will be made public."   Let me make this clear:  I am a good teacher.  I do not use drugs.  My name will NEVER appear on the aforementioned public list, and that has no bearing on my ability to teach your children.  But what does hinder my ability to teach your children is not being legally allowed in the school building, so in the spirit of compromise, I grudgingly voted to accept the terms as a means of getting your children back into school.  The entire policy of voluntary random drug testing is ludicrous, but as I've become very accustomed to the ridiculous over the past few weeks, I chose to vote for the option that would benefit the majority.  I can live with that. 

The part of the new agreement that keeps me up at night, though, is the section that states that any new employee to the district will NOT have the option to volunteer to be tested; random drug testing will be a condition of their employment.  I feel serious guilt about bargaining away the rights of Illini Bluffs' future teachers.  With all the bad press our district has endured for the past few years, getting quality teachers will be a challenge.  Now, with the terms of the new contract, I fear it will be nearly impossible.  I know there are amazing teachers in the district who are currently exploring other career options as a result of our district's actions, and if my roots weren't so firmly planted in this area, and if I didn't have so much already invested in our students, I would entertain the same notion because this victory sure feels a whole lot like defeat. 

If you've been following my blog through this journey, you're familiar with my tendency to see the glass as half-full.  I am still optimistic that change can happen in our district. As a result of the out-pouring of kindness and support I witnessed during the strike, my faith in the Illini Bluffs community is stronger than ever.  At this point, the power to change our school is largely in the hands of the parents, students, and taxpayers, and they must take action to help fix what is broken at Illini Bluffs.  The spotlight is still on our community and the fight is not over. 

After everything we've been through, to say that I have faith in the quality of education provided by the teachers at Illini Bluffs would be an unbelievable understatement. I am absolutely inspired by both their professional integrity and steadfast commitment to standing up for what is right.  Their example provides me with all the motivation and encouragement I need to continue moving in a positive direction.  In the past months there have been many lofty claims regarding who, exactly, is looking out for the best interest of our children. If you'd like to see actual living, breathing examples, you can find us standing in the front of our respective classrooms, teaching the students enrolled in the Illini Bluffs School District.  We are back where we belong, and in a position where we can do the most good.  And I can assure you that our commitment to fighting for what is best for our school is stronger than ever.