No Thanks Necessary

It’s that time of year. Christmas has come and gone. Santa has left his gifts. The wrapping paper is strewn all over the floor, and it’s time to write those thank-you notes.

I have made some observations about my current school that I hesitate to mention, because I don’t want this to come out wrong, and it could so easily. Then why attempt it, you may ask. I believe it is very telling. I wonder whether it is only indicative of the neighborhood in which I teach, although I’ve taught in high-poverty, low socio-economic, Title I areas before. I also wonder whether it’s a sign of changing times.

One of the observations is the role of the Parent-Teacher organization within the school. All of my other places of employment have had PTOs that are focused on making their school better for their students and supporting teachers in any way they can to help bring that about. At one school, granted within close proximity to a country club neighborhood, I would go so far as to say they spoiled their teachers.

Upon every teacher’s birthday, that person was treated to all sorts of goodies by the parents of the students in that room. I was so fortunate one year to have particularly grateful parents who, not only brought me a beautiful bouquet of my favorite flower, but also brought breakfast and lunch to me in my classroom, as well as small tokens of cards and little gifts they’d had the children bring me from home.

Every quarter, the PTO would hire a nice local restaurant to cater a lunch for the teachers, while the parents watched the children in the cafeteria and gave the teachers a duty-free lunch. They would decorate the tables, include a dessert we could take back to our classrooms, and give away door prizes and special treats to the teachers.

Every August, the teachers all received $150 checks to spend on supplies for our classrooms so that we didn’t have to spend so much out of our own pockets. The parents ran all the fund raisers, helped with the Scholastic book sales, and even chipped in money so the teachers could buy a book or two of their choice for their classrooms. One Friday out of every month, the parents came in and popped popcorn for the entire school, and we were allowed to show a video while the children enjoyed their treat. It was a welcome break for all of us, students and teachers alike, from our rigorous work. At random times they would send around a treat cart to the door of each classroom, and the teacher could pick anything from it…bottles of water, soda, snacks, fruit, lip balm, hand lotion, hand sanitizer, office supplies.

Like I said, we were spoiled, but we also felt acknowledged by our parents. No matter how ugly or harsh or unfair the administration became or how difficult our students were, there were those moments every once in a while when we felt valued, that we knew our efforts were not overlooked or forgotten by the people they were intended to benefit. It kept us going.

For the first time ever, I currently work at a school where the focus is the same, to support the students and school, but the attitude is the opposite; it’s what can the faculty and staff do for us parents? In all fairness, I have to say there were cold sandwiches supplied for our dinner on parent-teacher conference nights where we were required to stay late into the evening, which was nice, but those were ordered by the principal and set up and served by the school secretary, not the parents. There are no catered luncheons or hot food banquets. There are no checks to help us cover the cost we incur every year replenishing supplies the school districts no longer provide. There is no acknowledgement of a teacher’s birthday. There are no free books from the book fair. I was allowed to fill out requests for specific books I would like in my classroom that parents could donate, but not surprisingly, no one did.

When these parents wanted to have a back-to-school picnic last year, the teachers were expected to run it. When they wanted to host a pancake breakfast to raise money in January, the teachers were required to organize it, purchase the supplies, set up the tables, cook the pancakes, serve the pancakes, and clean up afterward. So much for the P in PTO.

I experienced another first a few days ago, I didn’t receive a single card or gift for the holiday from a student. Usually, a lot of teachers try to have a plan and thank-you cards on hand to write notes of gratitude to all the students who bring in presents before the end of the last day before break. It’s easier to slip a note into the students’ take-home folders than it is to have the task looming over one’s head during the holidays. It also saves the cost of having to mail the notes to each child. For the very first time in my career, no thanks were necessary, because I received nothing.

I have to say it was odd, and I am still not quite sure how to feel about it. This is also where my tale becomes tricky. I don’t want to sound like a demanding lout. I’m not. I don’t need anything. While I have received such items in the past as articles of clothing, $50, $100, and once even a $200 gift card, I don’t expect anything of the sort. It’s not the size or the quality of the gift at all.

And, yes, just in case you are wondering, I know that I am working in a neighborhood that is always suffering financially in a year that has been absolutely horrendous economically. Many parents have lost their jobs, and my heart goes out to them. I would not want them to take one penny of their money that they need for rent or food or utilities to buy me anything. (On the contrary, I have done my fair share of playing secret Santa, leaving anonymous greetings with grocery store gift cards in the mailboxes of students I’ve known whose families were struggling.)

It’s the attitude. In a year when our school has given free-of-charge all sorts of paper, crayons, markers, pencils, and other school supplies to our students and their families to take home and use for school work, a year when I’ve never worked harder, longer, smarter, or more flexibly to do my best for these children, there really wasn’t even ONE family who thought to have their child write a little note of thanks or to wish me a happy holiday?

Well, despite the recent trend of receiving nothing and having to risk my life to serve, I will continue to give my students presents for the holidays. I will continue to do my best for them, learning everything I can to continually improve my teaching, to spread myself as thinly as possible, to keep working and pushing despite exhaustion and lack of appreciation from my administration, my parents, and my children. I’ll keep stepping in and teaching my students to be civilized, productive human beings. I’ll keep providing supplies and food when their parents don’t, having their hair brushed by the school nurse because the mom never takes care of it, changing their clothes and having them laundered when they come to school so filthy that there’s no way to hide the parental neglect. I’ll keeping making the calls to the Department of Family Services when I discover the bruises and welts on their bodies where they’ve been beaten and when little girls finally find a way to express that they’re being sexually abused. Why? Because it’s my job; it’s what I’m paid to do. No, it’s more than that, and every teacher knows it. It’s a calling. You don’t go into this job for the riches or the fame or the glory. There is none.

No thanks necessary.

Gingerbread

Like many teachers across the country, my fellow grade-level team member and I declared the week before winter break to be “Gingerbread Week” in an effort to be festive without giving offense to anyone. Each day we read a different gingerbread story, beginning with the original folktale on Monday.

We made all sorts of scholarly applications out of our topic. We had gingerbread sorts, gingerbread CVC (consonant, vowel, consonant) word blending, gingerbread math, gingerbread vocabulary syllable identification, and gingerbread alphabetical order. Just to make sure we were (that all-too-loved term by administrators) “rigorous” enough, we also made sure we used higher-order thinking activities, such as analysis and creativity, as we discussed cause and effect in our stories, made comparisons of similarities and differences between the versions, and wrote our own endings to the story.

At the end of the day, though, it just didn’t feel like enough this year. The students weren’t allowed their usual winter party because of COVID-19, and it just wasn’t the same. I had expressed that thought to my husband, and told him I wished I could at least give the kids some gingerbread as a treat to wrap up our themed week and send them off happily into their break.

Being the sweet, kind fellow that he is, he stopped off at the grocery store the next day to see what they had. Although he wasn’t able to find traditional gingerbread people, he did find some gingerbread cookies, all factory-made and prepackaged per COVID precautionary guidelines. I was thrilled! I checked the ingredients, double-checked my list of allergies, sent out a notice to the parents of what I was planning to do, and even sent an individual email to one parent just to clarify the extent of her child’s allergies. Everything was cleared and ready to go!

Before I handed out the treats I explained to my class that I thought it would be fun if we actually tried some gingerbread since we had been reading about it all week and asked if anyone had tasted gingerbread before. Only one hand went up. We washed our hands, sanitized our tables, and I distributed the packages of cookies. They opened them, lowered their masks, took their first bites, and their eyes opened wide. They loved it!

In fact, one boy, who is very difficult to please and who often proclaims himself “bored,” muttered to himself as he gobbled away, “So this is gingerbread, huh? Why haven’t I had this before? This is GOOD! I gotta get me some more of this stuff!”

Teachers, by this point in the year, are feeling the same way about rest and relaxation, and while we’ve experienced it before, it’s been a long, long time since we’ve actually had any, particularly this year. So for all the teachers out there (and anyone else who needs a break – like our diligent, even harder-working health care professionals), may you have some time over the holidays for peace and release and rest, because it’s GOOD, and we gotta get ourselves some more of it!

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Actions Speak Louder than Words

Back in late October when our school board was deliberating whether or not to switch from all-remote learning to a hybrid model, we were just beginning to get the hang of remote. The rough bumps in the road early in our journey were beginning to smooth out, and students and teachers alike were settling in. Not everyone had jumped aboard the remote learning platform, but most families had embraced it, and we teachers were doing everything we could to support them and help them be successful with their education, as well as encourage the ones who hadn’t tried it yet to climb aboard.

Then everything changed. Despite the numbers of COVID-19 continuing to rise in our community, despite the reports from Dr. Fauci, all of a sudden the rhetoric from our school district superintendent changed. I’m not sure why. I’ll probably never know what was really behind it, but for some reason, our superintendent became hell-bent on us returning to the classroom. His school board members were dubious, despite the threats they’d been receiving from a minority of less-civilized parents. His staff was overwhelmingly against it and made very compelling, well-supported arguments against it. Even a vast percentage of his parents had elected, through his many surveys, to keep their children remote, even if the district opened up a hybrid option. He chose to ignore all of us and campaign for us to return. Every sentence out of his mouth was slanted in that direction. He produced the district’s HVAC engineer to testify endlessly at the board meeting that the air quality in our classrooms would continue to be healthy upon the students’ and teachers’ return. The board meetings lasted for hours, far past midnight, arguing the prudence of their decision.

I knew any hope was lost when, during one of his follow-up videos in which our superintendent tried to explain himself to the public, he said with a shrug of his shoulders, “Can I guarantee that none of our teachers will get COVID? Of course not.” It was the nonchalant shrug of the shoulders that got me. I knew in that moment I did not matter. I was expendable. My life and my well-being were of so little consequence to this man that he was willing to gamble with them to get what he wanted. He faced the possibility of harming me and my family as disinterestedly as a general analyzing the collateral damage of his latest offensive.

After that, no matter how many times he says that the health and safety of his staff and his students are of utmost importance, it falls on my deaf ears. Actions speak louder than words, Mr. Superintendent, and your actions speak volumes (both in quantity and decibel-level).

He was right about one thing, he couldn’t guarantee that his staff wouldn’t get it. Within just a couple of weeks of each other, our Title I teacher (after spending 30-minute sessions with several of my students), our Parent Involvement Facilitator (after overseeing lunch duty in my room for 30 minutes the day before), and our Media Center Specialist (after teaching for 45 minutes in my room the day before), have all tested positive.

Please pray for their full recovery and for protection for the rest of us. Our superintendent’s latest rhetoric states that children ages 0 -9 are unlikely to get COVID or to be carriers, contrary to what the CDC has published on its website. Our state school board and our local school board have just adopted measures that have completely changed the “gating” criteria, which govern how the community health is rated by color zones. Using our former criteria, the county would now be back in red, but they’ve redefined the zoning so that we’re only in yellow. Additionally, they’ve altered how our school district reacts to a change in zone color. Now, it doesn’t matter how bad the pandemic becomes, all elementary schools have been ordered to stay in hybrid mode, even if the health code turns red.

What a Waste!

Looking back at some of my most recent posts, it sounds like saner heads were prevailing, but alas, the sanity was short-lived. From the moment we headed back to school this fall, the push to send us back into the classrooms turned up the pressure exponentially. What surprised me was the direction from which the push came: administration.

I had hopes, at first, when the COVID-19 numbers began to rise last August and our board members voted to delay the start of school and then start remotely when we did begin. Whoever was in charge of the district calendar did an excellent job in reworking it so that all of our PD (professional development) days were moved to the three weeks during which school was postponed. It gave the teachers days to “prepare” (if only they would actually leave us alone and let us do exactly that instead of tying up our time in meetings) and kept our school year from having to be lengthened. It was brilliant.

The only problem with this seemingly good plan was the quality of the PD. It didn’t really help us with the problems the teachers were facing, and in the end, turned out to be a huge waste of time. For example, we were told if we were going to begin the year remotely, our school needed to have a website presence on Google sites, and each teacher was supposed to develop his/her own page for students to use remotely. Almost none of us had experience with the Google sites program and how it worked, and we were given no instruction in its use. None. No joke. Instead, we were told to “go play with it.” The theory being that we would learn much more through our own exploration than by being shown. (I wonder what kind of evaluations WE would get if we just simply told our students “go play with it” and expect them to learn on their own.)

Having spent a few hours in frustration and not having those hours to spare, my grade level cohort and I went to our instructional specialist, who is our technology guru, and begged for some pointers to get us started. With just a few minutes of demonstration, I was actually excited and felt equipped now to tackle the assignment set out for us. I spent days, yes, entire days, as in a spare hour or two during the day that I wasn’t scheduled in some worthless meeting, plus evening hours and all weekend, designing and building my website. I made buttons that served as links to my Webex meeting room within a clearly-laid out schedule for my students to follow every day.

(Oh, yes, I don’t believe I’ve told you yet.) You know how there was this huge push to get the teachers to learn Zoom last spring? Not only did we have to learn how to be a participant, we had to know how to run the meetings, control our students’ behavior on it and teach them to properly use Zoom’s tools, as well as help our parents trouble-shoot. Well, just as everyone gets fairly proficient with Zoom, our school district decides to dump it and change to Webex. All of that learning was thrown out the window, and we’re all having to learn Webex, which doesn’t work like Zoom, as well as Google sites, on top of everything else.

Anyhow, I was incredibly proud of my website. I was a little uneasy because I was wondering what’s to keep someone “off the street” from entering our website and crashing our meetings. However, I just followed orders, and I was told to post my personal Webex meeting room link clearly on my site for my parents to see and use. I secretly wondered if I’m the only one who sees the irony in the fact that we dumped Zoom because of “security problems,” which were actually our own fault by publishing the links and passwords to our meetings in a public place, and now we were even more publicly sharing our Webex links. Was I the only one to see a problem with this? Apparently so. I continued to build my site incorporating all the items my administration required: a contact page with my link big and bold, a weekly newsletter, a list of tasks to be completed, and the learning objectives for the week’s lessons. It was a beautiful sight to behold, if I do say so myself. I figured out a way to create separate links for my small reading and math groups so that they wouldn’t drop in on each other’s meetings, and I had them all hidden behind labeled buttons to make things as easy as possible for my students and parents. I was the very proud parent of my baby Google site, especially since the labor to give birth to it was hard and long.

We launched our sites, spent a few days in parent-teacher conferences demonstrating our sites to our parents, and it wasn’t until that moment the our school district administration decided “Oops! This wasn’t as secure as we thought it would be. In fact, you need to take it all down right now.” Days and days of work made completely worthless in an instant, and it all could have been avoided with just a little forethought and planning.

I knew before my principal did. I read the directive in the district’s daily bulletin that morning and pulled my Webex links off immediately in order to protect them. I later even taught myself how to go into Webex and change the actual link just to be sure no one could enter my personal meeting room using the previously published link. To add insult to injury, my principal chose that morning to do an unannounced “walk-through” observation of my site and my morning meeting with my students. The only thing she could find to criticize was the fact that my Webex link wasn’t published anywhere. I informed her that I had had it there minutes before she browsed my site, and I would be happy to put it up again if that’s what she wanted, but there was this article in the daily bulletin she needed to see that said to take it down. A few minutes later a memo was sent by her to the entire school to take the Webex references down, requiring interactive sites like mine to be dismantled.

This is just one of many instances I could cite that show the lack of planning, foresight, communication, and consideration of our district’s administration.