Although it isn't official yet, our principal has told us that she THINKS she knows who my replacement will be.
I hadn't given it a whole lot of thought. I knew first of all our choices would be limited, since budget cuts have pretty much frozen any possibilities of hiring from outside the county. We expected that if one of the high schools had to cut an English position, someone would be "sent" to our school, even if he or she didn't want to come. That's not ideal for a school like ours. So few people understand what it is exactly that we do, and it's sometimes difficult to find someone willing to take on the challenge of a nontraditional approach to teaching high school.
Our staff has been pretty much intact since our school opened in 2005. Three of us opened it together, our business/electives teacher came the second year, and the most turnover has happened in the area of science. We work beautifully together as a team (we even occasionally snap on each other, just like siblings who are forced to live in the same house), and I trusted my colleagues to choose an English teacher who would continue the work we have started together. If they were given any choice in the matter, that is.
I can't give away too much information, lest someone who reads this blog might put two and two together and let the cat out of the bag. It's not supposed to be a SECRET by any means, but since it isn't official yet, I don't want to give away too much information.
I can say this, though.
I couldn't be happier with the person who is rumored to be taking my place. She is a dynamic, creative teacher, has a wonderfully wicked sense of humor, borders on mischievous, and she KNOWS. HER. STUFF. She gets along well with her co-workers, and she knows how to relate to teenagers. And she has chosen to come to our school rather than being SENT there. It's the perfect package.
We exchanged a couple of cryptic emails today (cryptic in case our email is being monitored, which would surprise neither of us one iota), and I cryptically told her how happy I was and she cryptically said I would have to train her.
I was going to retire and walk away with no regrets either way. But it sure is nice to know the program will be in good hands. They'll forget all about me a month after school starts. And that is okay with me.
Showing posts with label teaching. Show all posts
Showing posts with label teaching. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Recipes and Eccentric Ladies and Stuff....
This originally started out to be a post about my first attempt at making peanut butter granola balls, but then I got to thinking about how kind the lady was to post the recipe online for anyone to make them, and then it evolved into a post about Connie. Strange how that works.
Connie was a sweet lady with whom I taught English years ago. To say she was eccentric is putting it mildly. She was a little bitty thing with ginormous hair (I started working there in '89, and her hair never made it out of the 80's), and she teetered along on stiletto heels all the time. She was known to show up for school in a big old floppy hat -- we're talking Kentucky Derby quality here -- and it was worth going to prom every year just to see what Connie was wearing.
She's the only teacher I've ever known who got sent home to change clothes because they were inappropriate for school. That actually happened before my time, so I only know it as hearsay, but based on some of the outfits she DIDN'T get sent home for, it's very believable. She wore leggings even when they weren't in style, but she didn't necessarily wear the long cover-up tops that have cycled through the popularity phase a couple of times. Her tops didn't quite cover her rear, and they were likely to be low-cut on top of that, so it sometimes looked as if she were wearing a blousy bra and pantyhose. I know I'm not explaining this very well. She was middle-aged, so she should have known better, even if her body was still in good enough shape that she could carry it off.
Connie's classroom (in addition to her classes) was a disaster. There were stacks and piles and jumbles of papers, textbooks, workbooks, file folders, student work from the 60's (maybe), and just plain old JUNK strewn around her whole room. I'm no neat freak, but her classroom made me twitch. And her students just ran all over her. She babied them, even calling every single one of them "baby," and I'm sad to say she didn't do a whole lot of teaching. Her students made fun of her, but they weren't mean to her. They loved her because she loved them, and it wasn't their fault if she didn't teach them a blooming thing all year. But she was a wonderful person, generous and kind and funny and impossible not to like.
Right after I started teaching there, Connie brought in a coconut cake to school. I'm not a huge fan of coconut, but I AM a huge fan of cake, so I tried a piece. It was good enough to make me a die-hard coconut lover on the spot. I cannot describe the deliciousness of that cake. It was apparently her trademark, and everyone vied to get one of Connie's coconut cakes, even folks from other departments. When I (eventually) didn't have a mouthful of cake, I asked Connie if I could have the recipe.
She looked me dead in the eye and said, "No."
She didn't say anything else, and I stuttered and stammered for a moment. I kind of thought she was kidding for a moment, and I fully expected her to break into her tittering little laugh. Then she continued.
"If I started giving out the recipe, anyone could make it," she said. "Then it wouldn't be special anymore."
I couldn't argue with her logic. But I'd never had anyone REFUSE to give out a recipe before. I was stunned, to say the least.
Years later, when I got to know Connie better, I understood a little more fully. I didn't hold a grudge about the cake recipe, because it was just one of the eccentricities that made Connie Connie. Eventually she told me if I ever left that school, she would share the recipe with me. In that moment I knew I had become Connie's friend.
Of course I did eventually leave that school, and Connie didn't get around to sharing the recipe with me. It was probably buried somewhere beneath fourteen tons of paperwork in her classroom. I had other things on my mind as well, having just married Hubby and preparing to move on to another high school. I've taught in several places over the years, and that English department was the closest-knit group of co-workers I've ever had the privilege to work with. With the possible exception of my current co-workers, since there are only five of us.
Not too long after Hubby and I married, I was in the kitchen one morning and he was reading the paper. He called into the kitchen, "Do you know Connie ________?"
"Yeah," I said, "Why?"
"She drowned in her apartment swimming pool this weekend."
I was shocked, to say the least. She was only 54, and apparently she couldn't swim. I remember there being some speculation at the time that prescription drugs may have been involved, but her death was ruled an accident.
Now before you get all judgmental and start throwing accusations around that my first thought upon hearing of Connie's death was the fact that I would never get that coconut cake recipe, let me set the record straight and say that was my SECOND thought.
My first one was, "Holy mother of all that's holy, who is going to have to clean out her classroom?"
RIP, Connie.
Connie was a sweet lady with whom I taught English years ago. To say she was eccentric is putting it mildly. She was a little bitty thing with ginormous hair (I started working there in '89, and her hair never made it out of the 80's), and she teetered along on stiletto heels all the time. She was known to show up for school in a big old floppy hat -- we're talking Kentucky Derby quality here -- and it was worth going to prom every year just to see what Connie was wearing.
She's the only teacher I've ever known who got sent home to change clothes because they were inappropriate for school. That actually happened before my time, so I only know it as hearsay, but based on some of the outfits she DIDN'T get sent home for, it's very believable. She wore leggings even when they weren't in style, but she didn't necessarily wear the long cover-up tops that have cycled through the popularity phase a couple of times. Her tops didn't quite cover her rear, and they were likely to be low-cut on top of that, so it sometimes looked as if she were wearing a blousy bra and pantyhose. I know I'm not explaining this very well. She was middle-aged, so she should have known better, even if her body was still in good enough shape that she could carry it off.
Connie's classroom (in addition to her classes) was a disaster. There were stacks and piles and jumbles of papers, textbooks, workbooks, file folders, student work from the 60's (maybe), and just plain old JUNK strewn around her whole room. I'm no neat freak, but her classroom made me twitch. And her students just ran all over her. She babied them, even calling every single one of them "baby," and I'm sad to say she didn't do a whole lot of teaching. Her students made fun of her, but they weren't mean to her. They loved her because she loved them, and it wasn't their fault if she didn't teach them a blooming thing all year. But she was a wonderful person, generous and kind and funny and impossible not to like.
Right after I started teaching there, Connie brought in a coconut cake to school. I'm not a huge fan of coconut, but I AM a huge fan of cake, so I tried a piece. It was good enough to make me a die-hard coconut lover on the spot. I cannot describe the deliciousness of that cake. It was apparently her trademark, and everyone vied to get one of Connie's coconut cakes, even folks from other departments. When I (eventually) didn't have a mouthful of cake, I asked Connie if I could have the recipe.
She looked me dead in the eye and said, "No."
She didn't say anything else, and I stuttered and stammered for a moment. I kind of thought she was kidding for a moment, and I fully expected her to break into her tittering little laugh. Then she continued.
"If I started giving out the recipe, anyone could make it," she said. "Then it wouldn't be special anymore."
I couldn't argue with her logic. But I'd never had anyone REFUSE to give out a recipe before. I was stunned, to say the least.
Years later, when I got to know Connie better, I understood a little more fully. I didn't hold a grudge about the cake recipe, because it was just one of the eccentricities that made Connie Connie. Eventually she told me if I ever left that school, she would share the recipe with me. In that moment I knew I had become Connie's friend.
Of course I did eventually leave that school, and Connie didn't get around to sharing the recipe with me. It was probably buried somewhere beneath fourteen tons of paperwork in her classroom. I had other things on my mind as well, having just married Hubby and preparing to move on to another high school. I've taught in several places over the years, and that English department was the closest-knit group of co-workers I've ever had the privilege to work with. With the possible exception of my current co-workers, since there are only five of us.
Not too long after Hubby and I married, I was in the kitchen one morning and he was reading the paper. He called into the kitchen, "Do you know Connie ________?"
"Yeah," I said, "Why?"
"She drowned in her apartment swimming pool this weekend."
I was shocked, to say the least. She was only 54, and apparently she couldn't swim. I remember there being some speculation at the time that prescription drugs may have been involved, but her death was ruled an accident.
Now before you get all judgmental and start throwing accusations around that my first thought upon hearing of Connie's death was the fact that I would never get that coconut cake recipe, let me set the record straight and say that was my SECOND thought.
My first one was, "Holy mother of all that's holy, who is going to have to clean out her classroom?"
RIP, Connie.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Teaching Memories.....
As my teaching career winds down, I can't help but think back to some of my early memories related to my teaching career. Sweet Girl reminded me of some of them tonight related to her, so tonight's episode will be devoted to Sweet Girl and how her life intersected with my teaching career.
I don't know if I've ever told her or not, but it is BECAUSE of Sweet Girl that I went into teaching. I was working at a dead-end secretarial job under the supervision of a BEEYOTCH at the University of Georgia's College of Veterinary Medicine. I was a good secretary and an excellent typist, but I couldn't help but feel my talents (and college education) were being wasted. Sweet Girl was born at the end of June, and I had planned my pregnancy down to the exact number of 30 sick days I would need to take 6 weeks of maternity leave. Taking any additional leave without pay was out of the question. What I did NOT anticipate was having a case of walking pneumonia early in my pregnancy, and I had to stay out of school for a week. That left me with only 5 weeks when Sweet Girl was born.
I promise there's a point to all this, and I'm not going to regale you with Sweet Girl's entire biography.
I decided to take 4 full weeks and then work mornings only for 2 weeks in order to ease back into the working routine. The two weeks I worked half-time I would pick her up from daycare (a four week old in daycare!!), and we would have the rest of the afternoon together. Toward the end of the second week I got emotional at the thought of leaving her all day every day. I remember thinking, "If only I had the whole summer off." I never thought I could be a stay-at-home mom (finances wouldn't have allowed it anyway), but the idea of having that three-month period together started the wheels turning and I decided to pursue a degree in education.
It wasn't easy, going back to graduate school with a little baby, and if it hadn't been for my mother, I couldn't have made it through the whole program. I was working toward my masters degree and my teaching certificate at the same time, and when it came time to student teach, I was assigned a school about an hour from home. Mom let me drop Sweet Girl off at her house, and she fed her breakfast and took her to daycare.
My first years of teaching were in a middle school, but I had despaired of getting a job and was happy to teach ANYWHERE. The first year I had trouble building up any sick days at all. I had a couple of minor illnesses (that was before I figured out that teachers go to work when they're sick unless they are throwing up or running a fever over 235), my brother was in a terrible car accident, and then Sweet Girl had the chicken pox.
When I moved on to the high school (thank all that is holy), I was given the top only if I would agree to tackle the yearbook. Welcome to high school, where we have ways of making you do things you would otherwise run like hell from. Anyone who knows anything about a high school yearbook knows that a large part of the work is done beyond the hours of the school day. There are workshops, advertising sales, sports events that have to be covered, and the dreaded deadlines. The woman who was in charge of the yearbook before me found herself spending the night at school with her staff when they were expecting delivery of the yearbooks and they didn't come by nightfall. So glad I didn't have to do THAT.
Poor Sweet Girl usually had to be dragged along to these after-school activities. I remember (and she reminded me of it tonight on the phone) one Saturday when we had an all-day work session. She was about 5 years old, and I was at a loss as to how to keep her occupied at school all day when I would be busy doing other things. I finally decided to allow her to take her roller skates (she was just learning) to school. She had the run of the entire building on her skates, and I'm so glad it was in the days before video cameras. She had a blast roller skating up and down the halls of that big building, and I didn't feel (quite as) guilty about making her spend her Saturday at school.
Whenever Sweet Girl got sick (it's always the middle of the night, too, isn't it?), I had to take her to school with me. Her pediatrician and my school were in the same town, about 30 minutes away from where we lived. It only made sense to take her to school with me, arrange lesson plans for a substitute, call the doctor's office when it opened, and take her to the doctor from there. Once the poor thing was so very, very sick that she lay down on the floor behind my desk and went to sleep. She was running a high fever, and I had to get some things together for the sub. We were still in my room when students began arriving, and she stirred restlessly. One of my students pointed at her and said, "Look! It's moving!" I lit into him like he had shot my dog, and I never ever liked him again after that. I know he was only teasing, but he was picking on my cub (sorry Sweet Girl), and I went into Mama Bear mode.
Sweet Girl remembers coming to my classroom and playing on the Mac. It was a tiny little computer with about a 7-inch screen, black and white, and those of us who had them were so dang proud of them. Naturally we didn't have a computer at home yet, so it was a special treat for her to get to play games on my computer.
I taught summer school a couple of years, because I could always use extra money in those days. (Wait...I still can always use extra money. "Extra" back then meant we might be able to buy groceries, though.) When Sweet Girl was in second grade, we were talking one day about what she might want to be when she grew up. I asked if she ever thought about being a teacher, and she said, "Maybe... But I'm never going to teach summer school." That broke my heart, and I never taught summer school again.
Sweet Girl went with me to Friday night football games and Saturday swim meets. I took her with me on the state Beta Club convention after she asked me one night, "Mom...What's a hotel?" The child had been to Italy, but she didn't know what a hotel was? She had a ball staying at one of the swanky Atlanta hotels, taking luxurious showers and wrapping her hair in a big fluffy towel. We went to eat at the revolving restaurant on the hotel's roof, and she loved the experience even if she didn't care much for the food.
She's gone with me to buy candy that I sold (illegally) out of my classroom cabinet to fund the school's literary magazine, she's helped me put together the student handbook and the literary magazine, she has helped me make copies and graded papers.
If she ever DOES decide to go into teaching, she's already had a lot of practice.
And I hope she doesn't ever teach summer school.
I don't know if I've ever told her or not, but it is BECAUSE of Sweet Girl that I went into teaching. I was working at a dead-end secretarial job under the supervision of a BEEYOTCH at the University of Georgia's College of Veterinary Medicine. I was a good secretary and an excellent typist, but I couldn't help but feel my talents (and college education) were being wasted. Sweet Girl was born at the end of June, and I had planned my pregnancy down to the exact number of 30 sick days I would need to take 6 weeks of maternity leave. Taking any additional leave without pay was out of the question. What I did NOT anticipate was having a case of walking pneumonia early in my pregnancy, and I had to stay out of school for a week. That left me with only 5 weeks when Sweet Girl was born.
I promise there's a point to all this, and I'm not going to regale you with Sweet Girl's entire biography.
I decided to take 4 full weeks and then work mornings only for 2 weeks in order to ease back into the working routine. The two weeks I worked half-time I would pick her up from daycare (a four week old in daycare!!), and we would have the rest of the afternoon together. Toward the end of the second week I got emotional at the thought of leaving her all day every day. I remember thinking, "If only I had the whole summer off." I never thought I could be a stay-at-home mom (finances wouldn't have allowed it anyway), but the idea of having that three-month period together started the wheels turning and I decided to pursue a degree in education.
It wasn't easy, going back to graduate school with a little baby, and if it hadn't been for my mother, I couldn't have made it through the whole program. I was working toward my masters degree and my teaching certificate at the same time, and when it came time to student teach, I was assigned a school about an hour from home. Mom let me drop Sweet Girl off at her house, and she fed her breakfast and took her to daycare.
My first years of teaching were in a middle school, but I had despaired of getting a job and was happy to teach ANYWHERE. The first year I had trouble building up any sick days at all. I had a couple of minor illnesses (that was before I figured out that teachers go to work when they're sick unless they are throwing up or running a fever over 235), my brother was in a terrible car accident, and then Sweet Girl had the chicken pox.
When I moved on to the high school (thank all that is holy), I was given the top only if I would agree to tackle the yearbook. Welcome to high school, where we have ways of making you do things you would otherwise run like hell from. Anyone who knows anything about a high school yearbook knows that a large part of the work is done beyond the hours of the school day. There are workshops, advertising sales, sports events that have to be covered, and the dreaded deadlines. The woman who was in charge of the yearbook before me found herself spending the night at school with her staff when they were expecting delivery of the yearbooks and they didn't come by nightfall. So glad I didn't have to do THAT.
Poor Sweet Girl usually had to be dragged along to these after-school activities. I remember (and she reminded me of it tonight on the phone) one Saturday when we had an all-day work session. She was about 5 years old, and I was at a loss as to how to keep her occupied at school all day when I would be busy doing other things. I finally decided to allow her to take her roller skates (she was just learning) to school. She had the run of the entire building on her skates, and I'm so glad it was in the days before video cameras. She had a blast roller skating up and down the halls of that big building, and I didn't feel (quite as) guilty about making her spend her Saturday at school.
Whenever Sweet Girl got sick (it's always the middle of the night, too, isn't it?), I had to take her to school with me. Her pediatrician and my school were in the same town, about 30 minutes away from where we lived. It only made sense to take her to school with me, arrange lesson plans for a substitute, call the doctor's office when it opened, and take her to the doctor from there. Once the poor thing was so very, very sick that she lay down on the floor behind my desk and went to sleep. She was running a high fever, and I had to get some things together for the sub. We were still in my room when students began arriving, and she stirred restlessly. One of my students pointed at her and said, "Look! It's moving!" I lit into him like he had shot my dog, and I never ever liked him again after that. I know he was only teasing, but he was picking on my cub (sorry Sweet Girl), and I went into Mama Bear mode.
Sweet Girl remembers coming to my classroom and playing on the Mac. It was a tiny little computer with about a 7-inch screen, black and white, and those of us who had them were so dang proud of them. Naturally we didn't have a computer at home yet, so it was a special treat for her to get to play games on my computer.
I taught summer school a couple of years, because I could always use extra money in those days. (Wait...I still can always use extra money. "Extra" back then meant we might be able to buy groceries, though.) When Sweet Girl was in second grade, we were talking one day about what she might want to be when she grew up. I asked if she ever thought about being a teacher, and she said, "Maybe... But I'm never going to teach summer school." That broke my heart, and I never taught summer school again.
Sweet Girl went with me to Friday night football games and Saturday swim meets. I took her with me on the state Beta Club convention after she asked me one night, "Mom...What's a hotel?" The child had been to Italy, but she didn't know what a hotel was? She had a ball staying at one of the swanky Atlanta hotels, taking luxurious showers and wrapping her hair in a big fluffy towel. We went to eat at the revolving restaurant on the hotel's roof, and she loved the experience even if she didn't care much for the food.
She's gone with me to buy candy that I sold (illegally) out of my classroom cabinet to fund the school's literary magazine, she's helped me put together the student handbook and the literary magazine, she has helped me make copies and graded papers.
If she ever DOES decide to go into teaching, she's already had a lot of practice.
And I hope she doesn't ever teach summer school.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
First Day of My Last Semester.....
I promise you I'm not going to carry this theme out for all 90 89 days remaining in this semester. You might get sick of hearing about my impending retirement. Unless you're sick of it already, in which case I apologize.
I was the first one at school today. That includes the custodian, who is ALWAYS there before me, and our math teacher, whom I have accused of sleeping at her desk because she's there when I leave and there when I arrive. I TOLD you I was ready to get this semester underway.
Our school day officially begins at 8:50. The person who is notorious for not showing up for work and not calling and ultimately having to have the police called to his house to do a welfare check only to discover that he's actually at the grocery store finally dragged in at 8:45, looking like hell. Baby Luke's daddy was already out (he spent the entire Christmas break in the hospital with the baby, so he's taking some time off now, and who can blame him?), so I was just about ready to panic whenthe Freak my co-worker finally dragged in.
But that's not what I started to write about.
By 8:30, I had already had a conference with a student about a practice essay he wrote in the car sometime during Christmas break. He has failed our state writing test, and he wanted to practice to improve his skills. I think he has been mostly home schooled, and they must focus a lot on facts and figures and not so much on writing essays and spelling words correctly. But he really wants to improve, he listens to instruction and accepts constructive criticism, and I'll take those any day over the smart-asses who already know everything and are only there to go through the motions of school.
By 8:40, I had given a mini-lesson to this same student on active and passive voice.
And at 4:00, when I was on the way home, I found myself wondering, "Wait...was this just ONE day?"
I was the first one at school today. That includes the custodian, who is ALWAYS there before me, and our math teacher, whom I have accused of sleeping at her desk because she's there when I leave and there when I arrive. I TOLD you I was ready to get this semester underway.
Our school day officially begins at 8:50. The person who is notorious for not showing up for work and not calling and ultimately having to have the police called to his house to do a welfare check only to discover that he's actually at the grocery store finally dragged in at 8:45, looking like hell. Baby Luke's daddy was already out (he spent the entire Christmas break in the hospital with the baby, so he's taking some time off now, and who can blame him?), so I was just about ready to panic when
But that's not what I started to write about.
By 8:30, I had already had a conference with a student about a practice essay he wrote in the car sometime during Christmas break. He has failed our state writing test, and he wanted to practice to improve his skills. I think he has been mostly home schooled, and they must focus a lot on facts and figures and not so much on writing essays and spelling words correctly. But he really wants to improve, he listens to instruction and accepts constructive criticism, and I'll take those any day over the smart-asses who already know everything and are only there to go through the motions of school.
By 8:40, I had given a mini-lesson to this same student on active and passive voice.
And at 4:00, when I was on the way home, I found myself wondering, "Wait...was this just ONE day?"
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Watching the Clock.......
I have worked for many principals in my teaching career, and it seems they all had varying opinions about teachers' working hours. To their credit, the vast majority of the ones I've worked under have taken the approach that teachers don't stop working when they walk out the door, so the 8:00-4:00 working hours have been somewhat flexible. I had one principal who allowed me to be late every single day because we lived 30 minutes away on a country dirt road, and I didn't want to leave home until Sweet Girl was on the bus. He was cool with that, since I had first period planning, and it didn't impact my direct interaction with students. He went home every. single. day. for a two-hour nap, so it's not like he had a whole lot of room to talk.
We've usually been expected to sign in and out, but even that wasn't always strictly enforced. In my first teaching job, another teacher and I started playing games with each other, signing each other out at random times of the day for made-up reasons, trying to see who could be more outrageous than the other. I wonder what she's doing now....she got a divorce and left town, taking a job teaching in Hawai'i, and naturally we couldn't be friends after THAT. I remember getting a postcard from her that said, "I'm never going to wear pantyhose again." I sighed wistfully at the thought. Yes, I realize I'm showing my age.
At another school, one of the several principals who marched through there thought it was important that teachers be on time. Or at least that they SIGN IN on time. He asked the secretary (or perhaps he did it himself, I don't know) to put a RED DOT next to anyone's name who had not signed in at 8:00. It didn't matter that perhaps someone had arrived early to school and gone directly to his or her classroom; it also didn't matter if you were there until 5:00 or 6:00 coaching a sport or directing the play or putting together the yearbook. The details are fuzzy, but supposedly something "bad" was to happen if you got three red dots. One of our assistant principals, a woman with a bad attitude to begin with, went in one morning and red-dotted HER OWN NAME all the way across the week. That did not go over well.
I've worked in more than one school where the front office would be closed when I left for the day. So the next morning I would sign OUT from the day before and IN for that day at the same time. Sometimes I even told the truth. There was talk at one school where I worked (can you tell I've been around the block a few times?) of having teachers sign in from their own computers. That made perfect sense to me, since it could be done from the classroom and didn't involve what might be a long walk to the front office. I'm not sure it ever came to fruition, and I left that school. Too.
Our county started using electronic key cards a few years ago, but it never touched our school because we were A) so small; and B) located in an ancient building that didn't even meet ADA codes. When they moved us this year, though, the building was equipped with the key card scanners, so that's how we are supposed to check in and out. I don't mind it, but I've heard that the POWER-THAT-BE spends a lot of time going over those electronic log-ins. Just as in a previous location, working an hour past the normal quitting time of 4:00 has no impact whatsoever, but you can have your pay docked if you are late to school. Or are late swiping your card. Woe be unto anyone who arrives at school at the same time as another faculty member and saunters in the front door, chatting all the while, and forgets to swipe his or her card. You aren't there. They can prove it, because you didn't swipe your card. Thanks but no thanks for holding the door for me, I've got to swipe my damn card.
Who in the world came up with the 40-hour work week anyway? I can see it for some professions, but is it really necessary for jobs like teaching? If the students are gone and I don't have lesson plans to write (I don't) or papers to grade (I don't), what's the point of my sitting around waiting for the clock to turn over to what someone has deemed "quitting time"? Every time a student sends me a text message when I'm at home, do I have the privilege of running down to the school and swiping my card in/out, because by golly I was WORKING during those minutes? You're right, that could get expensive, even if it IS only five miles to school.
I guess I shouldn't complain about the possibility of getting scolded when it hasn't happened yet. It just irks me that in a profession where we should be treated..... oh, professionally maybe?...... we actually get treated like the kids we teach.
Going to bed so I can clock in on time tomorrow,
Bragger
We've usually been expected to sign in and out, but even that wasn't always strictly enforced. In my first teaching job, another teacher and I started playing games with each other, signing each other out at random times of the day for made-up reasons, trying to see who could be more outrageous than the other. I wonder what she's doing now....she got a divorce and left town, taking a job teaching in Hawai'i, and naturally we couldn't be friends after THAT. I remember getting a postcard from her that said, "I'm never going to wear pantyhose again." I sighed wistfully at the thought. Yes, I realize I'm showing my age.
At another school, one of the several principals who marched through there thought it was important that teachers be on time. Or at least that they SIGN IN on time. He asked the secretary (or perhaps he did it himself, I don't know) to put a RED DOT next to anyone's name who had not signed in at 8:00. It didn't matter that perhaps someone had arrived early to school and gone directly to his or her classroom; it also didn't matter if you were there until 5:00 or 6:00 coaching a sport or directing the play or putting together the yearbook. The details are fuzzy, but supposedly something "bad" was to happen if you got three red dots. One of our assistant principals, a woman with a bad attitude to begin with, went in one morning and red-dotted HER OWN NAME all the way across the week. That did not go over well.
I've worked in more than one school where the front office would be closed when I left for the day. So the next morning I would sign OUT from the day before and IN for that day at the same time. Sometimes I even told the truth. There was talk at one school where I worked (can you tell I've been around the block a few times?) of having teachers sign in from their own computers. That made perfect sense to me, since it could be done from the classroom and didn't involve what might be a long walk to the front office. I'm not sure it ever came to fruition, and I left that school. Too.
Our county started using electronic key cards a few years ago, but it never touched our school because we were A) so small; and B) located in an ancient building that didn't even meet ADA codes. When they moved us this year, though, the building was equipped with the key card scanners, so that's how we are supposed to check in and out. I don't mind it, but I've heard that the POWER-THAT-BE spends a lot of time going over those electronic log-ins. Just as in a previous location, working an hour past the normal quitting time of 4:00 has no impact whatsoever, but you can have your pay docked if you are late to school. Or are late swiping your card. Woe be unto anyone who arrives at school at the same time as another faculty member and saunters in the front door, chatting all the while, and forgets to swipe his or her card. You aren't there. They can prove it, because you didn't swipe your card. Thanks but no thanks for holding the door for me, I've got to swipe my damn card.
Who in the world came up with the 40-hour work week anyway? I can see it for some professions, but is it really necessary for jobs like teaching? If the students are gone and I don't have lesson plans to write (I don't) or papers to grade (I don't), what's the point of my sitting around waiting for the clock to turn over to what someone has deemed "quitting time"? Every time a student sends me a text message when I'm at home, do I have the privilege of running down to the school and swiping my card in/out, because by golly I was WORKING during those minutes? You're right, that could get expensive, even if it IS only five miles to school.
I guess I shouldn't complain about the possibility of getting scolded when it hasn't happened yet. It just irks me that in a profession where we should be treated..... oh, professionally maybe?...... we actually get treated like the kids we teach.
Going to bed so I can clock in on time tomorrow,
Bragger
Sunday, August 8, 2010
My Criminal Past.....
Settle down, I haven't really BEEN a criminal in my past. I've just known a few. And I don't count my brother, whom I don't consider a real criminal in spite of the fact that he did time in the "semi-big house." He was just mischievous and the victim of rotten luck. Besides, he's my brother.
There was a guy most of us had a crush on in the seventh and eighth grades. He came to our county in one of those years, and of course every girl fell for the new guy. I wasn't one of the pretty and popular ones, so I never had a chance with him, but man did I think he was cute. By the time we were sophomores and I was marching in the band, we always ran into Reid at Six Flags Over Georgia on the day they allowed us to escape from band camp right before school started. It seems his reform school took their inmates to Six Flags on the same day every year. We didn't think it at all odd that we kept bumping into Reid at Six Flags, and he didn't seem a bit embarrassed that he was there with his reform school and we were there with the marching band. Five years after I graduated, a young woman was murdered on the UGA campus, and it was all over the news. Then a friend from high school called saying that it was Reid who had murdered her. I brushed it off as just some of her high-strung histrionics (is that redundant?), because I had heard the name on television and it wasn't Reid. I didn't know he had a different first name, and Reid was his middle name. He is now serving a life sentence; I don't know how he escaped the death penalty. I can't even bring a picture of his face up in my mind anymore.
Then there was a couple we used to go camping with in my first wifetime. Our daughters were born 5 months apart, and both their first and last names both began with the letters "Br". It was quite alliterative. We were very close to this couple. We slept in the same tent for goodness' sake. One night he and I both slept in the same BOAT because we couldn't stand my ex's snoring. We were at the lake every single weekend from Memorial Day to Labor Day, and we only stopped then because the campground closed and football season started. I do have my priorities. After I divorced baby daddy, having lost custody of most of the friends, I ran into the wife of that couple one time at the mall. She said they had divorced and that Mark was in prison for child molestation. I could have bent down and picked my jaw up off the floor. It wasn't their daughter, it was her SON from a previous marriage who was the victim of the molestation. Oh, and some neighborhood kids who had been invited to the party too. Sadly, if he hadn't involved the other kids, he probably would have gotten away with it. I don't think his stepson would ever have told on him. Mark was sentenced to five years and I'm guessing he didn't do all of that time. I see him from time to time because he works at one of the local motorcycle dealers. I feel so icky seeing him. On one hand he paid his debt to society and deserves (maybe?) to be forgiven, but on the other hand.... KIDS!???!!! His defense at the time of his arrest was that there was "no penetration." Apparently he just allowed the young boys to touch HIM. Gross. I'm so glad he's NOT the one I bought my motorcycle from.
The last (I hope) criminal I've been acquainted with was also a high-profile case. He was a renowned educator whose students wrote many books about their boarding school experiences in the mountains of North Georgia, and he wanted to come to the city where I was teaching to see if his methods could be applied to inner-city-type students. But he was also committed to a great deal of travel and public speaking, so he couldn't take on a class on his own. Therefore he was paired with me and we team-taught one ninth grade class. He was very likable and incredibly intelligent. He was in great demand as a speaker, and he always took students with him. He would take them on out-of-town trips, and it really was an educational experience for them. But for some reason I started getting bad vibes about him.
He didn't do anything overt to make my alarms go off. I felt guilty even thinking poorly of him. But when one of my (male) students, a very gentle ninth grade boy, began talking about the possibility of traveling to a conference in Hawai'i -- HAWAI'I!!!! -- with the teacher over the summer, I had to say something. I first went to my department head, also a male teacher, who was a little puzzled at my worry. He didn't question it, per se, but he kept asking me what made me think there was anything wrong, and I couldn't tell him.
Then rumors started floating around, and my department head and I decided that although they weren't substantiated, it might not be a good idea (ya think?) for him to take a student on an out-of-town trip. My department head suggested I talk to the principal about my concerns. This is the same guy who had chewed me out about the girl on my yearbook staff on the first day of school. I went to him immediately because school was about to be out for the summer, and I wanted something documented before we left. I told him my concerns, and he sat there thinking for a few minutes. Finally he said, "Tell _____ to give me a call."
Excuse me?
I have just reported a concern about a possible child molester to my principal, as I am required by law to do, and he suggests that I ask the potential molester to give him a call?
I left his office and thought to myself, "Screw you, buddy. I've done what I was supposed to do."
I was going to call the young man's parents, even though I didn't have the tiniest bit of evidence, but there was no way I could allow that man to take a male student to Hawai'i.
The matter was taken out of my hands, however, when he was arrested for molesting a different male student, one of the elementary school students he was also working with in our town. The story blew up in a huge way because of his fame and the past success of both him and his students, and it was all over the news for days. The most disturbing finding for me personally was that he had been guilty of these acts for at least the 25 years he had worked in our state.
But.....
His. Students. Protected. Him.
That was how much they loved him. Even his victims remained silent about their abuse at his hands because they didn't want him to get in trouble. I just looked him up, and he is living in Florida as a registered sex offender. Gives me the heebie jeebies just looking at his picture.
When the story broke on the news, the first person at my door was my department head. "How did you know?" he asked me. He was in awe. And all I could say was "I don't know."
Do you think I ever heard a word out of the principal? You must be kidding me.
There was a guy most of us had a crush on in the seventh and eighth grades. He came to our county in one of those years, and of course every girl fell for the new guy. I wasn't one of the pretty and popular ones, so I never had a chance with him, but man did I think he was cute. By the time we were sophomores and I was marching in the band, we always ran into Reid at Six Flags Over Georgia on the day they allowed us to escape from band camp right before school started. It seems his reform school took their inmates to Six Flags on the same day every year. We didn't think it at all odd that we kept bumping into Reid at Six Flags, and he didn't seem a bit embarrassed that he was there with his reform school and we were there with the marching band. Five years after I graduated, a young woman was murdered on the UGA campus, and it was all over the news. Then a friend from high school called saying that it was Reid who had murdered her. I brushed it off as just some of her high-strung histrionics (is that redundant?), because I had heard the name on television and it wasn't Reid. I didn't know he had a different first name, and Reid was his middle name. He is now serving a life sentence; I don't know how he escaped the death penalty. I can't even bring a picture of his face up in my mind anymore.
Then there was a couple we used to go camping with in my first wifetime. Our daughters were born 5 months apart, and both their first and last names both began with the letters "Br". It was quite alliterative. We were very close to this couple. We slept in the same tent for goodness' sake. One night he and I both slept in the same BOAT because we couldn't stand my ex's snoring. We were at the lake every single weekend from Memorial Day to Labor Day, and we only stopped then because the campground closed and football season started. I do have my priorities. After I divorced baby daddy, having lost custody of most of the friends, I ran into the wife of that couple one time at the mall. She said they had divorced and that Mark was in prison for child molestation. I could have bent down and picked my jaw up off the floor. It wasn't their daughter, it was her SON from a previous marriage who was the victim of the molestation. Oh, and some neighborhood kids who had been invited to the party too. Sadly, if he hadn't involved the other kids, he probably would have gotten away with it. I don't think his stepson would ever have told on him. Mark was sentenced to five years and I'm guessing he didn't do all of that time. I see him from time to time because he works at one of the local motorcycle dealers. I feel so icky seeing him. On one hand he paid his debt to society and deserves (maybe?) to be forgiven, but on the other hand.... KIDS!???!!! His defense at the time of his arrest was that there was "no penetration." Apparently he just allowed the young boys to touch HIM. Gross. I'm so glad he's NOT the one I bought my motorcycle from.
The last (I hope) criminal I've been acquainted with was also a high-profile case. He was a renowned educator whose students wrote many books about their boarding school experiences in the mountains of North Georgia, and he wanted to come to the city where I was teaching to see if his methods could be applied to inner-city-type students. But he was also committed to a great deal of travel and public speaking, so he couldn't take on a class on his own. Therefore he was paired with me and we team-taught one ninth grade class. He was very likable and incredibly intelligent. He was in great demand as a speaker, and he always took students with him. He would take them on out-of-town trips, and it really was an educational experience for them. But for some reason I started getting bad vibes about him.
He didn't do anything overt to make my alarms go off. I felt guilty even thinking poorly of him. But when one of my (male) students, a very gentle ninth grade boy, began talking about the possibility of traveling to a conference in Hawai'i -- HAWAI'I!!!! -- with the teacher over the summer, I had to say something. I first went to my department head, also a male teacher, who was a little puzzled at my worry. He didn't question it, per se, but he kept asking me what made me think there was anything wrong, and I couldn't tell him.
Then rumors started floating around, and my department head and I decided that although they weren't substantiated, it might not be a good idea (ya think?) for him to take a student on an out-of-town trip. My department head suggested I talk to the principal about my concerns. This is the same guy who had chewed me out about the girl on my yearbook staff on the first day of school. I went to him immediately because school was about to be out for the summer, and I wanted something documented before we left. I told him my concerns, and he sat there thinking for a few minutes. Finally he said, "Tell _____ to give me a call."
Excuse me?
I have just reported a concern about a possible child molester to my principal, as I am required by law to do, and he suggests that I ask the potential molester to give him a call?
I left his office and thought to myself, "Screw you, buddy. I've done what I was supposed to do."
I was going to call the young man's parents, even though I didn't have the tiniest bit of evidence, but there was no way I could allow that man to take a male student to Hawai'i.
The matter was taken out of my hands, however, when he was arrested for molesting a different male student, one of the elementary school students he was also working with in our town. The story blew up in a huge way because of his fame and the past success of both him and his students, and it was all over the news for days. The most disturbing finding for me personally was that he had been guilty of these acts for at least the 25 years he had worked in our state.
But.....
His. Students. Protected. Him.
That was how much they loved him. Even his victims remained silent about their abuse at his hands because they didn't want him to get in trouble. I just looked him up, and he is living in Florida as a registered sex offender. Gives me the heebie jeebies just looking at his picture.
When the story broke on the news, the first person at my door was my department head. "How did you know?" he asked me. He was in awe. And all I could say was "I don't know."
Do you think I ever heard a word out of the principal? You must be kidding me.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
And Then There Are Those Times......
......when blog fodder comes from our local "newspaper". This is the newest paper in our little county, one that showed such promise when it showed up that we canceled our subscription to the other one that we had been getting for years. We may be rethinking that decision...
The front page main article today has the headline "Top officials not feeling economic pinch."
Several paragraphs into the article is this statement: "And this newspaper's review of public salaries throughout the county has shown that the pay of top municipal officials along with hundreds of local educators, has been virtually unaffected by the economic downturn."
The article hints that while many people have suffered from cutbacks and furloughs, some educators are living high on the hog.
You got it right ... according to this article, some educators are overpaid.
The article lists -- by name -- the top 90 public school salaries in our county.
And there I am, yours truly, listed at #60.
Now before you jump to all kinds of conclusions about how loaded I must be, keep in mind that we are a very small county, smack dab between a university community and the Atlanta suburbs. And I have a doctorate, not terribly common in our school district.
Nowhere does the article mention advanced degrees or years of experience.
Our state is a non-union state, so the ONLY way for teachers to get a raise in pay is to get another degree. Or teach for a gazillion years. Both of which I have done.
And let me go on record here as saying the ONLY reason I got a doctorate was for the pay increase. It certainly wasn't for the respect. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. It wasn't for the title, because after almost six years, I haven't grown into being called "Dr." I'm thinking at this point that it ain't gonna happen.
Apparently my reward for having gone to college for about 10 years is having my name and salary printed in a newspaper, along with the implication that I'm making too much money and have not had to "suffer" in these tough economic times.
The news came from our outgoing governor this week that he wants to change teacher pay, to reward teachers based on students' performance rather than advanced degrees. Fine, but the devil is in the details. I am confident that I would still do all right if the achievements of my students were used to determine my pay. What achievements, however, are they going to use?
Graduation test scores? The same graduation tests they are talking about phasing out over the next few years?
End-of-course tests? Only two courses in each subject area HAVE state-mandated end-of-course tests. What about students in the other courses?
What about other areas in which students don't take standardized tests? How are special education teachers going to be evaluated, based on their students' performance? Foreign language teachers? P.E. teachers?
Yeah, good luck with that, Sonny.
I'm not even THAT worried about the proposal to pay teachers based on student performance. For one thing, I just don't think it's gonna fly. For another thing, our governor is in his last year and can't run for reelection. And finally, while it may sound extremely selfish, the new plan -- whatever form it may take -- goes into effect two years after I'm planning to retire. Think I'm going to continue to teach after I'm eligible to retire?
Not.
Most of the names up there with mine belong to principals and other administrators, head football coaches, and folks who teach on an extended year schedule and/or an extended day schedule. Yeah, they neglected to mention those facts too.
This newspaper article has made me feel icky all afternoon. I couldn't quite put my finger on it. It's not so much a matter of my salary being published for all the world to see, because teacher salaries are a matter of public record anyway. Anyone with enough time on his or her hands can find out what any teacher in the state makes. First of all, of course, that person must also be interested.
What has bothered me is the intimation that perhaps I don't deserve the salary I get. Like I just wandered up to a human resources person one day, and she said, "Here, let's pay you this much, just because we happen to like open-toed pumps and red dresses with polka dot trim."
Oh, and did I mention that after 20 years, an educator in our county "tops out" on the salary scale? If one chooses to retire upon reaching the 30-year minimum, that means that for the last 10 years of his/her career, there are no step increases. Only cost-of-living increases, if those even exist.
I was putting in some pretend dates (and some real ones) for my retirement last weekend, just playing around with a retirement predictor. In our state, your retirement pay is 60% of the average of your highest two years during your teaching career. For every scenario I put in, my highest two years were 2006-2007 and 2007-2008. What does that tell you? My salary has been going DOWN for the last couple of years. Anybody notice prices going down?
Another thing the newspaper article didn't take into consideration with these salaries is the furlough days that we have been socked with, with even more to come. Instead it hinted that we haven't been subjected to the furloughs that other public workers have had.
Don't get me wrong, I love my job. I love most of the teenagers with whom I work every day, and I especially love the fact that I work in a non-traditional environment with at-risk students. I love seeing a student who came to us as a drop-out walk across that stage at graduation to receive a real diploma. I love seeing the faces of the teachers who taught them in traditional school as they elbow each other and ask, "He GRADUATED? She FINISHED?"
Those 442 school days can't pass quickly enough.
The front page main article today has the headline "Top officials not feeling economic pinch."
Several paragraphs into the article is this statement: "And this newspaper's review of public salaries throughout the county has shown that the pay of top municipal officials along with hundreds of local educators, has been virtually unaffected by the economic downturn."
The article hints that while many people have suffered from cutbacks and furloughs, some educators are living high on the hog.
You got it right ... according to this article, some educators are overpaid.
The article lists -- by name -- the top 90 public school salaries in our county.
And there I am, yours truly, listed at #60.
Now before you jump to all kinds of conclusions about how loaded I must be, keep in mind that we are a very small county, smack dab between a university community and the Atlanta suburbs. And I have a doctorate, not terribly common in our school district.
Nowhere does the article mention advanced degrees or years of experience.
Our state is a non-union state, so the ONLY way for teachers to get a raise in pay is to get another degree. Or teach for a gazillion years. Both of which I have done.
And let me go on record here as saying the ONLY reason I got a doctorate was for the pay increase. It certainly wasn't for the respect. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. It wasn't for the title, because after almost six years, I haven't grown into being called "Dr." I'm thinking at this point that it ain't gonna happen.
Apparently my reward for having gone to college for about 10 years is having my name and salary printed in a newspaper, along with the implication that I'm making too much money and have not had to "suffer" in these tough economic times.
The news came from our outgoing governor this week that he wants to change teacher pay, to reward teachers based on students' performance rather than advanced degrees. Fine, but the devil is in the details. I am confident that I would still do all right if the achievements of my students were used to determine my pay. What achievements, however, are they going to use?
Graduation test scores? The same graduation tests they are talking about phasing out over the next few years?
End-of-course tests? Only two courses in each subject area HAVE state-mandated end-of-course tests. What about students in the other courses?
What about other areas in which students don't take standardized tests? How are special education teachers going to be evaluated, based on their students' performance? Foreign language teachers? P.E. teachers?
Yeah, good luck with that, Sonny.
I'm not even THAT worried about the proposal to pay teachers based on student performance. For one thing, I just don't think it's gonna fly. For another thing, our governor is in his last year and can't run for reelection. And finally, while it may sound extremely selfish, the new plan -- whatever form it may take -- goes into effect two years after I'm planning to retire. Think I'm going to continue to teach after I'm eligible to retire?
Not.
Most of the names up there with mine belong to principals and other administrators, head football coaches, and folks who teach on an extended year schedule and/or an extended day schedule. Yeah, they neglected to mention those facts too.
This newspaper article has made me feel icky all afternoon. I couldn't quite put my finger on it. It's not so much a matter of my salary being published for all the world to see, because teacher salaries are a matter of public record anyway. Anyone with enough time on his or her hands can find out what any teacher in the state makes. First of all, of course, that person must also be interested.
What has bothered me is the intimation that perhaps I don't deserve the salary I get. Like I just wandered up to a human resources person one day, and she said, "Here, let's pay you this much, just because we happen to like open-toed pumps and red dresses with polka dot trim."
Oh, and did I mention that after 20 years, an educator in our county "tops out" on the salary scale? If one chooses to retire upon reaching the 30-year minimum, that means that for the last 10 years of his/her career, there are no step increases. Only cost-of-living increases, if those even exist.
I was putting in some pretend dates (and some real ones) for my retirement last weekend, just playing around with a retirement predictor. In our state, your retirement pay is 60% of the average of your highest two years during your teaching career. For every scenario I put in, my highest two years were 2006-2007 and 2007-2008. What does that tell you? My salary has been going DOWN for the last couple of years. Anybody notice prices going down?
Another thing the newspaper article didn't take into consideration with these salaries is the furlough days that we have been socked with, with even more to come. Instead it hinted that we haven't been subjected to the furloughs that other public workers have had.
Don't get me wrong, I love my job. I love most of the teenagers with whom I work every day, and I especially love the fact that I work in a non-traditional environment with at-risk students. I love seeing a student who came to us as a drop-out walk across that stage at graduation to receive a real diploma. I love seeing the faces of the teachers who taught them in traditional school as they elbow each other and ask, "He GRADUATED? She FINISHED?"
Those 442 school days can't pass quickly enough.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Jingle All the Way.......
I have a small collection of Christmas-themed sweaters and vests. I have far fewer than I used to have, however. I finally started getting rid of some of them a couple of years ago. Some of them were in pretty bad shape, and I still hated to get rid of them. Especially the peach-colored one with the curly-haired ragdoll on it. The hair looked just like mine. It also had jingle bells and a whole bunch of other decorations on it. I hereby officially apologize to anyone who was forced to see me in that sweater.
One of the benefits of being a teacher is that you can get away with wearing things that you normally wouldn't be caught dead wearing. I even went on this personal crusade to have enough Christmas-themed sweaters to wear a different one every school day in December. Seriously. It made clothing decisions so much easier, at least for that one month out of the school year.
Then of course I had to have earrings and socks that went along with the sweaters. It wasn't difficult, since those were inexpensive gifts that students tended to get for their teachers anyway. I'm not sure what happened to the days when students gave their teachers gifts. Instead of a hard time.
The closer we got to Christmas break, the more ostentatious my sweaters got. I saved the really tacky, really outrageous, really NOISY ones for the last few days before vacation.
This was also back before the days of block scheduling, when our semester didn't end before Christmas and we didn't start school shortly after the Fourth of July. We didn't have final exams to use as a classroom management tool, so the only thing we could do as teachers was schedule a really hard, really long, really important test for the day we got out for Christmas. It was the only way to survive, I promise.
One year I was fully armed with my hard-as-heck test for a classroom of advanced ninth graders. I had on my stern face and my you-aren't-on-Christmas-vacation-until-the-last-bell-rings attitude.
Oh, and I had on my Christmas sweater with the jingle bells.
And my bell necklace.
And my bell earrings.
And my socks with the bells on them.
The room was dead silent during the test. I walked around the room to make sure no one was cheating, sleeping, copying, or getting all happy about Christmas break.
The room was dead silent, that is, except for my jingle bells. Jingle bells on steroids.
On one of my circuits through the classroom, I approached the desk of a girl named Sunshine. That wasn't her birth certificate name, but it was the one she went by. And it was much easier to pronounce and spell than her birth certificate name. And it did NOT describe her personality most of the time. How do they know these things when their children are mere babies?
When I got right next to Sunshine's desk, she looked up from her test -- for which she had obviously NOT studied -- and snarled, "Why don't you GO SIT DOWN somewhere?"
Oops.
Sorry.
Finish your test.
Have a good Christmas.
One of the benefits of being a teacher is that you can get away with wearing things that you normally wouldn't be caught dead wearing. I even went on this personal crusade to have enough Christmas-themed sweaters to wear a different one every school day in December. Seriously. It made clothing decisions so much easier, at least for that one month out of the school year.
Then of course I had to have earrings and socks that went along with the sweaters. It wasn't difficult, since those were inexpensive gifts that students tended to get for their teachers anyway. I'm not sure what happened to the days when students gave their teachers gifts. Instead of a hard time.
The closer we got to Christmas break, the more ostentatious my sweaters got. I saved the really tacky, really outrageous, really NOISY ones for the last few days before vacation.
This was also back before the days of block scheduling, when our semester didn't end before Christmas and we didn't start school shortly after the Fourth of July. We didn't have final exams to use as a classroom management tool, so the only thing we could do as teachers was schedule a really hard, really long, really important test for the day we got out for Christmas. It was the only way to survive, I promise.
One year I was fully armed with my hard-as-heck test for a classroom of advanced ninth graders. I had on my stern face and my you-aren't-on-Christmas-vacation-until-the-last-bell-rings attitude.
Oh, and I had on my Christmas sweater with the jingle bells.
And my bell necklace.
And my bell earrings.
And my socks with the bells on them.
The room was dead silent during the test. I walked around the room to make sure no one was cheating, sleeping, copying, or getting all happy about Christmas break.
The room was dead silent, that is, except for my jingle bells. Jingle bells on steroids.
On one of my circuits through the classroom, I approached the desk of a girl named Sunshine. That wasn't her birth certificate name, but it was the one she went by. And it was much easier to pronounce and spell than her birth certificate name. And it did NOT describe her personality most of the time. How do they know these things when their children are mere babies?
When I got right next to Sunshine's desk, she looked up from her test -- for which she had obviously NOT studied -- and snarled, "Why don't you GO SIT DOWN somewhere?"
Oops.
Sorry.
Finish your test.
Have a good Christmas.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Careers....
There's some statistic (or "expert" out there somewhere) that says the average adult will have 7 careers in his or her lifetime. Not jobs...careers.
I guess I'm below average. I haven't really had that many careers.
I worked as a sort-of secretary while I was in college.
When I graduated, I stayed on at the same job. For about $4.08 an hour. With a college degree. Gimme a large personal break.
Then I became a medical transcriptionist at the vet school. Not much more money, but I learned to type like a fiend. And when I got all the day's transcriptions done (they came in on a machine in our office......there were two of us, and we really didn't have to interact with the outside world at all), I could sit and read or cross stitch or talk on the phone.
Then I moved upstairs to become a senior secretary (which was actually the lowest position in the office, go figure) in large animal medicine. There were two of us for a faculty of about 22. The other girl in the office was a bee-atch, and I hope she reads this. (Forgive me, but she really was not nice. I went home with a migraine one time, and she told a freakin' FACULTY MEMBER that I had Alzheimer's.......I had forgotten I had a job. Funny, I haven't had migraines since I left that job.)
I had always said I wouldn't be a teacher because they didn't make enough money. Helllllllllllloooooooooo? I was making $5.00 an hour WITH a college degree? And I didn't get to take the summer off? I didn't even DO drugs! What could have happened to my brain?
That was when I decided to go to graduate school (another thing I said I wouldn't do) and get my teaching certificate. My daughter was 6 months old, so working and going to school wasn't easy. I went to work for my mother (sigh) as a secretary/envelope stuffer/receptionist. But she paid me full-time even when I didn't work full-time, and for that I'm grateful. I think she even paid me when I was doing my student teaching in another county. AND she took my daughter to daycare. AND she kept her on the occasional weekend. Thanks, Mom, just in case I haven't told you lately how much you helped me out when I decided to grow up and get a real job.
I've been teaching for 23 years now, and I really don't know how that's possible.
But I'm guessing there won't be any additional careers for me. Except retiree.
I guess I'm below average. I haven't really had that many careers.
I worked as a sort-of secretary while I was in college.
When I graduated, I stayed on at the same job. For about $4.08 an hour. With a college degree. Gimme a large personal break.
Then I became a medical transcriptionist at the vet school. Not much more money, but I learned to type like a fiend. And when I got all the day's transcriptions done (they came in on a machine in our office......there were two of us, and we really didn't have to interact with the outside world at all), I could sit and read or cross stitch or talk on the phone.
Then I moved upstairs to become a senior secretary (which was actually the lowest position in the office, go figure) in large animal medicine. There were two of us for a faculty of about 22. The other girl in the office was a bee-atch, and I hope she reads this. (Forgive me, but she really was not nice. I went home with a migraine one time, and she told a freakin' FACULTY MEMBER that I had Alzheimer's.......I had forgotten I had a job. Funny, I haven't had migraines since I left that job.)
I had always said I wouldn't be a teacher because they didn't make enough money. Helllllllllllloooooooooo? I was making $5.00 an hour WITH a college degree? And I didn't get to take the summer off? I didn't even DO drugs! What could have happened to my brain?
That was when I decided to go to graduate school (another thing I said I wouldn't do) and get my teaching certificate. My daughter was 6 months old, so working and going to school wasn't easy. I went to work for my mother (sigh) as a secretary/envelope stuffer/receptionist. But she paid me full-time even when I didn't work full-time, and for that I'm grateful. I think she even paid me when I was doing my student teaching in another county. AND she took my daughter to daycare. AND she kept her on the occasional weekend. Thanks, Mom, just in case I haven't told you lately how much you helped me out when I decided to grow up and get a real job.
I've been teaching for 23 years now, and I really don't know how that's possible.
But I'm guessing there won't be any additional careers for me. Except retiree.
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