They Call Me Mr. Fry

A former colleague of mine, Jack Freiberger, put on a one man show in Culver City yesterday. Even though I taught Saturday school, I rushed off to see the show with my mom, and we didn't even make it on time. Yet, we went in, and as we did, I was floored. There was my story, so many teachers' stories coming to life on the stage. It was so moving, so fantastically presented. Jack played many characters, but none more poignantly than Anthony, a "problem" student that came from a hard-knock background.

He dealt with the No Child Left Behind Act that has brought misery to so many classrooms across America in such a humorous but telling way. He shared the fact that he was written up for playing King Arthur, using a pink clown's ballon tied as a sword because LAUSD has a zero tolerance weapons policy. He subsequently got called to the principal's office because he was teaching math at the wrong minute of the day.

Yet, this is the reality that I face everyday. I was hired by the former principal because I was creative, and I could bring a plethora of talents to the classroom. Yet, due to our school's lack of progress at meeting our No Child Left Behind progress goals, my talent is no longer needed in the classroom. Instead, what is desired is a robot teacher who can follow the daily schedule to the exact minute, execute the lesson plan without grasping the teachable moments because the teachable moments that pop up are not part of the objective of the lesson, and unless the lesson is delivered in an extremely precise manner, the students "will not learn." I feel as if I am being asked to change my very essence.

So, as of yesterday, between my conversation with our current principal and watching the life of an NCLB teacher played out on stage, I came to realize that what made me a "good" teacher is exactly what tthe powers that be don't want to see in the classroom.

My mom has a habit of watching CNN endlessly, which to me is depressing, but she tells me almost daily that it is the teachers that are getting blamed for the woes of our educational system. I am not saying the teachers are blameless. However, not one teacher at my school knows exactly what "they" are looking for. In order to be an effective teacher, you are supposed to set clear expectations. Yet, the teachers have no idea exactly what is expected of them. They only hear what they have done wrong.

Everyone knows teachers aren't paid well, and of course, LAUSD decided to pay multi-millions of dollars to change their payroll system which resulted in severe overpayments and underpayments to employess for a full year. It ruined credit histories that were built over lifetimes. It drove credit card interest rates up for employees that were awaiting a paycheck, and couldn't make every payment on time. It was and still is pitiful.

The fear has been so craftily instilled that I find myself working on various planning sheets that we are expected to have, and doing work for the "well planned lesson" until the moment it is time for me to go to bed. For teachers, bedtime comes early. As Jack said in the play, "Even my alarm clock is pissed off that it has to wake up at 5:30 every morning."

Then there is the program that I was unable to complete because I was having a rough time with my  systemic lupus when I first entered the teaching field and because my house burned and left my family instntly homeless. When I was finally resituated so that I could have some semblance of stability in my life, the district said, "That's nice, and we're really sorry all these things happened to you, but you took too much time, and you are no longer eligible to go through our program. Go to a university instead."

Where am I going to get the money to go to a university? My house burned down, I spent my entire savings on hotels, temporary housing, boarding the family dogs, and moving again and again. Now, I am not complaining, but I am just stating what happened. I need to talk about it. I need to say it. I need to SCREAM IT! I can't just take it anymore. I've been holding it in, and I feel like I am bursting with all these confusing emotions. Next year, my credential will expire and as of right now, I have not figured out what to do about it.

When the question of the day today was, "When have you felt the most out of control?" I laughed with bitter irony. When you work tirelessly but are not even asured a paycheck in good faith and on time, when you give your all, and more than that is expected, yet when you know that you are contributing to the lives of children in such an, and I can't think of a better word right now, important way, I can't help but ask - Is it worth it? I love teaching the children, but I don't like what it means to be a teacher.

My house is a mess because there's only time to put toward the job, there are papers everywhere from lessons that need to be planned and projects and this and that. It's not a life. It's out of control. I saw it on stage yesterday, a mirror of my life, so touching and yet so ridiculous.

A little bit later:

Boy, am I glad I wrote this. It was like my dirty little secret that I only shared with the others who are going through the same thing. I feel relieved to have gotten it out there in the open, in detail. It makes me realize that what I probably should be focusing on is opening up to things. I have been trying to find ways to "rescue" the situation, but maybe that is not the path to follow. Opportunity will come if I let it in. I am so talented in many ways, and why should I want to remain in a place where my creativity is being sytematically stripped. This is a wrinkle in life that must be gone beyond, not just ironed out. Okey dokey, I'm going to go  float in my imaginary pool and stare up at the stars and think about being open.