If bad things didn't happen, we wouldn't appreciate the good. I really believe this. I also believe in God. I believe in His plan and trust him completely.
That doesn't mean that you can't feel sad, though. Sometimes I'm sad. Sometimes I'm frustrated.
Sometimes, I've come to believe, some of us might have to endure an experience so soul-shaking we simply can't "let it go" and move on; or at least we can't move on as quickly as friends and family might hope.
I'm sure I'm like many readers of this blog. There have been times in my life when - completely helpless - I've watched bad things happen to my friends. Awful things. When these events occur, I never know what to say. I feel like I always say the wrong thing. In these moments, I simply try to show my friends that I love them and support them. I try to share that what has happened is awful and validate their pain because that's what I like to feel during horrific times: validation.
I've watched friends suffer the unbearable pain of a miscarriage, be crushed by the trauma of losing a child or a newborn baby, struggle in vain as a marriage collapses.
I've seen friends lose jobs and homes.
I've felt the anxiety of trying to comfort friends who are dealing with the cancer diagnosis of an innocent, sweet child.
I've known friends who lost all of their possessions when their house burned down.
I've watched friends mourn lost parents, grandparents and friends who were as close as family.
Events such as these are HORRENDOUS, even impossible to fathom. So ... how dare I mourn my one little school year in Hades?
On a "professional" level, last year was an absolute DISASTER. With no hint of what was to come, my mother and I found ourselves inside a Category 5 poop storm. If we had umbrellas, they were inside out. The battering we took left psychological and emotional bruises that remain to this day.
On a personal level, last year was pretty darn fantastic. I gave birth to a beautiful, healthy baby boy. When you have a healthy baby, you might think, "How dare she complain? She has received this beautiful gift from heaven."
Regardless of this genuine blessing, the dark cloud that was MYTEACHINGCAREER hung over my head and followed me wherever I went. I spent an entire year living in fear, and once I was finally (gulp) fired, I spent an entire summer on pins and needles, praying to be hired, preferably somewhere I would be loved, appreciated, and understood.
I tried to go back to my old school, but this was not to be. I dressed up and attended a lot of interviews that I thought went really well.
In fact, I participated in so many awesome interviews I started to feel paranoid. Why am I not being offered a job, even by friends of mine - friends who had told me years before that I'd always be a welcome addition to their staff? Something had to be wrong. They must not want me because of "The Article." (And in The Article I just had to be "The Whistleblower." That I really wasn't didn't matter. Perception IS reality.)
If Part I of this story was getting a job, Part II was the gradual then unavoidable realization that that my Dream Job was, in fact, going to be a Nightmare. Part III deals with the ego crusher of losing a job, leading to Part IV (the Epilogue?) wherein I try to bounce back from the trauma of Parts III and IV.
Imagine going on a handful of job interviews, knocking them out of the park, being told by the principal that you were a top candidate, and then...nothing.
Imagine gazing at your new baby and wondering if you would still have insurance for him in the coming months.
I'm still not over the things that happened. I'm not ready to move on from the meetings with administration, secret meetings that must have been held about me ("What are we going to do about Carrie? She's poisonous. She's ruining everything we're trying to accomplish here.."), social shunning, rumors, and the daily stress this brought myself and my family.
Why can't I just "get over it?"
I've actually been asked this a lot. In so many words, I've been told to move on. I've literally been told to LET IT GO by close friends.
Today, I have a new job now at a school that I absolutely adore. I've made new friends and work for an administration that not only supports me, but also encourages and respects me. So, what is wrong with me exactly? Why can't I ... let .... it .... go?? Why can't I GET OVER IT!?
I'm going to try to explain it here, once and for all.
Why now? It's been seven months, for heaven's sake!
Because I can talk about it now. Because I feel like it's time.
Because I think it might make me feel better.
Because I still have nightmares about that place, even now.
Because I still get calls and texts from people who want to know my opinion about an assignment, a meeting, a project.
Because I still get asked what it was like there.
Because people ask me why Maggie doesn't attend this school.
Because I still get messages from kids and parents saying they're leaving.
Because - perhaps, maybe, who knows? - my story might help someone else.
"Troublemaker ...
I recently read a book called Troublemaker that "brought it all back."
You may be thinking, "Is she SERIOUSLY comparing what happened to her at that school to what happened to (actress and former Scientologist now turned whistle-blowing author) Leah Remini? Scientology is a cult! What Carrie went through was just, you know, a bad year."
Well, Leah - if you believe her story (and I do) - was bullied and abused. Her professional career was adversely affected. Her integrity was questioned. She was labeled a troublemaker and told she talked too much. She was pitted against friends. Her friends were pitted against her. They were made to choose: Leah or the church? Her reputation was attacked and she was called a liar. She was told that she was overreacting. She was ignored. She saw children mistreated. She saw friends mistreated. She started to feel crazy and doubt herself. She started to feel like she may be blowing things out of proportion or imagining things. She started to recognize that her experiences shared many similarities common to - yes - cults.
So...yes. I'm sorry. As it turns out, I do relate to all of the above, and more. Very much so.
If you think this is stupid, please don't read any further.
The beginning
My husband and I moved to our community when we found out we were expecting our little girl. Pike Road is full of beautiful homes and neighborhoods and an influx of young adults starting families. Perfect. And the town was building a brand new (public) school. AWESOME!
It was a no-brainer.
Bill finds us a house, sells his, and in we move.
I continue to drive to Stanhope Elmore High School in Millbrook where I have been teaching for the past five years. I love this high school. I have great friends, and I absolutely adore my kids some of whom seem like family. I am happy and fulfilled.
However, in the back of my mind I think, "It sure would be awesome if I could teach at this new school. This is where Maggie will go to school and it will be like five minutes from our house."
After driving approximately 40 minutes to school (in rush hour traffic on I-85 and I-65) with baby Maggie, and then driving 40 minutes home, the thought of just going down the road sounds fantastic. I could sleep later. I could finally ease the grip on the steering wheel.
Maggie would go to school with kids in her neighborhood. When we have another baby, he'll go to the same school as his sister.
Fast forward to 2015
The mayor speaks first. He sounds like he truly cares about the kids in his town. Then, the superintendent speaks. She shows inspirational videos. She smiles a lot. So far, so good.
What I hear is exciting. It's going to be HARD WORK to start a school from scratch. She says that several times. I think she even shows a picture of a mountain and someone standing at the top. She says she only wants people who WANT to work and WANT to sacrifice and WANT to do everything they can to make this school the best it can be. Well, that's me. I don't mind hard work.. I want to serve my community! I want my children to have the best school available.
She describes the application process. There is an essay, a questionnaire, applicants will have to create and describe a project plan, etc. It's a lot of work. People around us are whispering, "No way...uh uh, she's nuts..."
Mom and I look at each other. "We got this," we say. "It's not that much work, and besides, it will be worth it to get to work for someone like her. It will allllll be worth it!"
On the way to the car, we see teachers of all ages and all races. Hundreds of them. It's a sea of suits and black pants. We are so excited and they all seem to be too. I think, "All of these people are our competition. Just getting an interview would qualify as an accomplishment."
Mom and I work diligently on our packets. I research, read education reform blogs, participate in Twitter chats. I watch videos about Project Based Learning.
I ask my friends at school for help, which they do. In fact, I even encourage one of my coworkers to apply as well. She's exactly the kind of teacher this new school is looking for.
I create a lesson that I think will be awesome. I try it on my sophomores that Spring semester and it goes pretty well. I consider this a good sign.
Mom gets called for an interview first. I am happy for her, but can't help wondering "what about me?"
Then I get a call. YES! I, too, have scored an interview!
Mom's interview is first. She calls me immediately after and tells me that it went very well, she felt comfortable, it was like a conversation with a friend. There was someone else sitting in on the interview and she was nice, too!
She has a good feeling, and so do I.
My interview is on a Friday. I wear a suit. I wear eyeliner on the top AND bottom lid. I even wear pantyhose. This is very serious -- an amazing opportunity -- and I refuse to blow it.
I go in and we talk for an hour. It goes VERY WELL! It feels more like a friendly, passionate conversation about what's best for students than a job interview. The superintendent (who will also be principal for the first semester) mentions rooms filled with books and plenty of time to read them; it is not a stale interview with the same old questions.
She asks, "How do you feel about grades?"
She asks, "Why is middle school special?"
When it is over, I am so sad. Already?! I don't want to stop talking. I think if I can work for someone with this much passion for learning, it will be a teacher's dream.
She tells me that she will let me know something within 6-8 weeks.
I say a prayer in the car, "Dear God, if it's Your will, please let this happen. It would mean so much to our family to be so close to home!"
Eight weeks go by. It's April.
I receive the phone call while I'm at a writing conference. The superintendent offers me a job teaching 7/8 English. She also tells me that I will help build the high school from scratch. She will personally groom me for this transition. I'm so happy I cry.
I call Mom. She'd been offered a job, too. It's kismet, meant to be.
My co-worker whom I adore gets a job too. I'd hit the trifecta. Needless to say, I'm thrilled.
My current principal calls me that same afternoon and asks if I would like to teach AP English, which would be an absolute dream come true. Reluctantly, I turn him down and tell him about the new job. As always, he is very kind and professional.
I'm sad, but I know I'm doing what's best for my family.
And my mom and friend are coming with me! THIS IS SO EXCITING!!
For perhaps one second it enters my mind that I am giving up a job where I had long ago obtained tenure to take one where I can be dismissed for basically any reason. But this is such a remote scenario it seems too silly to even consider.
I'm sad to leave my old school. I remember giving away all of the books I'd spent years collecting.
A brand new school in an affluent community will have an insanely beautiful library and I won't need the books, I remember thinking.
Forget everything
In one of our very first training sessions, the superintendent tells us that everything we have ever done is over. We are going to do school in a very different way.
In fact, she encourages us to not only leave it behind emotionally and mentally, but to literally leave everything we have ever done, leave it all, and put it in "the box." She says what we would be doing will be far beyond textbooks and workbooks.
We are strongly encouraged to bring nothing with us to school, not even personal items. No pictures, no school supplies. We will not need them. Who needs binders and pens when you have Macbooks? We have plenty of money to order whatever we'll need, we are told. Our community will be so involved! We will have duty-free lunch because she will arrange for moms to supervise!
We won't have a desk or classroom to decorate, so there is really no need to have much. We will all be teaching together as a group. We won't have papers to grade!
No one will ever be alone. We will be a team doing what the kids need -- not what some curriculum tells us to do and say!
We attend training sessions about the mission statement of the school and our core beliefs. Somebody makes a lunch schedule for the year. We develop clubs and plan for the library and call community members to ask them to volunteer. Excited doesn't begin to describe our mindset. We are creating something special, something unique, something better! Out of the hundreds who applied, she picked us. The air is electric.
Another training session is nothing but how to work our new Macbooks. Apple's version of the laptop seems to be able to do anything and everything. Someone wonders aloud if we will have textbooks loaded onto the laptops. Someone else says she heard they aren't doing that anymore. Such exchanges become a constant. "I heard..." "No, she told me..." "But, she told ME..." "The tech coordinator said..." "But she said..."
At one training, my coworkers start mumbling, "When are we going to learn something helpful? Like how she wants us to do PBL (Project Based Learning)? What will the schedule look like? How many kids will we have? What will a typical day be like? How are we going to TEACH?"
I try to ignore any creeping anxieties and make a vow to stay positive. Questions or doubts that bubble up are pushed down forcefully. We are so lucky to get these brand new computers. To even be here at all.
And, after several years of trying, I learn that I am pregnant. Life cannot get any better.
When my superintendent calls and asks me to coach cheerleading, I tell her the news about the baby. She is so thrilled for me. She says family is so important!
At one training, to show how truly different we are from other schools, we learn that vocabulary associated with centuries of education will be modified. "Students" will become "learners," "classrooms" will become "spaces." "Eighth grade" is now "Community 8." We will no longer be known as teachers, but "lead learners."
We are told for sure that we will not be giving grades at all. When someone asks how this will work for teachers and students (a.k.a. learners and lead learners), we are told they will figure this out and get back to us.
A team of teachers is put together to figure out how assessments will be communicated to parents and students.
We are told that we will not give report cards, nor will students have to take tests. The learning will be communicated in various ways... it's just that no one is sure what those ways are yet...
So much of what we do as teachers requires preparation and planning, so for us to not have a clear picture is very difficult.
By now I am getting nervous, and many others are too. Our superintendent and her assistant principal tell us to trust them and we do.
We hear that there will be many more changes, and while they sound great on the surface, there are not any concrete plans to make them come to fruition. Everything is all very vague, very idealistic, perhaps even untried or experimental. It's starting to become clear to some of us that the education "reforms" we will be introducing are not of a minor nature. One thing is now clear: Little of what we had done as teachers in previous classrooms with previous students would apply at our new school.
While we are not being paid a dime (Money doesn't matter! It's all worth it! What an amazing opportunity! It doesn't matter that I am struggling to find childcare since I took my child out of her beloved daycare because no one knew we would be meeting this much!), we work for a week with a paid consulting firm that show us digital tools that learners can use. It is a long week -- several people ask when we will learn how to develop projects since we will be using Project Based Learning only. We are assured that there will be time to do it all.
Eventually we begin to break up into groups instead of the whole faculty and we, the 7th and 8th grade teachers, start working on a project idea. We have plenty of ideas. We are all considered "experts in our field" and trusted to reach every child on every level with every standard.
I still am not quite sure how I am going to teach every 7th and 8th grader English when we are all going to be teaching together, but I just push all of those thoughts and questions away. I will hit the standards through the project, I tell myself. I'll assess students' grammar through writing. I'll make sure they have time to read.
Of course one of my major concerns is literacy. At one training we are told that there will be no books in the library.
Learners will read e-books. If they want a paper copy, we can get it from the town's public library.
My concerns and anxiety move closer to the surface. I try to ignore the little voice that says, "But how? Who will pay for the e-books? Who will deliver the library books? When will my students have time to read if we are always doing collaborative projects?"
We meet to talk about the schedule, the layout of the school (it constantly changes -- we quickly figure out there is no way any of us are going to have enough room. We will have to share "spaces" with 60 kids in them, with not enough tables and chairs to accommodate these numbers. More furniture (including hokki stools, rolling chairs and bean bags) is coming, we are promised.
No one is prepared for the number of kids coming. The numbers change and grow weekly.
Adult learners in "Communities 7 and 8" are told that 5th or 6th grade faculty has pitched a fit and will get one of our rooms.
We start to get scared and ask questions like, "How will we fit the entire 7th and 8th grades into four classrooms?"
Replies are, "Be creative! Don't think about the problems! Don't dwell on the negatives! Focus on the positives! You're all in this together! We'll figure it out! Trust us!"
We spend several Saturdays together, and yet, when school starts it is crystal clear that no one has any clue what he or she is doing.
However, we take comfort in the fact that we are all in this together.
I make a joke to a friend that there is no way we can get fired at the end of the year because we are such a team -- she would have to get rid of all of us! Ha ha!
We are encouraged to take notes and journal our experiences. Our superintendent/principal says that we will probably be world famous because of the innovative things we are doing. We will be asked to write books. No one else is doing school like us!
Here goes nothing...
We tell this community -- men and women who have sacrificed so much to make sure their children will have the best of everything -- we will have no homework, no textbooks, no desks, no books in the library, and no grades. I feel tension. Parents look flabbergasted.
The superintendent fields questions and we answer some on a microphone. I answer one about homework and our hope that kids will be so passionate about what they are learning at school that they will study on their own at night. I remember I make eye contact with some people from my neighborhood and they just look at me like, "Are you for real?"
A group of teacher plans a "get to know you" night for upcoming students and holds it at a local church because the school isn't ready yet. The students play games and talk about how different school will be. Kids and parents seem excited.
For "Meet the Teacher Night," the entire 7th and 8th grade "community" are all in one room (about 30 feet long) -- along with every student and parent. The air conditioner isn't working.
It is insane. We are sweating. Did I mention I am pregnant? Picture a receiving line for a wedding. Now turn it into a big clumpy circle and put it in one sweaty room. This is us. We feel unprofessional. We look like a bunch of deer in headlights.
We are told to answer questions very generally and to tell the parents about our plans for future projects and mention that we are focused on the state standards. "Talk about your future plans," we are told. "Don't focus on anything that isn't helpful. Direct them to websites like High Tech High if they have specific questions."
We get asked a lot of questions that we truly do not have answers to and are not ready for.
"When will the grading system be ready?"
"What will Freshgrade look like?"
"Will you send home papers?"
"Will they have music every week?"
"When will my child get her schedule?"
"How are you going to get them ready for the ACT?"
"My child has X, Y, Z disability, have you gotten his IEP?"
"How will I know what to do to help my child if I don't know what he's doing in class and there are no regular grades?"
School begins. There are WAY MORE KIDS than we thought and not nearly enough SPACE. I have kids sitting on the floor, on the stairs.
Carpool is a nightmare at first. Bus routes are disasters at first. Some kids don't even get home until 6 p.m.
Lunch is a disaster.
My Facebook is blowing up. My phone is blowing up.
"Is there a dress code or not? What is it exactly? It's kind of vague."
"There are so many kids and so few of you! How are you going to do this?"
"My child hasn't gotten his laptop yet. How is he going to do his work? Will he be behind?"
"You're my child's homeroom teacher, right? Will he be with you all day? How will that work?"
I encourage my friends and neighbors to trust us, that we will work out all the kinks. We have this under control.
My homeroom is huge and exclusively 7th grade, even though I'm responsible for all 7th and 8th graders learning ELA standards.
We are told that somehow many of our enrolled kids don't even live in our community and are using fake addresses. The school hires an attorney and sends out private investigators.
Friends text me, "Someone showed up and asked for proof that my daughter lives here! He asked to see her toothbrush! It freaked us out!"
Numbers don't drop much at all.
We play a lot of games with our students. We try to BE FUN!
We have them working in groups from the get-go to get them accustomed to collaboration. Collaboration is an important life skill!
We lead learners brainstorm as a group and decide that we are going to make these kids LOVE SCHOOL!
We are going to HAVE FUN!
They are going to love everything we do. They will not miss the textbooks at all. Almost immediately I have kids asking me, "When are we going to start real school?"
and "I was told there would be textbooks on this laptop. Where is our work?"
We rotate spaces and kids are everywhere, all the time. Forty in the hall working math problems, 40 in the library on the balcony, 40 in the makerspace, maybe 20 in a corner by the bathroom, 30 in a science lab. We work on collaboration skills. We talk about what it means to fail. To the kids and the community, and even to me, it might look a little nuts.
At the end of the day we all feel like we have been doing nothing but herding cats.
We are trying to be hip and cool and innovative by not doing "normal, boring school" and encourage them "take control (or "ownership") of their learning" and "be their own teacher" and sit on the floor and on rolling chairs and stools, but really it is just insanity-- total chaos. "Learners" buck us on what we consider "work" because it doesn't look like anything they are used to. It isn't a worksheet, and it isn't "for a grade," so most of the students don't do much "work" at all. At one point, I have the 7th and 8th grades working on a collaborative project and I eventually receive - drum roll - 18. Eighteen semi-completed projects.. out of 200 kids. There aren't any tangible consequences for putting forth no effort. I gave a pre-test and most papers come back blank. I do not feel prepared for this. While it is exciting that every day is different and unique, it is also stressful for all involved. Kids need routine, and so do I.
I explain that while they aren't getting an "A" or "B" on it that they have to do it so that I can assess them and "see where they are." This will guide what projects we do this semester.
The concept is hard for students to grasp. I understand. There is no reward for effort. They don't see any tangible reward or instant gratification -- like a grade, which they were used to -- for their hard work. They are used to school being like it has been for their previous seven years. We have rocked their little worlds with no safety net, because we aren't even aware they need one -- and we don't have one either.
We begin our big project about health. Each subject focuses on a distinct component and we start rolling these out. It is hard, though, because ... chaos resides around every corner. Sixth grade is walking into the bathroom that happens to be right beside a group of 30 kids doing equations while sitting in the hall because there is no where else for them to go.
Just when you get those kids back on track, here comes 5th grade going to lunch.
Turns out kids don't really care about health. We scratch it and move onto something else.
We start new stuff. We work more on individual subjects. It becomes clear we aren't team teaching at all, really.
How am I going to teach the entire 7th and 8th grade if I don't see them on a daily basis? I have my homeroom class almost exclusively.
We are encouraged to be creative with space. "Think about how lucky you are not to be confined to four walls," they say. Because of that creativity, we are constantly losing kids -- literally and figuratively.
For example, I am having my kids make commercials using iMovie. I give one group permission to go to the stairwell by the kindergarten hall.
When they get there, they decide to go outside. Why not? When it is time for them to rotate to another teacher/space, they don't know. No bells, remember?
I send someone to go get them. This person doesn't know where they are since she doesn't know that they had gone outside, so she comes back to me in a panic. "They're gone," she says.
"Okay...go to the office and have them do an all-call."
I can't leave the rest of my kids to go find them... I start to panic a bit. I don't have any way of getting in touch with the office. Our cell phones don't work inside. We don't have service.
My lost group can't hear the announcement because they are outside... I end up getting someone to watch my class and I go to the office and ask for help to find them. I am dressed down for not supervising properly. We are encouraged to use technology, but it's not feasible to have a bunch of groups record a commercial at the same time in the same room.
One time we can't find a kid and it turns out he was asleep in a bathroom downstairs. With the new way of teaching (or "facilitating learning"), stuff like this happens a lot.
Older kids run lunch money to their younger siblings downstairs.
Administrators come to us and say that kids are going home and telling parents that we aren't teaching anything and they are definitely not learning anything. I believe the assistant principal says something like, "The parents have formed a private Facebook group and they're talking about you. I have to be blunt, it looks bad. Fix it."
We freak out and try to fix it. We create new, specific, schedules for kids. By this point of the year, students are used to no schedule. Kids don't know where to go. At various times throughout the day I say, "Hey, I had you this morning, you're supposed to be in science."
And then they come back and say, "She told me I'm not on her roster."
And then I say, "Okay, have you had math? Go there."
We hold an informational parent night in the gym. The superintendent meets with elementary parents.
We 7th/8th grade teachers and the tech coordinator are leading our session.
We have again been encouraged to talk about future plans and not day-to-day operations.
We get some questions that are easy to answer and then some student's dad just about loses it on us. He asks why the parents weren't privy to the information that their children would be guinea pigs, that this would be some pilot program?
The crowd rumbles, people nod.
My palms are sweating. I don't know what to say. I'm only doing what I'm told. I feel like a naughty child who has been caught lying. I know he has made a valid point, but I can't show it!
We are encouraged to split up friends to deter discipline issues. This means that schedules are constantly changing.
"You and ____ aren't good together. We are moving you to science for your first space."
The students buck us and want to know why we are making school so crazy and why every week is so different. They want consistency, routine.
The whole basis of the school is to NOT be like "other schools," and yet, I discover pretty quickly that most of my kids hate this new way. They are vocal. They want desks and rows and books and tests and grades. They want quiet. They can't concentrate.
When I bring that up and ask for advice, administration says, "They don't know what they want. They're just saying that because it's all they've ever known."
I'm not so sure.
I quickly infer that when I ask for advice I begin to look like a negative person, a troublemaker. I ask far too many questions. I "care too much." I was actually told this by a coworker.
Although there is an open-door policy and we are being told daily to come to administrators with any concerns, when I do ask questions, I am told to ask a coworker or solve it myself.
As a team, we feel a little lost. No one is really sure what works so we try it all. I feel as if I am balancing plates on my head and trying to sing and bake a cake all at the same time.
We try to be more organized, try to buckle down. Discipline issues escalate. There are fights.
At one point, some kids decide it's a good idea to have a paint war. We are held accountable for this.
There are no consequences and no discipline plan in place at all. Because there are SO MANY kids and so few of us, we start asking for more help from administration. At this point, we don't even have office referrals. I remember after a faculty meeting, I ask our assistant principal what to do.
She says, "Send them to me. I'll handle it. I'll be glad to draw up a behavior program if you really feel like you need it."
She also suggests that we start having after-school detention and one of us run it. We are already staying until 6 every day to plan for the next day, and I have cheer practice, so how will that work?
As a group, we start sending discipline issues to the office. They come right back.
We ask, "What happened?"
They say either: "Oh, we talked, she told me to apologize," or: "She wasn't in there."
We rotate spaces. I am in a balcony in the library for a while. As it turns out, we don't have books in the library, so we all just use it as a big "collaboration center."
I am in the balcony with my 30 little friends and other people are always downstairs working, finding clues for a scavenger hunt, coloring, making a house, playing, tutoring -- you name it. There are offices down there, too. Every little noise echoes. You can hear a pin drop in the corner. You hear someone ball up a piece of paper from 30 feet away.
While teaching in my "balcony classroom" I am am told by a couple of staff members working downstairs that I am way too loud. They can hear the children rolling their chairs. I don't know how to not be loud... I am not screaming; I am just talking, teaching. They are talking, I am talking... lots of group work. Downstairs at any given moment a kid from any grade can be found playing guitar, working on a monologue, playing a game of Jenga with his classmates, practicing karate, coloring a picture, being tutored in algebra. You just never know what is going to be happening where.
I feel like I am always saying, "Guys, focus on me. Don't look down there."
or "Guys, I know they are playing hopscotch out in the hall, but please don't look. Focus on what we are doing."
I don't know how to talk to 30+ kids with anything and everything going on downstairs, too. This was not taught to me at AUM. I just smile and do my best.
"It's okay. We are all in this together. What we are doing is great and is transforming education," I tell myself.
Coaching meetings
So, imagine my surprise when I get an email from the superintendent/principal asking me to attend a "Coaching Meeting." What is this? A what? I think it might have something to do with cheer.
When we meet I ask her what this is and she says, "Don't worry; it's just for Educate Alabama. I'll be meeting with everyone eventually."
She begins by asking, "How do you think it's going?" She smiles and asks in such a way that I think she really wants to know.
I am positive, but honest. I don't know that this was a disciplinary meeting. She has never observed me teach -- has never been in a room where I am with any kids at any time -- so it never occurs to me that I should be concerned, cover my tracks, or lie about anything or anyone. She asks me lots of questions about coworkers and how we work together ("How is so-and-so doing?") she encourages me to manage my classes better and lets me know that many people complain about me and say that I am disturbing the children working in the library when I am upstairs.
I say, "But, it's my classroom. I don't have anywhere else to go."
She says, "No, you don't have a classroom. We all share places. Maybe you can go outside. Or, if you have to talk to your students, try lowering your voice so they'll get really close to you. You shouldn't really be talking to them much at all anyway. Get them started and then let them work. Go watch some kindergarten classes. They do this so well. If you have anything to say to anyone, just get really close and whisper, and then the learners will whisper. They sing little songs to get attention or do clapping games. Try that."
Umm..okay.
The superintendent/principal reiterates several times that her door is always open and that she is there to help me be successful. She WANTS me to succeed here.
She also mentions that she "had been told" that I sit down a lot. (I am pregnant). She mentions that she is sure I don't want to be viewed as lazy. I assure her I am not trying to be lazy, but that my legs do tend to hurt, especially by the end of the day.
She encourages me to wear more comfortable shoes and walk around more, put my hands on the children's backs and let them know I am near. She also mentions that I seem to leave my classes to use the bathroom a lot and that it might be disrupting others as well.
I guess this is because we don't have planning periods, so whenever I need to go to the restroom, I have to quite literally flag someone down to watch my class. Sometimes this is an aide, sometimes it is the music teacher who happens to walk by.
At the end of our conversation, I feel good. I think we have had a really nice, helpful, friendly conversation. I go buy new tennis shoes. I see another teacher there buying shoes.
"Haha! Isn't this funny? We are buying new comfortable shoes since we can never sit down! Haha," we muse.
The next thing I know, while I'm teaching in the hall later that week, my superintendent/principal brings me a sealed envelope.
She says, "I don't want you to worry about this, but this is a copy of a letter explaining everything we talked about the other day. I have to put this in your file. I hope you understand."
I am so shocked, I just nod.
When I open the letter, it is a full blown notice of disciplinary action. She lists many of her concerns -- some we didn't even discuss in the meeting. I am gobsmacked.
The bloom is off the rose...
While having class, other grades travel to and from P.E. (the gym is on the other side of the cafeteria) and classes will be going out to play as well. You can hear the coach's whistle and the balls bouncing.
The janitor vacuums. The other janitor talks on the phone.
Classes come in there to have snack, too. Once an entire grade comes into the cafeteria while I am reading a story to my kids. There are four teachers in there as well. They fuss at the kids for being noisy and messy at lunch and proceed to give them new assigned seats for lunch. Of course my kids are distracted and watch them. I keep trying to go on, but I eventually have to stop when one of the teachers actually comes over and asks me if we could be quiet...in our class space... where we were having class ... because it is disrupting them.
Emails 24/7
We all email each other all the time. I'm talking night and day. We all text too -- we have to. Even though we all stay until 6 p.m. daily, we need more time. We always need more time. Things change constantly. I can't even explain it properly. P.E. might be cancelled and we will have to figure out where to put the 7th graders, or someone would say, "Hey, guys, I was thinking, why don't we do X, Y or Z tomorrow?"
It is NOT unusual for an email to come through that will have every member of your "community" on it, so everyone can see the conversation.
One time we all get sent an email in which I am blamed for putting some sort of permanent glue on some tables upstairs. The people that run the after school program say that it is my cheerleaders.
I am called out by name in an email with 9 other people as recipients.
This offends me. I know my girls hadn't done it; we don't even work with glue.
I actually pull footage from the security cameras upstairs and prove it isn't me or the girls.
Never is it mentioned again.
Stuff like this bothers me because I know it's not "normal" for a workplace.
We also get emails during the school day about kids wandering or kids fighting in the bathroom, or kid doing this or that, a "big kid"running down the kindergarten hall, and we are told to lock them down.
Once, after taking some 8th graders on a walk, we get an email from the superintendent/principal that some kids had walked over to the really nice neighborhood in the back of the school and had scared the women who were out walking and riding their golf carts. She writes that the children had spoken in such a way that SCARED THE WOMEN. She mentions that this specific group was talking in a certain type of way, or using slang language.
These women also complain that this specific demographic is touching the golf carts, as well as personal items like umbrellas, that are routinely parked by the walking trail to the school.
Basically, I feel as if we are told to do a better job of supervising a certain demographic because they scare the nice local white people and not to take them outside anymore unless they are properly supervised.
One time all of the 8th grade teachers get an email asking us to meet with the assistant principal (who was later named principal) before school one day.
In this meeting, she accuses us of being racist and giving the white students more attention. She assures us that parents and students think this, not her.
It's always something...
I go. I watch my coworkers being awesome, because they are. I don't know exactly what I'm looking for because it isn't specified, but I watch.
I take notes and get some great ideas, because as good teachers know, we learn a lot from each other.
That afternoon admin calls us to the office in two groups: the 7th grade teachers and the 8th grade teachers.
They tell us that we are now two separate entities. No more 7/8 Community. We will be 7 and 8... totally separate. Before this we have really been working as one and have been encouraged to.
Okay, no big deal, I think.
Then they start asking us what we think of what we observed in the 4th and 2nd classrooms.
I said one thing I really liked was that they had a "home" so to speak... one place to call their own. I mentioned that it was obvious how comfortable the children were.
One of us says she didn't have time to go because she was working with students (she really didn't have time; we don't get breaks and the only reason I got to go was because I asked someone to watch the small group of kids I was working with that day).
Then, our principal/superintendent starts talking about the 4th grade project about butterflies and how it is the most amazing project she has ever seen and how the kids are so passionate about what they are learning and they are having fun and why can't we be more like that and when are we going to get it together? They even have graphic organizers on the board that map out their thinking!
We are not sure how to respond.
Okay, they want butterflies. They love butterflies. When we leave we say to each other, "Was that a disciplinary meeting? Are we in trouble?"
The teacher that didn't have time to go observe starts crying.
We all cry a lot. We are tired and overwhelmed and it feels like nothing we ever do is good enough. We get no real breaks. We work every day from 7 a.m. - 6 p.m.
We are weary.
We plug on.
Days go by and I get an email inviting me for a "Coaching Meeting."
I'm a ruiner
During this meeting I take copious notes.
I am told that I hijack planning time and any meeting time. I talk too much. I need to focus on NOT sharing my opinion, especially if it is negative. I give excuses. I am not productive. I need to be more like other teachers, like the ones in the 6th grade community. They do not focus on things that they cannot control. I seem to only focus on what I cannot control. Everyone has moved on but me. I am stuck. I do not move forward. I need to move on and compromise with others. It is a critical time for the school and those who cannot move forward won't. My coworkers cannot plan with me. I need to shift my attitude. I make excuses and I need to stop making excuses. I make everything about me and I don't need to. Community 7 is making progress, but Community 8 is not and that is mostly my fault.
Community 7 will do much better without us. My friends don't want to work with me. I hold them back.
At one point I say, "I just want you to know that I am doing the best I can," and I start to cry, and the superintendent says, "It's not good enough."
She says at this point they are going to find someone to come work with me and show me how to teach and that if I don't change my ways and stop being so negative and making excuses, that they will find someone to replace me. They are hiring a certified teacher to handle my maternity leave and if they like her better, she will have to see where we can go from there. She is re-evaluating my place here. There is potential to have success in the 8th grade, but it seems that with who is in charge it seems haphazard.
When I go on maternity leave in January, I have absolutely no idea what I will be doing when I return. The superintendent sends out an email over the break to the entire faculty calling me an "additional teacher" and replacing me with another teacher from the lower grades.
When I do return, I am told that I will essentially be a tutor and that I need to help the students who are missing work get their work completed.
I am told to create a pull-out schedule and then send it out to teachers.
I begin to work under the stairwell like Harry Potter.
This is immediately a problem. One teacher doesn't want her students to miss instructional time. I begin to co-teach.
Through ALL OF THIS, we all talk. All of my coworkers and I talk. We all make comments and worry and ask questions. We all question ourselves and if what we are doing is really working. We all get frustrated with the assessment system and the fact that no one has ever really explained it to the parents. I comfort students who CRY on my shoulder and worry for their futures because they won't really have GPA's. I give students books and extra work because they are so bored and tired of doing everyone in their group's work for them and need to feel intelligent again.
I listen to people who also have coaching meetings and who have also been told horrible things and called unprofessional, old, and ineffective.
My husband watches me come home every single day as if I have been in some sort of battle. He worries.
I share some with him -- not all. I don't want to complain ALL the time or sound lazy, or share anecdotes that aren't mine to share, or seem like I'm not grateful.
I am approached by parents who ask my opinion. I am approached by community members who ask
"Is it true? It is really crazy out there?"
"Did they really fire the math teacher?"
"Why did they fire the music teacher? We loved him!"
"Is it true she isn't even certified to teach that grade?"
I am concerned about Maggie starting kindergarten that fall. I'm not sure if it will be a good fit for her. I ask Bill to come meet some of the teachers to hear what he has to say.
He tours. He meets a few teachers. Some are too busy to chat. He talks to a few students. I say hey to some of my little friends.
When I get home and talk to him that night, we both decide it's not a good fit for our girl.
Then, someone slips me an anonymous essay.
It hits the fan
In fact, she thinks she has wasted a year. Her friends feel the same way. These kids are afraid to talk. They're afraid to lose their "perks."
She feels like she isn't listened to or treated with respect. Her friends feel the same way. She cites very specific examples and recounts conversations.
It hits me hard. I show it to Bill.
He says, "Okay, this is it. Something has got to be done."
I say, "Like what?"
He says, "Do other people feel like you do? Do you think other kids feel like this one who wrote this essay?"
"Yes," I say.
"Then I'm going to write about it."
I beg him not to. I tell him it might get me fired. I cry. I say people will hate me, people will think I've told their secrets.
He says, "You don't tell me anything. I'll talk to the teachers myself."
And he does. I don't have to give him any information. He gets it all. He interviews students, teachers, past employees, community members, the mayor, teachers who worked for our superintendent when she was the superintendent in Trussville (before being fired). He dots his i's and crosses his t's. If at least two sources don't confirm an allegation, he doesn't publish it. He interviews the superintendent and several teachers the superintendent selects who brag about the teaching reforms.
The superintendent begins to gather it won't be a positive article. She sends out an email to the whole faculty that basically tells them that he will not deter the mission and that there will always be people who have negative things to say because they don't understand what we are doing here.... she doesn't come right out and say this idiot journalist is my husband, but people know.
People stop talking to me. A co-worker who I considered a friend pulls me into the copy room and accuses me or telling all of her secrets and everything that happened in her room. I tell her I didn't. She doesn't believe me. She calls me vindictive and says I betrayed her. She cries. I cry. She never speaks to me again.
In the mornings, when I come into the office, my coworkers do not speak to me. They let the door hit me in the face.
I sign in and no one speaks except for the secretary who is so sweet and kind.
The article (actually about 10 articles including excerpts of the student's heart-breaking essay) comes out. I am terrified to go to school. I have panic attacks on the way to and from.
I know that even though Bill has written a disclaimer that I -- and my mom -- have nothing to do with the article, that people will think it's all me, a disgruntled, negative, angry employee, even when I am absolutely none of those things.
I know that they will think all of the information and insider intel comes from me, even though he interviewed countless people and didn't even publish everything he was told.
He leaves out several antecdotes from employees because they cannot be corroborated by multiple people, even though I know it's true and don't say so.
Like... the sweet math teacher who is fired the week before Christmas. He is told that while he is uber intelligent, kids don't like him and can't relate to him. He is encouraged to give them candy as a reward for completing math assignments. He is berated and bullied. When he does what they suggest, it's not quite right. When he doesn't, it's definitely not right.
Like... the time a group of 7th and 8th graders were asked to head up a high school planning committee. Those who wanted to make changes like adding grades, textbooks, and curriculum were fired from the group. Those who got passionate about these changes were ridiculed and called emotional and hormonal by the superintendent.
In one of the planning sessions, a kid asks for G.P.A.s to be assigned so that she can get into a good college. The adults say, "You want a G.P.A.? We'll give you one. We'll slap something on your transcript, is that what you want?"
The girl shuts down and cries. She doesn't want an assigned G.P.A. She wants what she has earned. Do you think anyone speaks up after this? No.
Everyone who talked to my husband is afraid to use their real name. He talks to many people who confirm they have serious concerns but are not comfortable doing an interview. Some provide background info but do not want to be quoted, even anonymously. In all, my husband said he talked to (or emailed) probably 25 to 30 people in Pike Road, Trussville and Cullman.
Back to the article aftermath...
People start to get copies of the article(s). Some read it, some don't. Some just listen to other people's summaries (don't you hate it when people complain about something they haven't even read? I do.)
When I sign on Facebook, I'm bombarded by people talking crap about my husband and me. Friends -- some I've had for years -- call me overly emotional, vindictive, say my husband is a poor writer, call him biased and stupid. They say the article is poorly written in one sentence, and then in the next admit they haven't read it.
People who have never once been in the school call him a liar.
People call the teachers who bravely shared their stories liars.
How do you know if you aren't/weren't there?
And since when is it okay for adults to bash other adults for how they feel or have been treated? Kids are watching this.
(One of my students comes up to me at school and whispers, "My mom and dad were talking so badly about your husband last night, Mrs. Rice, but I still love you.")
Another says, "My mom read the article and I did too. He's right, but we don't know what to do. She can't afford private school.")
Now, not only do people at school NOT speak, they get up when I sit down at the table the same table or a nearby table for the faculty meeting.
The parents who used to speak to me at carpool either ignore me completely, or give me sympathetic smiles.
When I go to the local CVS, I either get a pat on the back or someone sees me coming and goes down another aisle.
Friends that I work with start texting me, "Everything in your husband's article was true. This place is crazy and they're awful, but I can't lose my job."
"I can't be seen talking to you anymore. I'm sure you understand."
"We can still be friends, but I can't talk to you at school."
or I got, "Everything is great here! What is wrong with you?!" after they just cried to me about how awful it was two weeks prior.
Friends who don't live here either say, "What's up with your husband? Does he have an ax to grind or what?"
Or they say, "Good for him. Are you okay? This must be hard." I got two really kind hugs from elementary teachers.
Another local paper writes a review of the school. It's not 100% positive either. People praise that article. Friends share it on Facebook and call it the truth, much better, less biased.
A friend's husband calls it "better than that other slop."
Another friend posts a status telling her friends that she isn't an idiot and is tired of people telling her where to send her kids to school.
The school year ends. I get fired. It comes as no shock to anyone. Perhaps it is a relief.
Mom's position is eliminated due to funding. Other friends are let go. Some of us are told we just don't fit in.
My students are really sad and so am I.
I will miss them and tell them so.
Some have since left, some have stayed. (My husband actually had to pay for a "Freedom of information" request to find out how many students left in the first year. After the superintendent repeatedly refused to answer this simple question, he eventually learned 140 students left in the first school term (in nine grades). The Advertiser article by Josh Moon had said a "few" students had left. More Students, I understand, left over the summer or have left this school term).
As for the original faculty hired in April 2015, at least 30 percent are now gone. A few were fired before the year ended, five or six of us had our contracts "non-renewed," one retired and several more resigned to take other teaching positions.
Summer comes. I now have two children. I have got to find a job. I begin to interview. All of them seem to go really well. I am confused and reach out to a friend who tells me that I have a big BUYER BEWARE sticker on my forehead. No one wants to hire the girl whose husband wrote a scandalous article about the school she was at before. I'm viewed as disloyal I guess, even though his name was on the byline, not mine.
I hear that a good friend of mine has a job opening. He interviews me. He brings up the article and questions why I would think that he wouldn't be concerned about that? It feels as if he is questioning my integrity. It makes me cry. I tell him I begged Bill not to write it. While this is true - at times I did beg him not to write it - other times I took a deep breath and told him to go ahead and write it. For him - and for me at the end of the day - the real travesty is how the students at Pike Road School students are being so ill served by a radical form of education reform, including extreme changes that are NOT an improvement over traditional education. To me the students are (or will be in the future), the ultimate victims. All of this - why some stories, even "controversial" ones, might need to be told; that "bullying" behavior on the part of administrators should not be tolerated - didn't matter. I don't get the job.
God loves me, but you don't have to
It isn't all bad. I have a blast with my new friends, I love my kids and adore my cheerleaders, and I have a GORGEOUS baby shower and am quite literally showered with beautiful gifts for Jack.
This is not simply a critique of one school and its leaders, but a reflection of a time in my life.
I wish that you could feel what I felt -- what we ALL felt.
Here I am, a new teacher, in a brand new school (that's too small -- poorly planned), with a completely new language (a little over the top), a completely new administration (one who isn't even certified in administration and cannot be trusted, changes her story based on who is around), a completely new set of coworkers, a completely new group of kids (awesome, so smart, but definitely not all loving Project Based Learning, some definitely need extra help to do the basics), aides coming and going, paraprofessionals coming and going, teachers fired left and right, knowing that if I don't stop asking questions I'll be next, Mom running the ESL program all by herself with 70+ kids, seeing co-workers crying in the hall because it's all too much, watching teachers snap on kids because they're overworked and exhausted, staying at the school every night trying to get it all done, never having time to really assess like I want because I have so many kids and want to give them the feedback they deserve, needing all of those materials I left "in the box" at my previous school and having to start from scratch... I could go on and on.
I know that all of this has happened for a reason. I know that it is all a divine plan for me to end up exactly where I am today -- a place full of kind, enthusiastic educators and supportive administration.
I'm having a blast teaching again! I've rediscovered my PASSION for education. Every day is an absolute adventure and a GIFT.
I am happy, blessed, and grateful. Don't misunderstand that, please.
The bottom line is this: I read a book and related to it. I wanted to share.
The end.