letters-to-teaching

[letters-to-teaching]

Cliches regarding the so-called wisdom of age

Do you ever miss being 23? Not in a vain, wanting to be younger way. We talk about how much we grow with time, and that’s true. It's good. It's natural.

Still, do you ever wish you could unlearn some of the harsh truths you’ve adapted to without even noticing the added weight on your back, your shoulders, your wrinkled forehead…Different than the weight that comes quick, painful, sharp. It’s pain others can see, so it’s pain others can accept. Losing my dad was pain others could accept. Losing my light, my spark, has been so slow and felt so natural that it’s hard, even for me, to remember when I was light. 

I wasn’t light when I was a child. I was one of those children whom people like to call an old soul. I remember the weight then too. I remember the crushing, paralyzing terror of bothering anyone. The intense, unyielding, self inflicted torment at every mistake, every slip of the tongue, every misstep. I learned to apologize before I learned that I deserved  forgiveness. I didn’t know how to ask for help, or even that I needed help, because didn’t know that there were other people like me. People who were scared. People who felt alone. People carrying a mountain on their backs that began as a pebble. 

I didn’t know what the weight was then. I do now. But I don’t know how to lighten it. 

[letters-to-teaching]

Teaching in FL with standards while bi and liberal

Letters to Teaching

I hope very much that you will read all of this before commenting. I am a human being and have made my own mistakes, to which I have consistently owned up. That being said, 

CW for general shittiness of US, Florida, gun violence, mental illness, poor treatment of teachers and kids. 

Anyone have time/spoons for a frank and open conversation about teaching in the US, Florida in particular?

Still into it? Please consider whether you’re ready to consume this information. It may end up being surprisingly un-traumatic for you, but for me it’s both rambling and just ~a lot~.  Buckle up, star children. 

So yeah here we go. Diary entry or whatever. March 29 2023, in which I say a few of the many wretched things that have sucked in the last four years. This will take a while but I promise it’s all important. 

What follows is a brief summary of my personal experience and the desperate hope that I can fall in love with teaching again. The classroom used to be my most joyful place, but with each year, particularly after leaving my former position at a wonderful school, the profession that once gave me passion and purpose has increasingly become nothing but a cesspool of dread and broken promises. 

Frankly, my students and my program deserve someone like my 23-yr-old self: willing to do and give every particle of my being to teaching,. Realistically, those teachers shouldn’t be willing to do that. We are not able to do that. We all deserve better pay, more respect, and better training, both social and emotional. Our worth should not be determined by our productivity. 

I’m tired now. I’m so fucking tired and so incredibly devastated to see how much teaching, this school in particular (my alma mater), has warped me. Especially with the comparison between my former school’s response to COVID vs that of my current employer. Mine truly used to be an exceptional school, and I’m devastated to see how far it’s fallen. I thought I could be part of the solution, but here’s what has happened in my time here:

Year 1: accepted a job making the same salary ($46k) as my previous job bc I wanted to be close to my mom and I naively believed that this school shared my pursuit of excellence and inclusivity. Taught 7 classes with no planning period for no extra money. Helped colleagues navigate online challenges during COVID, hosted lunches and socials to help students connect in isolation, and designed entirely new curricula to best support online learning. 

Year 2: Forced (on threat of firing) to teach two periods of English with two week’s notice and neither training nor a textbook. Parents and students were vocal, toxic, and furious that I was drowning and couldn’t keep up with lesson plans and grades. Their concerns were valid, but the administration left me entirely without help. 

Year 3: Began with zero support /confidence and increased scrutiny due to my challenges from the previous year. Admittedly, this lack of respect and support did cause me to be behind often on grading and communication. Written up for (legally) discussing pay when I learned a coworker was making $10 less per hour than I was. Took on all of the classes in my program when my co-teacher (justifiably) bailed due to discrimination and poor treatment with literally a week’s warning, which led to me teaching a lunch class and another period with two classes at the same time for a total of nine preps. From day one, a group of students actively tried to get me fired and intentionally bullied kids away from my program. Admin refused to do anything and blamed me, taking away my entry level classes and functionally killing my program. I expressed that this decision ensured that there was no possibility for growth, but was again ignored without consideration. 

Year 4: intense criticism over the fact that I haven’t been particularly successful in my position. I fully admitted my own part in this. Constant terror that my contract means nothing in an at will state. Two new situations in which I am teaching multiple classes in the same period. This year alone I am generating curricula for 10 unique classes during 6 class periods. 

No matter what happens, I will always be honest. In this hostile environment, my grades ~were~ often  late in my second and third years. Parents complained, students actively worked against me, and I have been paralyzed with fear and largely unable to dig myself out. I am not blameless here, nor have I ever pretended to be. My frustration is the choice of my administrators to place every ounce of the blame upon me. My department chair was told that the classes which could save my program were taken away due to scheduling conflicts, while I was told that they were a punishment for my low recruitment numbers. Whatever improvements I make are ignored, while every mistake is a point of discussion. 

My own dean suggested that I get out as soon as I can. He sees the writing on the wall. 

The one breath of fresh air is the possibility of returning to the only school that treated me reasonably well. The school that I loved, the school I left to be nearer my mother. The school that, despite its own problems, I never forgot. 

The education system is broken. In ten years and three schools, my salary has gone up by $8k (now $46k) while my living expenses have skyrocketed exponentially. I am unable to purchase Expo markers or even notebook paper and pens for my students. 

Teachers and students risk our lives every day we set foot on campus. Our livelihoods are threatened when we speak out. 

I generally try to end posts on a message of hope, but at this point I am sincerely asking for help. America’s teachers are HUNGRY; we are TERRIFIED; we are THREATENED; we face DEATH each day. Help me. Help us. Be a voice for the voiceless. I beg you. I love you. I honor you.