Tarkaya (तर्कय) - to judge
I read once somewhere that teachers make around 3,000 decisions per day. I have no idea whether or not that's true, but it certainly sounds impressive, doesn't it?
Therapy Elsa says that some of the judgments I have made as a teacher have led to consequences. When I signed my contract for this year, the contracted start time of school at my building was 7:05 a.m. and the contracted end time was 2:20. This meant I had plenty of time to log onto my laptop for my 2:30 medical telehealth appointments every other week.
Only... they decided to change the start and end times of school. This meant I had to tell my brand new boss -- brought in special by the Superintendent -- that I had medical appointments that interfered with my assigned bus duty and various meetings two days a month. He did not like this. He didn't say that, of course. But he repeatedly asked me to ask my medical provider for a different time (although I explained several times that there was no other time). It began to really stress me out. One day he even called my classroom during 7th hour to make sure I was going to be at my assigned bus duty that day -- this despite the fact that I had given him the dates of that month's appts in advance, I had asked if I could make up the hours to him in a different way, I had assured him I was doing everything in my power to get a different appointment time ASAP, and I had never once missed bus duty on a day I didn't have a doctor's appointment!!!
Why? Because he had "precedents to think about!"
I was incredibly stressed and told Cara about it all.
"Who is your evaluator this year?" she asked. "Has that person told him what kind of teacher you are?"
"HE IS my evaluator!" I wailed.
"And has he watched you teach?"
"No, no yet," I told her.
"OH!" she waved my concerns off entirely. "He hasn't even seen you teach yet! Then I'm not concerned at all. Once he sees you teach, he'll understand your passion and work ethic. Nothing to worry about, T. You're golden."
So I've been holding onto that, yeah? -- the way I usually hold onto everything Cara and Stella say as law, despite the fact that we've all been teaching basically the same number of years.
Well.
The Friday before last, I had my first official evaluation.
I thought the lesson and kids were great. Were there hiccups? Of course. But I'm intensely self-critical, and I thought it went great overall.
Buttttttt......
He EVISCERATED me. Like... he had so much to critique that he literally ran out of time and had to make a second appointment so that he could deliver my actual scores -- which we hadn't got to.
I ended the meeting -- in total shock -- by saying, "Do you feel I did anything well?"
"YES!" he said.
Turns out I "had a lot of heart."
The fkkk? Heart, blog world. As in, an un-measurable thing that won't show up on any evaluation, ever. So while every other teacher I talked to was asked to score themselves, with me, he dove right in and told me everything I did wrong or could have done differently.
I was incandescent with rage. Mostly because he began by saying, "I can really tell that you're a high school teacher trying to figure out how to teach middle school --"
Whereat I said, as humbly as I possibly could, "Well, this is my 16th year of teaching middle school, so..."
Then I sat in my car and cried.
I came to meeting number 2, expecting to be asked to score myself, like everyone else had been. I had prepared my score, plus a long defense of my teaching practices. I will summarize them here (skip if you are not in education):
* Using popsicle sticks (a suggestion) to call on students randomly is not a best practice but a personal preference. The purpose is to ensure that every student is providing feedback on their learning, and I had accomplished the same thing by using whiteboards. Furthermore, popsicle sticks are triggering to students with autism, those with anxiety, and any who have a disorder that impacts their verbal processing. It presupposes that I do not know my students, which I do.
* The "three quiet girls in the back" had contributed to the class, despite his arguments that using popsicle sticks or seat/row calling could have included them more. All three of them raised their hands at various points in the 20 minutes of his observation. I know this because I was watching for them and was proud of them. His suggestions again presupposed that I do not know my students, which I do, because I asked all 140 of them to write me a letter on the first day of school explaining to me what they need in a teacher.
* No, I don't have a bellringer (a suggestion). The primary purpose of a bellringer is to establish routine. The routine in my classroom is to walk in the door, drop your cell phone in the caddy, get your assigned Chromebook, and start the 7-minute process of turning it on and navigating to the correct Canvas page.
* The statement that if I didn't implement these things, I would get to November and December and find that my students were unruly implies that I have no knowledge of 2nd quarter student behavior and is puzzling, as this is my 17th year in education...
* The overarching sentiment -- that I deserve a rating 20%+ lower than I received last year even though last year was my first year teaching 4 new grades and curriculum-- is patently unfair. His argument was that I didn't "let my students fly and allow them to surprise [me]." FALSE.
It was the 5th time I had taught that lesson that day -- the reason I did not allow them to "fly" was because I'd spent the entire day fielding the EXACT same question, and I knew that if they tried to fly, they would fall out of the nest and end up on the sidewalk. So I kept them in the nest -- ie, helped them -- for longer than I had originally anticipated. This shows adaptability.
Whatever. Ultimately, none of this matters other than the fact that my opportunity to show my boss that I'm not a lazy, blithering idiot did not accomplish its aim. Also, it went into my official teacher file, which blows.
All of this would perhaps be fine if it weren't also for the fact that I had submitted a book request for Speak, the seminal novel by Laurie Halse Anderson. Cara, Stella, and I had taught it to our 8th graders in Hazelwood many years ago. Since I only have one section of 8th graders this year, it's been a nightmare finding a book for them. Mostly because no one wants to read or teach Fahrenheit 451 -- it's a brilliant premise but too esoteric for a pretty low but mature bunch of 8th graders. Plus, it's a nightmare for our non-native English speakers and the spate of kids with learning disabilities. The ESOL teacher didn't want me to attempt it. The SPED teacher didn't want me to attempt it. What to do?
I wrote my proposal for Speak. Has it been banned? Yes. Is the banning justified? No. I argued that Speak was destined to become part of the literary canon. Nearly 25 years after its publication, it's still the #1 book on Amazon for Teen YA in Mental Health. Since teen depression and anxiety are at epidemic proportions, what better novel to incorporate than one that deals directly with these issues through the lens of its narrator -- a girl who was date-raped the summer after her 8th grade year -- and loses the ability to speak. The assault is not vividly depicted. Moreover, the over-arching issues of shame, isolation, and self-silencing are incredibly timely and relevant for this age group, as is the idea of complicity and speaking up for those who cannot help themselves.
I argued that Speak has been adapted for film twice and translated into 16 different languages due to its broad-cross-cultural appeal; furthermore, it's won TWELVE major literary awards -- in addition to propelling its author to the forefront of the #OwnVoices movement.
I knew it was going to be rejected. But I figured, it took years to get my last district to a place of inclusivity, might as well start the fight now.
I was not prepared for the backlash. While I had only intended to teach Speak to 26 students, the denial received from the person who is essentially Asst. Superintendent of Something (ASS from here on) made me out to be some renegade educator trying to indoctrinate alllllll the youth with wildly inappropriate, lewd propaganda. Oh. And he sent said denial to my boss. You know. The one who apparently already thinks I'm a blithering idiot and a "4" on the all-powerful teaching scale.
To make matters much, much worse, the person sent to deliver this blow to me -- since the Director no longer speaks to me after our ill-fated FB Dating date-- delivered more than just that bad news.
"I also wanted to talk to you about the choice of your email signature," she began.
I stared at her, uncomprehending. I was super-proud of my email signature!
"Those books are high school books. They are incredibly inappropriate for your students."
"Those books are all included in the middle school library. I checked. You can look at them, they're literally a few feet away."
"Those are YA books. YA means high school. They are inappropriate for middle school."
"No, I know what YA means. I'm certified in Library Science. Those are books that FHSD has approved for inclusion in the middle school library. As I said, you can go up the hall and find them right now on our shelves. I read them and provided reviews so that students and parents can easily find something to their liking to read."
"It's inappropriate," she reiterated. "Those reviews include your opinions. For instance, in one review, you said that you thought a book might be racist, but then it ended up not being."
"Correct. That was an incredible book. I fail to see how saying that a book is NOT racist is a problem in this district..."
"Well, someone might read your review and think you're trying to communicate your beliefs to your students. I just don't know what kind of support you'd receive is what I'm saying."
I wanted to scream. WHAT THE FKKK WAS THIS PLACE!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!? The person LIT-RUH-LEE in charge of supporting me was explaining that she didn't know what kind of support I'd receive if I -- wait for it -- let people see what books I'm reading!!!!!!
WHEN I WAS READING A FKKKING PRINTZ AWARD WINNER!?!?!?!?
I'm failing.
I'm failing.
I'm failing.
I'd been pouring over all of this for several days, trying to mine the criticism for useful tidbits while I continued on my "apology tour" of past students.
Recently, I reached out to "Nizzy" -- a girl I'd taught many years ago. Our first interaction had been at the start of my Hazelwood career when I called roll on the first day of school in a very *Substitute Teacher* moment.
"Niz-jay?" I had asked tentatively.
*Silence. Silence. Silence*
"Niz-jay?" I had called again.
Finally, a rebellious little voice piped up...
"Ain't no NIZ-JAY up in here! It's Nigh-JAY."
I looked up at the sullen face that stared back at me. I have no idea what I said. Honestly, it's so long ago now that I can't remember. All I remember is that somehow, I ended up making a joke out of it and calling her "Nizzy."
As "Nizzy" and I developed a relationship, I kept pulling her scrunchie out of her hair whenever I walked past her desk, because I thought she looked so much like a little troll doll with her hair sticking straight up. Hot damn, how was I not fired?
Now that I've spent 10+ years researching minority subcultures, I had to find Nizzy and apologize for repeatedly touching her hair when she was 14.
"MISS TEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!" Nizzy was very excited to hear from me.
I apologized.
Nizzy didn't trip. "Miss T, you were my favorite teacher of my entire life. Don't you know that you gave me a new name? YOU. GAVE. ME. A. NEW. NAME. To this day, I cannot remember the last time someone called me Nizjae. Nizzy is my name now. You okay."
It made me cry.
I don't deserve the students I've had. They have sustained me in my loss. They have buoyed me in my tragedy and encouraged me through my ennui and uncertainty.
Therapy Elsa says that I've made judgments that have led to consequences with the higher-ups in my teaching career. Unfortunately, I have almost never had a boss that really adored me. I guess I get that. I question the status quo. I stir things up.
All the people who have loved me and rooted for me have categorically been the lower-income, disadvantaged students who can do nothing to further my career.
And I am coming to a place -- 17 years in -- where I am okay with that.
In Sanskrit, tarkaya means "to judge." When I judge myself as a teacher, I almost always find myself lacking... like, pretty severely lacking.
Then I think of what Jade told me as regards teaching yoga: it doesn't really matter. All that matters is the experience of the people in my class.
It's harder when your health insurance and mortgage are also of stake, of course. But it's the same principle. So maybe the higher-ups think I'm a maverick who doesn't know how to teach middle school and wants to incorporate sexually deviant books into the curriculum.
Can I find it in my heart to not care? Can I sift through the morass to ask how my students themselves feel?
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