"You Know You Are a High School Teacher When ..."

By J. Quick

Within these pages the reader will find the mostly true ramblings, mid-life musings, and occasional opinion offerings of a secondary teacher. Teachers of teenagers might resonate with the stories, future teachers might gain insight before entering the classroom, and non-teachers might get a glimpse into the classified life of a certified teacher. Hopefully, all readers will find humor and hope. All stories are based on actual events, but all names and some details have been altered for literary purposes and for the protection of the innocent, as well as the author’s widening posterior. After all, the author would like to retire someday, not be fired tomorrow, and definitely not end up on the news tonight.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. Quick
• Release date: Feb 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310215018

J. Quick

Just a little bit about me... I was very fortunate and married my best friend almost twenty years ago. We have two amazing teenage sons and live deep in the woods among the mountain lions and bears. Our fearless English Mastiff, a.k.a. Couch Baby, protects our home just about as well as his nickname implies, but we adore him anyway. For over twenty years I have been a secondary art teacher. In the beginning, I was a middle school teacher, and for many years, I have been a high school teacher. More years ago than I can count, I received a bachelor's degree in fine arts with a concentration in education. Just about ten years ago, I received a master's degree in education with a specialization in curriculum, instruction and assessment.

Book preview

"You Know You Are a

High School Teacher When …"

… mostly true ramblings from behind the desk

J. Quick

~~~~~~~~~~~

Published by Jennifer Quick

Copyright 2014 Jennifer Quick

This book is available in print at most online retailers.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work.

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This book is dedicated to…

my mom and dad who gave me roots on which I continue to grow,

my husband and sons who give me constant support and encouragement,

and the students and staff who have provided me with endless stories and smiles throughout the years.

Special thanks to Sandra without whose encouragement and expertise this book would never have happened.

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Prologue

Very gradually, the slivers of dawn began to creep above the trees and through the fog. From my position in the trench, I could barely see into the darkness. I had no real weapons. I could feel the reality of what was happening in my stomach. I did not hate them. They were not supposed to be my enemy. We were supposed to be working together. I could hear the sounds overhead coming in again. To my left and right I could hear footsteps and feel eyes watching me. It would be any minute now. Glancing back over my shoulder, which was survival instinct by now, I saw nothing, for the moment. Trying to keep everything in my stomach, I swallowed hard and kept my head low. I was terrified and panic began to rise. My arms tingled with anticipation. Breathing in the cool air, I tried to clear my mind. I repeated to myself slowly and deliberately, You can do this. You can do this. You. Can. Do. This. Trying to slow my breathing and the beat of my heart, I began to spell out the words, Y-o-u c-a-n- d-o t-h-i-s period. My legs felt heavy, and I was not sure I could move them when the time came. The attack could come from any direction and when I would least expect it. I was a soldier and this was war. Was it fight or flight?

Just a few short years ago, I was under attack from all sides and on just about all fronts. Budgets were being slashed. Expectations to do more with less increased. What I taught was under assault, and I lost half of my platoon. All across the land we lost good people. Territories were seized, and property was destroyed. The profession as a whole was under excessive scrutiny and was taking a thrashing. Policies and procedures put in place were designed to weed out the bad teachers, but instead, punished everyone including the students. Assuming positive intent and maintaining confidence in people was no longer the norm. Instead, looking for mistakes and setting people up to fail became the pattern. Sides were chosen and defended well. I was not sure who was friend and who was foe and watching my back had become my new tactic.

Many of my hopes and dreams began to slip through my fingers. My professional environment was no longer safe. For me to grow, to improve, and to be creative in the classroom, I needed to feel safe. I had a very strong suspicion that I had already seen the best of times, and the path that lay ahead was petrifying and strewn with landmines. I was not, and never would be, an A+ teacher, but I knew I was a strong, solid teacher, a dedicated B. I had tackled each day with integrity and passion. However, my cherished lifestyle was becoming a job, and even worse, a chore. The really tough part was I could not walk away from my job when I walked away from the building. My job required, and will always require, a large amount of time outside the building to do it effectively. And if I did not do it effectively, then it would be noticed, and I would be punished.

Consequently, considering flight instead of fight, I explored other professional arenas. I searched for greener grass and bluer skies and found none. So, I searched outside my working life for new dreams to create new hope, something new to look forward to each day. However, the professional demands on my time and energy were increasing, the effectiveness of my paycheck was decreasing, and the district’s policies were intensifying. Any new dreams, professional or personal, would most likely have to wait. I was tied down, and the golden handcuffs around my wrists were tight, very tight. I was in too deep, and grudgingly, I consented to staying in the fight. Nevertheless, the need to find some way to escape continued to plague me. That’s when I saw it, a possible getaway.

Who would have guessed that a journal with a magnetic clasp from the local bookstore would be my salvation? In it I began to write. I wrote and wrote and with each word a fog began to lift. I found hope and humor between those pages. If something made me want to cry, then it went down on a page. Anger and frustration found its way onto the pages and not into my soul. If something from the present reminded me of something in the past, then I wrote it down. I discovered I had had a rich and fulfilling career thus far, and I still had something to share. If something made me laugh, then, snickering, I would put pen to paper. Comedy replaced catastrophe. Life is Crap magnets littered my office refrigerator. It took a few pages in that journal and some real conscious effort, but I found out I could have both fight and flight in this war.

Who would have guessed my students, those outrageous teens, would also provide me salvation? Unexpectedly, telling jokes and sharing stories from my personal and professional past became part of my classroom. I had an advanced class that would beg me to tell yet another story when things got too quiet in the classroom. After a while, each story began with You know you are a high school teacher when… and ended with gasps of surprise or gales of laughter. One day, one extraordinary young man said to me, You should put your stories in a book. I would totally buy it. And yes, he said totally. With the guidance and encouragement of a couple of cherished and quite possibly crazy-as-I-am colleagues, I did it. But, I wanted it to be more than just a collection of stories. I wanted it to be a testimonial.

Each day I watch the really bad teachers and the really amazing teachers making the news or becoming characters in movies or TV shows. Thank goodness very few teachers are like Pamela Smart or Herbert Garrison, but most of us cannot be as amazing as Glenn Holland or Jaime Escalante. I wanted people to know that each and every day there are thousands of really good teachers, who will never be on the news or in a TV mini-series, doing some pretty awesome things in our classrooms. They are asked to reach impossible goals with ineffective tools. They are doing the very best with what they are given each and every day. They give of their soul, and then give some more. I feel very fortunate to work with many of these talented teachers. It often feels like we are all under attack, and we take the blame for so many of society’s issues. More and more, we struggle to remember why we became teachers. These battles may have originally prompted my writings, but along the way I found comedy in the realities of being a high school teacher. I found I wanted to share my funny findings, to not feel so alone, and maybe, to pass on a little advice to new teachers. It is most definitely not my intention to make any political statements, to start any more fights, or to make any more enemies.

Enclosed in the following pages you will find my mostly true ramblings, my mid-life musings, and my occasional opinion offerings. Please keep in mind these words reflect my life as a teacher and not anyone else’s. Regardless of the title, I do not claim to speak for all high school teachers. However, I do hope that teachers of teenagers will resonate with some of my descriptions, future teachers will gain insight before entering the classroom, and non-teachers will get a glimpse into the classified life of a certified teacher. Hopefully, all readers will find hope and humor. There are some stories that I could not tell because they were too painful or because of legal reasons. All stories are based on actual events, but all names and some details have been altered for literary purposes and for the protection of the innocent, as well as my widening posterior. After all, I would like to retire someday, not be fired tomorrow, and definitely not end up on the news tonight.

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Back to the Future

I hate high school. Well, okay, I hated high school. I hated teachers with a chip on their shoulders who wanted respect whether they were worthy of it or not. I hated the rumors and drama created by my classmates. I hated walking into a bathroom and breathing in marijuana smoke or over-sprayed perfume; I am not completely sure which was worse. Actually, as I look back on it I realize the perfume was probably sprayed to cover the smell of the marijuana. I did not attend homecoming or prom. I attended one football game. After I discovered rum in my friend’s Coke can, the hard way, and witnessed two fist fights in the parking lot, I never attended another game. I grew not to even like lunch with my friends, who insisted on threatening to kill themselves or treating us to tales of getting so drunk they could not remember the night before. I used to ditch speech class. Sorry, Mr. Trent. I was terrified of speaking in front of groups of people. I hated high school so much that I graduated early and never looked back.

Now, I attend high school each and every day. What is even more ironic is I hang out in a high school in the same school district not ten minutes from the location of my first incarceration. I thought I was done when I was released early due to good behavior. Several years on the outside and I was back in again. Apparently, I did not get enough marijuana smoke the first time around.

I did not set out to be a teacher. Who wakes up one day and says, I want to work 12-hour days for very little pay and very little respect for the next 30 years. Becoming a graphic designer was my goal, my dream. Little did I know that I would be ambushed by a small yellow sign that read, Interested in Art Education? It was practically falling off the wall in a little used hallway of my college art building. Sitting in class two minutes later I could not get the idea out of my head. I would push it down, but it would come right back up like some ugly persistent weed. An hour later I was sitting in the office of the professor who organizes the art education program at the university I was attending. Why, I will never really know, but my life was changed forever when I left that office. That was more than twenty years ago. To this day I do not remember what he said to change my dream, my destination. Huh, I never noticed that the root of destination is the same as in destiny.

Trust me there are days I sit at my desk in my office staring at a huge stack of journals and wonder, Is this really my destiny? Is this really what I signed up for that fateful day? Like a slick car salesman, he did not tell me the whole truth, the fine print.

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In the Beginning

"You know you are the spouse of a teacher when,

you ask, Are these for school?

Trees blocked my driveway. I stared at the pile of tree trimmings and then at my ancient VW bug. Mental head slap, how would I get out in time for the interview? Yep, my father drove me to my first interview for a part-time middle school teaching job. My certificate was not in my hands, and yet, I was dressing up in big girl clothes and going to a job interview, no, a career interview. I got the job and filled in the rest of my first teaching contract with a few hours at two elementary schools. Traveling between three schools and teaching two grade levels was something only the young at heart should do. Exhausted, engulfed, and overworked became my new lifestyle.

Right now, sitting next to me, is a man with greying, thinning hair watching TV. Well, there is more snoring than actually watching. He was my roommate with benefits at the time I started teaching and has miraculously stuck with me through the years. Perhaps some of the greying and thinning is due to those first years and beyond. The lifestyle of a teacher is, well, difficult and demanding. I was lucky enough to find someone who could entertain himself, who did not demand my attention all the time, and who understood my job does not end at 3:30. Amazingly enough he was okay with being second fiddle to second graders. Many years later, a friend of mine was engaged to a fifth grade teacher. Three months into the school year, they were no longer on their way to the alter and a lifetime of bliss. She simply needed more. Teachers marrying teachers is more common than you think. Maybe being married to someone in the business makes it easier to understand the demands of the job. All I know is, I was lucky to have found someone who knew the lifestyle going into marriage and for the most part, seems okay with it. He seems especially okay with eating the extra cookies when I am done getting ready for a classroom party.

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First and Last

"You know you are a high school teacher when,

the school year starts and you feel like you have full health and are ready for the next round."

Eventually, I was able to get a full-time teaching job at one school in one classroom. Heaven, for a few years anyway. On the other hand, maybe ignorance is bliss or chalk dust causes hallucinations. In our district, a teacher is considered probationary for the first three years. Should they survive to see a fourth first day of school, they are rewarded with non-probationary status. This system is much like making it through the various levels of a video game. You pass the first level by making it through the first day of school. Seem simple? You might think so. One year a new Spanish teacher quit before noon on the first day of school. Yep, she just walked out of the classroom and gave the principal her keys. Rumor has it her tires left rubber in the parking lot.

The second level is complete when you can prove you