Performance Under Stress

I kinda got fired this week.

Now, now, Mom. I know you're sitting there at your computer, your face in your hands, thinking, "Oh, Meg!" You don't understand how I can be okay sharing this news...I guess we can chalk it up to a generational thing. Just rest assured that I know what I'm doing. Besides, what are they going to do...fire me?

In teaching, there is a system in place that is supposed to help schools keep the good teachers and get rid of the bad.

It doesn't really work.

See, I've known plenty of "bad" teachers (put in quotes because I am not about to start judging from where I'm currently sitting in my little glass house). Sometimes they are good teachers who, for whatever reason, are stressed out, tired, or so close to retirement they can just taste it. Sometimes they are simply clueless.

And probationary teachers can be let go "without cause," even if they are good teachers.

I don't consider myself a bad teacher. I'm not a great teacher, but I've always rather felt that I'm a good sort of teacher who works her ass off, honestly cares about her charges, and wants to continue to grow and improve. And in my first seven years of post-training teaching, my administrators have agreed with me. I've had excellent evaluations, with supportive comments on how I might better pace my lessons (I have a tendency to get-going-really-really-fast-and-it-can-be-overwhelming) or improve other areas of my teaching. But no one has ever told me that what I'm doing is wrong, or bad, or unsatisfactory. It was only in this, my eighth year of teaching, that someone has told me I am doing it all wrong.

There is history with this particular boss. It's not worth hashing out on the blog--a public forum--but suffice it to say that she thinks I am ineffective, and I disagree. I believe that her behavior towards me is very telling to the kids I teach, and that it's caused any classroom management issues I have. And I also believe that I could turn into Jaime Escalante and get all "Stand and Deliver" on her ass, and she would still find fault in everything I do.

I've heard it described as being a "personality conflict." Others have told me it's "harassment." One very intuitive friend said on the phone last night, "I think she must be intimidated by you for some reason, because you are intelligent, and one of those people who goes above and beyond."

Whatever the reason, she has told me all year that I am a bad teacher. And my complaints to my local union fell on deaf ears. "You're a second-year probationary teacher," the union president told me. "Just lie low and maybe they won't decide to non-reelect you." In the mean time, I continued to get horrible evaluations, and finally, the principal told me she could not recommend me for tenure.

Fearing the loss of my job and wanting to stand up for myself after thirty-one years of being a good little soldier, I went to California Teachers Association (CTA) this week. God bless the man in Sacramento who listened to me, and who sent my case to the lady in Stockton who could support me. God bless her, because she tried, she really tried.

But in the end, my local school district backed the principal, even though there was evidence that the principal has behaved unprofessionally and failed to follow proper protocols...and even knowing that my other school site is happy with my performance. Turns out only one of my five bosses had any say in whether I stay or go.

So on Wednesday, I skipped out on an appointment with G. the Meanie to talk to a lawyer who works for CTA. I don't have an harassment case that any court would hear. Turns out that because the boss and I are both white women, my harassment claims aren't strong enough. Sad, but true. Never mind the Xanax prescriptions, the upset stomach, or the fact that she has actually lied to my face about things she sees in my classroom.

On Thursday, it was off to the district office for my meeting with the director of Human Resources. It was all so formal and ridiculous. They pulled me out of school, arranging for a sub (which I didn't need, just had to cancel kindergarten music for that afternoon) so they could sit me down for fifteen minutes and tell me, "You won't be employed by this district next year." My local union president was there (and useless, as ever). The CTA rep came with me, too, and though she was awesome, she couldn't change HR Man's mind.

So there you have it. I'm out of a job. I'll continue teaching until May, and then my future is wide open. I knew, deep down, that this was probably coming. If it wasn't budget, one bad administrator would drive me out of my job.

I've moved so many times in the last nine years. My first job was a part-time contract, and I couldn't live with Mom and Dad forever. So it was off to England, which was only a one-year adventure, even though I briefly considered staying longer. Washington was a whirlwind year, and Antioch--and teaching high school--was never a great fit. But here in Stockton, I've started planting roots. Chorale makes me happy--I look around the room every Monday night and think, "I don't want to leave these good people!" My volunteer work with Animal Friends Connection makes me happy. And frankly, my gym makes me happy. I've never been to a 24 Hour club that is so friendly, so supportive. I feel like I've got a team there--a team of people cheering me on, honestly caring about my progress (a team that comprises more than just G. the Meanie and a 10-pound basketball).

So I have some thinking to do, thoughts to write down. Maybe I'll find a teaching job in another area district. Some are laying off a lot of teachers, but some aren't. Maybe I'll leave teaching and pursue something else--nothing is permanent, here. I could always go back in a few years, when things are looking better. Or maybe I'll find that I don't miss runny-nosed kindergartners, or singing "Race Car" every day, or the "I-love-you-I-hate-you!!" attitude of middle school students.

All I know is that my first priority is trying like hell to stay in Stockton--Forbes Magazine's 2nd Most Miserable City in the United States, home to gangs, high poverty--and also so much more than it's bad reputation implies.

I thought about taking yesterday off. I was to go back to the school at which I can do nothing right, and I didn't want to be around the kids, or the teachers who talk about me behind my back. I didn't want to see the administrator who put me in this situation. My pride is bruised.

My pride, however, is what made me go to work. I made it through the whole day--no tears, no bad attitude--and I held my head high. I will do this thirty-one more times this school year (unless I have to take a day to go on a job interview), and then I will never have to work in this particular negative environment ever again.

And that, my friends, is the whole story. I am remarkably calm--thanks to daily exercising, friends who are quick to say rude things about my boss so that I don't have to, plenty of cuddles from my furbabies, and supportive parents. I know I'm going to come out of this better off, and that I will make another school or business one hell of an employee.