2001-10-19
Beyond niceties in the hallway, posted at 12:40 p.m.
Epiphany in Baltimore has moved to epiphanyinbaltimore.blogspot.com Yesterday was an all-day inservice for the English department here at school.I'm very quiet at meetings. Part of that hearkens back to hearing all the veteran teachers complain about first-year teachers saying too much at meetings ("Never say anything until your 3rd year," I've heard), and the other part is simply because I feel clueless at them. They talked all about these abbreviations that I've never heard of. I knew all the abbreviations for Michigan standardized tests, and their system was fairly simple. Here, there's different tests for different years, they all seem to have different names, and, frankly, I'm terribly confused by it all. I mostly sit at meetings and think about all the things I should be doing better, how I am really looking forward to a fresh start with students next semester.
Department meetings frustrate me for a different reason as well. They reveal the frustration that everyone else is feeling - teachers who have taught for 20 years are frustrated and confused by things. I expected to feel frustration and confusion this year, as a first year teacher. It's disheartening to see old teachers feel that same way. I thought it was supposed to pass. Yesterday, a woman who is in her 19th year of teaching left the meeting crying after our semester goals were once again critiqued and asked to be changed by the principal.
Basically, we are all evaluated by a portfolio system in which we adopt two goals for the semester, and then chart our progress in reaching those goals. In concept, this could be a good idea, although still a lot of extra work. However, it works out so that the goals we choose have to fit a certain format and the whole concept of it is false - they're not your goals at all. Then, there's a ton of copying, record-keeping, and hassles associated with the portfolio - something that evaluates proper secretarial skills, not proper teaching skills. Someone could be a crummy teacher and have a great portfolio, or someone could be a great teacher and keep a crummy portfolio.
Anyhow, only teachers in our district are required by the state to keep portfolios, and we're all pissed off by it. We feel like they're picking on city teachers only, which they are. Anyhow, there were long harangues about it yesterday, which was a waste of breath and air because there's nothing we can do about it on a school, group, individual, or even city level. This is a state thing, so it's necessary to go to the state decision-makers and change it through there. But I do wonder why our union allowed it to happen.
We also did an exercise in which we evaluate whether or not we are consistent as a department in evaluating essays based on a rubric. I don't have a problem with this sort of exercise. Anyhow, they started us out by having us write our own essay - a time writing exercise in which we wrote for 15 minutes straight on one of the following topics:
1. ____________ is something I did not expect.
2. Motherhood is not for __________________.
3. Revenge isn't always so sweet.
All of us teachers had to write on one of those topics for 15 minutes. We weren't told what we were going to do with it, just that they would be shared on a volunteer basis only. With this freedom, I totally went off on one of the topics and used writing as a sort of therapy. It was like a diary entry... here it is, ver batum (you'll notice a lot of the same sentiments that I've expressed throughout my entries here at diaryland):
"My life since I moved to Baltimore is something I did not expect. After having a healthy social life and being an active member of a residence hall community for the past six years of my life, I was not prepared for how tough it would be to meet people here in the Baltimore area. I've met a lot of great people here, but have yet to make a friend yet that I can call up on a Friday or a Saturday night and go out to the bar for a beer or two or three (as I sometimes feel like I need after a day of teaching). My roommate and I spent last Friday night at home alone on the couch, watching "Bridget Jones Diary" and drinking shots of pucker. It wasn't even a decent movie. I've been here over six weeks, and still get lost all the time. I'm used to knowing where everything is. I'm used to knowing a lot of people and being able to go out most weekend nights. I'm not used to sitting around and watching TV. I'm not used to making more long distance calls than local calls. (Paragraph)I feel sort of like I did when I was in high school. I'm hoping to meet all the cool people and that they'll invite me to do stuff with them. It's not quite the same as starting college, because then everyone was in the same boat as you. Rather, I feel like I've moved to a new high school in my Senior year, after everyone else in my class had been together their whole lives thus far. Cliques are all formed, lives are already in motion, and everyone knows everyone else. I'm trying to fit in with them, but it's going slowly. (Paragraph) I guess I shouldn't be surprised by how slowly it's going. I'm not naturally an outgoing person. I thought I could change who I was by moving, but I don't think you can truly change who you are. You can grow, though. And that's what I've done. The move to an area in which I know no one has accomplished a lot of things for me - gotten me out of my comfort zone, given me a new perspective, etc. The greatest risk is the one you don't take. I truly believe that. Because of this, I do not regret the move at all - not one iota. I love the city - it's beautiful and there's tons to do. I've got a great house that I'm renting. I just got a wonderful dog who loves me no matter what I do, even when I give him a bath. My friendship with my friend of seven years, Jason, has deepened and solidified through our move. I truly think the social life will eventually come - my optimism has not faltered. Even though I've made the bold move from my home my entire life to this place 600 miles away, I still need to get myself out there more, do more things socially, say things when they're on my mind instead of waiting to be asked. But things are still looking up, just a bit slower than expected."
Okay, so that was my 15-minute essay on something unexpected that I wrote to myself in the middle of a departmental meeting. After "time" was called, we did some other crap, and eventually got to the point where we were sharing essays. One young teacher (hot, but married) used the "Motherhood is not for ___________" option to tell us that she was pregnant - we all applauded, and it was very cool. Three other people shared their essays, and they were all exceptionally well-written. J, my closest friend in the colleague even though our relationship seems to have plateaued, read a hilarious story he wrote using the motherhood option. Joan, a loud, gregarious, funny, African-American woman with a buzzcut, read a great piece on the revenge option. Marsha from Boston read something about how teaching isn't what she expected because it's all about tests and not about inspiration anymore - it was so good that it gave me goosebumps. Then, no one else volunteered out of our 13-member department - which was fine with me. After a long silence, someone said, "Well, I think that's a good way to end it," but another guy - who didn't even do the writing because he "can't write anything in 15 minutes" said, "Wait, we haven't heard from our new people. I don't think we should go until we have."
I was pissed off. I immediately refused to read mine and turned to Nicole, the other new English teacher. She's quieter than I am, but seems to have developed more friendships in the department. Then J said, "I don't think we've heard from Mark all day." Grrr.... I said, "Sorry, guys, I got all personal in mine, and don't want to read it." I heard all these murmurs of, "Oh, he got personal" or "personal, eh?". Another teacher yelled at the guy for asking us, saying, "You never ask a student to read something when you haven't told them that they'll have to share." Finally, Nicole starting reading hers. It was good. I was saved. But now I think that my department thinks that I'm even shyer and more detached that they did before.
But really, they would have felt way uncomfortable if I would have read that essay above, wouldn't you agree? Now I'm second-guessing myself. Maybe it would have been a good idea to read it. I'm so reserved sometimes, especially when I feel like I have no one to talk to, that when I move to another mode of communication - like writing - I really let everything pour out. Maybe that essay would have been the thing that broke the ice with a lot of them, to develop our relationships beyond niceties in the hallways.
As I was sitting here writing this, a teacher who I sort of know came in and invited me to a bar tonight to see a friend play in a band for a CD release party. Things are looking up. My dad and sister will be on their way from Michigan in about 90 minutes, so it'll be a busy weekend. It's now 1:30pm on this full day of professional development and I have yet to do one thing related to teaching. How sucky of me.