The Value Of Professional Appearance

I've worked with some strange people (to be kind).  If you've read any of my past entries you've probably already figured that out.  Lynda was was near the top of the list.

Lynda was teaching assistant who had been passed around to every building in the district like a hot potato.  She was in her late 40's I'd guess, and was a total ditz.  She (among other things) openly told people that she wore tin foil hats and decorated her house with "X's" to starve off possible alien attack.  Seriously.

I enjoy making a visit to a thrift store now and then.  I've found them to be good places to find used music and books cheap.  On one particularly visit I found myself looking through the used neckties.  Obviously most of these ties were never in style, and the few that were contained large stains.  But then I tripped across a Jerry Garcia tie in pretty good shape.

At the time Jerry Garcia ties were pretty popular and not exactly cheap (at least on a young teacher salary).  Here was a lightly worn one for 2.99.  There was just one problem.  I was pretty sure I hated it.  It was black with this obnoxious purple flower like pattern of sorts slapped across the front.

It was 2.99.  What the hell?  I grabbed the tie, reminded myself that I had no sense of style, and went and checked out (and then used some Purell...).  

I didn't wear the tie for a while.  It just hung there and looked at me.  "This tie is hideous." I thought to myself.  "Besides, you can't be wearing some shit you got at a glorified garage sale to work.  This is isn't college."


But there would be other days I would remind myself that I didn't know anything about abstract art, and of all the other fashion trends that I hated, but later conformed to.  So the day came where I said 'fuck it' and put it on.

This quickly became one of those instances where it was apparent that I should have trusted my judgement.  People were passing me in the hall and shielding their eyes.  Even staff members who were too kind or didn't know me well enough to bust my chops spoke up on this day:

"My GOD! That's the ugliest thing I've ever seen!"

"Did you lose a bet?"

"Did you get dressed in the dark today dude?"

I tried to explain to people that it was a Jerry Garcia tie and therefore automatically cool.  I wasn't selling it.  At all.

It was difficult to teach.  The kids wanted to talk about the damn tie.  As the morning went on, my colleagues were telling the kids to ask me about the tie before they arrived which just further wound them up.

Around lunch I was heading to make some copies when I passed crazy Lynda in the hall.

"Oh my!  That is the best looking tie I have EVER seen." she beamed never making eye contact with me as she starred adoringly at the tie.

Without speaking, I removed the tie in the middle of the hallway, handed it to Lynda, and walked away.

Stick to music Jerry.

The Art Of Interrogation

As I cut through the upstairs library at the elementary school I was working at, one of my kindergarten teachers flagged me down.  The class was just getting ready to head back down to their class after checking out some books.  The students were line up quietly.

The teacher asked if I would mind pulling Mauricio and talking to him.  He'd used a swear word toward a classmate.  I told her it wouldn't be a problem and that I'd bring him back down when we were done.

Typically with a minor situation like this I'll bark the kid a little, he'll start crying, and I'll make him promise not to do it ever again.  Then on with the day.  I took Mauricio to a small unused office off the main library floor (I've worked in several schools and they all seem to be built with not enough offices in the main office area, and more than needed in the library... odd).

I sat Mauricio down and took a seat across the table from him.  Like a criminal interrogator I went to work on Mauricio. I battered him with a series of stern questions about knowing the rules, and 'how would he like it' like statements.  No reaction.  I spoke louder.  Even more sternly.  A fist pound may have been thrown in for CSI like effect.  I increased the level of my empty threats if he were to do it again ("I'll call mom!" "I'll suspended you!" "Have you heard of waterboarding?!).  Nothing.  At one point, I thought I may have seen a slight dab of moisture in his eyes, but I reasoned it might just be my breath or perhaps even tears of boredom.  I questioned if Mauricio even understood English.

I gave up.  I was defeated.  I hit him with everything I had, and he took the blows.  I had stuff to do, so I told Mauricio it was time to go back to class.  He obediently followed.

The kindergarten rooms were downstairs from where we were.  There was a back staircase that students didn't really use that was sort of a short cut to where we needed to go.  As I ushered Mauricio into the stairway, he totally freaked out.

"Where are you taking me!!!!?"

It occurred to me that this five year old boy had never been down the back stairs and likely had no concept of where he was in the building.  I'm not sure he even knew who exactly I was.

I wheeled and barked back in my best Harrison Ford, guy-yelling-in-a-suit-voice , "If you want to know all the answers, you need to learn to talk like a nice little boy!"

His eyes poured like a faucet and pleaded for nothing in-particular ("please, please!") as we descended the stairs.  When we go to the bottom and open the door way that led back into the main school, we were back in the kindergarten hallway.  Mauricio looked around, got his bearings, and stopped crying and yelling as quickly as he started. I'd never seen moisture evaporate so quickly.

Mauricio walked into his classroom like nothing ever happened.  Don't mess with the bull young man!

The Mailman Always Delivers

I was hired to be principal of a school coming off a rough experience with the former principal.  My predecessor had been mired in various sex scandals.  By the time I arrived, anyone associated with the school who had a penis, from the custodian to the school police liaison, was rumored to have screwed her.

According to legend, she was that good looking, and dressed the part.  Our sixth grade boys weren't too happy to see the young curvy female replaced with a dude with a huge nose.

I started on the job in the summer prior to school resuming.  The building was generally empty and I was able to get a lot of paper work done.  Every day I would have to stop to buzz the mailman into the building.  He was nice guy, but he loved to make small talk.  No doubt this guy had an incredible internal clock because he would small talk me for something like 45 seconds every day and exit as quickly as he arrived to continue his route.

I hate small talk, and this guy was always bringing up the most obvious types of topics (the weather, local baseball results, traffic, etc.).  Try having a conversation with a virtual stranger about the fact that it's hot out in the summer day after day for 45 seconds.  It sucks.

But like I said, he was nice guy and it certainly would have been rude to do this to him (jump to about the one minute mark :), so I just dealt with the boring chit chat each day.

So one day he comes in and throws down the mail and starts in about how hot it's been, and how he was at his kids baseball game the night prior and how muggy is was there, and can you believe how many mosquitoes we've had this summer, and blah, blah, blah.  I started filling teacher mailboxes with the mail as he talked so I didn't have to look at him while he babbled.

"So I guess you're not going to show me your tits, huh?"  Did I hear that correctly?

"Um, excuse me?" I said turning, suddenly more interested as it appeared we were done talking about the heat wave.

"Yeah, the other principal, that lady.  She'd always bend over and give me a good eye-full of her tits every day.  It was great man.  But you've been here a month, and I'm starting to get the impression you're not going to do that for me."

I certainly had a good laugh with the guy.  I apologized for letting him and down and pointed out that I'm not sure he'd find my chest hair quite as arousing.

As I was I talking, he waved good and hit the road.  Our 45 seconds were up.

The Possible Perks Of Working Late

I was a little pissed at Mike who was our head of building and grounds.  I needed a night custodian and Mike was setting up the interviews.  Mike is pretty much the nicest guy in the world, so when one of the candidates said he couldn't make it till 6:30, he said okay.

The last interview before this goof started was at 4:30, so I would have been annoyed under normal circumstances having to sit around roughly 2 hours for an interview.  But on this particular evening, a major snow storm was set to hit the area.  I live a decent ways from work and snow is no friend to my commute.

Sure enough, as we sat waiting around for this last interview, the weather man picked tonight to be spot on with his prediction.  Huge flakes paired with giant gusts of wind engulfed the area.  Snow began to pile up quickly, and I started wondering if it might be easier to sleep on the nurses cot (aka, feeling sorry for myself).

To the candidates credit, he showed up on time despite the terrible conditions.  He seemed like a decent enough fellow, but it was pretty clear early on he wasn't what we were looking for (making staying late even more frustrating).

When the interview concluded, I walked the guy to the door while giving him the usual post interview lines ("We'll be in touch").  As we got to the doorway I said, "Be safe driving."

"Oh, I don't drive.  I rode my bicycle here."

There was already about six inches of snow on the ground.  I watched as this guy unchained his bike and began attempting to peddle through a fucking blizzard.  He looked like someone swimming against a heavy current.  His tires were spinning in place and the wind was literally blowing him back.  Mike and I stood in the window watching this train wreck and trying our bests not to pee in our pants.  Man, was I glad I didn't miss that!

How To Help Wreck A Kid

Lance was one of four siblings at our school.  He was the second oldest.  Rumor had it that there were at least three different fathers.  Mom was a decent lady but young, uneducated, and despite offering quality lip-service was basically hopeless in terms of affecting change in her children.

All the children were behavior issues.  The youngest was beginning to fall behind, and two of the older one's were already special education students.  But Lance was bright.  His grades wouldn't tell you this, but he passed his standardized tests every year, and always came up above average when we examined data per RtI.

Lance arrived in 4th grade, and was certainly on the lazy side.  He didn't work hard in class, and then didn't complete his work at home.  On a daily basis, he would start his day off with being scolded by his teacher about not completing homework, followed by a call to mom.  He regularly had his recess taken away to complete work.  The work he did bring back from home was rarely at the level of his peers who came from more supportive households.

These measures did not increase the amount of homework we got back from Lance.  Mom became annoyed with the calls and stopped answering the phone.  By about midyear, Lance was also starting to have enough.  So he started accelerating his misbehavior so he could get kicked out of class quicker so he wouldn't have to listen to it.  The issue now became teacher disrespect in addition to failure to complete homework.  Despite failing most daily work, Lance still passed his classes because he was able to pass tests without doing homework or being in the classroom half the time.

By the time Lance reached fifth grade his reputation was solidified as a trouble maker who wouldn't work.  He spent the remainder of his years at our school getting kicked out of class, doing nothing, and being yelled at.  When he was asked by the social worker what he wanted to be when he grew up, he responded that he wanted to be like his mama and get paid to do nothing (receive welfare).

His teachers honestly tried.  They communicated with the parent.  They provided him the materials he needed.  They attempted to hold him to a high standard.

Soon after Lance got to junior high he'd become a known drug dealer.  The family later moved when mom got a new boyfriend.  I wouldn't be surprised if he's incarcerated right now.

Lance had opportunity and he failed to take advantage of it.  His mom didn't honestly support his improvement or truly partner with the school when issues arose.  However, I believe on some level we need to take some responsibility.  We battered him with homework and projects on a regular basis.  We did this despite knowing that he had no kitchen table at his apartment.  We did this knowing his mother couldn't (or wouldn't) help.  We did this despite knowing his siblings had behavioral problems which would prevent even a motivated student from getting anything done in that environment.  We did this and justified it as 'teaching responsibility' or 'because all the other kids in the class had to.'    We failed to differentiate.  We failed Lance.

Teachers Shouldn't Give Students The Answer Right Away

A colleague of mine who works with special education students recently had a 4th grade male student approach her.  The boy, who is highly autistic, asked, "Mrs. Soandso, do you know what wee-wee is?"

This would be an uncomfortable question for just about any teacher.  With autistic kids, one can't always be sure what they're going to do with the information, how (or when) they might repeat it, etc.  Still, the teacher also wanted to be make sure that the student wasn't involved in some sort of abuse issue.

"Um, well, sweetie, a wee-wee is a body part you have between your legs."

The boys burst into hysterical laughter.

"What are you talking about!?" he shouted still laughing.  "Wee-wee is what French people say!" and he laughed himself blue in the face.

Teachers... they always have their mind in the gutter.... :)

Is This Seat Taken?

It was my first week at a new school.  Counting student teaching, this marked the fourth school I'd been at in six years so change and meeting new people wasn't a big deal for me.  One of the things I always do, particularly as an administrator, is get to work early in order to visit with staff.  This is a people business and building relationships takes focus.  However, this wasn't really work for me because I generally like shooting the breeze with others and, um, telling stories.

Making friends with the ladies in the office was of particular interest to me though.  These under appreciated individuals are so critical to success in every sense. I wanted to make sure they liked me.  Every morning I would go in and sit and talk with them for fifteen minutes or so.  There were two secretaries and a sort of jack-of-all-trades aide who also helped out in the office.  They were all nice ladies, but I also kind of felt that no matter what we were talking about, they were kind of laughing me.

The only thing worse than being laughed at, is being laughed at and not being in on what's funny.  The first thing I usually do in these instances is check my fly.  All good there.

After 4 or 5 days of feeling like the target of light giggles and withheld laughter on the part of these ladies, I confronted the situation.  "Ok, what is so damn funny?!  The three of you have looked like you are about ready to fall apart laughing every time I've been in here since I started. My ties aren't that bad are they?"

They all lost it.  They were laughing so hard none of them could respond.  Finally one of them gathered herself enough to talk.

"It's nothing you've said sir, it's just (pause, wipe eyes of tears, deep breath), when you come in you sit in the chair we put the kids in who have wet their pants."  That just refueled the laughter.  Not sure if any of them wound up needing the chair.  I'm happy to entertain.  :)