WHY I TEACH-Part 21: The End of Year One

I sat in the back at the final faculty meeting of the year. Happily, I could report that zero percent of my students had been arrested. Zero had gotten expelled. Zero had even gotten a real detention.

The last part of the meeting was the teacher awards, as voted on by students. As a first year teacher, I had little hope of winning anything, yet, when they announced my name as the “Easiest Teacher,” my face turned bright red. I humbly, humiliatingly walked to the front of the room to accept my framed award. The devil smirked from her perch on the left side of the room.

I could feel all eyes on me, the failure, the one who, what? The one who loved her students and did everything in her power to help them succeed? I threw my shoulders back, accepted the award, held it high above my head, and said, “Whoo-hoo!” The group did a lackluster sort of clap. This really isn’t saying much as the “Best Teacher” received the same applause.

Still, I didn’t want to be the “Easiest Teacher.” I wanted to be the “Best Teacher.” I returned to my classroom and scoured the internet for summer courses to become a better teacher. There were many. However, one really caught my attention. It harped on forming relationships with kids, letting them know you care. Touting the tagline: “Kids don’t care how much you learn until they know how much you care.” That resonated with me. I just didn't know how to do that and actually teach. So I signed up for a three-day course at the beach, figuring Stuart could come with me.

Day 1 of the conference I learned there were three types of teachers:

• Authoritarian—my way or the highway—definitely the devil.

• Authoritative—where teacher and students work together to have a great learning experience, where kids and teachers feel heard and valued—Mr. B.without a doubt.

• Permissive—kids rule—me. I was too nice, I bent over backward and sideways and while I thought the kids liked me, I think they thought of me more as a friend and less as a teacher.

I wanted to be the teacher who helped them be the best person they could be.

Day 2 of the conference, I learned I was doing a lot of things right. It renewed my faith in myself. Yes, my administration might suck, but that didn’t have to translate into a subpar education. I made a list of things I could do to help give my students the best possible learning experience.

The end of Day 3 was spent lounging on the beach with Stuart. Oh, how I love that man.

The summer days flew by and the notice for the preplanning schedule popped into my inbox.

“I would like to purchase textbooks for my classes,” I told Mr. Myers on the first day of preplanning.

“Textbook adoption isn’t this year.”

“Undoubtedly, but still, I would like to purchase used textbooks for my classroom,” I countered.

“You can’t do that,” he said, not even looking up from his computer.

“I can’t buy textbooks with my own money, for my classroom, with my own money?” I had to say it twice to emphasize it was my own freaking money.

“No, that wouldn’t be fair to the students who take that class after you are no longer here.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m assuming you would take the textbooks with you when you leave,” he said, glancing up from his computer.

My face made a funny sort of distorted expression of not comprehending what he had said.

“Are you planning on leaving the textbooks with the school after you leave?”

“I wasn’t planning on leaving,” I replied.

Mr. Myers frowned and waited.

“Yes, I’ll donate the books to the school if I leave.”

“Very good, then you can buy the books.” His attention returned to his computer screen.

“Um, just so you know, I was just letting you know about the textbooks, so you wouldn’t have to worry about the students not having them. I wasn’t asking permission.”

His face soured. “Anything else?”

“Not at the moment.”

He shooed me away with his hand.

I checked “textbooks” off my list and headed to the accounting office.

“What do you mean the account is empty?”

“It’s a new year, the accounts empty each year,” the school accountant said.

“No, I asked you to set this up as an account that rolls over,” I protested. “I have an email trail that says you did just that.”

She typed something into her computer. “It looks like Mr. Myers requested that the account be converted back in July.”

“I’m sorry, what? How is that possible?”

“Well, he is the principal,” she said. “I’m sorry there’s nothing I can do.”

I stomped all the way back to Mr. Myers’ office. “You stole from me.”

Mr. Myers looked up from his computer and smiled.

“You changed my FBLA account and stole my money.”

“All club accounts are set up to clear out at the beginning of the year,” he said dryly.

“That account had over $3,000 in it—money we earned.”

“Yes, and you didn’t spend it last year.”

“But I talked to you specifically about setting up the account to roll over to next year to cover fees and conferences.”

“Did you get anything in writing?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“And by the way, the football team and cheerleaders have signed up for every event at the stadium this year.”

That slapped me hard. I staggered back.

He smiled. The sick bastard smiled.

I turned, left, and walked quickly to Mr. B’s room. I closed the door to the soundproof room and screamed and screamed. The new school year was starting with a bang.