Let me start this off by saying that this letter is far from done. What I say to you is far from finished. And quite frankly, my perspective on the pink slips that our employers send us each year changes (sometimes radically) from year to year. That being said, the following is reflective of my perception this year.
I am sorry. Not because you were pink slipped. Not because you are lost in the wide chasm that gapes between four warring entities. And certainly not because you're wading around uncertain about your future in (any) classroom. But I am sorry. I'm sorry that it feels like a personal slap in the face from someone who doesn't value the integrity and tenacity with which you teach. I'm sorry that it seems like it's too hard to put a smile on your face when you have to face other teachers who were spared the same fate that you were dealt. And I'm sorry that we are all pawns in someone else's chess game.
The first year I received my slip, I went home crying. And not just on the day it was delivered. I went home crying a lot. My self worth was in a bottomless pit, continually sinking. I felt that if only they knew how hard I tried to plan awesome lessons, and how much I tried to do for my students that went beyond the call of any normal educator. I wasn't foolish enough to think I was being let go because of my pure skill as an educators- my skills were obviously not up to par after just seven months of being alone in my own classroom. I lamented that I was worth nothing to anyone. That I wasn't going to be able to get another job, if one of the largest districts couldn't afford me. I effectively scarred my husband into thinking that I couldn't handle rejection. In hindsight, I couldn't. Not that year. I had never been fired, or let go, from any job I'd ever held. I had even managed, up to that point, to secure every job for which I'd ever applied.
I went through my days, mostly in a fog of uncertainty, stress, and depression, and poured myself into what I could do to make myself more valuable to the organization that saw me as useless to them. I waited that entire summer, applied for over 60 posts back in the district, and finally got a call in late July for an interview. That one call, the one in which I couldn't even pronounce the school's name correctly, repaired me. It allowed me to feel worth something again.
But if this is how you're feeling right now, stop. A new job is not what it should take for you to feel like a "good teacher" again. It worked for me, unfortunately fortuitously, but it cannot be that way for you. It's unhealthy. You can't take this situation personally. If it was personal, every single one of us would still have a job, and plenty of others would have been forced out of the profession years ago. You are an amazing teacher, with more tenacity than most, because you're still teaching. You're still going, every day, to your school sites and giving up of your entire selves to your students and their needs. Don't let this game that others are playing affect your view of who you are. They do not determine your abilities as a teacher, you do. Your students do. You passions do. People who have never met you, and who haven't set foot in your classroom, and who don't fight for you as much as they fight for others' salaries, insurances, and pensions, do not determine your teacher-ness.
My second year getting a pink slip was hard. As cliche as that sounds, it was hard. I still felt rotten, but I think I was starting to understand that it wasn't personal. I was upset, because I thought that if the parents of my students knew, then maybe they would help. That if other teachers at my site knew, and liked me enough, then they would help. That if anyone who had any more power than a second year teacher knew about me getting a pink slip, they would help. They would tell someone. They would help me, knowing how well I did at my job (yes, started getting more confident in my abilities), that they would tell someone that I was so amazing and then the district would have to keep me. It would be crazy not to! But that didn't happen. I didn't tell my students. I went up until the final days of school, avoiding questions from students about what I was going to teach next year, or whether I could move up to seventh grade with them. At the end, I finally told them that I was one of the teachers that had been let go, but that it "didn't mean anything" because I had come back last year. It was a lie, and it felt like a lie to tell them. But as a teacher, we lie to our students. We protect them from the truth that there are people out there who aren't out there for solely their own good. That there are people who think that their 6th grade English teacher isn't worth keeping around, but basing that on something other than her ability to teach them. Try explaining the logic behind the pink slips to an 11 year old. Needless to say, I made it through. I was recalled and by sheer determination, I returned to the same site for a second year.
My third year getting a pink slip was a rocky year. I'm not saying I was depressed, because I wasn't. I knew it wasn't personal. It wasn't about my teaching. It also wasn't that hard. After several months of not knowing (March-Julyish), longer than the prior years, I had resigned myself to apathy. I let myself think that since I had been "comfortably" recalled in the past, it would happen again. I say comfortably sarcastically- I hope that was clear...I ignored the notice when it was delivered. I spent all summer in crafting heaven. I tried to start an Etsy shop (and failed). I spent way too much money at Michaels for someone who wasn't bringing in a paycheck. I made baby gifts, clothes, pillow covers, jewelry, twisted wire thingys, wine glass charms, and countless other objects that never sold, but kept me occupied.
I avoided the news. I fielded questions about what my status was. While I had attended plenty of board meetings in the spring- mostly for the entertainment value, once I was off my school site, I checked out, thinking that if things were to work out, they would without my interference. And they did, to a certain point. I made it back (again, remarkably) to my same site. This time, I was to move grade levels, since the overage of multiple subject layoffs affected the make up of our middle school. I moved to 8th grade and added another credential on the advice of others wiser than I. Doing so helped me move up the layoff lists and eventually earned
my position back.
This year, my fourth year, its different. Completely. I didn't expect for it to be so different. I'm not sad. I'm not apathetic. I'm not indifferent. What I am is mad. I'm angry. I'm finally embracing the frustration that is completely justified by the actions of my union, of my district, and of my state. But mostly, I'm focusing my anger towards the one entity that could have easily avoided the majority of these pink slips. My union could have spoken up. My union could have sat down and spoken to the district about options. Simply discussing solutions would have have abated some of the frustration that a growing number of teachers in the district are feeling.
I go to school every day and do my absolute best in my classroom. I refuse to allow the actions of a few misguided individuals affect my students' experience with me. I am sick and tired of overly-dramatic emails from the two sides that more closely resemble a playground argument than effective politics. The leadership of the union is the most frustrating of all. It is arguably the worst feeling when the same group that effectively voted you off the island by neglecting to protect you is writing scathing emails blaming everyone else. It was the union that refused to protect ALL its members. It was the union that takes $103 from every member, every month and uses it to pay for politics that this growing number of teachers doesn't agree with. They use our dues to pay
someone over $237K a year who ends up on administrative leave. Great, so someone who makes $40K annually and is fired, year after year, is supporting leaders who aren't supporting them back.
People like Jim Jones, who is the first commenter on
this student's recent letter to the Voice of San Diego, needs to realize that not all teachers are in it for the politics, or the money. That we aren't all lacking tenure, and that we are capable of being people who don't blindly follow the union's rules. But I won't get into a bicker match with a man who clearly doesn't educate himself in empathy. Ah, one of the many reasons I haven't signed up with the Voice to comment yet. It's sure to be a can of worms for someone as wordy as me.
Fellow Pink Slippers, I close this letter for the time being with some words of encouragement. We can be a different kind of force to be reckoned with. We can stand up to the union, to use them the way they should be used. They need to make it a priority to protect ALL members, and not just those with seniority. We can stand up to a system that continually fails our students. We can stand up for ourselves in front of a public that sees us as better-benefit, higher-salary thirsty teachers. We have been painted that way for far too long. We don't care about our pay- if we did, we would be who we are. And I don't say "do what we do," because teaching is not a verb. Teaching is a lifestyle, an identity. We didn't enter it for the money or the health benefits (ha- we work in living petri dishes of influenza for goodness sake!). We do it because it is in our blood.
Let's stop letting other people decide how we think, what we collectively want, and when we're good enough.
Stand up with me and let your union know that not engaging in solution-seeking dialogue is unacceptable.
Stand up with me and be fulfilled in the knowledge that you are worth more than what someone else decides for you.
Stand up with me to ignorance, assumptions, and bullshit bluffing and pressure our leaders to realize that education is more than a talking point on a campaign trail or budget push. Its not just the cliche "future." It is every day for the rest of your life. It is every time you encounter someone who had remarkable abilities but because they couldn't afford a charter or private school education was stifled until all that was left was what the district could offer them: 40 students in an English classroom where worksheets are the norm because the overwhelmed teacher didn't have time to plan something brilliant because she was too busy grading the 240 student essays from a month ago.
Contact me:
Email: jryanteach@gmail.com
