An “F” In Teaching

Ok, so, i was talking to my therapist (!) the other day about my “teaching sucks” saga.

and really, when you look at it altogether, its not hard to see why i want to run away screaming.

So, there is a very long very confusing, very whiney story under the cut. good luck.

To really explain this story, we have to travel back in time to high school.

DHS:

So, we are in Disappointment, Georgia, circa 1997. When my dad asks what i want to do after college, i shrug.

“I like kids,” i say, “maybe ill be a teacher, or a day care worker.”

“day care workers get paid crap,” says he. “be a teacher.”

so, i shrug, and think, sure, why not.

so, i sign up for a class called “mentorship,” because its an easy way to skip school for a few hours a day.

i mentor with a prefirst teacher and hate every second. cant deal with 19 little boys.

strike one.

so, second semester, i think, “well hell, that didnt work. now what?”

principal says, “hey, i got a special ed classroom that could use a hand.”

sure, why not?

it was pretty fun. the teacher was nice and very supportive, and as it was a resource room, i had lots of free time between classes.

so, i decide that i want to teach special ed.

PRESBYTERIAN:

Off to college in Nowheresville, SC!

Start off by introducing myself to the SpEd advisor.

“Im so excited to be doing special education. i cant wait to start my main course work.”

advisor says, “thats nice.” then turns around and starts trying to talk to one of my friends about how awesome he would be as a SpEd teacher.

that probably should have been a clue about the problems my advisor and i would one day have…however, i was persistant. i knew this was what i wanted to do, and didnt even consider any other path.

fast forward to junior year. ive always enjoyed my classes, i liked helping with Special Olympics, and i liked it when people looked at me with admiration.

“Wow,” they would say, “i could never do something like that.”

then, something happened.

not sure exactly what, just knew i wasnt sure anymore. maybe it was the experience hours i had to log, where i was sometimes bored. maybe something had exploded in my brain.

but i call up my parents and say, “i dont know if this is what i want to do.”

daddy says, “i’ll only pay for 4 years of school.”

mom says, “just graduate, you dont have to teach if you dont want to.”

I move to Kentucky for a summer, to prove to myself that i can live on my own and actually afford to live while working as a hostess at Olive Garden.

I return to school the next year, and it is MY SENIOR YEAR. please see that written in large jagged scary letters.

My senior year, in one word, SUCKED.

massive stress all the way around. my grandpa died, my long term boyfriend and i were strained, my advisor hated me.

seriously, advisor HATED ME. i went in to ask a question at one point, and instead of giving me leadership or guidance, she looked at me and said, “you know, i know that you are mainly motivated externally. i know! if you dont get this, you will get an F. There! That should help!”

so, im miserable and only still playing because our family does not get less than B’s, thanks much. and because i just want to graduate, dammit.

Now, lets look at Student Teaching, shall we?

I get placed in a pre-school sped situation, down in Greenville, SC, which is 45 minutes away from my school. i have to dress up, drive back and forth everyday, and the teacher had never had a student teacher before.

i became an insomniac. i lost fifteen pounds. i called the Fish everyday and cried.

at the end, my advisor and the teacher i worked with, laughed in my face and said they originally thought i sucked and wouldnt make it.

I graduate (breaking up with the Fish in the process the night before graduation). i move to Colorado with Melisa, as i dont want to go back to Disappointment, and my best friend met a guy and didnt want to move anywhere with me, and Melisa used nepotism to get me a summer teaching job.

JOB 1:
I teach 6 kids, age 4 to 8, at a residential treatment center. my para doesnt follow my instructions, the kids throw things at me, the year teacher might or might not be coming back. i have to plan lessons for all levels and give them all at the same time.

Strike 2.

I move from teaching there to being floor staff, and also substitute teach for one of the houses. i manage almost a year, before the constant being hit in the face and attempts to pull me down the stairs gets to me. i start being really sarcastic and short-tempered. its time to go.

I move from there to a sign language interpreter position in Fort Moron, Colorado. i work with two little kids, a five year old with normal intelligence, and a severe profound kiddo, age 6.

i like it, aside from the hour drive. but it pays crap. especially when you add in the hour long drive there and back everyday.

at the end of the year, they offer me a severe/profound teaching position working several of the kiddos. i think, “extra money” and “i adore Derek, so i can do this.”

Job 2:
I accept, and commit myself to driving to Moron everyday. when i start, i have 7 kids and 3 paras. most of these kids cant talk, walk or feed themselves.

i love the kids. especially Derek, my deaf kiddo.

my paras are another ball game.

one, Deb, has been there since the world began, and “THIS is how we do things here.” we dont exactly get along.

I also dont have enough help. 7 kids in 3 different grades with 4 adults just doesnt work. i make schedule after schedule, and i am promised extra help from the SpEd director of the district.

Principal says, “im sorry, we cant do that” and hands me her schedule. she has written in SEVEN ADDITIONAL STAFF MEMBERS. great, right? WRONG. each of those people is for 15 minutes each. so now i have 7 more people to supervise, while fighting with Deb over whether it is approprite for one of the kids to have a “baby toy,” a telephone that speaks spanish when you press buttons. (yes, it IS, by the way). not to mention, working out normal schedules, working one on one with each and every kid, and making sure we dont get ignored for perfect attendence awards.

i came home everyday and cried.

EVERY. DAY.

brandus begged and pleaded and talked and begged me to quit, because of my health.

in December, only three little months after i started, i told the principal we were moving and came home and cried again.

i felt like a failure. i couldnt teach these kids, i couldnt handle having paras who wouldnt listen, a principal who was evil, or the hour long drive every morning.

Strike 3.

Doesnt that mean Im out?

Nope, we arent done.

Job 4:

Got hired in Cowtown when i was planning on quitting Moron. was panicked and worried about starving, you see.

completely different job. high schoolers. i get to design the program. ran myself ragged for three months, and that kind of worked. only had a few kids in my Transition class, with no para, so couldnt exactly get a kid placed in a job anywhere.

that was ok, my program is brand new.

year two, two kids in transition, got placed in unpaid postions. that was ok too. still flailing a little, but my program is brand new. and the fact i didnt do a couple of IEP meetings and we had to scramble, well, i was distracted by the wedding, and it will never happen again.

year three. went from two kids to twelve in the program. got a para (who i love and cherish, btw), and now things are falling apart.

i have 9 out of 12 kids still sitting and waiting on jobs. its not like they arent doing anything in class, cause they so are, but they dont have jobs.

a kid gets her fingers squeezed so hard “she couldnt use it all weekend!” in my class. and she “screamed, but you didnt hear.”

a kid gets $50 stolen out of her purse in my class. right under my nose.

a social worker calls me, because a child’s parents think she is sitting and doing nothing and its my fault because she doesntt have a job.

i lose an entire IEP. gone. no idea where.

the social worker tells parents to call me. they cancel the meeting.

i play phone tag ALL BY MYSELF, trying to get in touch with the manager of Starbucks to get a kid placed. that was 2 and a half months ago, and i called everyday for over a month.

the Hallmark owner is snotty, and “doesnt think its a good idea to have anyone retarded here. there are lots of breakables here, you know.”

i have NINE KIDS not placed. I have a Career Exploration class that is court ordered to attend school.

and its not a new program anymore.

What strike are we on?

im frustrated and tired, and i feel stupid. stuck and stupid. i start to fall apart on Sunday nights, because i cant deal with yet another monday. i cried all morning one Monday i had off, for no reason.

im taking Masters classes, that Daddy is paying for, and i only have 5 classes left. im involved in a grant program that is focused on transition. i have one class left, and its a doozy. i then owe Colorado two years of my life to pay it back.

And i dont want to be here anymore.

if you actually read through that whole thing, award yourself a billion points. you are the winner of life.