the story of how one week can feel like a lifetime

Walking back into my classroom after my observation Monday was heaven. Plus, I had the new-found sense that nothing in the classroom is magic. It's just instruction -- thoughtfully planned and well-executed. In other words, even though I am not doing it, I can do it.

Tuesday I went to a "class." A block of time wherein somebody who could help to develop me as a teacher actually just sits at her desk and eats her dinner as twenty or so new teachers attempt to summarize the chapter of the week to each other as quickly and efficiently as possible. Yes, we usually get out early. And, no, I don't have to do any heavy lifting. Here's the problem: I ACTUALLY WANT TO LEARN. And more than that, I need to learn. Does anyone else see the irony in poorly educating urban teachers?

Wednesday during a grade-level meeting an administrator looked me in the eye and told me he didn't care if I quit. Later that day, his favorite teacher did. That makes five teachers since Christmas.

Thursday, I caught J spread-eagle on the floor in the hallway during dismissal. Worse things could happen, but I was still not pleased by her linoleum snow-angel attempt. I told her to take her name off of her locker and throw it out. She is now keeping her backpack and coat in the classroom for the time being. Why, why can't I  reach her?

And Friday I went out with my school family. The people who have stayed since the beginning, who for one reason or another have weathered six months (or more) at our school. I am simultaneously comforted by their presence and our collective strength, yet haunted by the closeness of June and their likely departure.