Writer's note: After much thought and consideration, I finally decided to retire at the end of the school year. Below is a column that more or less gives my reasons why. And while I am ending my teaching career, I have several new beginnings I am excited about and will write about later. And, of course, I am hoping this decision will provide more opportunities to devote to blogging… again.
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For years now in my teaching career, I’ve felt like Lucy Ricardo
working on the candy assembly line, but without the benefit of eating all that
chocolate.
It doesn’t help
that our schools tend to look like factories filled with teachers who
fanatically and frenetically try to keep pace in an environment that rewards
uniformity.
Like Lucy, I have found myself
working at warp speed, expected to churn out cookie-cutter children all wrapped
up and ready to go as “lifelong learners,” “productive citizens” or whatever other
education buzzword is trending at the time. This, of course, must occur in a “stimulating
and challenging environment” and be packaged in a neat little box lined with a
“better future.”
At the
educational factory, the operative words are “standards” and “measurements” and
“outcomes” – all topped off with standardized testing to make sure everything
and everyone is properly and uniformly measured. Over the years, I’ve watched
more young teachers than I can count run a white flag up their own standard and
quickly retreat to another profession.
Like Lucy, they’ve said in
so many words: “Listen, Ethel, I think we’re fighting a losing game.”
A few years
ago, I stumbled upon a study cleverly entitled, “The Widget Effect.” The report
showed how administrators and school systems treat teachers, not as individual
professionals, “but rather as interchangeable parts.”
The study
called us “widgets” and predicted that public education would never really
improve until administrators and policymakers quit viewing teachers that way.
Finally, someone was singing my song.
I’m not sure
how this widget thing has become so entrenched in our educational system. It’s
not like it works anywhere else. If someone swapped a Bill Gates or a Warren
Buffett with a mediocre-no-name CEO, the results would be, well, quite
different.
So why do we
think we can swap out the Gloria Shields, the Mary Pulliams and the Dow Tates
of our little educational world with interchangeable widgets and still yield
the same results?
The widget metaphor
has stuck with me like an obnoxious radio jingle. I haven’t been able to shake
it off or ignore it. Instead, it’s made me only that much more defiant. Just
because school feels like a factory, that doesn’t mean I have to act like a
widget.
So I’ve tried
to work harder and smarter, and eventually, that’s meant I’ve also worked
longer hours. I’ve tried to do more, achieve more and be more until I’ve begun
to feel like I belong in that Army recruiting commercial.
I’ve attended
seminars, taught workshops and learned new things to bring to my classroom. I’ve
embraced the latest technology, joined committees, mentored others and blogged
religiously about my trials, tribulations and successes.
Rebelling
against widgetry earns you a certain stature. I’ve been called many things. Some
good, some bad and some that rhyme with what my students call me, Richie. The
worst, though, has come when I’ve been brusquely dismissed as not being a “real
teacher” because, you know, I teach an elective – another word for “pointless”
in widget-speak.
I’ve survived
three school districts, more than a half-dozen superintendents and eight
principals. Every year, I’ve struggled to show that somehow my work matters in my
classroom and my student publications.
No
interchangeable widget here. No sirree, Missy. Not me.
Along the way,
I’ve managed to stay married to one man, raised my own two children, gained
weight, lost weight, battled a kidney disease, watched cancer erase both
parents, walked 60 miles for the Three-Day for the Cure, written a book, championed
the First Amendment and become fearless.
Most
importantly, during that time, I’ve had the privilege of engaging in the
education of hundreds of children, and because of them, I’ve become a better,
stronger person – one who cannot and will not be unceremoniously reduced to a
widget.
And so because
I am too stubborn to succumb to The Widget Effect, this year marks the end of
my career in public education. Twenty-seven years has earned me a graceful exit
rather than a retreat. No white flags here. I may not have prevailed, but I
have endured.
That’s probably
the best outcome anyone could hope for in a broken system waiting to get fixed.
The assembly line may have beaten Lucy, but it didn’t break me.
