Three Months Off

The idea for this piece came from an email chain letter I received about 10 years ago. This is my version of that chain letter and I assure you all of the events here are true and happened to me during my teaching career.

Once while having lunch with friends, I mentioned grading a mountain of essays and tests over a weekend. Like a Greek chorus, they said, “Yeah, but you get three months off.” The chorus continued as they reminded me of my Christmas, Thanksgiving and Easter breaks.

Yes, I had summer vacation, but not exactly three months. And yes, my Christmas, Thanksgiving and Easter vacation lasted a day or two longer than theirs did. But, I implored, let me tell you what I did for 10 and a half months of the year.

I taught high school English and Journalism. I was the head of the High School English Department and sponsor of the school newspaper. I was a member of the Student Assistance Team that identified, referred and counseled high-risk students. ("High risk" relates to concerns about drugs, alcohol, depression, anger, eating disorders, phobias, gender identification, isolation and mental health issues, to name a few.)

I was in charge of the English Department’s curriculum review process and yearly budget and I served on the Library Evaluation Committee for a number of years. Twice I was on the Middle States Evaluation team that prepared all aspects of the  school for scrutiny by other educators across the state.

Over the years I was sophomore class sponsor, junior class sponsor, forensics coach and play director. I loved my job and I loved all my students. I was lucky to work in a school district with supportive administrators and a staff who felt the same as I did about teaching.

I woke up every day looking forward to nine periods of excitement. Each day was different and there was never a dull moment. My students were smart and funny, passionate and challenging, and they kept me on my toes. They were my own little Alzheimer's prevention corps, forcing me to use my brain to keep those electrical charges zapping across miles of synapses every day.

BUT, on a normal day, in a normal week, here’s what I did. This is all true.

I'd arrive at 6:15 a.m. for a parent conference carrying the 150 essays and tests I spent four hours grading the night before. I reviewed daily lessons for two general English classes, two honors English classes, and two Journalism classes while I made 100 copies of 11 handouts and on the way back to the English office I could break up a scuffle in the hall wondering if I should get my latex gloves in case there was blood.

I'd make sure my computer grade book was up to date by entering four classes of quiz grades so I could export that information for weekly sports eligibility. I'd fill out three Individual Education Plans (IEPs) for identified students, and update the Learning Support department on their mainstreamed students in my classes.

I'd email or call three parents and leave messages that would be deleted when the kids came home and discovered the English teacher’s voice on the answering machine or email address on the computer. I'd finish writing two college recommendations and figure out a way to teach the end of Romeo and Juliet without mentioning the word suicide.

I'd meet with the editors of the school paper, the students organizing the clothing drive for the homeless, the junior class officers and on the way to the English office have a chat with a student about her college entrance essay.

I'd remember to practice random acts of kindness, and try to figure out a way to make adverb clauses fun. I'd check out the girls' lav for smokers or cell phone use, the secret hallway for makeout sessions and talk to the student wearing the “Big Johnson” T-shirt about violating the dress code. By this time it would be 7 a.m.

Just before leaving the office for first period at 7:15 a.m. I'd make a mental plan for a department meeting after school focusing on the new state standards for public education, send the day's lesson to my student in the detention room, send three weeks of lessons to my student receiving homebound instruction, make a note to remind students about field trip money, yearbook deadline, class ring orders, senior picture schedules, musical auditions, prom tickets, eye exams, sports physicals, the test tomorrow, and homework tonight. 

In addition I'd inform a starting lineman on the football team that he would be ineligible for the football game if he didn't finish writing his original Shakespearean sonnet.

In my classroom at 7:20 a.m. I was to maintain a warm and caring environment, be a paragon of virtue and a positive role model. No second chances for me if I got caught driving under the influence, having an affair, or dealing drugs. No signing bonus, no overtime, no stock options, no profit sharing, no travel allowance, no company car, no expense accounts or business lunches. I did, however, have a free pass to all athletic events, band and choral concerts, musicals, class plays and graduations, which I was encouraged to attend.

During the day, it was also expected that I checked for signs of abuse, depression, drugs and eating disorders. I'd have to be on the lookout for weapons, bombs, harassment or antisocial behavior. If I failed to report any of these behaviors I could be arrested.

I was to instill in my students a love of learning, a desire to excel, a zest for life, positive self-esteem and respect for the law. I was to prepare them for the 21st century, but teach with a “back to basics” philosophy.

I had to add to my certification every five years with at least 30 credits in my field at my own expense and update the English curriculum on my own time.

As a member of the Student Assistance Team, I continued my education on the drug culture and language, awareness of troubled teens, and laws pertaining to both. I needed to be computer literate, integrating technology into my lessons and checking all websites for offensive material.

All my grades needed be updated daily, sometimes hourly, on my computer grade book so parents could check their child's grade from their computer at home making sure all homework has been turned in and there was an A on all tests. If something was amiss, I could get an email, a call or an unannounced visit on the same day.

Summers were spent taking classes, attending workshops on adolescent behavior and reviewing, updating and revising the curriculum.

Thousands of other teachers do this and more every day, some with a starting salary just above the poverty level.

Those few extra days off in the summer allow teachers, who spend eight hours a day with your children, to refuel, renew, rest and learn. Hopefully, by the time school resumes around the end of August, teachers are ready and eager to begin again.