Originally posted: Sunday, August 5, 2007 7:44am
Normally, I preface my blogs with some diplomatic preamble disclaimer so that the following material may be set in the context of a loving, open heart that needs merely to express the short-sighted view of her limited and confused perspective on this world of ours. In this case, I will only preface the following to say that I LOVE my job, truly feel I have been called to my chosen profession of teaching, and would rather drive toothpicks under my nails than sit in a cubicle all day with a phone in one hand and a calculator in the other.
About 70 days ago I remember feeling a tinge of embarrassment when I responded "Nothing" to the frequent question, "What are you doing this summer?" My answer did not carry with it any inherent shame, as I am no stranger to unabashed loafing (an inherited family trait, I am almost positive). The person asking the question, however, would almost always accost me with a furrowed brow of disapprobation, as if remarking in his or her head, "Hmmm, she looks like a decent, upstanding member of this community, but I suppose I've been fooled all along." With painful reluctance I would hear instead, "Oh. . .well. . .yeah, I guess you deserve the break!"
You bet your ass I deserve the break. If any of my readers are teachers, this all goes without saying--so, this is for the rest of you who think that you've got a bum deal because you work your tail end to a bloody pulp every day and have to beg your employer for two days of vacation time put together, while the teachers of this world (while, okay, maybe not paid quite as much as they should be) total a minimum of 85 vacation days (not including weekends, mind you!). Why that's 17 work weeks, you say, that's four months out of the year those teachers aren't working!! (It actually turns out to be more like four and a quarter, I think). It's right about now where the cynically minded snigger just loud enough to be audible, "No wonder our kids don't learn nothin' these days."
So, as my vacation days wind down--and they have been lazy days, my friends, I will attempt to illustrate for you the beloved occupation that demands such extensive "break" time and why back-to-school sales always carry with them a slight feeling of dread and mourning for the expiring summer.
I heard once that teaching is among the top five most stressful jobs because of all of the decision making involved. The decisions may not carry the heavy weight of those of say, a brain surgeon, a military commander, or the President (and I mean whoever makes the decisions for the President, of course), but in sheer volume equate nearly to the amount an air traffic controller makes throughout a single day. In fact, a traffic controller's job differs only slightly in the details from that of a teacher:
"Controllers are often responsible for several aircraft (read classes) simultaneously. The number of craft varies with size of airport, time of day and weather (read location). Controllers must be able to work under extreme pressure, often without a break, for up to four hours at a stretch. They must be able to visualize the whole traffic picture, establish priorities, and think clearly in emergencies. They must have a good memory, and be able to listen to morethan one pilot (read student) at a time. The pace is often hurried and controllers must make quick and accurate decisions. Any indecision or delay could contribute to a catastrophic loss of lives and property (read self-esteem, GPA, college admissions, intellectual curiosity, etc., etc.)."
These people are REQUIRED to take breaks every few hours where they are ushered into a little room to be completely alone and make absolutely no decisions whatsoever. There is usually a television with only one channel (lest they have to decide what to watch). They are also REQUIRED to retire at age 56 because of the level of concentration the job requires. But, therein, I digress.
For someone like me, a middle child with virtually no authoritative weight in the family structure, I got used to not having to make decisions. I have always been very content to follow along and only "jump ship" when absolutely necessary--usually without warning anyone that I'm about to do so. Teaching does not allow me the luxury of passive observation. In my classroom, I am the decision maker (meaning I make them and I create them) and any decision that comes from without is only being made within the pre-fabricated decision possibilities I have constructed. Among other things, this job has a great capacity to breed control freaks out of otherwise very easy going people.
For the past five years, most days kick off about 4:45am. This is when I actually get out of bed, the alarm has generally been sounding off and on for the past thirty minutes. I am a HUGE "snoozer." In the shower I am beginning to visualize the day. Usually having some plan about the daily lesson (based in what we did the day before), I start considering what needs to be read, copied, graded, and assigned for the lesson to tie into what we've been doing and what we'll be doing later. Do I have what needs to be read? Where is it? If not, where am I going to get it? Would another reading work better? If so, where is it? etc. Do I have what needs to be copied? Where is it? . . . Should I be creating something new for this or rely on what I've already made? If the former, when am I going to create it? Have I graded everything that needs to be graded in order to proceed? If not, when am I going to get things graded (this line of decision making ties heavily into lesson planning because perhaps there is a thirty minute "laissez-faire" activity in which I can get it done during class itself). This "grading" question really only applies to quick, objective quizzes that require no further decision making. I'll get to essays in a minute. What am I going to assign today to make sure they invest in the lesson? Is the assignment worth their time? Is it worth the time it's going to take to grade it? Should I rely on a pre-made assignment or come up with a new one? If the former, do I know where it is? If the latter, when am I going to create it? Then, dear hearts, I get out of the shower.
I review, reverse, reconsider, resist, renew, reorder this line of questioning throughout my morning activities of making coffee, flossing, brushing my teeth, drying my hair, getting dressed (which requires a microcosm of decision-making, of course), applying the teeny bit of makeup I wear, and driving to school.
I generally get to school before the sun has even begun to peep his sleepy head above the horizon--about 6am. From here on until the last bell rings, there is a constant barrage of decisions to be made, all sprouting their own offspring that (with enough care and nurturing) will grow into adult-size, anxiety-ridden, receding hairline and pop belly decisions in due time. These consist of picking material, deciding what's "important" and/or relevant from the material, teaching material, assigning material, and grading material (each having a bevy of decisions in their own right).
Which brings me for a minute to the last of these categories. Every year a benevolent-minded counselor assigns a teaching assistant to me, presumably to lighten my grading load--and I don't care what this statement kicks up--NO ONE grades like an English teacher grades. The math, science and language department can cry their "partial credit" sob story all they want--at the end of the day, the answer is either right or wrong--end of story. Every year I inevitably meet the wide-eyed lass (it's always a girl for some reason) and break the news to her that I can't use her. IF I give an objective vocabulary or reading quiz, we grade them right there in class--as part of the pre-lesson that day. And I'm quite sure I would be fired if I handed over even part of the bottomless essay stack for a 16-year-old to grade. Only on a very rare occasion have I assigned some creative visual component, in which case I don't see how my subjective assessment of art is better than anyone else's, thus my TA has a rare job to do: "Here--rate these on a 1-10 scale, and don't give anyone anything less than an 8."
Analytical, expository essays, the bulk of my grading load, is the beast with which I (and any other English teacher I know) wrestle every year. It takes me, on average, 25 minutes to grade ONE essay. Multiply that times 130 (for each student), and then multiply that times 6 (for each essay assigned). Having difficulty? Let me help you--that's approximately 19,500 minutes of essay grading (luckily, not every student turns in every assignment!)--that's 325 hours, you say, that's thirteen and a half straight days of reading and marking up papers. If only I could compute the amount of decisions that goes into that 25-minute period with regard to main argument (thesis) content and structure, introduction funneling, topic sentence (claim) content and structure, evidence (data) content and incorporation, commentary (warrant) content and structure, reverse-funneling conclusion, to say nothing of grammar, mechanics, and formatting. It is not only safe but accurate to say that I spend more time thinking about some essays than it took to write them in the first place.
I do it to myself, you say? Be quicker about it, you say? Don't care so much, you say? They're friggin' high school student essays, you say? It's all true, but it doesn't matter. Because if I didn't take that time, I wouldn't ever really read the essays. They're not good. They're never good. Some are more surprisingly insightful than others, and that's about it. I HAVE to take that much time, or I wouldn't take any at all. And some small part of me thinks that even though the kids hope and pray with every essay submission that I would just lighten the hell up--some small part of them appreciates the fact that I care more about their essays than they do.
And this essay grading takes place somewhere between the end-of-school bell and 4:15am when my alarm first sounds (and I then beat it into submission with the accessible because overwhelmingly-sized snooze button.) It's perhaps no wonder that I have not yet been blessed with the pitter-patter of little feet in my life. I clock about 14 hours a day of work time, on average, and work about 40 weeks a year. If I were paid $15 an hour (a reasonable wage for rearing and expanding the minds of our nation's youth), I would earn approximately $42,000 (before taxes)--a seasoned teacher's salary by most state standards (though unliveable in the bay area, of course). But, I digress yet again. That doesn't leave much time for cooking for, cleaning up after, playing with, and tucking in children--unless it's around Christmas, spring break, or summer (haha!). I will have to make adjustments eventually--start bribing and blackmailing TAs to keep their adolescent traps shut about grading essays, I guess.
So, no--I'm not quite ready for the bonanza that is "Back to School"--and neither is my subconscious, evidently, judging from the dreams I've been having lately (see "A Teacher's Nightmare" in The Starbucks Chronicles). The break from decision making has been necessary and wonderful. I've been burdened only with choosing my next pleasure read and MySpace profile song. The time is now upon me to sink back into The Grapes of Wrath (sophomore summer reading--a decision made at the end of the year) and decide which passages to propound, whether to make a new Depression Era powerpoint or stick with the old one I've grown detached from after three years of using it, whether or not I'm finally going to tweak that beast of a test to cut down on the grading load, or keep it as it is to effectively set the tone of an "honest-to-God honors level class" (if the former, what to cut out? what to leave in? add more?), decide what activities we'll do on the first few days of school, how much time to allot, how to assess their engagement with the material, how to smile (not too big, not at the beginning of the year!), how to dress, how to decorate the room (finding a keen balance between fun and professional, as well as functional and not too babyish), how to. . ., how to. . ., how to. . ., how to. . .
So long Summer, you've been good to me.
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