I worked for the same school
district for my entire thirty year career. The younger teachers I know who
joined the district during this last ten years often asked how I survived in
such a hostile environment, and I found myself explaining over and over again
that the district had grown into dysfunction only after we’d gone through a
string of narcissistic superintendents concerned more with their personal
agendas than with education.
I told these teachers about the
extended family that wove throughout our schools. Husbands and wives, brothers
and sisters, parents and children all became partners in educating every child.
Our high school won national recognition as a Blue Ribbon campus one year, and
became a New American High School in 2000. Our pride extended beyond the
football field or basketball court, and the faculty and staff from all of our
campuses had a hand in creating a thriving learning environment. We had core
educators who mentored new teachers because they cared.
I described to these newer teachers
how our leadership trusted the campus principals to make choices that would
benefit the entire learning community. They did not micro-manage. Our
principals were given freedom to pull their teachers into the decision making
process. Imagine having input over every element of your curriculum! If I
needed something to make me a better teacher, I knew I could walk into all of
those open administrative doors and simply ask. I couldn’t always get what I
wanted, but I know they tried to keep me happy. Because the emotional health of
teachers can make or break a school.
Through the majority of my years in
education, I had the good fortune to work with the same core administrators and
faculty. And although there may have been disagreements, those squabbles never
caused permanent rifts. And “the powers that be” didn’t play god and shuffle administration
and faculty around from campus to campus when there were problems. Everyone
stayed put and figured out a way through those difficulties. We worked together
(sometimes tirelessly).
We were family.
We celebrated weddings, births and
adoptions. We applauded at graduations and performances. We cheered each other
up on the bad days, and rejoiced with one another on the good years.
We were family.
We cried over broken hearts, scraped
knees, and lost dreams. We mourned together, too.
Our losses began slowly. But those
wonderful educators who dedicated their lives to making me a better teacher are now in their seventies and eighties.
Yesterday, my extended family lost
another member. My heart aches for her family; her husband who reminded me to
make my day a good one, her children who sat in our classrooms, and contributed
to our district as adults. I grieve because other educators will never benefit
from this dynamic woman’s advice and encouragement. And I’m saddened for I fear
that the problems within our educational system exist because the bonds among faculties
no longer grow into strong ties that pull teachers permanently into each other’s
lives. There is no family.
Copyright 2014 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
