Susan Fedor/00-01/Diary Entry16

Entry # 16:
A Kaleidoscope of Spring
and Metamorphosis

Spring has sprung. I know this not just from looking at the prolific pansies lining the walkways, but more by the bulging lost-and-found bin, running over with discarded and forgotten winter coats and sweatshirts. The recent days have been hectic, random, and end with "to do" lists intact and mostly untouched.

The days resemble stream of consciousnesses rather than the ordered life of the principal I once believed I would have. My hope is that a coherent theme emerges both in this reflection and in life.

On this last day of school before spring break, contracts go out. I believe that with the unsettled days we have all had recently, many will remain unsigned on desks until teachers return from the holiday. Rest is a restorative, I hope. I expect that teachers and all the rest of the staff will return with renewed energy and enthusiasm to finish the final 30 days of school. That timeline is the one I have laid out for students in their "Last Chance" conferences -- students one infraction away from being recommended for expulsion.

A pep rally, an effort of will, and an arson investigation

We ended the day, one spent entirely investigating the four fires set yesterday, with a pep rally for our Teacher of the Year who is in the final five in the state. The winner will be announced tomorrow night. We serve jelly beans and lemonade, and the former cheerleaders among us lead perfectly silly cheers while our honoree sits in a chair on top of a table, a makeshift throne, nerves easing a bit at the sight of our antics. A truer middle school event, there never was.

It is now nearly 6 p.m. and the break officially began at 2:45 p.m. Everyone is gone except for a student and me. Here we sit. He is a personal project. He types. I type. He works on his research project, which he assured me was already complete. He would have shown it to me this morning as promised if only he had not left it at home. My stubborn streak emerges, and I tell him I plan to be here as long as it takes for him to finish his work. He works. I work. Side by side in silence except for the clicking of the computer keys. Maybe by sheer will I can cause him to finish this one project he has spent so much time avoiding.

I reflect on the four bathroom fires that were set yesterday which resulted in two days of unscheduled activity: following up on leads and student tips. Minutes before the dismissal bell was to ring, we have two credible witnesses, two credible alibis, and no concrete finding. Race cards continue to be played. In the final round of questioning, the most likely culprit responds when confronted with the evidence, "I'll bet you only asked white boys." To which we are able to respond, "Actually, the witnesses were your buddies, black like you." He is unconvinced.

Thinking these hours of investigation a colossal waste of time, I struggle to find some meaning in this fruitless pursuit. Perhaps the significance was the assurance to the students that we were serious in our search, following up on every lead and tracking down every rumor. We make a good faith effort to hear what the students say and validate their contribution to helping us find who among them has been at fault.

We want an orderly school, so inevitably we end up in the role of detectives and avengers. The students appear to be reassured that all is well and fortunately, the fires ceased today. Still, we feel like the Keystone Cops.

The need for recognition - of any kind - runs deep

We began the day with our team awards ceremonies and I understand again that students will make sure their needs are met. The need for recognition runs deep in the soul of a middle schooler. Maslow knew. So there are those waving their certificates today and there were those yesterday boasting that everyone "thought I did it," referring to being among our arson suspects with something that looked unnervingly like pride.

I encounter a teacher muttering under her breath over and over, "Tara, you are a lucky girl." Normally, this teacher has the advanced math students, but on this particular day, she is teaching students who are disqualified from attending a field trip. This is not a random group; they have earned their place. She thinks for the first time ever, "I am not in control," a comfortable state she has accepted in the past as routine in her classroom. She is shocked and unnerved with this understanding. She bargains in ways she does not expect of herself: "If you will work for 45 minutes, I'll let you play games for the rest of the block." Maybe I have overlooked an opportunity for professional growth -- cross-cultural experiences under our own roof.

I think that I have pursued a career in education because it is the path most closely aligned with the eternal verities and most immune to the politics of the time. But this could not be more wrong.

Late night at the school board meeting, we defend our budget requests. The board takes in information about each new item on the list. I ask for funds to replace old library books. No money was given to us when we became a 6th grade school to update our book collection. In the thirty years of the school, our library has served varied combinations of grades from sixth through ninth and the bookshelves show it.

I select seven perfectly awful books: Modern China (1968); The Secretary's Guide (1937); Computers (1980). Each one is wrapped beautifully, a tempting gift. The bookplate in each reads: "In appreciation from our students for your assistance in giving us books we want to read." One is placed by each Board member's nameplate. I ask them to open their presents and the board members laugh and good humor resounds in a process that continues until 11:30 PM. The real battle is in two weeks.

"It's like frenzy"

Spring metamorphosis: I received the flyer my sister, a retiring principal, prepared for her faculty. She put on a combination silent auction in preparation for her retirement in June. Nancy has been a middle and elementary school principal during her 30-year career. On the auction block were 50 pairs of shoes (holiday, book themes, apples), 15 Christmas sweaters; 10 jumpers; and 200 other school related items of clothing. Proceeds will be donated to her media center.

Students growing out of their shorts purchased when they were six inches shorter and several hormone levels lower last fall. Somehow their parents must not have noticed. We have to rev up the monitoring of the dress code. And where are those hand-holders coming from? This was a group of students strictly segregated by gender and now they are actually looking at one another with unmistakable interest. Love is in the air. I find this poem a boy has written in his language arts class:

"I don't understand
Why girls make us so crazy.
It's like frenzy.
They make me go haywire.
I wish one were mine."

This poet was the one with the Pokomon cards last fall. And now, when that Brittany Spears Pepsi commercial comes on Channel One, I find it is not just Bob Dole who is affected.

The power of our example is that you cannot know what power that might be. I read to a class and all the while a student was furiously writing. I thought that I was being reasonably captivating in my presentation, but here was one student untouched. However, when I was ready to leave, she thrust a note in my hand which read: "Dear Dr. Feedor (sic), Thank you for reading to us. I think that the books you are reading at home sound very interesting. I would like to read them, I love your silver hair bow. Love, Ashley."

Hold tight

Curriculum and instruction issues seem a remote mirage. But I work with two teachers on revising the rubric for the final part of our research project, the oral presentation. We reconcile the rubric written last summer with the actual instructional program this year in language arts and in the drama elective. There seems no point in going over three varied evaluation criteria when we can merge all three into one. Then, students encounter the same standard in three different instructional settings during the school year.

When we return from the break, the teachers and I will present to the faculty the basic elements of effective speaking that will be used to evaluate the oral presentations. All teachers regardless of their discipline will be responsible for evaluating the oral presentation. We hope that this will establish the standard that some skills need integration across the curriculum. I wonder if it will be a hard sell.

Now the theme emerges. School is just another setting for change, which is the only constant in nature, in life. Is it the exception to the non-routine, the anomaly?, that captures my attention? Is it a lack of imagination or is it a profound sense of place, the rightness of it, that holds me?

I wonder why there is little lure of work in other settings. I think that coherence comes only in the long rear view of life. Sense comes from retrospect. Day to day, we hold tight to what we know and trust that this will be enough.

Entry # 16: A Kaleidoscope of Spring and Metamorphosis

Entry # 16:
A Kaleidoscope of Spring
and Metamorphosis