Page 64 of One More Chapter
“You mean form a behavior committee?” I ask, palms already itching to have something under my belt. Something that will do good.
“Absolutely. I’ll leave you and Lucy in charge of it. Hopefully this will clear up some of the time that we spend disciplining behaviors. You might even get back into the classroom sometime this semester.”
Nate grins, but his comment reminds me of the conversation I had with Penelope.
“While we’re on the subject… We need to come up with a way for me to be in the classroom morebeforewe tackle this project.”
A project that will probably pull me awaymoreoften, at that.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m supposed to be filling in as apart-timeadministrator, but the district has made no moves to hire anyone yet, since Rita’s maternity leave is supposed to end soon. I’m pulling almost the full duty, which leaves Penelope hanging more often than not, and it isn’t fair to her. She doesn’t deserve to have double the kids with no support.”
“Look, Anthony, my hands are tied. I can’t do anything more than push the application and see if they’ve conducted any interviews. Penelope is one of our strongest teachers. If anyone can handle the extra load, it’s her.”
He folds his hands on his desktop. I can see the apology in his eyes. Nate’s a pretty by-the-book guy. He’d do something if he could, but I won’t stand for not trying.
“That isn’t fair, though. I’m sure there are plenty of others who could ‘handle the extra load,’ but we’re only making her take it on? No. Sorry, boss man, but either someone else needs to help out with the administrative tasks, or we need to pull in an extra set of hands to be in that classroom with her. I’m not worried about me—I can handle the chaos. What I can’t handle is the inequity of Pen not getting support with almost forty kids in her classroom all day.”
I don’t usually silence people, but Nate and Lucy both stare at me wide-eyed, and I immediately start to apologize. Nate waves his hands between us.
“No. No, you’re right. I apologize. It is unfair. I’ll see what I can do.”
Lucy and I make a game plan to get a meeting for the behavior committee organized and head out. Nathan’s office is connected to the main office, so we wind our way past the front desk, through the teacher mailroom, and into the lounge where several teachers are having lunch. Before we part ways, Lucy grabs me by the bicep.
“Hey. This stuff isamazing. I’m sorry your other colleagues weren’t as passionate about it as you clearly are. You’re in the right place, Ant. Keep doing what you’re doing and we may have to steal you from Meadow Ridge at the end of the year.”
My chest tightens with an unknown feeling.Pride.
I felt it back in my first school, when our committee built like Legos from the ground up beneath my hands. So often inmy childhood, I was just the screwy kid. The one who couldn’t control his impulses.
“Ant in the Pant,” as my mother so affectionally called me.
Here, I beam. Something I don’t get to do very often.
“Thank you,” I nod, shoving my hands in my pockets.
“And, hey. Standing up for Penelope like that? That was pretty cool.”
She tilts her head, gives me a sly smile, and heads out.
I stand there dumbfounded, chest glowing with confidence, not quite sure what to do with it all.
twenty-four
penelope
One of theabsolute stupidest practices in education history is the formal observation. It’s just a bunch of boxes that administration has to check off, but at this point, we all know we’re playing a game. And if weallknow it’s a game, why do we even have to play it?
Principal schedules observation. Teacher plans a softball lesson with their best class, and asks softball questions to their top students. If the kids behave, they all get candy or a free day on Friday. It’s a waste of time, especially when there are three different meetings involved in the process. I’m not sure why the superintendent insisted that Nathan still follow through with all of the teacher evals this year when our building is a literal clusterfuck, but here I sit, in his office, fifteen minutes before my observation, because that’s when he could squeeze me in. Ant is running the class until we’re finished, at which point,hewill take over for Nathan while I teach my students how to prove congruency of two figures.
“What strengths do you possess that you believe will make the lesson successful?” Nathan asks, reading from the script on his computer screen. He types in my cookie-cutter answer, thesame one I’ve used every year since I started teaching, tweaking bit by bit to be what they want to hear.
We continue on like this: I answer, he types, and then he falls back in his chair and grunts.
“Sorry. I know this all sounds so formulaic.”
“Not your fault,” I shrug.