Confessions of a Grad School Dropout

Last week, I had to resist the temptation to tweet "I just dropped out of grad school. #AMA"

I understand your cause for concern, whether or not you knew beforehand that I was in grad school. I hadn't told that many people, mostly just my family and close friends, but I was also going into this with some trepidation. This was a moment of self-actualization, without a doubt, but it was also a conflict of want versus need.

In the end, I found myself asking the same question I posed when I first started the paperwork last summer: do I really want to be a teacher?  I had expressed doubts to my adviser, but I was encouraged to soldier on. I earned A's in both of my courses first semester, but the effort felt oddly hollow. Three weeks into my second semester, and after nearly six months on the fence, I finally took a side.

In my mind, the concept of being a teacher was more entertaining than what reality presented. I underestimated the level of bureaucracy involved, and I didn't put into consideration the hours in the day that are necessary to prepare. I spent a lot of time thinking about fun activities in class, but not necessarily the educational substance of the course or adhering to a rigid curriculum. On a more personal level, I also didn't want to sacrifice performing.

So what's next? I started a temp job in mid-December that I really like, and I hope that it eventually becomes a permenant position. After a rough first semester, I'm taking a breather from substitute teaching. I would still like to move back to Chicago city limits at some point before year's end, after an extended delay. Above all, I want to focus on my art and work towards my "big" 2017 resolution of consolidating and simplifying my life. I'm a little disappointed in myself, but at the same time I feel like a burden has been taken off my shoulders.

(542)

The Lesson for Today

Even though I seldom mention this --other than when I'm rambling on about retirement pensions-- I'm a substitute teacher.  I just finished my second year at the district one town over, where I "teach" English and history at the middle and high school level. I've had a sub license in DuPage County since 2008, after a brief dalliance I didn't really depend upon teaching until after losing my job at Salem two-plus years ago.

One of the most challenging aspects of being a sub is the lack of training. Unless you have a full teaching degree, you're not necessarily prepared for dealing with a classroom of disaffected teenagers.  I went into teaching fully knowing I was going to be challenged, so in a lot of ways I'm learning on the job. Unfortunately, I had an experience several weeks ago that exposed my lack of attestation, and potentially hurt my credibility.

It was the last Friday of the 2011-12 school year.  In this district the seniors neither take finals nor prep for them, so they get to sit out the last week before graduation.  Even though the high school was only three-quarters full, the staff and faculty still ran on all cylinders. At 6:05 that morning the district dispatcher called, asked me if I could fill in for a social studies teacher, and I accepted.  I arrived right at 8 o'clock, only to discover that for the first two periods I was an aide and my presence wasn't needed. Third period was Mr. F's planning hour, so my first part of the day was suprisingly easy. Little did I know what 4th period would deliver.

My first real class of the day was civics, and Mr. F assigned his remaining students a video with an accompanying worksheet, worth 40 points and due at the end of the period.  Of the 13 students that showed up, a group of five or six (mixed gender) sat in a cluster on the front right side of the room. Judging from their build, I could tell at least one of them played football.  They were chatting away loudly as I handed them the worksheets and gave instructions.  One of the athletic extroverts even helped me with the overheaded projector.

From that point, things soured.  As I dimmed the lights, I heard a crash; I turn around to see a desk on the front left side had been knocked over. I asked who did that, no one answered, and I nonchalantly turned the desk right side up.  Upon playing the DVD, I noticed that the cluster was still talking amongst themselves.  I raised the volume to drown them out, but it didn't work.  From about twelve feet away, I could tell that the one helpful student had music blasting from the buds of his iPod.

As the other half of the class worked away, I walked over to the group and asked to be quiet and work on their assignment. Than, I asked the boy to put away his iPod. After refusing, I asked him again. Still declining my orders, I looked him straight in the eye and said "are you deaf?" The boy scowled, his friends fell silent.  Feeling like I had toed a line somehow, I gave up and walked back to my chair. The clique resumed their conversation.

Shortly after sitting down, I heard another crash. Just beyond my peripheral, I saw another desk toppled over, this time on top of another desk.  One leg left a dent the size of a quarter in the wall.  The girls in the group giggled.  It was pretty evident that the largest member of the group tried to throw the chair at me, but missed me by about four feet. At my wit's end and in no position to retaliate, I called the front office, explained what had happened and requested the dean (I didn't know his extension).

A minute or so later a tall, muscular gentleman tapped on the door.  He was the dean, and upon walking in he correctly assumed who hucked the desk at me.  At his orders, two of the boys were sent to his office; the rest of the group was broken up and sent to opposite ends of the classroom.  Before the end of the period, they regrouped and resumed their conversation; however, I was too fed up to just keep calling them out.  Finally the bell rang, and the rest of the day went by without incident.

Over that weekend, the incident kept circing around in my head.  I learned later in the day that the two students had a history of being problematic; I can only assume they were suspended through finals, or at the very least sent to their umpteenth detention.  I chronically wondered if I properly handled the situation; I had dealt with unruly students before, but I usually kept my cool.  Attacked or not, I felt like I failed myself somehow.

I had all but forgotten about the incident until last weekend.  I was volunteering for the WDCB table at the Naperville Jazz Festival when I struck a conversation with a lady visiting from San Jose.  She was a 6th grade teacher in her early 50s, and we were comparing slashed retirement benefits in her school district to budget cuts in mine.  As she shared, she mentioned how there were fewer distractions and gadgets 10-15 years ago. As I nodded, she offered a tip of sorts: if a student is playing music in class, ask politely to put away the device, or confiscate it. Don't order, just do. On one hand, the lady was merely giving fortuitous advice. On the other hand, she all but confirmed my anxiety. My instinct might've been wrong after all.

As I look back on my moment of weakness, I brace myself for the coming school year. What happens if that student has a long memory, and exacts some type of revenge? Can I keep my professionalism in check? I would ponder cutting bait and looking for work elsewhere, but I can't take the risk.  All actions have consequences, and now I must spend the summer  worrying about an unwanted cliffhanger, a lapse in judgment that I can't erase.

Next Week: the year in music, 2007.

Reading, Writing, Rhetoric

About a week or so ago, a girl I've been acquainted with for 20 years pulled her two oldest sons out of a public grade school, opting to home-school the kids instead. At first, I was taken aback. I've never really supported homeschooling*, and though I didn't want to start an argument, the temptation to comment on Facebook was too much. Her friends and neighbors came to her defense, but ultimately my old classmate clarified what was going on. The grammar school that her two sons attended is about 60% Hispanic, and the cirriculum's growing emphasis on ESL was setting students back in their math and reading skills. I apologized and backed away.

What my old acquaintance did for her two sons made perfect sense; her situation is a growing piece of the pie. Her family lives in Elgin, IL, one of the last true blue-collar towns of the Chicago suburbs. With four kids and a mortgage, moving back to a superior school district like Downers Grove would be very challenging. Downers circa 1990 bears little resemblance to Downers now; the town is so overdeveloped and gentrified that you'd have to earn at least $90,000 a year just to buy property there. In a town like Elgin, it's this or nothing.

Regardless, the explosion of homeschooling over the past decade or so still bothers me. Growing up, the only kids I knew that were educated at home were children of devoutly religious parents, people that were amiable enough but not content with a mainstreamed, "secular" form of schooling. Downers Grove is neither rural nor distant, nor could any of my neighbors afford living aboard for extended periods of time. Nowadays parents are especially prickly about public school, and not necessarily on moral grounds; their local schools are failing to meet expectations (see above), the environment is hostile, the mushrooming number of students with special or personalized needs, and so forth. Some concerns are justified, others are exaggerations.

So why specifically do I oppose homeschooling? As a grade schooler, I was socially awkward; I had many acquaintances but few if any close friends, and that pattern of distance and aloofness went on until high school. However, had I been homeschooled I never would've socialized with peers of different religious and ethnic backgrounds. By the time I was in fifth grade my grammar school was 10% South Asian or of Arabic descent --a solid five years before the WTC attacks-- so attending public school was also a lesson in tolerance. (ESL was barely an issue, though.) I bungled most of my opportunities for social development, but at least I had opportunities, period. There are other concerns, like a potential for social extremism and weakened civic engagement, but they don't really apply to my background.

The growing aversion to public schools doesn't mystify me so much as it is troublesome. Apparently, the media seems to disagree with me. This past Friday, the Chicago Tribune (and at least a dozen other papers nationwide) pulled that day's Doonesbury comic strip because "(it) didn't fit the paper's best interests." A legendary cartoon that wears its left-leaning sarcasm on its sleave and treats low-scale censorship with the pride of a war wound, a skirmish like this is nothing noteworthy for 90% of the population. What the Trib took offense to, however was surprising: a PSA for a charity that assists struggling public schools.

I have no aspiration to run for public office --at least, not now-- but if I had to pick a platform I would be a pro-public education candidate. The government has been draining funds for so long, to say most districts run on a shoestring budget is somewhat flattering. Parents like my old schoolmate are being driven to homeschooling --in many cases, without the financial means to do so-- because the state and federal governments think primary and secondary education are highly expendible in a weak economy. On average, state K-12 funding bottomed out in 2011, but there's no specific indication that things will improve in 2012.

With all my ranting and raving, there is a silver lining of sorts. My graduating class at Whittier Elementary School had exactly 30 students; of that group nine became teachers. (I'm a part-time substitute teacher, but not by trade, so I'm exempting myself from that number.) The salary is barely living wage and the hours are long, but the experience is more rewarding than you can ever imagine. That 30% of the Whittier Class of '97 was inspired to take that career path by teachers that were in their own right motivated, driven, and selfless enough to steer us in the right path. It's very unfortunate that economic conditions and political interference are slowly eating away at their very essence, but I hope the next generation of teachers come out of this mess even more energized and emboldened.

*It's one word now? Seriously?

Random Notes, March 2010

I think I've done enough ranting and navelgazing these past two weeks. Time for some random notes:

+ My bracket is still a work in progress, but for once I'll probably be paying more attention to the NIT than the "Big Dance." My alma mater (Illinois State), my dad's school (Northwestern), and our mutual nemesis (University of Illinois) will all be duking it out for college basketball's greatest consolation prize. Unfortunately, the Fighting Illini arguably have the best shot of taking the championship of the three; Stony Brook, Kent State, and Tulsa aren't fooling anyone, so the Blue and Orange are probable locks for the NIT quarterfinals. NU has a tall order against Rhode Island, while my Redbirds will need to get past Dayton's efficient pressure defense. As for my "real" Final Four picks, I'm going with Kansas, Syracuse, Kentucky, and Villanova.

+ An article in last Sunday's New York Times suggests that the Tea Party has no stance on any issues besides fiscal policy and limited government. Gee, you think?

+ I woke up Friday morning to learn that both of Conan O'Brien's shows in Chicago (May 19th and 20th) are sold out. On one hand, it's encouraging to know that Big Red still has a rabid and devoted fanbase that will support him through thick and thin. On the other hand, I won't get to see him live, and I doubt that they'll add a third show. I would've gone in '06 when Conan did a week of shows at the Chicago Theatre, but it was the same week as finals at ISU. Oh well.

+ While I can only hope that this level of egregious political activism doesn't spread across the country, this really sums up the sad state of the American educational system.

+ I've seen the movie "Airplane" about ten times. Some people will say they've seen their favorite movie anywhere from 50 to 100 times, but for me ten is excessive enough. I was reminded of that Sunday night when I heard about the passing of Captain Oveur, a/k/a veteran character actor Peter Graves. I keep going back to that movie because there's always something new to discover with each viewing, and Graves certainly figures into that equation. Oveur was a silly character played straight, a seemingly straight-arrow airline pilot with some repressed urges (no spoiler alerts here), and the role wouldn't have worked with any actor besides Graves. I'm not mourning, but thanking a good actor for a memorable performance.

Next Week: the year in music, 1965.