she wore jeans or professional suicide
There was a bigwig from one of the California schools coming up to visit for a Waldorf standards inspection, kind of like an audit, or evaluation or a root canal. Let’s call California bigwig, Old Woman, from Hansel and Gretel – you know the one who lived in the candy house and tried to push Gretel in the oven?
This oven-pusher, I mean, Old Woman did not have the time to
visit all the classrooms but it was agreed she would visit mine and Mrs.
Rabbit’s because we were considered needing the most help. She spent about two
or three days observing our morning lessons.
I was apprehensive since I knew the rest of the faculty would
be looking to her for her “expert” opinion. Besides, it’s unnerving to have
someone watch you for the purpose of evaluating your performance. But this
wasn’t an audition, it was my job.
Yeah. I didn’t perform well. I knew somewhere in the smallest
part of my brain that I should play the ass-kiss game but I’m not of the
boot-lickin’ toady sect. I’d rather be true to me which sounds dandy and noble
but it can be a dark and damp corner of the room to sit in.
Whenever adults (as opposed to children) were around I became
conscious of my weak singing voice which, of course, only made it worse. My throat
would tighten and I would squeak rather than carry a tune.
Then there was the day I decided to wear jeans. What can I
say? The school building was ancient and freezing cold in the winter. Everyone
had space heaters in their rooms and wore mufflers and jackets in the mornings.
I decided I would wear my nicest pair of jeans, boots and a heavy sweater.
Respectable enough but Old Woman hated it. Where was my flow-y Waldorf looking
dress, my perfect sing-song voice, my silk scarf? Where was Maria von Trapp
goddamn it? The Americans mucking up a gift from Europe, as usual!
Thursdays were short school days so that the faculty could
have one of its useless meetings, so I felt justified in wearing jeans. I knew
I blew it though. I guess there is something inside of me that, sigh, I don’t
know what it is, had independent thought? Wanted to be warm?
As we sat in a circle, Old Woman discussed how she thought
Trembling Trees was a lovely up and coming school. Blah, blah, blah.
Then Mrs. Bluejay asked the dreaded question that cut to the
chase like a journalist to a politician, or a parent asking how their child’s exam
went, or a neighbor looking for gossip, “How did your classroom evaluations
go?”
Now I thought Old Woman would just say some little remark
like, “Oh fine. Here’s how you can support them,” kind of thing. You know a few
broad remarks because the school faculty meeting was not the place to discuss
the third grade or second-grade teacher evaluations.
But I was wrong, wrong, wrong. How could I forget that I was
in a school that functioned like a gag reflex? Old Woman proceeded to tell
everyone all the juicy little giblets and tidbits they wanted to hear, “Miss
Cox and Mrs. Rabbit have a lot of work to do in their classrooms. I found them
to be struggling to engage the boys. In fact, the boys were basically left to
fend for themselves. I don’t believe either of them have the capacity or
background to engage the boys’ energy in a positive way.”
I felt any dignity that I still had blister away. And as the
rest of the faculty devoured the Old Woman’s hard candy like Hansel and Gretel
lost in the woods, I sat there seething. Seething. I was so pissed by her
sweeping conclusions and her lack of professionalism. I clenched my fists,
tried not to cry, scream, run, and looked over at my fellow suffering
colleague. Mrs. Rabbit looked as pained as I did.
And I was truly shocked at how long Old Woman talked. I think
she fell in love with the sound of her voice, her rapt audience, her EGOIC
intentions that afternoon. Unfortunately at the expense of two teachers who
were already in deep sewage or ca-ca to use an industry term.
Mrs. Rabbit was not liked by her class parents and like me
she had inherited some challenging children. Children who were rejected from
other schools. But like many new schools, especially alternative ones, they have
a tendency to throw their arms wide in well-intended but blind acceptance.
Even if we both had glowing reports, the finer details, the
things we needed to work on should not have been shared with everyone in the
room. It was embarrassing. Maybe I’m wrong. But both of us were the product of ill-formed classes complete with outspoken parents and problematic boys.
(You might be saying, aren’t all boys problematic? The answer is no.) I
wondered if the rest of the teachers would have been pleased to have their
evaluations shared openly in front of their colleagues. We weren’t even asked
if this was okay.
In a normal work environment, individual evaluations are done
behind closed doors between the supervisor and the employee. I can’t believe I
even have to say this, it seems so obvious but I think when people are trying
to work together and form a democratic process common sense is one of the first
things to leave the room, you know, like in Congress.
But the ramifications Old Woman’s evaluation caused continued
long after she left. First, her evaluation for me was sent to the wrong school
so I did not receive her formal letter months after the visitation had
occurred. When I did receive it, it was harsh. I had to gargle with salt water
after reading it because my throat had become so hoarse from screaming obscenities.
She questioned my ability to create pictures or foster the children’s
imaginations. She said I struggled during the lesson, didn’t smile, sang
off-key, was matter-of-fact which was great in a faculty meeting but not with
eight-year-olds and even suggested I work with a higher grade.
I wrote an addendum to the Old Woman’s assessment which took
many, many, many revisions. I had to flush out the biting salt and bitter
feeling out my mouth. Perhaps if I had worn a hoop skirt and acted like Glinda
the Good Witch from Wizard of Oz I would have gotten a better
evaluation. Unfortunately, I donned my Wicked Witch of the West outfit.
But I defended myself as honorably as I could, by reasoning
that I did engage the children in a healthy way and that I did have a good
imagination for the boys. And I thought my matter-of-fact speaking was an
appropriate way to speak with children. I ended the letter with: "Please
remember there are many ways of teaching as well as learning styles. I believe
it is important as Waldorf teachers that we do not fall into dogma or “this is
the way we do it” trap. Lecture one, in The Foundations of Human Experience,
Rudolf Steiner said, “You will not be good teachers if you focus only upon what
you do and not upon what you are. Through Anthroposophy, we need to understand
the importance of human beings on earth to act not only through what they do but more importantly, through what they are. There can be a major difference
between the way one teacher enters the classroom. There can be a great
difference, and it does not depend simply upon whether one teacher is more
clever than another in superficial pedagogical techniques.”
After I gave a copy for Mr. Skunk to sign, I made copies for
Mr. Worm and Mrs. Bluejay as a formal courtesy.
That day Mrs. Bluejay found me in Mrs. Squirrel’s preschool
class. She peeked her head into the room.
“Can I talk to you?”
“Sure,” I got up and closed the door behind me, “Is
everything okay? You seem out of breath.”
“Yes, I’m fine. Look I just got my copy of your addendum to
Old Woman’s evaluation. Did you send it yet?”
“No, I wanted Mr. Skunk’s approval and for everyone to see it
first. What did you think?”
Mrs. Bluejay laughed awkwardly, “Uh, I don’t think you should
send it.”
“Why not?” I wasn’t expecting this, “I made some valid
points. I wasn’t mean. It’s completely professional. I mean she criticized my
clothing for crying out loud. There is nothing wrong with the way I dress.”
“You’re right, you’re right. It’s just. I’m just concerned
about what kind of message we are sending. She evaluated our school too,
remember? We need to get approved as a Waldorf school. If you send this letter
it might give her the wrong impression.”
She saw the look on my face and then rushed to say, “Look, I
think you did say some valid things but she might take the letter the wrong way.
Why don’t we sit down and talk about it? Just don’t send the letter, Lani.
Please. Maybe we could rewrite it?”
The letter was never mailed.
As you asked, I read your whole blog from the beginning. (Which is a dance that took some practice, blogs being upside-down.)
ReplyDeleteIt's true, heartbreaking, and hilarious.
Thanks, Dan
"Like a gag reflex" - loved it!
ReplyDeleteI was holding my breath at the end. Very, very engaging.
Amber
@Dan: I'm glad you are enjoying this. Yeah, I'm not sure how else to organize my blog. . .but I'm thinking on it.
ReplyDeleteThank you very much!
@Amber, thanks dearie. I hope to read some of your writing soon too.
I think your blog is important in that it seems to be an honest telling of a difficult situation. I have read every entry and I have certainly scene this type of scenario before. But...I am very sorry to see you linked up with the likes of Dan Dugan. Too bad. It has changed the way I will read future entries.
ReplyDelete@anon: i cannot control who reads my blog but i did find it interesting that my story is seen as 'anti-Waldorf' because it is not.
ReplyDeleteand yes it does seem that this scenario or situation is more common that it needs to be. regardless, i feel it is an important story to tell, maybe i can help someone else avoid this problem in the future.
Ah...Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa....I read Mr. Dugan's comment the wrong way - I assumed he was asked to read this blog, but no, everyone has been asked to read the blog from the beginning. My apologies.
ReplyDeleteI was confused because I haven't found your blog to be anti-Waldorf at all.
@anon: i'm glad to hear that. thanks for reading :D
ReplyDeleteI sent the letter... 2 months later I was fired. Old woman said the exact same things as you wrote. "Have you ever considered being a high school teacher?" I said I don't know what to say. I had worked so hard and had always looked forward to the 3rd grade. My dream. I wish someone had told me not to send it. It was the final act. I am not the same with the children as I am when a critical eye is in the room. I am an alien! I don't even recognize myself. No personnel committee to protect me in a Waldorf school.
ReplyDelete@Anon: I learned the hard way, not to be so hard of myself. Folks watch but they don't always see. The children, I believe, see better.
ReplyDeleteI hope you will forgive and let go of any anger. Don't look at yourself too critically, and remember to love your self too!
As a parent who experienced 1 1/2 years of the insanity that is Waldorf, I have the following observations. Your first mistake was to assume that Anthros don't love dogma. They WANT to do things EXACTLY the way Steiner laid out, they couldn't imagine doing it any different, even though we have decades of proof that early reading IS appropriate and that children's brains are sponges so there is no need to bore them to death with the glaicer pace that is Waldorf. I was angry for years after pulling my child from the local Waldorf school. She lost nearly 2 years of academic proficency after transfering from a public school in 2nd grade to a Waldorf school. I was angry at the tuition that was wasted, I was angry at the money we had to spend on Huntington Learning Center to bring her skills back up to grade level, I was angry about the stupid spiral walk that happened each winter made us all sick because of the inconsiderate parents who dragged their sick children to the event. I was angry about the assemblies that turned into hours long events so the teachers could show off instead of celebrating and showcasing just the children. For years I swore I was going to show up at the lantern walk with a battery powered lantrent, wearing black sweats emblazened with corporate logos!! I was angry about the dogmatic adherence to a man's ideas who had died in 1925 who had no formal training in childhood education or child psychology.
ReplyDeleteUnfortunately, Libby, I believe you are right. It was ironic to discover that dogma, "this is the way we do things", and "we are not really open to other ideas" when I thought I was embracing a culture of change and radical acceptance.
ReplyDeleteI, too, was angry, but I stuffed down my rage and confusion more times than I should, to the point where my relationship with myself, let alone the school, had become horribly unhealthy.