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.

Comments

  1. As you asked, I read your whole blog from the beginning. (Which is a dance that took some practice, blogs being upside-down.)

    It's true, heartbreaking, and hilarious.

    Thanks, Dan

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  2. "Like a gag reflex" - loved it!

    I was holding my breath at the end. Very, very engaging.

    Amber

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  3. @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.

    Thank you very much!

    @Amber, thanks dearie. I hope to read some of your writing soon too.

    ReplyDelete
  4. 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.

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  5. @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.

    and 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.

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  6. 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.
    I was confused because I haven't found your blog to be anti-Waldorf at all.

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  7. @anon: i'm glad to hear that. thanks for reading :D

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  8. I 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.

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  9. @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.

    I hope you will forgive and let go of any anger. Don't look at yourself too critically, and remember to love your self too!

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  10. 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.

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  11. Unfortunately, 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.

    I, 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.

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