there are bridges you must burn

I'm writing to follow up on our conversation of Wednesday afternoon about the progress/status of [teacher]'s general music and chorus classes under my coverage. I seem to always adopt a very disorganized manner of speech when meeting with you - hopefully this message is more clear.

As a result of the [state testing] schedule, the two seventh grade chorus classes have not accomplished much in the past couple of weeks. Multiple students had even expressed to me when seeing me elsewhere in school that they're worried about the concert and need the class to "lock in" - really, a useful phrase. On Thursday morning, when I attempted to address tricky spots and separate out voice parts in our repertoire for the concert, I was met with lukewarm participation at best. I reminded the class, the section with the largest roster on my schedule, that it should not be possible for my singing to be louder than all of theirs combined, and that I will not be singing during the concert to lead them. This escalated into a somewhat stereotypical throwing-up-of-hands, acknowledging that I am not their original, polished and professional chorus teacher, but that it is very difficult for me to improve in this effort for student benefit if I am met with no response. The same occurred to a certain extent in the following period, this motivated more by snide comments than by complete disregard of me waving my arms to the music.

The single sixth grade class on Day 2 ended with students attempting to leave without being dismissed and openly discussing how they're only in chorus class for an easy grade. I am not quite as worried about this group getting it together well enough to present a good concert for their age, however. The eighth grade classes, by contrast, are smaller groups with varying levels of commitment/interest. Behavior invariably dissolves into some combination of independent Chromebook work/reading, whiteboard doodling, karaoke/dancing, classroom roughhousing, and chatter about their other classes/teachers or relationship drama. This has been managed and balanced with focus on specific sections of the music such that the only real concern is getting the voices integrated into the combined 7/8 group. I have been told, and basically believe, that this is how [teacher] had conducted these classes. Still, I am sure that she would not have permitted the behavior that led to a student eloping from the last period of the day, because that student left the classroom due to harsh words from me. I try to remain impassive when students air their grievances, petty or otherwise, but on a day when I was already struggling, I let my impatience win and snapped that I really don't care to hear it.

It has become apparent to me that continually choosing the path of least resistance in establishing rapport with the students at [school] has led to them viewing me as a fellow middle schooler: vaguely knowledgeable about various topics, likely to clock weakness or laugh inappropriately, and a necessary gatekeeper of the bathroom pass, but regardless of any demonstrated intelligence not nearly a figure from a separate age group who does not wish to pass judgement upon or even hear about their conversations and relationships inside and outside of school. It was strangely difficult not to invite this from the first and has become all but impossible now that I am a known quantity. Most every incident that has involved me - rumors about me touching students, slurs written on calculators, "Ms. Jakhonbek" - has been a direct result of behavior that I permitted, even as I constantly espouse the truth and efficacy of the slippery slope fallacy within the context of public schools. I had taken my purportedly good reputation among students as a kind of divine asssurance; see, they like you, they trust you, they respect you, they'll find reason and do their work, and maybe even learn something! Somehow, I contrived a façade of effectiveness for students and staff alike through my willingness to answer any question, provided it began with some variation on "Can you help me?"

I don't want fear. I don't want threats. I don't want cudgels. All anybody has been practicing in the chorus room, as memory serves, is yelling. There's been a whole lot of standing, face down, on the piano. I don't think it's only that students can smell my fear. I think it's, moreover, that they don't need to, and never did. They're excited never to see me again. I'm feeling that way too. It's been flattering, hearing calls for my return, but it's been freeing, far better, to know it's not true. I'm always in some kind of danger of becoming exactly who and what they think I am, expect and want me to be. I thought to give them everything, so now they take advantage of me.

I've been waiting for the novelty to wear off since the very first time I heard a student call me their favorite sub, constantly terrified to reveal the resentment and dysfunction that doubtless lay underneath. In that time, I have often said that I will do anything for students as long as it doesn't undermine the faculty, staff, administration and leadership of the building and district, if not the county and state at large. Recently, I have lost much, if not all, of that zeal, and begun itching to never approach the emotional entanglement of teaching again. I am not sure that I have done anything but undermine the purpose of a public school, lately.

Once upon a time, I wanted to read a poem on the last day of the morning announcements that anybody was actually going to watch. It went something like this:

I know, of course, I look just like a student but I'm here for your scholastic upward movement We hope, eventually, to see made the connection with every fist bump and finger heart of mutual affection

And when the novelty passes, I hope you remember
with just as much as a twinkle in your eye
That all of your names are written on all of my hearts...

...thank you very much, my friends - goodbye.

I have no such aspirations, anymore.