One Weak of School?

I choose my words carefully, and I can spell; even homophones.  Yes, we are weak from school as we approach the last week.  It is hard to explain to non-educators how school wears us out so without whining, or appearing to.  This year more than most I feel weary down to bone level.  Why is that?

It has been a challenging year, yes.  We have been asked to do more with fewer resources.  Budgets are down, academic rigor is up.  This makes sense to someone.  Meanwhile, here in Edna we have been building a new high school all year.  We reduced the old structure to ash and rubble and the new structure is arising like a phoenix from the site of the old.  Our kids and teachers have been nestled tightly in a small portable city (we should have named Heliopolis) surrounded by the steady rumble of cement mixers and cranes, and every imaginable electronic beep associated with large vehicles moving in reverse.  Grit in the eyes and dust on the cars has tempted us to change our school colors from blue and white to grey and brown.  Yet we persevere.  Our TAKS scores for sophomores and juniors look like it will be one of the best years ever.  No one has a clue what the STAAR numbers mean yet.

In the midst of the physical and fiscal chaos we have also experienced some emotional and professional chaos.  That is not unusual for May, but this May has been more intense.  We have lost a big dog and have gained some chicken littles.  All the above conspires to wear us out.  So yes, we are weak of school.

But it is not just these things that wear us down, and not just in our hamlet.  This is a universal educational phenomenon that merits deeper thought and rationale beyond “boohoo, boohoo” accompanied by thumb-like violins.  It is a truth I have long pondered.  I have a theory grounded in experience, not research and not science, though I suspect others with more time and energy than I possess could test it and declare my hypothesis confirmed or disconfirmed.  My theory took shape while I was in college (yes, I clearly merit a B.S.), took on more substance while I traveled as an educational consultant, and came fully formed with great clarity to me after singing Handel’s Messiah this past Christmas.  (I know, we have gone from Greek mythology to characters from children’s literature to baroque music classics, but please hang in and we shall arrive at a modern conclusion.)  This is my theory:

Adrenalin.

I know you may think me either a fool or profoundly wise, but before you totally judge me the fool and delete this bookmark, please hear me out.  (In other words, if you are still with me you might as well go for baroque!)

In my youth I sang.  Not tri-chordal co-dependency themed folk tunes.  Real music.  I toured with collegiate then professional choruses and troupes accompanied by orchestras singing opera, classics, musicals, etc.  Before each performance I knew the adrenalin would kick in.  The curtain parts, the lights go up, hundreds or thousands are watching, waiting.  My heart would race, my energy level, my focus, my clarity, my awareness would escalate.  I learned to channel what most think of as stage fright to enhanced performance energy.  All performers know this and use it.  Without it, the repeated performances would become incredibly boring to the performers and by the transitive property to the audience.  As the curtain fell I would peak.  There is a real high after such a performance.  Then slowly, the adrenalin would burn off and I would be exhausted.  That happened again this past Christmas singing Handel.  That is when it clicked.

School is like performing.  Teaching is like being on stage.  Before all you educators jump on me with the old sage on the stage vs. the guide on the side motto, I get that.  Regardless, the teacher is responsible for what happens in the classroom and when each class begins there is a shot of adrenalin.  Right?  The curtain goes up each day multiple times and 60 eyeballs are waiting for the orchestrated lesson.  The first day of school is really challenging.  But each day thereafter is equally demanding, just like a traveling performer.  Administrating is much the same, though bells do not determine the adrenalin rush.  A fight down the hall, an angry parent, a superintendent on the phone, a room full of PTO moms all triggers that rush.  And when the rush is over, we collapse.

As we approach the end of a cycle of adrenalin uppers and downers that began last August we don’t rush quite as high, but I think we collapse slightly lower.  We are exhausted from the daily rushes.  We are school weak.

And we have a week to go.  We need rest.  We need rejuvenation.  We need a new score, a new script, a new lyric and a new audience.  We can do this for one more week because our audience is precious to us and we care for them deeply.  But we must recover. 

By August we will be ready.  We will be full of adrenalin again to do it all over again.  That is the joy and challenge of educating kids.  If you are not an educator but have ever had to perform or make a speech or put on a workshop or sing a solo in church or play your violin for grandma then you know the feeling we have every single day, almost every hour every day.  That’s what we do.  And only the very strong are able to do that so well, so long, so often until they become so weak they need a break. 

I thank God for every educator out there who is on the home stretch and looking for that last ounce of energy to make it one more week.  You will do it because our mission is too important to not give it our all even for the last performance of the year.  Just weak for a week.

Have a wonderful, restful summer and I will see you back in August.