The New WASC has ten "easy-to-follow" steps. By the end of June, Teddi had moved us through three and a half of them. We had looked at our campus and community, and created a profile for our school and surroundings. We had devised a list of Expected Schoolwide Learning Results, goals we expected every Chumash graduate to be able to accomplish by the time s/he leaves our hallowed halls. We responded to the last WASC committee’s recommendations within our departments. And we began to look over the new discipline-specific questions and rubrics for our departments, devising responses and trying to come up with tangible evidence which supported these responses. Meanwhile, Teddi had divided the staff, as well as parents and student volunteers, into "focus groups" which would examine the school from specific perspectives (like how the support agencies on campus--the counselors, paraprofessionals, aides, custodial, and library staff--respond to the needs of our clientele). We still had over six steps to go. But we were moving in the right direction.
When Lisa gave birth to Kyle on the last Monday of the school year, I was out of the classroom, with her and my boy. I had brought in a long-term substitute, my old English teacher from C.H.S., and one of my mentors from PeeVee (the string-puller). In the days following Kyle’s arrival, I received a call from Teddi, telling me of my teaching preps for the coming year; this was part of her job as department chair. She told me that in the first term, I would be teaching two sections of English Nine and a section of English One. Okay, at least the two preparations were on the same grade level; this meant the pieces of core literature to be covered would be the same between the two courses. This was a gift, since she knew I would be spending extra time working on the WASC. Second semester looked even more promising. I would be teaching the new English 1 Honors class. Plus, I would be sharing a class that was to have been taught by a dynamic young teacher, Nicole Myers, who had since transferred to Academy (depressed by the prevailing administrative attitudes on our campus, and, I believe, frightened by the descent of student behavior [twice in the past year, students have gone into drug overdose seizures in her classroom]). Nicole was to have taught a Creative Writing course backed up to a Grammar course (one term apiece). With Nicole gone, I was going to get to teach the Creative Writing half, while the department’s grammarian (and a former teacher of mine) Cookie Harris would teach the Grammar half; during the term when we would not be teaching the elective course (as individuals), we would split an English One section, I taking it the first half while Ms. Harris taught Grammar, she taking the freshmen the last half while I taught Creative Writing. Also, I would teach another English One section. This sounded great. Teddi also mentioned a couple of WASC items, and I told her I’d be around later in the week to go over them with her. She told me there was no rush; she was going to be putting her new administrative credential to use as principal for the first session of summer school, and I could drop by to talk any time.
And so the first few weeks of summer passed rather nicely. I was home with Lisa and Kyle. I cannot fathom how other new families and fathers can do it without time off. I would have died if I had to go back to work right after Kyle came home. Even with feedings, changings, and exploring new sleep patterns, I was loving the new experience of fatherhood.
Well, just before Teddi’s four-week stint as principal ended, I went in for my visit. She showed me some WASC stuff on her desk, wondering aloud if I wanted to take it home. I declined, figuring I would see enough of it during the fall. She smiled, nodded, but said nothing.
A week later, I received a phone call from our principal. Cordial. She even asked about Kyle. Nice. Then she dropped the bombshell. Teddi had applied for and received the assistant principalship at Academy. Shit. My mind did a quick once-over on this. That means we need a new department chair. Our fearless leader couldn’t be calling me about that: department chairs are elected by the department--administrative interference is strictly verboten. Not like this would be the first time a principal tried. Wait a minute...that means we’ll need a new English 4 Honors teacher... But before the thoughts could fully register, she dropped the next bombshell.
"Would you like to head up WASC?"
Interesting. Would I like to head up WASC? Flattering. But no way. I had given up Drama for one reason, to spend time with my family. WASC would be hell. I would have no time for my new family. Would you like to head up WASC? That was phrased as a question. And questions assume a chance to decline...
"Well, to be honest, I gave up Drama to spend more time with Kyle, and--"
"You’d have an extra resource period," she interrupted.
True, but I was seeing how much work was going into WASC, and I knew an extra resource period wouldn’t cover the headaches alone. Plus, with my luck the class they’d take away from me would be the English One. "That would help, but I don’t think it would be enough. I really don’t see how I could accept it--"
And I was about to go into what I would feel as a sense of betrayal to the Drama kids, taking on a huge, time-consuming responsibility after I had given up their activity to have more time with my family. I was about to say this, when she cut me off again. "I understand. Thanks."
And she hung up on me. No good-bye. Just click.
Now I was on her shit list, I was sure. But I didn’t much care. I had only grudging respect for her to begin with (in my mind, I was constantly comparing her [probably unfairly and unflatteringly] to Frankie, up to whom no one could measure). She had reprimanded me for not cutting the script of Other People’s Money, our fall play last year; she found it too bawdy on opening night, called me into her office at 6:55 in the morning the next day, and told me to cut two scenes from the remaining performances (I was relieved that I had submitted my letter of resignation two days earlier). I had received no support from her when I had a run-in with the Migrant Education counselor later in the spring, nor had I any support from her in getting new locks on the Drama room door after two unforced (i.e., keyed) break-ins. And now she had asked me a question, and when she received an answer she didn’t like, she hung up on me. I would have had more respect for her if she had given me an order. But she didn’t.
And I put the whole thing out of my mind.
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