Impressive Background

 

    "While you have an impressive background..."

     "With respect to your experience..."

      I think these rejections are worse than when I was younger and had no background, had no experience. At least then I could say "I will improve. I can get experience."

       But now -and by "now" I mean since 4 October 2019 until 5 March 2023. "Now" is the current lost season I am attempting to navigate with humor. And by humor I mean why is Shaq still doing commercials with his impressive background. With respect to your experience we'd like for you to sell Papa John's? Which is the best I can do right now. Humor.

      Everyone else (and by "everyone else" I am speaking hyperbolically about every teacher who started at 22 and is retired now, or gets to retire this year, or will retire in two years, which means they're getting out and I am not I am not I am not.) I am not. Every educator my age who is still teaching is doing so because  for one of three reasons: 1. They want to. They're trying to make it to year 33 so they can get the highest percentage possible out of PERA, which is how they got us in the first place. 2. They're just a nut job who likes teaching. Nobody told me I had to put in over thirty years for it to pay off. Seems rude considering I didn't start until age 37.

     I'm the third OR: others like me who started late and are now trapped.

    Do you know what I also think is rude? That in Colorado, a teacher cannot change districts without losing years off of their salary. That's right. So a teacher with 20 years in who moves to another district does so by taking a massive pay cut. Some districts will not give you more than four years. Others it's seven. Nowhere is it your full 20. That's pretty cheap, friends. Education is the only place that happens, and insanely it is allowed and not contested. We're supposed to be happy to have a job, period, and overjoyed at our pension fund. I've been so gaslit.

    We are paid on a salary schedule.  Which is a ladder that pays teachers with masters hours more than others, and teachers with more years in more than others. The issue is the inconsistency. Salary schedules vacillate from district to district, but in general a first year teacher makes about $40K a year. Which in Colorado qualifies as poverty level, but we're ignoring that. We're just supposed to be happy to have a job with a retirement plan.

    What this means is, District A will pay a BA teacher with 20 years in $60K a year, and District B will pay a teacher with a BA and 20 years in $85K a year. So the teacher in District A should- in theory- be able to switch to District B and receive their 20 year salary and get a raise. However, District B will only pay the District A teacher the salary for a seven year teacher, which is $52K a year. So to change districts, the teacher takes a pay cut. For no reason other than they had the nerve to change districts. How dare they?

    Now, let's say you're in the highest paid district in the state. (I'm using examples from salary schedules, not telling you my real numbers, friends) You have a masters degree and are making $90K a year with 20 years in. But the building you are in is in crisis and cutting teachers, and even though you allegedly have Teacher Status, there are no jobs for you elsewhere in the district. So you begin to venture into other districts. And you learn that they know they can't pay you past their seven year mark, which is $50K, so all parties are doing a useless dance that resembles the dog and pony show. You interview for a job you are more than qualified for, and they know you can't afford the pay cut so they don't offer you the job. So why did you bother to interview?

    Because you only have 20 years in, and you cannot retire, even though you are north of 55 years old, and you don't have a job in your district next year. Or your principal is insane and you need to leave. Or you see the writing on the wall and know your job will not exist in your building in two years, so you are trying to plan ahead. Or you got shot at or you don't feel safe. Or a kid threw an eraser at your head and told you to fuck off. Or ...keep going. There are a million reasonable arguments to leave a building, Teachers should be allowed to move districts without being financially punished.

    And so-back to the scenario- they have to say no, even if they like you, even if you would be a perfect fit, because the people in the building cannot offer you more than the district has determined you are worth.

    This is the trap. The system only pays off for people who start teaching immediately out of college and marry a building or district for 33 years. At which point, they get to retire at 85% of their salary.

    Whooo---hoo!

    This has been a public service announcement. Thank you for listening. 

Karen For Good: The Toddler

 

        Just a quick run down to the grocery store in 100 degree heat at noon is never a fun task, but somebody's gotta do it. She cranked the AC in the car and missed the neighbors fat fluffy tabby on the way out of the garage. It was not her cat, but she kept food out for it. It seemed to always be outside, and in the heat she added water to the food on the retaining wall. 

    As she descended the hill to the store, she reflected on the several times she had given folks a ride up from the store to their apartment. It was either too hot, or freezing cold, and they clearly were struggling. She wasn't a lyft driver, and she was not outgoing or overly friendly, but she did hate driving past someone shuffling up that stupid hill in either heat or ice. It was simply a human thing to stop and offer to drive them to their apartment parking lot, at least. 

    She glanced at the aforementioned parking lot as she passed and noted a small head bopping between cars. She did a double take to insure that she had seen a small child, too small to be alone in the parking lot. The child was clad only in a diaper. Without a thought, she whipped into the lot and parked center, hopping out of the car quickly so as not to lose sight of the child. They were close enough to the road that she wanted to get to them fast.

    The toddler--she guessed they were barely walking age, perhaps two--smiled up at her when she approached. She asked "What in the world are you doing out here, friend?" She scanned the parking lot for a taller human, ostensibly a parent or babysitter, but saw no one. Afraid the child would run away from her toward the street, she reached out her hand and cooed, hoping it would work. It did, and the little one stomped straight to her with a giant grin on their face. Blonde hair, blue eyed and adorable. Karen took the tots hand and then said out loud "I think we need to find your adult, friend. Did you escape from somewhere?" She received a radiant giggle as an answer.

    She began to walk slowly, holding hands with the child, toward the apartments. She began to speak her thoughts to the child as they walked. "I suppose we can start here on the ground floor. I find it unlikely that you shinnied down the stairs." She walked a straight line from where the child had been playing, and saw the open front door. "Aha, this is your apartment, isn't it? You're a hooligan."

   She stood at the open door with the child, peering into the interior as her eyes adjusted from the blazing sun. She saw a young woman wearing headphones and vacuuming her rug. She knocked on the open door. The woman did not respond, so she took a step inside and waved her arms. The woman looked up confused, then looked at Karen's hand clasping the child's and her eyes flew wide open. She ripped out her earphones and threw down the vaccuum, leaving it running, and rushed to the child.

    "Oh my God, ohmyGod, Dear God how did you open the door you can't even reach I didn't leave it open it's a hundred degrees oh my god where was she?" 

    Karen turned to go. "In the parking lot," she walked back through the door, closing it solidly behind her. To the mother it may have felt like the door was slammed, but that was not Karen's intention. It was merely to snap it shut so it would not fall open again.

The Callback That Sealed The Deal "I Am Too Old For This"

 

    No names necessary.

    As someone who has been teaching and directing for twenty years, I have no patience with having my time wasted.

    I am not a Big Enough Deal to direct Real Actors in Real Theatres. I'm just a clown that got lucky, they gave me the keys to the building and trust me. I am not respected in the community because the community has no idea who am. Getting a directing gig in this town is as rough as getting an acting gig, made infinitely more inaccessible by the influx of actors from Everywhere But Here. However, I Occasionally do venture out to audition, only for one of two reasons: It's within 20 minutes of where I live or it's a "Bucket List" show. 

    Today's callback qualified as the former, and is one of three times this company has done a show for which I am the right age. This will be the third time I've not been cast. But I'll audition next time, because there are few roles for my age, and it's 19 minutes from my house. And by the time they do another show I'm right for, I will have forgotten today's debacle. 

    The audition last week was fine, I showed up, they ran on time, I went home. The director said he'd let me know in 24 hours if I had been called back for today (Sunday, a week later). I received an email 48 hours later, stating that I would receive audition sides and a schedule within a short amount of time. I received the sides the next day, but not a schedule. Two flags on the that play.

    By 8.30 last night, Saturday, before the callback, I had not received a schedule. I had two choices: A) shrug and figure I'd been ghosted and B) Be professional and email the director. I chose B. He responded that the schedule was sent at 7.45 PM on Saturday, the night before the callback, and if I did not receive it, he attached it. This was at 8.45 pm. Immediately on the heels of his email, the email from the SM came through with the schedule. 11 am was my callback time. I was sent two sides for one role. I was not feeling positive about how this was organized, friends.

    I left my house at 10.30 to give myself time to park. I arrived at 10.50 with a handful of actors. The show has five people in it, so I was not expecting more than 15-20 people at callbacks. That seems like a reasonable number for a theatre that holds less than 200 people and is barely a paid gig. Even if they have procured an "ish" equity contract.

    By 11.05 there were forty people in the lobby.

    The first three groups were assigned, then immediately reassigned as the SM pointed out that some people had to leave early. It was a two page side that should take about three minutes to read through.

    The first group was inside for ten minutes. Then the second group entered, and that's where I lost track of any cohesive schedule. They appeared to be taking individuals in and out, to mix and match, which is a thing you do after you've seen everyone. But OK.  I was put into a group for my first reading  (about four lines at the end of the scene) but we were not given a group number, or a time frame. By now it's noon and I've texted home to tell them I won't be home by 12. 30, which is a time that would make sense based on how very small the role is for which I was auditioning, and the time needed to read a few people for it, and the time I said I'd be home and we could go get lunch. I read through the scene three times with my group in the outer lobby, and nobody emerged from the theatre, nobody entered. We figured we had time. We chatted until we knew each other's lives, and then disbanded. We figured we had more time.

    We did. We read at 12.15. We were then told to "hang around".

    I made friends with a transplanted New Yorker in my group, only to learn that quite a few...no many...of the other actors were from New York. She was beside herself with the disorganization, and equated it to the non equity cattle calls she went through in NYC. I told her she was welcome to return to New York. But I agreed with her regarding the shit show we were in. She also said she felt safer in Brooklyn that she does in Arvada, and I again invited her to return to her home state.

    The SM came by to tell me who my new partner would be, and I looked as she pointed over at the guy I had  just mocked for taking my seat and touching my phone. Great. He was one man who was reading with several women. I asked the SM what the time frame was and she shrugged. So I said "I have to leave at two". I shoulda pulled that the minute I realized they were calling back a thousand people for the roles. Then I look at my new scene partner, who was reading with the same woman who he'd clearly decided was going to get the part and so  did not have time for me. So I went into the outer lobby and texted home. Because it was loud and crowded in the lobby lobby, and by now, an hour and a half into a callback that should have been over by now, people were getting chummy. I am not chummy. In fact, I found myself getting grumpy.

    I got bored waiting for my partner who had latched on to one of his other partners, a lovely, put together, thin woman with white hair who I decided was going to get the part based on her look. She was stunning. Couldn't blame him for wanting to read and chat with her instead of myself, who is clearly more Miss Piggy than she, so I toddled back into the lobby lobby, where the SM told me "You guys are next." So I looked at my partner who had weirdly appeared at my side and said "Maybe we should read through it?" We did, and he'd clearly made every choice based on the other women he'd read with. I could have been a broom for all he cared. So. I leave him and return to my lobby table, where one of my college professors is seated. We've also been chatting. She's 73 and we're reading for the same part. We begin to talk about finally starting our own theatre because Screw This Noise. While we're talking I note that it's 1.38. The SM emerges and takes my scene partner and the Stunning Woman he was rehearsing with into the theatre. Obviously, I was not next. I blame myself, If only I was a more attractive older woman, thin with white hair and striking black framed glasses, I would have not been line jumped.  Alas, I am but a clown. I shrug and return to my conversation. Seconds later, the SM comes over to inform us that they've seen all they need we can go now.

    Really.

    You couldn't have done that twenty minutes ago?

    I said "Cool, thanks, I'm out," and got up so fast I knocked the barstool over. I said to my former prof on my way "Really? Coulda cut me twenty minutes ago, not wasted my time." I'm pretty sure everyone heard me. I wasn't angry. I just wanted to leave. Their opinions are not my problem. I don't care.

    And that's the honest truth. I Do Not Care.

    I don't like the play, it's problematic on many levels. I knew when a thousand people showed up that this was a bad idea, I should have just stayed home. I'd like to work 19 minutes from my house, yes, and it's fun to act again, sure. But dude. It's almost 2 pm and I've been here since 11. For the smallest of the five roles! I would never waste an actor's time. I pride myself on quick, organized auditions and a fast cast list. Good directors do not need to take this kind of time making a decision. They don't. I promise. So. In conclusion, all in all, to sum up.

    Do Better.

Dead Inside

 

    It is hard to admit defeat.   

    Teaching theatre killed my love of theatre. Not all theatre, just doing it. It was exhausting when I had a program kids wanted to be in, it's insufferable now. I'm supposed to save a program in a building that does not want it. Because the kids don't want it. Let's rephrase that: there are not kids In Bulk who want it. It's more important to keep class sizes high to justify the FTE than it is to admit that upper level theatre classes aren't going to be big because theatre is hard and not everybody wants to do it.

    That's what killed my love. The overwhelming wave that is defined as a lack of love.

Charlie

 

    "Dear," Leigh  Rhodes addressed the five year old "you cannot chew on your nuts." She looked into the sea of brown eyes, all staring at her.  One small child, clad head to toe in brown fur,  held his hands up to her to receive his nut. The others stood around, ostensibly, for moral support. "Hold your nut in both hands. It is precious." 

    She smiled at the scurry of scruffy squirrels and heard the costumer behind her. "She said  hold onto your nut, Tyrell, we can't have nuts just rolling around everywhere. Both hands."

    Tina, the costumer, stood behind her with a glue gun, patiently hot gluing the styrofoam nuts that had been broken in half. "How are they breaking exactly in half? Are the foam balls manufactured like that? I didn't notice." She handed the newly repaired prop to the child in front of her "Maria, hold it with both hands until it's dry. This is above my pay grade." Maria scurried off to wait in the wings, as two more nuts could be heard hitting the ground and rolling away.

    Tina turned to Leigh  "You owe me. I did not sign up to be a nut repair shop."

    "But the perk of making adult nut jokes that they do not understand is worth it, right?

    "Nope."

    Leigh  moved toward the wing so she could cue the squirrels, who were wide eyed and completely silent, focused on the action on stage. At their cue, she gently patted the head squirrel on the head and he led the scurry on stage.

    When she returned to what had become the nut repair station, she whispered to Tina, "You can get away with the nut jokes, but you have to stop adjusting their costumes by shoving your hand down their pants."

    "How else am I to do it?"

    "Ask first."

    Trish paused with the hot glue gun  poised to rest, with the barrel pointed upward. "No. I don't have to do that shit, you do. I'm not a teacher. I'm done with the whole thing---"

    "What 'thing'? Respecting personal space?"

    "They're children, Leigh. They don't know the difference."

    Leigh shook her head, "That's where you're wrong. I know you aren't used to this population, and I know that it's difficult to change the way you've always done something--"

    "Exactly. 'This population'. Their parents aren't even here to see the show, Leigh. They're not going to tell on me for fixing their shirt."

    "The kids in Littleton have been in the program for years, they know you. They know how you are and who you are, and the kids' had siblings in shows with you. Nobody knows you here. It's never a bad thing to check yourself and maybe adjust  a few habits that may be inappropriate."

    "I can't have this conversation right now, the squirrels are returning and I can see nut bits everywhere on stage."

    "They only had to make it through that scene. They're fine. We'll have to help them get into their Oompa Loompa costumes."
    "Without touching them or tucking in their shirts, yes, this'll be fun."

    "Don't be a dick."

    "It's who I am. Suck it," she took two steps to the wing and started collecting the now broken and chewed upon nuts in a giant burlap sack.

    They had made their way to the brew pub after the show. It was only three p.m. Today was the matinee for parents who had to work tomorrow night, and tomorrow at 6 p.m. would be the final performance. The pub was near the school, so they were only going to have one beer before parting ways. Leigh had a forty five minute drive back to Lakewood, and Trish would be traveling over an hour back south to Monument. This was their sixth show together as director and costumer, and their first show with the kids in Aurora. They had both spent years in performing arts programs in Boulder, Denver and Littleton that charged parents large amounts for two week camps. The current camp was Leigh's idea, and it was free to parents. Tina had never worked for free, and was not working for free this time. Leigh was volunteering her time to boost interest in the elementary schools. 

    "I dunno," Tina started, "you think anyone will show up tomorrow?"

    Leigh ordered their beers. She liked this brew pub quite a bit and wished it was in her own neighborhood. It was west of the school on the leg of Colfax between the small community theatres and the hospital. The gentrification---or "beautification"---of this corridor had slowed down. 

    "Yes, I do. Tyrell's mom said his dad will be here. And Maria's whole family. Colin's  grandma is coming, and Naomi's twin sister and dad...we worked out the kinks we needed to. Tomorrow will be great."

    Tina shrugged and sipped her lager. Leigh knew that shrug, and interpreted it.

    "This isn't Littleton. The parents are grateful even if they can't attend."

    "Why are you even bothering? That new Performing Arts school is gonna gobble your high school kids."

    "Maybe. But they aren't the ones offering free summer programs, I am."

    "You're a chump," Tina sneered, "you're giving away excellent training and experience to kids who will use what you've taught them to make a name for a different school."

    "So you wanna come back next summer?"

    "Nope."

    Leigh became quiet. It was time for a change of subject. This one was old. She'd been listening to it for an entire school year, as her colleagues felt she was fighting a losing battle. Teaching theatre in  a building that did not want a theatre program, located within blocks of the building reimagining itself as a performing arts magnet school seemed to be a lost cause. Yet as a fan of Harper Lee, she believed you should fight even if you know you're licked. It's the definition of real courage.

    Tina's voice interrupted her thoughts. "You need to come back out south, or to Boulder. The new directors aren't nearly as strong as you are."

    "Which is why I'm not needed, " Leigh stated. "They have other directors to choose from."

    "Ok then, how about coming back because the kids have talent. Don't you miss that?"

    "You're telling me little Tyrell has no talent? Or Moises? He's the best Wonka I've ever had."

    "Ya, like three kids. You used to have thirty with talent."

    "Stop. It's not about that and you know it. These kids have talent, they've just had no opportunity to do anything."

    "And it shows. The hell with these behaviors? I'm astounded at how disrespectful and flaky they are."

    "They're disassociated and traumatized. You're not a teacher, remember? You only see summer kids with rich parents who've been doing musicals since birth. Those third graders--the ones playing the main Oompa Loompas--the ones you're always yelling at to be still- those kids were the ones in kindergarten when Covid hit. They missed out on two years of regular socialization at a time when it was imperative to their development. They were online or in those stupid A/B pods or whatever. Where do you learn to be social? To meet deadlines? To memorize? Theatre. And how do you get in a summer theatre program? Money. It isn't their fault, Tina."

    Tina was silent.

    "Covid brain is real, Tina. We all have it."

    "You're saying everyone had Covid? I believe you. Why get vaxxed?"

    "No, Covid brain. There have been studies. Everyone at every age has had their mental and physical brain health altered by the event. Memory lapses. Foggy brain. ADD--"
    

    "Did you get it? You're OK."

    "No, I'm not. Neither are you."

    "I thought you were gonna say you were OK because you got the Vaxxes--"

    "That conversation bores me Tina, you know that. Don't try to bait me."

    Tina fell quiet again and took two long sips of her beer. The tattooed barista, who Leigh knew was part owner, told her the food truck would be arriving at 4 if they would like a menu. 

   "What's the truck today?" Tina asked.

    "Thai," said the barista, smiling. "It's the bomb."

    "Let me know when that macaroni and cheese food truck comes back. That was yummy. Remember that one, Leigh? It's like him and his mom."

    "That wasn't out here, though, that was Mike's place, by the lake."

    "Oh ya, " Tina laughed and touched the barista's hand, "hard to keep track. We drink  A Lot."

    The barista returned Tina's hand to her own side of the bar. "Well, y'all are teachers, right?  You're known to be drinkers."

      "Just her--" Tina pointed at Leigh, an unnecessary gesture as they were seated together. "I'm a regular person. I stitch. Now I'm a costumer. I was a stay a home mom."

    The bartender nodded and replied "How fortunate for you. Wouldn't we all like to have been stay at home moms?" She exchanged a glance with Leigh, who smiled quietly back.

    Tina paused and noted the look between Leigh and her former student. She knew Leigh became a teacher out of need of a paycheck. She knew that she would have rather stayed home and raised her kids. Leigh was not exactly quiet about such things.

    "You're the only friend I have who is like you are---"

    "Do not use that term---"

        "I won't. You know. You're so...left."

        "And you're so far right you've impacted the earth's rotation with your yelling."

        Tina smiled.  She raised her beer to clink with Leigh.

        "Yes, you're the best costumer in town and I'd be lost without you."

        "To be fair, you're the strongest director I've ever known."

        "The only one strong enough to put up with you for eight shows."

        "This is six. Learn to count, Dementia." Tina swallowed the last of her brew.

        "Why are you so mean to me?"

        "Because you let me."

        Leigh finished her beer. "So, ya wanna do this again next summer?"

       Tina shook her head  and smiled, then sighed.

        Leigh stood up and faced her friend. "Sucker."
    

    
    

    

    

     

    

  

    

RENT Part One

 

    20 December 2022

Key: AP is Assistant Principal Initials differentiate which AP

APA: Advanced Performing Arts

    We auditioned for RENT in October. The class is set up to perform both the fall show and the musical, so that's what we do. It's a "No Cut" show, which means not everybody can sing and everyone is cast or tech (they choose). The juniors and seniors were in the class last year, and worked hard to become better vocalists. "Better" than singing off pitch or off beat, but not all perfect. There's still a lot of work.

    I cast the best that I could with what I had, and it was not terrible. My Roger was a senior who is also in the top choir. He was not in class last year, and actually dropped out of school sophomore year, but has a lot of talent. He is failing other classes, but we are a class, so we need not worry about other classes. We simply remind them that they are students first and support them however we can. Which is how it worked last year when we started the class. AP RP told us on two occasions last year not to worry about student's other grades because we are a class. We are curricular. They have to perform to receive a good grade.

The first thing that happened.

The student in question, who we will call "Roger" per the role he was cast in, was not enrolled in Advanced Performing Arts in the fall. He is in the top vocal choir, but could not be in sixth period due to a Civics class he was retaking. He is also in what the building calls "Enginuity" classes, one during sixth period. I have to say, I've never understood these classes scheduled during a regular class, as it seems students attend irregularly and it is largely online. We had something like it at Littleton, I've forgotten the name. Kids would sit in the counseling office during an off period, and take "make up" classes online. I never agreed with the practice, as answering ten questions about Of Mice and Men should not give one a semester of credit for LA 9, but I'm not running things. Anyway. Based on past experience and what I was observing, it did not appear students needed to be enrolled during a class period for this. I think the civics class was a real class, and he had to attend. 

    So "Roger" was around the fall show Your Silence, Our Voices  on Saturday tech and performance nights, but not enrolled in sixth period APA. He showed up to audition for RENT, saying he had permission from his civics teacher. He was supposed to join sixth period for second quarter at best, third quarter in January at worst (should he fail Civics) Full disclosure, the kid had four F's and was failing everything but his choir class. Again, we are also a class, and we were told last year that students could still do the musical because it's a class, regardless of how  many F's they had.

    Turn Around

    I step in here to mention that our building is in turnaround. One way to get into turn around is to have an absurdly low graduation rate. One way to get your graduation rate up is to run kids who are failing out of the building and force them to take the GED. You're probably already ahead of me, but I will continue.

    The next thing that happened.

    On a day I was out of the building, our registrar who helps us with the vocals on the show and is the Thespian sponsor, took "Roger" to counseling to have his third quarter schedule changed. He had passed Civics, and was in other enginuity classes, and nobody had enrolled him in APA yet. So they went to his counselor to figure it out. The counselor walked "Roger" to AP TF. Whatever happened in that meeting blew the musical apart.

    That Friday I received an email from AP TF informing me that the student could not be in the musical due to his failing grades and his disrespectful behavior. She also said he can't go on the New York trip over spring break, which told me she was unhinged. I don't care how badly someone is failing out of high school, you don't get to tell them what they can or cannot do over spring break.

    So on Monday, the music teacher and I met with AP TF to try and untangle what happened.

    We entered the office simply to gather information. We were beyond confused, as it appeared "Roger" had been added and then removed and then added to the class. We had no agenda or attitude, we were just seeking information. 

    To say we were belittled and attacked is accurate. It was suggested that we were idiots for not knowing why "Roger" was being pulled from the class. We explained what I was told last year (the music teacher is new this year), only to be blasted again as stupid, with the word "EXTRA curricular" hurled at us. But...we're a class, how are we extra curricular. She yelled again. I stopped talking. We were compared to football and weight lifting class. According to  AP TF, if he remained in the class, he could rehearse in class but cannot rehearse or perform in the show after school. I explained that was insane and made no sense and received a football analagy as a response. We asked how that was supposed to work with choir classes. Were we kicking kids out of choir who had more than two F's? She had no answer, just repeated the words "Extra curricular" and the football analgy.We asked when she was going to tell him he was kicked out of the show. She spit "That's your problem kmart, you tell him." We quietly exited the office. 

    I looked at my colleague and said "Damn, what'd he do to her?"

    I never see an admin without recording on my phone. This time, however, because I was with a colleague and thought I was just getting information, I did not record the conversation.

    We asked the registrar, who was not in either meeting, and she said that as she understood it  "Roger" was rude, cocky, smirked and was disrespectful in the meeting with his counselor and AP TF. Left to our own conclusions, we put together that he had pissed off the wrong AP.

    Later that day, during conferences when I had a parent sitting in front of me, AP TW came into my room to report on meeting with "Roger's" parents. I politely held up my hand, indicated the parent in front of me and said "Can I finish with this parent first, please?" I was informed that his parents were horrified that he was flunking out of high school, they had no idea (this is where I really start to question so many things) and she said that his parents could tell him he couldn't do the musical.

    I stopped.

    Wait, so he's in the class, and can do the show if his parents say it's OK? I thought it was extracurricular.

    Immediately she said his parents would not allow him to do the show, they are on her side, she is right, he's a disrespectful jerk...waving her arms she exited my room.

    My next stop was counseling. I needed to know what he had said or done. And my colleague and I  worried how he would react to the news that he was kicked out. And why are we doing it, we're not kicking him out, admin is.

    The department chair of counseling immediately indicated several things:

    -There are other complaints against AP TF. In fact, four math teachers are quitting before December because of her.

    -The class we are currently teaching existed previously in the building and this rule was never a problem.

    -Kids who come to school for PA are at least coming to school.

    She looked up the wording of our class in the district curriculum guide. The wording states that the class includes after school rehearsals and performances and is curricular. She printed the wording and walked me to the activities director. When we walked in, he knew what it was about. He's the guy who told me I was fine last year, that the class was curricular. Before we even spoke he said "I told her it's a curricular class, she can't do this. You guys do concerts and shows as part of your class. It's not like football. I told her." He then said he'd take the next step to talk with her, as I made it clear I will never be in her office again without a union representative.

    A day later, AP TF spit back an email stating that she had gone to the legal department at the district, who said the wording states the student has to attend concerts and performances to pass, but that has nothing to do with him being told he can't attend by a parent or AP. She has the right to say he can't do it, and we can't fail him. It only applies if the student chooses not to attend.

    What?

    I sent an email to the district electives guy, who said the words is unclear and I'm on a slippery slope. Great.

    So I went to our union rep. At this point I was so confused, I needed to know if there was help at the district level beyond electives guy. She said it's extra curricular because I get a stiped and there is more than one performance. She said she played this game with the previous theatre teacher years ago, and it's extra curricular.

    I sent her answer to the district electives guy and a 30 year veteran choir teacher leader. The teacher leader showed up in my classroom the next day to state unequivocally that he's  never heard of any issue with this type of class. They had a version in their building as well. He indicated the entire issue sounded personal, and he was going to bring it up at their music district meeting, as it is a concern for all performing arts teachers.

    Ok. Where am I? To say this nonsense consumed me is an understatement. As soon as I thought I had an answer, someone else tells me it's not the answer. The counseling department chair swung around again to see what answers had emerged, and shook her head violently. "This is wrong. This is so wrong. You can't punish a kid like this. I know M and A (previous choir and theatre teachers who retired in 2012 after 25 years) had to fight this at some point. They won. I can't find it in writing anywhere, but they won. Call her."

    Amidst this, I spoke with another counselor. It turns out, according to the counselor who was in the room with AP TF and "Roger", he was not disrespectful at all. He did not raise his voice. In her words "He stood up for himself and called her on her game." Which is to run failing kids out to help graduation rates. Go "Roger". Wish he went to class more regularly, 'cause I like him more and more and I'd love to fight for him.

    So...I called M, the previous choir teacher. We had met when she used the theatre for an alumni concert in November. I have never met A, the previous theatre teacher. So. I am now on Christmas break, and I spent the first day of break texting M, trying to figure out how they made the class work, what the rules were with CHASSA, etc. Here are the facts:

    -The class is curricular. CHASSA rules do not apply.

    - If a kid was eligible when they auditioned but then started to struggle, that did not effect their role in the show (fact: Roger was barely eligible when he auditioned, barely).

    - The eligibility decision was made by the directing team, not admin.

    The domino effect

    Now, we have a second senior who has failed three classes during second quarter. He was eligible when he auditioned. He is not in danger of not graduating, he's just a big flake. Because we removed "Roger" from the show, we now have to remove "Tom" in the name of equity. I'd rather put "Roger" back in as ensemble and support "Tom" in getting his grades up. If I cut him,  I'm out of understudies. So if I do that, I have to find a kid in the wild, or, M has offered her 22 year old son who was an All State Choir kid, and has done RENT before.  So a ringer. The role would go to a non student. Which I hate but in all honesty, the kid I'll pull off of basketball to do the show is not capable of doing "Tom".

  The impact on my mental health and well being.

    I am not crazy about all of this punitive shit. I've lost the trust of "Roger" and "Tom", and I need support somewhere in admin to get this show across the finish line. I'm exhausted. This whole situation has triggered my anger again, and I do not like that. I do not want to be angry at kids. Traumatized kids. Who honestly, yes, are failing epically in many aspects, but have been holding onto performing arts as a safe space. This has ruined that for them, and for me. Now I have anxiety whenever I talk to "Roger" or "Tom".  I asked M, the previous choir teacher, what will they actually do to me if I put the kids in the show? No answer. Because the right thing is to let these kids have their senior show and support their tiny successes. 'Roger" isn't going to graduate, but he passed Civics. He's not helping his case (nor is "Tom") by ditching classes constantly. To the tune of 46 days. It's not fair at all to let "Tom" stay when "Roger" was removed. It's not fair to let "Tom" stay when "Angel" had three F's before the end of second quarter and he worked his butt off to fix it so he can stay. What is "right" seems punitive, and punitive is not what trauma needs.     

    I'm in a building filled with hopelessness. I found out the new "performing arts" magnet is putting pressure on our feeder middle school choir and band teachers to send kids to them. We're already in dire straits, fighting inside the building to get kids involved. Now the district is against us? Which is another fight for another day I suppose. How do you help support kids who are this far gone while still holding them accountable? This is the question admin should be asking.

    What do I do now?

    I do not know.

    Pulling a kid from outside--whether it's M's son or alumni-- is going to upset the registrar. She thinks it should be our kids. But our kids are failing and not helping themselves. Maybe it's a good message to send. It also gives me ammo when I kill the musical next year. I can't do this again. I won't do this again.

    LITERALLY THIS IS A JOURNAL. HOWEVER, text me if you have any ideas...

    

Tchotchkes (29 Dec 2022, original monologue)

    Leigh is at the bar, talking to a friend.

   The first thing I will do is not drink. All of these solipsist heartfelt monologue rantings for women apparently require alcohol or Neil Simon or both. Ever see The Eight Reindeer Monologues? They're all sots, and I'm not British ,nor is the play, but that's a great word. "Sot". I like British words. Like...Bill Murray in Scrooged says "The Jews taught me a great word: Schmuck".  Which is not a British word, but I love those words too. Yiddish words. Like tchotchkes  Which aren't even spelled like they sound, because why would they be? Also, why are they described as "bric a brac"? Is it 1972? Am I standing in front of marbled mirrors with a sunburst clock on the wall? Screw that noise, they're tchotchkes. Even today, in 2022 almost 2023: Tchotchkes. You know what I mean? Little kick knacks...wait, lemme look it up, "Tchotchke: small object that is decorative rather than strictly functional; a trinket". Little ceramic or plastic figurines lined up on a forgotten bookshelf, or behind beveled glass in the china cabinet. Or in the oven. I love that some people use their oven to store such things. I feel like I saw that in a movie once. Maybe not. Wait! I think it was my friend Briggs in Houston. I think she used her oven for tchotchkes, which is where I learned the word. She said they were like knick knacks, but I looked it up. They're cooler.

    I am like those tchotchkes. I'm a teacher, one of thousands, up on shelves, forced to face forward and show ourselves and hide what we really feel. Easily replaced when we break---or melt, clearly someone turned on the oven unaware that it was housing us--OK, but, honestly, though, just the young ones can be replaced. Target has My Little Ponies, but it's difficult to locate a ceramic owl salt shaker your mom made in the class she took to keep from losing her mind when you were a child.--Sorry, did I lose you? What's an example of a tchotchke? Miniature ornate canisters, or teeny tiny tea cups. Like your grandma smuggled from the old country. You get me? Tchotchkes. I lost you again. A knick knack, which should be the same thing, but is not. A knick knack is defined as "worthless". Nicely done. Americans took a lovely Yiddish word for cool, small, things and made them worthless. Why do I care? Are you still listening? I love words.

    Who cares. Now it's a soliloquy. You can stay here or go to the bathroom, but Immma keep talking. I will continue to sit in this public place and speak to an empty bar stool because it is 2022 about to be 2023, I am a 20 year veteran teacher and nobody listens to me, anyway, so I may as well sit here and talk and not drink. We can speak nonsense while completely sober, friends, stick around.

    Carrie Fisher wrote this great line in her book. I love it. I will never forget it. I never understood it until Covid, until I had to teach theatre online. She wrote "Sometimes I feel like something on the bottom of somebody's shoe. And it isn't even anybody interesting." Do you get that? Like, do you get that? I thought you went to the bathroom. Like, did you go the bathroom and I missed it? HI. Welcome back? Or thanks for staying. Like, whatever applies.

    I have no idea where "like" is coming from, I'm a sober adult and I blasted that word out of rotation back when I was still acting. Before I taught. And the word "like" lives on my speech rubrics because Stop Saying 'Like'. Say what you mean. Stop hedging and sighing and demonstrating your fear of being heard. Speak up. Speak Out. You Matter. I yell All Of The Things at students. All of the lies. I tell them they matter. I tell them people care. I tell them to stand up for themselves.

    To be fair, this break I've returned to binging shows. and on The Good Place there was a vendor called "Joannie Loves Tchatchkie" and I feel like I'm the only one who got it. This way I can work that in. Also Timothy Olyphant is on that episode, and I watched Santa Clarita Diet over Thanksgiving break and he's funny. Connections! I'm good at that. 

    You know that meme with the dog and everything is on fire? I think it's a dog. It's a dog. And it is already absurd, as the mustard colored canine is sitting on a kitchen chair. He is wearing a porkpie hat and has a coffee on the table. Absurd. Dogs don't drink coffee. And everything around him is on fire...hmmm, absurd yet I am identifying...and he is saying "This is fine". That meme became The  Meme Of The Covid Debacle. I think everyone identifies with it. I do. That meme should become a tchotchke. I would put it in my china cabinet behind beveled glass, next to the Christmas plate I made in first grade, featuring a very long mustard colored dog, with misspelled "Merry Chirstmas" burned forever in the plastic. And those are my tchotchkes. My knick knack bric a brack paddywacks. Because the definition of "bric a brac" is "small and useless objects of little value". Not as cool as a tchotchke. Not as bad as a knick knack. Words are fun. Am I a trinket or useless? Am I bric a brac that labors under the delusion of a better life as a tchotchke? 

    I teach kids to stand up for themselves and to speak clearly, so that when they are attacked, they can properly defend themselves. It won't matter, we all know that. Nobody Cares. Our world has turned to Beckett's posit: Nothing Happens. Nobody Comes. We are living the absurdist nightmare. Stuck in God's China Cabinet. Welcome to education. For those of us still stuck.

    Those who got out of education-.the very young and those who started young -jelly! I started late. I'm 57 and only 20 years in. They don't tell you when you sign up that you have to put in at least 30 years for PERA to pay off.  We sat quietly at the kitchen table in our porkpie hats, grateful that someone has offered us coffee. Then they lit everything on fire. I may have lost my grip on the metaphor so to be clear: everyone in my situation is trapped. Trapped in the nightmare. But it's fine. I'm fine. I have a job. That's what they tell us. Be happy you have a job. So I am. I have a job.

    Actually...might I have a glass of wine please? I'm fine.