Why I’m Leaving Teaching: Lessons from my Father

My father was a physician and a darn good one. During the course of his career, his profession changed considerably. One might say, his career abandoned him. Somehow, the tables turned and insurance companies were dictating how he was allowed to treat his patients. Had things unfolded differently, I think he would have worked a few more years.

Here I am, thirty years into my career, feeling much the same way my father did: my profession has abandoned me. In my first administrative gig, I was frustrated with a couple veterans who were rather cynical, burning their sick days in the last semester of their career. I commented to my superintendent that if ever I got like that, to ask me to leave. He told me that because I felt this way, he’d never have to. He was right. Now I am the one jaded and recognizing I must leave, despite feeling I could go another 2 - 4 years under different circumstances. If you have followed my blog in the last year, you know that my father has dementia. I miss our conversations, as well as his sage advice. In lieu of a current conversation, I am resorting to memories of my own past with him, for guidance.

My father enjoyed sailing. For a few years, he owned a 22 foot sailboat that he sailed on Lake Michigan. He moored it in the Manitowoc River, where the submarine is currently located, outside the Maritime Museum. While I cannot admit to enjoying sailing, I did enjoy spending some time on the boat with him. I learned that maneuvering a sailboat tooked patience and planning. If you tried to change direction too quickly, the boom would swing over, the sails would flutter and those aboard could be put in jeopardy. My district and school have changed directions too quickly. Prior to this year, I was part of a professional learning community where innovation was encouraged and collaboration was the norm. The captain of our ship was amazing! She challenged us and we all grew. I work in the district where I went to K -12 school. We are the Lincoln High School Ships, making this analogy more fitting. To have our ship do a 180 to a climate of micromanagement and toeing the line, many are no longer on board, me being one of them.

My father never completely trusted internists. When I was first diagnosed with a thyroid issue, I talked with Dad for advice. I informed him of my TSH numbers. Instead of putting stock into the number, he asked me how I was feeling. He explained that some look mostly at the numbers, the data, to make a decision on treatment. Instead, as Dad explained, one needed to look beyond the numbers and determine how the patient is feeling. In my school, data is used to make decisions. Sometimes that data is used poorly or cherry-picked to make things look better than they are. The narratives matter. Talking with people is important. Instead of saying the system of discipline is working because of numbers, administrators need to talk with the teachers. I wonder if my principal knows how many are seeking counseling or taking anti-anxiety medication or crying when they get home or crying when they get to work or lose sleep over not being supported. I do. People talk with me. I don’t go looking, they freely offer it. Sadly, the emperor has no clothes. People are afraid to approach him for fear of being roasted and having the tables turned; teachers are shamed into thinking that the discipline issues are their fault. The staff in our building is comprised of many hard-working, creative people who are leaving the profession feeling defeated. It shouldn’t be like this. Students need to have consequences. Proper behavior is learned from having limits set. I was a rather boring kid growing up and I rarely got into trouble. My parents raised me with strong morals. I internalized their lessons and they guide me to this day. Don’t smoke. Don’t drink. Don’t ride on motorcycles. When I was about ten, I stole a $1 from my Mom’s purse. I felt so guilty that I paid her back a few times by slipping a dollar into her purse over the next few weeks.

A tradition at our high school, and perhaps elsewhere, is that seniors skip a day of school in the spring of their senior year. On that day in 1980, my friends and I drove around town before school in a long parade. For most, it was a day off. Me? I went to school.

The one time I do recall getting in trouble was when I was sixteen. I had my license before my friends and as such, I was the designated driver. I drove a 1972 Vista Cruiser, a la That 70s Show. A few of my friends wanted to TP a house. I said that I’d drive them there but I wouldn’t participate. It must have been after 10 p.m. when they started to throw the flowing streamers into the trees. Very soon after, the father came out in his pajamas with a flashlight. My friends scattered and I took off. I could have just driven home but the code was not to leave a man behind. It took me a while to drive around the neighborhood rounding up my friends. By the time I got home, it was 12:30 a.m., thirty minutes after my curfew. My parents had their bedroom in the basement and when I walked in the back door, my Dad instantly met me. All he did was hold out his hand and say, “License.” Without a word, I pulled my drivers license from my pocket and gave it to him. Heading up to bed, I realized I messed up. Sleep didn’t come as quickly as it usually did as I worried about my loss of transportation. The next day, Dad gave me back my license and told me that Mom was worried. This gentle form of discipline was perfect: he left me wondering about consequences as I reflected on my actions, vowing to do better. Currently in my building, in my opinion, students are out of control. More accurately, students are the ones IN control. Don’t get me wrong, I have many wonderful students but we don’t have the type of discipline system we need for those whom the system doesn’t work. I am weary of the disrespect by some. Being called a 'bitch' as students race past me down the hallway, students ignoring my directions in class, profanity, entitlement, and generally not allowing teachers to do our job. I have met with the principal and others. I have had suggestions on what could be done differently but they fall on deaf ears or a closed mind.

Our school logo has been rebranded and our social media presence is glowing, giving a false sense of reality. I am reminded of Charlie Tuna. “Starkist doesn’t want tuna with good taste, Starkist wants tuna that tastes good.” The image means nothing if not supported by substance.

The frustration and sadness in the building is palpable. I wish I could stay to challenge some of the policies. I will continue to do so over the next 60+ days. For my own mental health and preservation, I need to leave. My heart is heavy seeing other educators trapped in the same boat, a sinking ship.

I also need to grieve. My job. My career. My passion of the last thirty years.