On the 233rd day (night) 

That was weird. Really weird. 

I had a dream about meeting with Trump. Sometimes I hate trying to explain a dream because the particulars fade away leaving just an impression or indescribable feeling. 

The gist of the dream was that I was talking to Trump about the state of education… but not like “all” of education, just the district I worked in. 

And he wasn’t the president. I think he was the new principal of the school. Buy not really because we were meeting about the new principal. Was I interviewing to be principal? No, I don’t think so. 

I was, however, excited to go back to work. As department chair? I don’t think that was it either. It didn’t feel like I was going back as a teacher. I was carrying around folders and papers though. 

It was a good meeting. We toured the school and set up e-mail accounts. I wasn’t sure if he wanted to use his business, personal,  or presidential E-mail address and he was too distracted to tell me. But he did glance at me every so often to tell me he liked what I was doing. I was doing a great job. 

We looked at stairwells. Maybe we were just walking through stairwells. I don’t know why. I was following him and chatting while he was on his why to somewhere. I was enthused about the conversation and the future. 

As we were walking back into the office, I was asking him about student accountability. I said, “I don’t have a problem with holding teachers accountable if we hold students accountable.” He mumbled some reply. 

“But will it be okay to hold students accountable? “I pressed. 

He mumbled something that wasn’t encouraging with words like, “holding to standards.”

“But if I have a class of 30 juniors, 14 of them don’t regularly attend….”

“Sure, sure,” he nodded in agreement. “Of course.”

“… and many of the others just won’t do the assignment…” 

“Well, I think we have to look at the assignments. Maybe some project based…,” he suggested not really looking at me. 

“I’m talking about any assignment. I don’t care if they write a song or draw timeliness or pictures….”

“Those all sound great,” he interrupted. “You’re going to do a great job.” 

And the office door closed as I finished, “… but they don’t do it.” In my head I whimpered the clarifying question, “Will they be held accountable or will it be the teacher’s fault.” 

I was left looking at the panel of six opaque glass windows arranged in two columns of three rows. The hallway shooting off the main office leading to the principal’s lair was 1920’s small. 

I woke up not feeling as enthused and grateful that I wasn’t really signing up to go back to work. Yet still a bit regretful of the loss of that initial feeling of enthusiasm and hope for positive changes. 

Hope is so much better than fear. 

Advertisements

Author: cinkyblog

I am me.