A New Hope

[Editor's note: Mich-igan is the pseudonym of a second-year teacher at a middle school in Manhattan.]

Just over a year ago, I started out my mathematics teaching career at a small middle school in East Harlem. I was hired late, so there wasn’t much room for me. I had one math class (a double period) and then I did academic intervention services (AIS) for the rest of the day.

In December or January, we were told that the elementary school was closing at the end of the year and the middle school would be phased out. Immediately, there were a flurry a rumors as to who was staying, who the administrators would be in the coming year, and if our own jobs were safe.

In March and April, a large percentage of the middle school staff was excessed.

In the fall, another math teacher and I returned to the school, unable to secure new positions. This did not go over well with the principal. We had both been told in April that we were not wanted at the school without explanation, but both received satisfactory ratings. I knew that the coming year would be interesting.

I had a full schedule of eighth grade math: two double periods and a single period with the self-contained class. I knew all the students from the year before, so we fell rather easily into a routine. I initiated new classroom policies, by way of a point system, in an attempt to improve my classroom management, which had sometimes been an issue last year. The students enjoyed this. They got excited about math! We were having a good start to the year.

My principal made it clear that he still did not want me at the school. I was subject to regular harassment through unjustified letters or meetings. At one point, I was removed from my classroom and replaced by a someone unqualified to teach middle school math. The students were upset. I was depressed. It wasn’t the students, but the actions of the principal. No matter what I did was wrong. Things I had no control over were my fault.

On Monday of the fourth week of school, I was teaching my first period class when the principal appeared at the door. I thought, “What did I do now?” The students were finishing up the Do Now, so I went to the door to speak to him. He handed me a letter and told me I needed to leave. The letter was a transfer. I didn’t understand.

I was being transferred to a school in East Harlem. I knew nothing about it. I asked if I could have a moment. There was another teacher in the room with the students who took over the lesson in the meantime. Just a week ago, I was removed from my classroom for a few days. Now, I was losing my classroom, my students forever. Everything that I had put into this school: did it even matter? I started to cry and excused myself.

I called my new principal. The letter stated I was supposed to be there at 8 a.m. that morning. I, of course, was not there. I asked if I could come in the next morning as I needed to pack up my things from my room. I also wanted to finish out the day and get a chance to say goodbye to the students.

I explained, as best as I could, what was happening. Several other teachers who had been co-teaching while in excess had also received transfers that day. The students were confused and upset. They kept asking why I had to leave and if I could stay. They knew who would be replacing me and, though nice enough, neither knew the math content nor knew the rhythm our class had developed.

The next day, I went to my new middle school. The school is beautiful. It is bright and warm. There are colorful displays done by students and some by teachers. There is a computer lab, a science lab, a music room. Students take electives twice a week in things like art, band, yoga, drama, and sports conditioning. The students do community service. There is a recycling program that the students assist with.

In the classroom, eighth graders take Regents exams in History, Math, Science, and Social Studies. Sixth and seventh graders learn the middle, and in some classes, the beginning of the high school curriculum.

The principal supports and guides her staff. The staff likes her, as do the students. The staff is engaging in the classroom and get to know the students, often through electives or in their advisory, mostly, but also spend time with them after school in tutoring three to five times a week.

Parents are very involved in the student’s school life.

Though I no longer have a classroom and I no longer have my own class, I have realized again what I love about teaching. Everyday, I see students who want to learn and teachers who aren’t prevented by administration from teaching.

Everyday, I leave school smiling. My worst days at my old schools are similar to good days at my old school. I leave the school smiling. I have a renewed love for my profession. It is not the students, or staff, that are really different, but the administration. I’ve learned that makes all the difference.

Tagged: Manhattan, middle school

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