Matching Tracksuits

Tech-free day — which means students couldn’t use any technology. And they had to look up a couple of unknown words…

For many years, the end of the school year was something of a relief. I had completed another year of instruction; my students were moving on to bigger challenges; and I would be able to rest for a while. The school year was always a challenge, but it was never anything insurmountable.

Then a few years ago, every school year started to feel a little more like the myth of Sisyphus. I was rolling the boulder up the mountain year after year, but at least when I got to the top, even though I knew it would roll back down, I always had some satisfaction that I had indeed pushed it up the mountain to begin with. Over the last few years, however, when I reached the year’s pinnacle, when I have pushed that boulder up the mountain one more time, I stand there, waiting for it to roll back down. Instead of turning my attention to summer break, I just watch the boulder tumble back down the hill as I think, “Well, I’m just going to have to roll it back up again next year.”

Part of that was a function of exhaustion, I’m sure. Yet part of it arose from the nervousness I felt, and I believe all teachers feel, as one year ends, and the next one begins. It’s been the same worry every single year: What else are we going to have to do next year that just feels like jumping through a hoop?

In short, I’m tired of jumping through hoops to provide data for people at the district office who need to produce something that justifies their six figure jobs. Reports and charts require data; we teachers provide that data. Lately, it’s all I feel I do. I’m sure it’s somewhat debatable how accurate that description is, but it is how a lot of teachers feel today not this in our school, not just in our district, not just in our state, but all across the country. All teachers are tired of the increasing administrative requirements, the increasing data analysis requirements (often analyzing data of questionable value to begin with), and the increasing number of silver-bullet computer programs and websites, which don’t solve problems, but usually only create more work. Teachers are tired of those who hold the purse strings dictating how things are going be done when most of those making legislative decisions have never been in a classroom to begin with. Teachers are tired of “solutions” which are nothing of the sort, but rather simply legislation controlling the one thing that we as a society can legislate about: teachers.

Teacher are leaving public education in droves these days, for the aforementioned reasons and likely many other others. I am afraid that I have decided I must join those ranks.

Effective at the end of the 2024-2025 school year, I resign my position at [this school].

I leave [this school] with a certain degree of sadness, to be sure. I have taught here for so long and created such a reputation for myself that it is quite difficult to give all that up. Students coming to my classroom know what to expect. Students who have older siblings whom I taught arrive expectations based on stories their older brother or older sister told them. Parents who have talked to the parents of former students greet me with smiles on Meet the Teacher night and tell me they are eager for their son or daughter to receive the challenge, which, according to my reputation, I am able to provide. Former students come to see me regularly, and it’s always a delight to talk to them. In leaving [this school], I leave all that behind. It is a sacrifice I don’t make lightly.

However, I believe I have accomplished everything I could have accomplished at [this school], and it is time for me to move on. Other challenges await, and I am eager to take them on.

I’ve been working at the same school since 2007. The end of this year will mark the seventeenth full school year I’ve taught there. I began in a room at the end of the eighth-grade hall; at the end of my first year, I was moved to the top of the hall, put on another team, and given my first English I class to teach. I’ve been in that room ever since. Sixteen years in the same classroom.

At this point, by my count, there are only four teachers who have taught at that school longer than I. Two are retiring at the end of this year. I would be number three in seniority. I know one of those two teachers is planning on retiring after next year, and so I’d move up to number two.

In a lot of ways, that’s an admirable goal. It’s a rarity in today’s world, though. Changing jobs every few years seems to be the rule and not the exception. Still, I always thought that there was something rewarding about sticking around and mastering a position. And there’s something in me that thinks it might be a real kick to reach that point: no one has taught here longer than I.

But what happens when the requirements of supervisors (in this case, people at the district level) make it difficult to continue teaching in a middle school with a clear conscience? What happens when you start to feel complicit in the systematic over-testing of students? What happens when the amount of stress you feel from jumping through all the hoops the district puts in front of middle school teachers begins to overshadow the joy of the job itself? You pull out your resume, which you haven’t updated in well over a decade, polish it up, write a cover letter, and start applying for jobs at high schools.