My last day there is jumbled
in my mind. A male parent was unhappy with my work. He'd emailed the principal. He copied me. That was a
Friday evening as I recall. It was a mistake to pull up my school email at home. The parent demanded a meeting first
thing Monday morning.
Few details really, dear readers. Few details. A blur.
A blur of hope and enthusiasm trampled at that school. A blur of effort and of, well, love. Yes. Love. That's
my problem. I care too much.
But I am not now so naive as to think that administrators have my or
children's backs. They will sling people--big and small: young and old--under trains, planes and automobiles to save
their professional necks. And their scrawny necks are vulnerable. If they weren't hidden under thick scarves of
lies, those administrative necks would fit well into nooses of truth.
Instead, my district's
administrators and their minions force beefy and honest necks into nooses of lies. Mine is a beefy neck. Even those
of us with beefy necks worry and fret before our demises.
I did not sleep the entire
weekend. On Sunday I received an email from my principal. It forwarded the parent's email and said only this:
Monday morning, I mounted the horse for the last ride into battle.
That is how it felt. I did not turn back. I went. It was one of the bravest things I have ever done, entering,
sleepless and alone, that school. Entering not even yet with my sling shot. Facing the cannons with which my school
district had armed my brute. He was--oh I am so sad to say--the enemy.
The only thing
that carried me into that hellish place one last time was my voice in my head; my voice tearing at the emotional ropes with
which he and his followers had attempted to bind my truth. "You did nothing wrong, Kim. You did nothing wrong.
You need help." That help was not to come from anyone at that school. That help would not come either from
anyone in my school district. That help came from me looking outside the system for support.
I made a doctor's appointment.
I knew I was now vulnerable: not to the unhappy parent but to my psychopathic
principal. He now had firm ammunition to use against me. He had the email. He could go to work.
More on the last day next week.