I found this buried in my Google Drive this week. It’s a journal entry from 2008.
Now—eleven years later—I love teaching and there are some teachers appreciate my commentary on stuff. As our teammates and friends are getting their March 15th letters, it may help to remember where we’ve come and how powerless it feels to be a bad teacher.
It gets better, y’all.
Okay, both my in-laws, my wife, and both parents said that I wasn’t technically “fired”. I was told that my “probationary contract wasn’t renewed for the following year”.
It sure felt a lot like getting fired.
As you may have gathered from my references to my first year teaching, it was rough. On a good day, I had a little bit of control over the class, until a student wanted to do something out of the ordinary, like talk about anything unrelated to math. Then my lack of boundaries and authority skills made a 53-minute dog turd sandwich out of the class period. My class was out of control four and a half days a week and I was out of my element.
So out of my element and out of control was I, that when called for a 7:45 meeting in February, I blissfully ignorant to its nature.
Present with me at the meeting was Rich, the Assistant Principal and friend from church who got me the job, and Jim Mandala.
I use his full name instead of an alias because I have nothing bad to possibly say about the man. His skills at commanding the respect and control of a room were god-like to me, a 22-year-old first-year teacher with no skills. His salt-and-pepper hair wasn’t the first thing people saw, nor was his crooked nose, likely broken in younger days (perhaps ten or twenty times).
No, the first thing people noticed about Mr. Mandala was his chest, which was eye level for most people, including me. Standing about 6’6”, peering down a crooked nose and inclining his charcoal-colored head to boom, “Can I help you?” he cast quite an intimidating figure. With that said, he was a delightfully pleasant and competent administrator, for whom I would immediately work again.
So, I was worried, but not threatened, to see him share the table at my meeting.
“Matt, what do you think your strengths are in the classroom?” Jim’s tone was light as he hunched over his folded arms.
I was stunned. Strengths? Like, those things that good teachers have? “Uh, I think that I’m relatable. Students feel safe to share their problems with me… for the most part.”
“I can see that,” Jim smiled. “I also see that you have good content, you know the math, and you’re a great communicator. Other teachers have said so, as well.” I started to perk up. This meeting is going great!
“What are some areas where you can grow in the classroom?” Rich asked, more uncomfortable than I’ve seen him. Rich is a delightful man who wears his heart on his sleeve. I’m sure he makes a great husband; chicks dig honesty and openness. And it made me nervous to see him squirming in this meeting.
“Well, obviously, my classroom management needs some work. I think I’ve learned a lot this year and I’m ready to start fresh with next year’s class and really… really take control.”
I reiterate, this was in February.
“Do you think you are doing a satisfactory job this year?” Jim again, asking with total sincerity and politeness. Coming from him, this question would make most grown men soil their knickers.
Even grown teachers, whose capacity for surprise is somewhere between EMTs and Jack-in-the-Box repairmen.
“Uhh… no.” I stammered, looking at my shoes. “I don’t think that I am a good teacher yet.” I started to see where the meeting was going. Why Rich was so uncomfortable, why Jim made so much eye contact and spoke so softly. I was getting fired.
“Matt, we’re confident that you will someday be a great teacher, but we can’t wait for you to become one. We need somebody now who can bring our scores up for the ELD students. We will not be renewing your contract for next year.”
“…okay.” I was crushed.
“This isn’t getting fired; when you apply for jobs, you just say ‘your contract was not renewed’. You should write up a letter of resignation, have it on my desk by the end of the week, and we’ll both write up letters of recommendation for you to apply for jobs. Thank you for working so hard; it’s clear that you’re a team player and you really wanted to do well.”
“…thank you.” My voice was about an inch tall. I just wanted the meeting to end, but I knew a full day of work awaited me. Jim stood, shook my hand, and left.
Rich sheepishly asked, “Are you okay?” Tears were already lining up just behind my nose, and that question called them out. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” I sniffed wetly with a smile. “I’ll be fine. I’ve just never been fired before.”
“You’re not getting fired. It’s just the end of a one-year contract.” I feel for him now; he got me this job, and now he had to be there while it was taken away. Rich gave me a hug and I went to work. I called Andrea during my break period and cried behind my desk.
It sure felt like getting fired.
In the process of prepping this post, I found this one from a few weeks after the above was written. If you read that one, just… remember that I like my job now. And I’m much better with kids.
~Matt “Not Fired” Vaudrey
