These Shoes Are Made for Walking
Education is the one thing that no one can take from you.
~B. B. KING
I disagree.
~Sequoia Rudolph
At age sixty-two, I thought my protesting days were over. However, moving to Arizona has given me another chance to walk out for much needed change in public education.
My last contract year on Maui was one of the most intense and frustrating of my entire career. In the interest of confidentiality I will sum it up with a few words that will strike fear into the hearts of all educators; meetings, attorneys, child advocates and more meetings.
I was fried. Crispy. I didn’t care if I ever stepped foot in another school.
It was time to take a geographical cure.
One thing I don’t need to worry about is getting a job. I am a special education teacher and the shortage is critical almost everywhere.
Tucson is warm, affordable and has an international airport. I had a job lined up before I moved and began working immediately.
Things were going well. For the first time in a couple of years I was actually teaching instead of preparing for a meeting, sitting through a meeting, or recovering from a meeting.
My students have their issues or they would not be eligible for special education services, but nothing unmanageable. And, I lucked out with a lovely lady in the classroom next door who has been nothing but gracious and helpful.
It is true, my paycheck is small. I earned more as a first year teacher nearly twenty years ago. I do not have access to chrome books, they come in handy for students with writing disabilities. And, parents play a major role in providing supplies. The teachers pick up the tab for many things too.
That scenario was not new.
I have worked in several schools in Hawaii over the years and I was conditioned to make do, and pay for whatever was required for instruction. For example, I bought sets of novels including audio books with my own funds.
I was busy adjusting to my new routine and sort of out of the loop. I noticed people started wearing red shirts. They began congregating and walking in the building together each morning as a group. Then there was a vote. Seventy percent of the teachers in the state of Arizona agreed it was time to take a walk for change.
Really? Teachers are actually going to do this?
In my experience as an educator in several states, I have found teachers to be about following rules and jumping through hoops. They want security, stability and status quo. And, myself included, they have a tremendous tolerance for complete bullshit.
On a personal level, I was torn. Walking out at the end of the year did not sit well. I am a single woman dependent on my one and only income. Also, I have not received my contract for next year, so I felt vulnerable.
I didn’t have a choice, the district closed down. There wasn’t enough people to safely staff the schools.
I caught a ride with four other teachers and made the trek to Phoenix. We wanted to make a little ruckus with 75,000 other folks in red shirts.
The logistics of getting to Chase Stadium turned tricky because the light rail system was overwhelmed and stopped printing tickets. Eventually, the five of us hopped back in the vehicle and drove downtown to join the throng of RedforEd t-shirt wearers for the walk to the state building.
One poster pointed out that Arizona spends a lot more on inmates than students in the public schools. Priorities?
Many teachers, “Would rather be teaching, than walking.” I was one of them!
Several posters proclaimed that “husbands were tired of supporting a teaching habit.”
There was chanting, helicopters above, and a “sea of red, that will not part” for many city blocks.
Once we arrived at the capital, people were handing out bottles of water, visiting portable toilets and listening to several speakers who said the same thing, “don’t waiver, stay strong!”
I realized there was a diverse population banned together for a common cause. Including people from both political parties as well as a contingency of Native Americans with ceremonial drums.
Taking a stand is scary. I’m sure I was not alone in my fear over my immediate financial welfare.
Around 2:00 the rally was postponed until the next day due to excessive heat, over 100 degrees, and the state legislatures had called it a day. They decided to walk out too, without passing the budget.
Thousands of voters left the grounds feeling unheard and ignored by the politicians elected to represent them.
One sign reminded Governor Doug Ducey, “November is coming!”
The next day, class was canceled. I woke up feeling like I had been hit by a school bus. Between the extreme heat and walking miles on concrete and then standing around for hours, I was nearly unable to function.
Even though another event was planned at the capital in Phoenix, I stayed in Tucson to march with RedforEd on Congress Avenue. I stopped for a breakfast burrito and happened to hear a couple of guys talking in a booth, “The governor is offering a twenty percent raise. What more do they want?”
I took a deep breath and walked up to the table, in my teacher voice I said, “Excuse me for interrupting but I heard your question. I am new to this state, however I can tell you that the teacher walk out is not just about salaries. It has to do with educational funding for supplies and resources, such as computers, text books, and up to date material. There are many teachers that are not included in the governor’s offer, such as myself. I teach special education and don’t have a roster. And then, the school support staff deserve to be paid more for their efforts in the success of our students.”
They listened politely. Tucson residents tend to be courteous.
By the time I arrived downtown the commotion was staggering. Red t-shirts lined the streets, traffic honked, drums beat and people chanted.
I decided to park several blocks away and walk to meet up with my colleagues. I eventually found a group of familiar faces and joined the action.
At this point I would like to come up with something clever to say. I can’t. I find nothing funny about any of this.
I walked away. Instead of feeling invigorated or encouraged, I was angry and appalled that government officials in this country are completely unaware of what is happening to the public schools. Or, maybe they are perfectly aware and want to facilitate the demise. After all, we do have people in office who promote private education, charter schools, vouchers, and other money making opportunities for investors.
That reminds me of a quote from Michener’s novel Hawaii, “We mustn’t educate field hands beyond their capacity.”
Have I morphed into a conspiracy theorist?
A tourist from Michigan stopped me and asked what was going on. I repeated what I had told the men in the restaurant.
“You guys have the hardest job on the planet. I tried teaching for one year and nearly lost my mind.” Then she said, “I hope you get what you want.”
What do I want? A nap.
My sneakers felt like they were filled with concrete. I shuffled up to my car and discovered a $42.00 parking ticket. I was confused as I had plunked all the change in my wallet into the meter less than an hour and a half ago.
After several minutes, I decided to drive to the address on the ticket. I wanted to know what had happened. And, $42.00 was a big deal. I was not being paid to stand around waving a sign.
I found the address and parked. There was a long wait at the counter, people moved in very slow motion. Or, maybe it was me thinking in slow motion.
It turns out that each meter in the city of Tucson is numbered. And someone behind the screen in this office can pull up a record of the amount of money and the exact time it was deposited.
“Either you are not telling the truth, or you put the money in the wrong meter,” reported the lady behind the counter. She showed me the print out.
“Is there anything that can be done?”
I waited once again for the person behind the screen to determine my fate.
She came back with options, “You can pay the ticket now, you can go to court, or you can pay $150.00 later…if you let it become delinquent.”
I handed her my credit card and began to cry. Yes, I wept in a public building, wearing my RedforEd t-shirt. I didn’t try to hide it. Tears ran down my face and dripped on my sweaty red shirt.
She handed the card back, and explained what I paid for as if I were the “one out of six American adults who do not read on a fourth grade level.”
I walked back to my car, expecting to find another ticket. I had used all my lose coin on the other meter.
I needed to tell someone, so I called a teacher friend from school. “I just got a $42.00 parking ticket,” I cried into my phone.
“I’m so sorry that happened. You really didn’t need that today, or any day.”
“It seems so unfair. There is no room for a simple mistake any more.”
When I got home, I got my one wish. A nap. Soon my phone rang. It was a recorded message from the superintendent of the district explaining that school would be canceled on Monday due to the lack of staff.
I was no longer sleepy, I was anxious.
A text appeared. Are you home?
Yes. I replied.
Open your door.
My friend from school was standing on my porch. She handed me a wad of bills. “We want to contribute toward your parking ticket.”
“Thanks, but I can’t take that.”
“Yes, you can and you will.” She stepped in and stuffed the money in my purse sitting on the table. “We appreciate you, and felt bad this happened. We are a team.”
I plan to put on my old lady shoes early Monday morning and walk at the capital for my team.
During this uncertain time I have had the chance for remedial life lessons.
First, I am not in control of anything that happens. I am only in control of my reactions.
Second, even when things seem to be going well, it can change in a moment. Don’t get attached.
Third, we are all part of the team and can accomplish great things together. There is strength in numbers.
Breathe. This too shall pass.
