Hit Me With Your Best Shot – in Which the Refurbished ATR Makes a Personal Discovery

It was supposed to break me. It was supposed to frustrate, humiliate, and degrade me into quitting, or at least doing something foolish that they could use against me.

I dared to speak out. I dared to document, challenge, and call BULLSHIT when I saw it. I filed lawsuits (and recently won a six figure settlement). I named names and showed proof. I made phone calls and forwarded documents. And in the end, I was returned to the ATR pool (with no actual documentation that I am an ATR, but that’s another blog for another day).

They thought that playing ATR Roulette would frustrate me. It sounds frustrating, doesn’t it? A new building, new staff, new work hours, new students, new grade levels, new parking situations and new commutes every few weeks, well, that has to be enough to break a person. Especially when you get to a place and are assumed to be incompetent even though you have nineteen years in and a clean file. You are asked if you have ever taken attendance. You are asked if you have ever been in a fire drill. You are told that the Smart Board is “only for teachers” and that “subs always mess it up”. You relinquish your name and become “The ATR” or “The Sub”. Kids see you and gleefully say, “Oh, look, a SUB!” The teachers you are helping don’t ask your name or even bother to glance at you, simply telling the class, “That’s the sub who will be here while I’m gone” as they run out the classroom door. Teachers with one year in are giving YOU directions and telling YOU how to teach a reading lesson (even though you are a Literacy Specialist with a Master’s in Literacy and fifteen years in the job). And the clincher – after a career spent almost exclusively with grades seven and eight, you are sent to teach everything but those grades – pre-K one day, fourth grade another, and on and on.

But let me tell you, DOE. Your plan backfired. Spectacularly. Not only have I not been broken, but I have become a stronger, better teacher and stronger better person for your efforts. I am a better teacher than I have EVER been – and it’s all thanks to you and your ATR pool.

You thought the constant changing of schools would be frustrating. Let me tell you, while there are a few oddball commutes here and there, I have found parts of my district that I never would have found had it not been for the monthly spin of the ATR Roulette Wheel. I have friends and colleagues in almost every school in my district. I know which schools are wonderful places to be, and where to avoid at all costs. I have a keen sense of what works in a school, and can see how vile administration can wreck a place by creating an atmosphere of intimidation. I’ve been able to support colleagues who have been beaten down and targeted, and provide welcome assistance when I can. I’ve truly learned how to HELP, and do it willingly and joyfully. And I can do this BECAUSE, at some point, I move on, thanks to the system YOU have designed.

I’ve developed the best poker face ANYWHERE. When I am in a train wreck of a school, with a nasty, back-stabbing staff and insane administration, I can look on with bemused detachment. I can take solace in the fact that in a few weeks I move on, and take pity on those who have to stay. I keep my game face on, and count the days until I leave the train wreck behind. I can even do this when the DOE sends supervisors and other officials to “coach” us. You’ll never see me sweat or smirk, but what I’m thinking is another story. But you’ll never know.

Thanks to the ATR pool, I’ve been moved out of my comfort zone – and discovered that I can do ANYTHING. For years, I taught in middle school. Mostly grades seven and eight. I never thought about teaching any other grade, especially the “Littles”. As an ATR, you teach whatever grade you are given. I bet, DOE, that you thought that would drive me nuts. Well, let me tell you – I have been able to see great teachers in action at every level and have learned much from them. As a result, I can walk into ANY classroom – from Pre-K to tenth grade – and teach something. On the spot. Immediately. And I can be successful doing it. I have become an absolutely FEARLESS teacher. And I owe it all to you.

I have become the BEST classroom manager I have ever been. Nothing like being “the Sub” to make classroom management a huge log roll. But, I’ve learned to walk in my own experience and authority, keeping my “teacher” presence and confidence in place. I can settle a Kindergarten class I have never seen before in less than a minute. I can have a sixth grade class ready to work in less than two – even though I have never seen them before. I can build a relationship with a group of students in a day or two and keep it going until I move on.

I have become mentally agile and unbelievably resourceful. There’s nothing like having a class of twenty five first graders looking at you when you discover that nothing has been left for you for the day. But thanks to you, I can “read” a classroom, find what I need, and make the day productive by simply making inferences from what IS left. Being an obsessive “planner”, I have discovered that I am, in fact, capable of thinking on my feet. Thank you for that.

Most of all, I have learned to appreciate my own skills and to stand up for myself. I now insist that colleagues address me by name. I call out secretaries, school aides, and paras when they speak to me like I am an idiot, or when they speak about me to each other as if I am not there. I’ve learned to demand professional treatment and respect. I’ve stood up for myself when fellow teachers have treated me as a subordinate, or worse. I don’t let them get away with it anymore. I’ve learned when to stand up and call bullshit, and do it politely, but without fear. I have become a force to be reckoned with.

So, DOE, thank you for this. Thank you for placing me in this situation where I have become the strongest, most effective, most resourceful teacher I have EVER been. I know this wasn’t your plan. But that’s ok – because of this I have learned that I am made of strong stuff. That I am a survivor and that I am amazingly competent and capable. Hit me with your best shot, DOE.

I’ll hit it right back.

Who Am I Again? – In Which the Refurbished ATR Has an Identity Crisis

Another ATR declares:

I have a name.

Well, of course, you do. Don’t we all? You ask.

When you are down the Rabbit Hole into ATR Land, nothing can be taken for granted.

Even though this is my second time into the soup known as the ATR, this is the first time I was subjected to the weekly-monthly-random interval- let’s just f*** with them again because we CAN, rotation. In some ways, I found it better than being piled onto for a year, subjected to Danielson, Death By Professional Development, endless meetings, and the tyranny of bulletin boards. But there was one feeling that manifested itself in my gut that surprised me. It wasn’t the scrambling to scope out a locale, figure out whether to drive or take the train, or even adjusting to new schedules and timetables. Those things, while annoying, did not stir up particularly strong feelings in my. No, the thing that really got to me and made me want to rage against the machine caught me completely off guard.

In gaining rotating ATR status, I lost my name.

No one called me by my name, even though I used it when I introduced myself to everyone I met. I became “Sub”. “The ATR.” “The Coverage”. Even when I made it a point to introduce myself, no one bothered to use my name. I guess I wasn’t worth the syllables.

I was surprised at the dehumanization I felt at every turn because no one bothered to call me by name or even tell me theirs. For those of you who are not in this position, I invite you to put yourself into the following REAL scenarios and imagine how it would feel to be subjected to this every day, at every school, for 184 days. Didn’t matter if the schools were great, high performing schools or crap holes in the midst of poverty, it was always the same thing. People speak about you as if you are not there. Right in front of you as if you are furniture. And to them, it seems, you are.

Here are just a few examples of how people speak to and about ATRs.

From secretaries:

“Oh, I have the ATR here. Let me send her up there and you can tell her what to do.”

“Why are you worrying about that? Just let the ATR do it – it’s what she’s there for.”

“It’s the ATR on the phone. She wants a laptop for the Smart board. Is she allowed to touch the Smart board? No, I said it’s the ATR. Yeah. That one. Should we let her use a laptop?”

“Might want to just leave something easy. She’s just an ATR. You may not want her to actually have to TEACH anything.”

“You’ll have to take attendance. You DO know what attendance is, right?”

“You’re just an ATR. We don’t expect you to know anything.”

“No, you can’t have copies made. Copies are only for teachers.”

And now from teachers –

Often times, there was no “good morning” or “hello” when I walked in. As a matter of fact, there was very little eye contact. Even when I walked into the room with a smile and a cheerful, “Good morning”, or “Good afternoon!” I got no response except a brief nod as the teacher ran out the door.

I walked in on a baby shower in one school and was told, “This is only for teachers. It’s not for you. You need to leave.”

I think MAYBE three teachers actually introduced themselves and fewer asked me my name. More often the following statements were uttered:

“Ok, boys and girls. This teacher is my sub and she’ll be with you this period. Make sure you behave for this Sub!”

“Oh, you’re my sub. Great. My para will tell you what to do.”

“You’re here for me? Good. I’m leaving. Good luck!”

“You want to use the Smart Board? I don’t think so. Subs always mess it up and I need it, so just don’t touch it ok.”

“You’re an ATR? And they still allow you around the children?”

“Boys and girls, make sure you behave for this sub. “

“Are you my sub today? I told the office I needed a sub and I know they had extras and I want one!”

“Are those subs over there? Send one over. Doesn’t matter which. It’s all the same. Just give me one of those. No, not that one. The other one next to her.”

And from students –

“Are you just a sub or are you a real teacher?”

“Miss Sub!! Miss sub!! X is bothering me!”

“No, Miss Sub! We don’t do it like that. THAT is the green table not the blue one!”

“My teacher doesn’t like the subs to use the Smart board!”

“Hey, it’s the sub again! Can we watch a movie?”

“My teacher says subs can’t sit at her desk or touch the computer!”

Each incident, as small as it is, is like being stripped of your identity with tweezers. Each is just one little pinch, but repeated several times a day, day in and day out, and it becomes so painful you want to roar or cry, or maybe do both.

There were so many times that all I wanted was some acknowledgement that I was there, that I was helpful, and that I had a purpose. Eye contact and a smile. “Hi, I’m Mrs. Y. Thanks for taking my class today”. Introducing me to the class by name, not just “behave for the Sub!” I was shocked at how dehumanizing an experience this is. There were so many times I wanted to respond and lash out in frustration because all I wanted was to be treated like a person, and not a spare part.

Anyone who deals with ATRs and has ANY shred of empathy needs to keep these things in mind. Listen to yourself. Remember these are humans who are coming to you who have been already stripped of the professional status and dignity. Try not to add to their dehumanization.

I have been in your building for over a week. When I call down to the office with a question, don’t yell out, “The ATR is on the phone! She needs A and B!!” I can hear you. After the first day, try to remember my name. And if you forget, that’s okay. Just ask again and I’ll tell you.

When you are discussing my assignment and I am standing in the room please use my name. It’s really unpleasant to be treated like a piece of furniture. “Should Ms. K cover that period in 3^rd grade” sounds much better than, “Well, I’ll just send the ATR up there.” Remember, I’m right there and I hear you.

Teachers, I know you are overworked. I know there is never enough time to get it all done, but please, try to remember that I am a person trying to help you. I am not the enemy and I am not incompetent. Judging by our ages, you were in kindergarten when I started teaching, and your turn in my position will come soon enough, I assure you. A simple handshake or introduction will go a long way. Introduce me to your class by name. The way you treat me will give them an indication of how much respect they should give me when you leave. If you see me more than once, try to remember my name, or at least say “Good morning” before you stop me in the hall and say, “Are you me today, because I am supposed to get a day off for planning!”

It comes down to a simple edict. Treat others as you would like to be treated when it’s your turn to be the ATR.