HEATHER
MIGDON
Final Diary
#16
When
Is It Okay to Jump Ship?
"Heather, how long will you stay at this school?" asks my principal during my first-ever annual evaluation conference. Novice though I am, my intuition tells me this is not the time to announce that I plan to flee the school as soon as the opportunity presents itself. I answer with the admittedly equivocal "Oh, I don't know yet."
I know why she is asking. Although she has said many times that she is satisfied with my performance and successes, she knows that I am a member of Teach for America, and therefore has doubts as to whether I will stay beyond my two-year commitment. And she has legitimate cause for concern. I can promise, with every fiber of my being, that I will not serve at my school one day beyond my commitment. I reply to her concerns with the only honest sentiment I can muster—that I plan to dedicate my life to fighting for these children. These children—the brown-skinned ghetto children who prove the promise of a quality public education to be a lie. Kids who eat their best meals in the school cafeteria and sometimes have no bedrooms to clean up. Children who, despite their circumstances, still must be educated...and still must have a teacher. Is it possible to love teaching and yet hate your school? Can I spend months bemoaning the substandard conditions at my school and end up providing my resignation as my only solution? When is it okay to jump ship? After having my fill of apathetic, incompetent coworkers and chaos produced not in spite of, but because of administrative decisions, I contacted my former principal and asked about vacancies. He did not know about potential vacancies yet, but he let me know, in no uncertain terms, that I was at the top of his list of candidates to hire. I was elated, and I am hoping with all my heart that he will call and offer me a job.Until then, I am slated to return to my current school in September. My principal has no idea I have even considered transferring back to my former school, and I am surprised at these new feelings of guilt. I can scarcely make eye contact when she is superfluously expressing delight with my extensive, data-driven teaching portfolio. As she reviews the writing samples of students from my first week with the class and compares them with current writing samples, she marvels at the progress my children have made. And it suddenly occurs to me—my portfolio has not been designed to carefully mask students' academic stagnation; my kids have actually learned a lot.
I have very little faith that my students' writing would be so impressive if I had not been here to teach them. For the first time, it becomes clear to me that whenever I leave—be it at the end of this school year or the next—some class of children is going to have to make do with one of the teachers I know is mediocre at best. How can I leave?
The only way I can justify leaving now is by telling myself that I will not be leaving the classroom entirely. If I did leave, it would only be to teach other poor children at a more functional school. I'm not just another teacher who is deserting urban schools. I cannot teach every child in the District of Columbia. I can teach only one class at a time, and as long as that class needs me, I have done no wrong.
Still, though,
I have no answer when a student's second grade sister tells a friend,
"I'm going to have Ms. Migdon in sixth grade! Right, Ms. Migdon?" While
I can justify my decision to myself, I might never be able to justify
it to her.
Read Heather's update - August 2003
