Someone on My Side
Apr. 28th, 2009 09:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dedalus_1947When the night has come
And the land is dark
And the moon is the only light we’ll see
No I won’t be afraid; no I won’t be afraid.
Just as long as you stand, stand by me.
(Stand by Me: Ben E. King)
“Mr. Delgado”, Magda interrupted, peeking into my office from the side door. “Mrs. Spenser is on the phone. Would you like to speak with her?”
“Absolutely”, I replied, looking up from my desk. I was relieved by the prospect of finally getting some information about Peter Spenser, an ESL (English as a Second Language) teacher who had been absent for three weeks. I’d spoken with his wife the day after his sudden departure from school, and then a week later. On the first occasion she told me that Peter had gone to the doctor complaining of heart palpations, shortness of breath, and fears of a coronary. The medical examination did not reveal any cardiac anomalies, but the doctor recommended further testing and home rest as a precaution. She called the second time to report that the doctor had eliminated all medical problems, and introduced the likelihood that Peter was experiencing stress related symptoms. I had received no further news. My desk phone rang and I picked up the receiver.
“Hi Mrs. Spenser, how is Peter doing?”
“He is much better, thank you” she replied. “He is feeling so well that he’s become quite a nuisance around the house. He is constantly getting in my way, looking for things to do, and trying to keep busy. The doctors have cleared him to return to work, but he is still unsure. He wants to discuss his options with you. He’s mentioned a Leave of some kind, but he needs to talk to you”.
“What did the doctor say, Mrs. Spenser?” I asked, trying to understand what she was telling me. “Is he cleared to come back to work, or not?"
“That’s the problem” she explained. “The doctor says there is no medical reason preventing him from working, but Peter doesn’t think he’s ready. If you ask me, Mr. Delgado, I think his condition is psychosomatic. Peter is something of a hypochondriac, and his palpitations really scared him. Maybe you can talk him into going back to work”.
“When can he come in to speak with me?” I asked, sensing that Peter’s wife had just passed her suspicions and worries onto me.
“Tomorrow, if possible” she replied quickly.
“Sure, tomorrow is fine” I said. “If he can come by at 1 o’clock, after lunch, we can talk”.
“Okay, then it’s set” she said, sounding relieved. “We’ll be there. Thank you, Mr. Delgado, I’m sure you will be able to help”.
I wasn’t so confident. The whole situation sounded bizarre. Peter’s sudden disappearance from school and his subsequent telephone calls to teachers and staff members about his symptoms had sent shock waves of worry and apprehension throughout the school. Teachers had gone to visit him, and students had sent him handmade Get Well cards. Now his wife was admitting that there was nothing physically wrong with him; but he was still not planning on returning to work. This was strange; but then again, Peter was unusual. Although he was a competent teacher, he was also something of a Prima Dona, with exaggerated mannerisms and an overblown estimation of his own importance and abilities. He had come to Shangri-la Middle School hoping to launch a new career as an English teacher, after working as church pastor and dabbling in amateur musical theatre productions. On many occasions, while in the Main Office, or at faculty meetings, he would stand up on a chair and perform a Broadway musical song, giving us a rousing rendition of “Oh What a Beautiful Morning”, or “To Dream the Impossible Dream”. While never being as exceptional a teacher as he believed himself, he was an amusing eccentric. I definitely needed some advice on how to proceed, and a plan of action before speaking with him the following day. I called my two assistant principals and asked them to join me in my office for a quick meeting on this matter.
Sue and Kandy were my most experienced and valued administrators (see The Telephone Game). Kandy was the Head Counselor of the school and Sue was the second-in-command, the Acting Principal whenever I was absent or unavailable. I had come to depend on them for superior analysis of every difficult question or issue I faced. They presented refreshingly different points of view on almost every topic; and when they agreed on something, I became wary and suspicious (were they manipulating me in some way?). I depended on the fact that they could dissect a problem from every perspective and make my options clear, if not inevitable. I jokingly said that they represented the left-side and the right-side of my brain. When discussing Peter Spenser, they helped me anticipate the questions I needed to ask and the facts I needed to learn. Since Kandy was my personnel specialist, ESL Department administrator, and Head Counselor, we also decided that she should join me in the meeting. The conference went something like this:
“Hi Peter” I said, opening the door adjacent to the Main Office counter from my office. “Come on in. Ms. Woodmount and I are really happy to see you. How are you feeling?”
“I’m feeling much better, thanks” he replied, stepping in to vigorously shake my hand. “It’s great being back. Everyone was so nice and welcoming when they saw me. I didn’t realize how much I missed them”.
Peter was a short, stout, middle-aged man, who always emanated energy and enthusiasm. He had a wide smiling face and sparkling brown eyes. He parted his light auburn hair on the left side, forming a thick, curling wave that washed over his head.
“Everyone has been really worried and concerned about you” Kandy chimed in, sweetly, hoping to put him quickly at ease. “The kids in your classes really miss you, and they’re hoping you come back soon”.
“So tell us Peter”, I said, getting down to business, “when do you think you can return to work? We have an adequate substitute teacher with your students, but your absence is starting to take its toll on their learning and achievement”.
“Well that’s the problem, Tony. You see I don’t think I’m ready to return. This has been a really tough school year. The kids who were programmed into my classes this year are unmotivated and disinterested. There are some especially troublesome students who should be in the Special Education program. They make it impossible for me to teach, and for other students to learn. It’s frustrating. You know how much I demand of myself and my students. I strive for excellence in my classes at all times. This semester has been a huge challenge, and I haven’t gotten much help or support”.
I could see Kandy squirming in her chair, struggling not to reply. She wanted to vigorously rebut this criticism of the ESL and Special Education departments and her programming of students, but we had agreed beforehand not to engage or debate him. We needed to know what Peter’s situation was and what he wanted to do.
“So” I interrupted, “is the doctor prohibiting you from working, or has he identified any work accommodations we can make for you at school?”
“No” he replied, impatiently. “The doctor hasn’t been at all cooperative. I don’t think he understands how difficult my job is and how teaching can affect one’s health”.
“So” I restated, patiently, “your doctor told you that you were fit to return to work?”
“Yes, but I disagree” he stated, plainly agitated. “I’m thinking of seeking a second opinion”.
“Peter” Kandy said soothingly, “your health is our main concern. We certainly don’t want you coming back to work if you’re not ready. But tell me, how many sick days do you have left, and can you afford living on only one income?”
“Well, that’s another problem” he admitted, grudgingly, changing positions in his chair. “I’m out of sick days, and we can’t live on my wife’s salary”.
“Okay, Peter” I said patiently, struggling to hide my irritation. I wanted to sound as caring and solicitous as Kandy. “Let me see if I understand you. You have no more sick days, and your doctor says you are fit to return to work, but you want a second opinion because you don’t feel you’re ready. So what do you want us to do?”
“Well, I want to know what my options are at this point”.
“Let me see if I can itemize them for you” I said, looking at Kandy for support while rolling my eyes. “Perhaps Ms. Woodmount can monitor what I say and add to or correct anything I miss”. I also hoped Kandy would monitor my mood, and make sure I didn’t lose my temper. “With no sick days left, you have two options. You can request a medical leave with a doctor’s authorization, or a permissive leave of absence for personal reasons. These leaves guarantee your right to return to your current teaching location at this school for one year; however, they are not paid leaves. The school must then find a sub to teach your classes, hopefully on a long-term basis, and not day-to-day. Those are your options”.
“What about Workmen’s Compensation? Wouldn’t that allow me not to work while still drawing a salary?”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Peter”, I said, trying to take his question seriously. “I believe Workmen’s Comp only applies to industrial accidents or work-related injuries, it doesn’t cover teaching”.
“I’m not talking about the act of teaching” he said impatiently, “I’m talking about the mental stress and anguish caused by teaching. Certainly that’s as bad as an industrial injury and a good lawyer would have no trouble getting it covered by Workmen’s Comp”. With that emphatic declaration, he crossed his arms across his chest and stared at me defiantly, challenging me to contradict him.
“Peter” I said slowly, feeling the blood rising in my head, “in all my years of teaching and administering schools, I have never heard a more ridiculous idea”. I struggled to remain calm, speaking in a steady, reasonable voice. “Teaching is hard. Teachers at every grade level, in every part of this city, are struggling to teach kids from every culture and every social and economic stratum”. Despite my efforts, I could hear the volume of my voice rising. “Teaching is not a job for everyone; it is a vocation that requires special talents, abilities, and incredible resiliency. If the stress and frustration of the job becomes too much to bear, teachers can seek help or change professions. The Employee Assistance program of the District provides quality mental health services. I’ve availed them myself. If that doesn’t help, then my advice is to seek another career. But to claim teacher-stress as a work-related injury is insulting to every professional who does the job”. There was an awkward silence after my outburst. Peter’s broad face was beet red. Thankfully, Kandy spoke.
“Peter”, she said soothingly, “before you consider Workmen’s Comp, why don’t you tell me again about the difficulties you were experiencing with your classes. Tell me what you need, and I’m sure we can find solutions and remedies”. I welcomed the reprieve her intervention gave me. I sat back in my chair, fuming. I had been at the point of dismissing Peter; telling him to leave my office and start looking for a shyster lawyer and a mercenary doctor to justify his bogus claims. I did not plan on wasting any more of my time on Peter; perhaps Kandy could get him to see reason.
She gradually calmed him with her thoughtful questions and sincere concern. She encouraged him to describe the classes and the students giving him the most trouble and steering the conversation away from talk of leaves and Workmen’s comp. The details she elicited slowly drew a picture of a two-hour block of Intermediate ESL students who arrived right after lunch. They were a particularly troublesome class with varied learning abilities and social skills. They reported hot, sweaty, and hyperactive to the class, becoming quickly restless and bored. I could see that she was validating his feelings, and directing him away from a sense of powerlessness and self-pity.
“You know” she said, suddenly inspired,” let me call Suzanne, the Bilingual Coordinator. Perhaps we can do a few things to improve this situation right away. I’m thinking we could consolidate some of the language levels in your class with Ms. Sanchez’s Intermediate classes, and transfer a few of the more troublesome students”. She went over to my desk, picked up the phone and dialed the coordinator’s extension. In 5 minutes Suzanne joined us and the two women quickly huddled with Peter, at the far end of my office. They began discussing combinations of students, different classes and other teachers. Working as a team to solve his problems gradualy transformed Peter’s body language and manner. He became relaxed and animated, asking questions and volunteering ideas. He joked, laughed, and was constantly nodding his head in agreement.
“That will work, Suzanne” he exclaimed. “Great idea Kandy; that never occurred to me!” There was nothing for me to do but sit and watch, shaking my head in wonder. Kandy had taken control of the meeting. She appeared to be making one accommodation after another for Peter.
“Will this work for you?” she asked. “What else do you need?” She seemed to be redirecting all of the school’s resources and personnel to resolve Peter’s situation and convince him to return. She had become his personal Head Counselor.
As I watched her in action, one desire slowly materialized into thought: “Man, I wish I had a counselor like that on my side”. This unexpected admission stunned me. The wholehearted care and effort that Kandy was showering on Peter was making me jealous! My reaction shocked me. It was in this confused state that something odd happened. I felt as if someone next to me leaned in and whispered into my ear, “She IS on your side, dummy! She’s always been on your side!”
I’d worked with Kandy for seven years. During that time, we had faced countless trials and hardships: a staff conspiracy, parent insurrection, faculty unhappiness, asbestos contamination and evacuation, and a Red Team audit. In the midst and aftermaths of these catastrophes, I always esteemed her as Sue’s intelligent, left-brained partner, and the intuitive and maternal component of my administrative team. I had never considered her MY head counselor; a friend and a companion who was unconditionally ON MY SIDE. “Oh my God” I said to myself, watching Kandy orchestrate Peter’s change of heart and return to school. “She’s been on my side since the first day we met and I never saw it”. I settled back into my chair and smiled. Peter and I were in good hands. Kandy and Suzanne were accommodating Peter’s needs and guaranteeing his return. This was good for the school, good for Peter, and good for me. I memorized that moment. When Peter and Suzanne left my office, I asked Kandy to wait; then I shared my revelation and thanked her for being there.
A similar revelation struck me 7 years later, at the Religious Education Congress in Anaheim, California.
“I wonder if my time is almost up.”
“Don’t think about time – focus!”
“I know, I know, but it seems I’ve been sitting here an awfully long time. Peek at your watch and tell me the time”.
“Knock it off, will you; focus! Concentrate on your breathing. Come on, try it. Breathe in and feel the air enter through your nose. Observe it rushing through your windpipe to your lungs. Let your lungs and esophagus expand as they take in the cool, clear air from the outside. Let yourself be embraced by the air that swells inside you. Hold it - then release. Follow it as the air retraces its path from the lungs, through your windpipe, and out your nose”.
“I’m doing that, but it’s not working! I wonder if someone is sitting next to me. I felt a movement of air a while ago; is anyone there? Why don’t you take a look and check?”
“Let that idea go! Let all your thoughts go their way. Don’t engage them and don’t fight them; let them go.”
“Sure, that’s easy for you to say. I’m the one who’s struggling here. I doubt I have enough time left to find a meditative groove. I must have already sat here 29 minutes. Let me open my eyes and check the time.”
“Don’t do it! You’re giving in! God, WHAT AM I DOING! I’m arguing with you. I’m doing exactly what I’m telling you not to do! I’m your problem; I’m your distraction!”
BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ – the vibration of my cell phone in my pants pocket seemed deafening in the contemplative silence of the chapel-like room. I was convinced the blaring vibrations were popping the eye sockets and uncorking the ears of the people around me. I hurriedly reached into my pocket and took out the offending vibrator. The clock image on the tiny screen pulsated in simulated motion. I toggled the button to cut it off, and then blinked at the scene around me. I was sitting in Sacred Space, the meditation room of the Religious Ed Congress. This was the 3rd day I had come to sit and meditate, and each visit had proven frustrating.
This was my fourth year at the Religious Ed Congress. I’d never been disappointed with the convention. The speakers, liturgies, and encounters I’ve experienced have always been enlightening and a great beginning to the Lenten season. I’ve also had some truly inspirational moments at the Congress (see Beacons of Light). This year I was hoping to attend some workshops, completing my Easter duty by receiving the Sacrament of Reconciliation (Confession), and kick-starting my practice of mediation. I had not sat in meditation for almost 8 months, and my prayer life had dried up like a moist turtle dropped on its back in a summer desert. Sacred Space was the first place I visited at the conclusion of the Opening Ceremonies on Friday morning. Located on the top floor of the Convention Center, it is a cool, other-worldly place, illuminated in pastel hues of purple, red, and blue. Its sensory appeal seduced me at once, and I was convinced that I would once again have a deeply satisfying, spiritual moment. I would lose myself in the proximity to the nothing-ness and all-ness that meditation brings. I switched my cell phone to vibrate and set the alarm clock for thirty minutes. I centered myself in a chair near the tabernacle, closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and bowed. I was convinced that my meditation would pick up where I left it last year. My thoughts would disappear until jolted by the movement of my silent alarm. I failed. I struggled the first day, and the second day. My thoughts and emotions jumped like panicky fleas escaping an insecticide spray. My neck ached, my leg itched, or the chair was too hard. Day three had been my last chance and I had squandered it with internal argument, self-criticism, and clock watching. I was miserable. On three occasions I’d come seeking God, and all I had to show was a cell phone in my hand. I sighed and looked around the room. There was a middle aged woman sitting next to me, with her eyes closed, and hands folded in her lap. She emanated a peace and serenity that seemed to float in the air, surrounding me for a moment and then trailing off to other parts of the room. “God, I wish I could pray like” I thought, bitterly, convinced that this woman was in the presence of God. Then I thought of Kandy, and felt an old, familiar stranger return, lean into my ear, and whisper: “I am on your side, dummy! I’ve always been on your side!”
Someone On My Side
Date: 2009-05-01 08:44 pm (UTC)"My prayer life had dried up like a moist turtle dropped on it's back in a summer desert."
"My emotions jumped like tiny fleas escaping an insecticide spray."
Good, quite good!
I have already written this one down to keep, "Teaching is not a job for everyone; it is a vocation that requires special talents, abilities, and incredible resiliency." Very well said -- and in the heat of battle!
TRH
no subject
Date: 2009-05-01 08:59 pm (UTC)TRH