An administrator yelled at me today. I found it incredibly offensive to be treated by a child and in such a fashion. And while I'm still not over that degradation, I've been thinking about what precipitated that reaction.
Over the past couple of years, I've had a tendency to speak my mind at school frequently. I'm tired of allowing administrators and parents to walk over me. I'm marking 20 years in teaching this year, and I'm truly tired of the bureaucracy of education. Administrators who don't do their jobs competently; teachers who cannot adhere to simple rules or treat their colleagues respectfully. Parents who think the best way to handle a problem with a teacher is to yell at said teacher. I've had it. So yes, I speak my mind when I think I need to do so.
What I'm saying is, I'm not completely innocent when it came to the administrator's frustration today. But I also realized our administrator was speaking from her own frustrations with our faculty. I can feel her pain; I feel that as a professional I have responsibilities to uphold, and it bothers me when those with whom I work don't feel the same way. I cannot imagine how difficult an administrator's job must be, especially working with teachers, students, and parents. In fact, I cannot fathom why people go into administration as a career path.
I also think our administrators have decided on a policy, which they know is wrong, but they feel duty bound to uphold it. The anger directed at me today probably doesn't have to do entirely with me. Our administrators have been underfire from our faculty for a number of years for their inconsistencies, offenses, and incompetencies. Most of them do work hard; all of them have to cover for the one administrator who is completely incompetent. I made comments today from my perspective, and I see how an administrator, already dealing with a case of insecurity, would react vehemently to me.
However, just as an administrator is entitled to his or her opinion about me, other faculty members, or different policies, I am entitled to mine. I'm always astounded at how insecure teachers are, and our insecurities drive wedges in between us rather than bond us to one another. We have a number of young teachers in our building who often come across as selfishly thinking about themselves and their classes. This drives a wedge between many of us because we veteran teachers have different viewpoints. It's hard to completely explain the dynamics of my school, but needless to say, we are a group of stressed out, insecure people.
I am a squeaky wheel. I learned today that I need to stop squeaking, go to my room, and shut the door. I need to focus on what's important: my students. I still don't appreciate the yelling I had today; but it has taught me that I don't have the leadership skills required to do more than teach my content. I once thought I had a great deal of leadership potential, but I think it's safe to say that I don't. And I need to be okay with that. I need to recognize and acknowledge my weaknesses as well as my strengths, and then I need to spend time honing my strengths.
Will I ever make a difference to my school? Probably not. I will, however, make a difference to my students, my reason for returning each day.
In retrospect, I think it was good to be yelled at. Our administrator's response to me has allowed me to reflect upon my role within my school, my strengths and weaknesses, and to help me come to terms with my educational path.
