I Will Never be a Highly Effective Librarian

In my current position I will never be considered a highly effective educator. I am evaluated by a peer mentor. This mentor observes me in my library setting over the course of about a 30 minute period twice a year. I am observed a few times during the year by school administration. I receive good scores – mostly average, a few exceeds expectations, a few needs improvement (more signage needed; consider letting students do their own check-outs). I can live with that – they are fair and unbiased observations; they are a small snapshot of my “normal” days, but I am okay with that. Those scores are added in to the entire school population reading scores, and I will never be a highly effective educator in the eyes of my school district.

My school ranks in the lowest 300 reading scores in the state. We are a Title 1, Renaissance school. We are given resources that other schools are not, because of these labels. Title 1 means we are given extra state funding to help serve our student population. Renaissance is more extreme. It means that a vast majority (97%) of our students live below poverty level and are eligible for free or reduced lunch. It means us, as educators, receive slightly more pay than those educators at a non-Renaissance/Title 1 school. That does not mean we have sunshine and roses every day. Students often come to us without any basic skills; how to say please or thank you, how to look someone in the eye when speaking; how to greet someone good morning. Anger is their only form of communication; throwing chairs, knocking books off shelves, destroying classrooms. Our students come to us often after rolling out of “bed” in their cars, or a hotel room; a house without running water or electricity; any number of basic needs not being met. School, for them, is a chance for clean air, two meals a day; maybe a little stability. Many of the students do have parents who try their best and just cannot make ends meets. They send their students to this local school and hope that their children can meek out a better life than they have been given.

I don’t teach children to read. I don’t even serve as much of an actual librarian at this school. I don’t have a group of avid readers waiting on the edge of their seats for the next Magic Tree House, Harry Potter, Lightning Thief, or even Wimpy Kid. I have kids who check out books because they are free, and because they can. I have kids who have lost books because they left them in their desk and their 1^st, 2^nd, 3^rd, 4^th, 5^th grade friends stole them because they did not know better. Or they left them at home one day, to never be seen again because their family was evicted and all of their possessions taken as collateral damage. I have had kids check out books but could not bear with parting with a possession so sacred; they could not stand turning it back in. What I can give my students is this. Every single hug they ask for. A smile, each time, no matter how difficult they feel they need to be. I can reassure them, remind them of how to act, how to speak to one another. I can give them so little and just hope that one day they will say, oh, let me smile, or let me hug this person. I remember once someone did that for me and it made a difference in my life. I will never know if I made a difference; I can only hope I can. So, no. In the eyes of my media mentor, my administrators, the county I teach I can never be deemed highly effective and get an annual bonus. I can only hope that despite this fact I can continue to be a smiling, positive presence in the eyes of children who don’t care if the school district calls me highly effective. They just know that I care about them and hug them, and that I am a librarian with heart.