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 1st, 2nd, 3rd,
4th, 5th 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.
