… to stop using tired clichés. However, I do feel as if last Tuesday, January 24, 2006, was the first day of a new life for me. For that was the day when I finally applied to the State of Colorado for my teaching license. I wish it had come sooner; I completed my student teaching on December 9th, so that equates to 45 days– a month and a half– I had to wait. First there were the holidays, and then I had to wait until the new semester started at my college– the day after MLK Day– before I could get in contact with former professors. For I had done all I could do, every last form, evaluation, survey, what have you; but my online portfolio, a collection of “artifacts” that you assemble and reflect upon to prove your competency in the CPBST (Colorado Performance-Based Standards for Teachers: eight major standards, 47 benchmarks), had not been “signed off.” I feared trying to hunt down multiple individuals, but ultimately Dr. Bailey, MSCD’s one and only resident LiveText “guru,” agreed to assess the entire portfolio for me and submit the signed rubric proving completion thereof to the Student Teaching Office. Of course, after her first run-through she told me I had to fix some items; after doing so, I waited another anxious four days for her to approve it. But she did, and as soon as I could, I went to campus, picked up my institutional recommendation (wherein your college tells the state that you have successfully completed the licensure program), filled out the rest of my application, and marched it down the street to the Colorado Department of Education. I submitted it and received a date-stamped letter verifying it is now “in progress”; I may have to wait eight weeks or more for the real thing to come in the mail, but I can rest assured that my license is now “pending” and that makes me eligible to apply for jobs!

It’s February now. Not that you can tell any difference, but I started writing this two days ago. I doubt you read that first paragraph in its entirety anyway; it was really more for me, as a way of recording the moment for myself. Five years later, I am still undecided on exactly how much of a mix between public journal and private diary a weblog constitutes. I mean, a decade ago, few would have imagined that anyone would really be interested in sharing the mundane trivialities of their day-to-day life with the whole wired world. That’s what pen and paper bound in little cutesy covers were for. But now, everyone’s doing it. Hell, you can probably get breaking news faster through your blog network than Fox or MSNBC. Me, I like writing; actually I love it, contradictory as though that sounds, since I hardly do it, especially lately. Writing and reading (in that order) are, indeed, my two most favorite activities (that I can do by myself, anyway); yet this pervasive feeling of guilt always creeps in whensoever I engage in said activities, because I know there’s always “more important things to do.” For example, right now, I should be grading essays (more on that in a bit), or doing my taxes, or organizing my room that bears a striking resemblance to the Owl’s desk in that old comic strip Shoe (someone must remember…) In one hour I really do have to be at work.

So, I still need to recollect the experience of student teaching, which was not the most joyous experience of my life, but neither was it sixteen weeks of hell, as I’ve heard it described by some. The outcome is most important: I survived, I passed; soon I will be licensed. It really was fun, as I discovered that I can actually relate to 12- and 13-year-olds, a skill which I have been assured is not common. There was just one hitch; it came when I was about two-thirds done with the semester. One day, after third period, I was told to report to the principal. When you’re a kid, you know you’re in big trouble if you get called to the principal’s office; and, when you’re an adult, you know you’re in big trouble if you get called to the principal’s office. Especially when the principal initiates the conversation with something along the lines of “I hate to have to tell you this…” I’d been accused of sexual harrassment. Well, knock me over with a feather. Apparently, two female students in that third-period class had reported that I “looked at their chests” in a way that made them feel uncomfortable. Here’s the first kicker: They didn’t claim that I did surreptiously in the hallway or when I was lecturing at the front of the classroom. No; these “looks” allegedly occured when I was circulating the room, going desk to desk checking in and helping students. Mind you, they’re seated and I’m standing, and I’m six-foot-two; obviously, I have no choice but to lean down when I’m helping them. So it’s quite possible that I did, inadvertenly, look in that direction, but never intentional and certainly not in a leering manner.

Fortunately, the principal was on my side, as was my cooperating teacher. They both believed the allegations to be unfounded. I wrote and signed a statement, stating that I would never do anything that would make any student feel uncomfortable, unwelcome, or in any other way interfere with their opportunity to learn. However, the girls’ parents had gotten involved, so something had to be done, as much for my own protection as theirs. So, I no longer had the third-period class. My co-op took it back over; the bad part was that I couldn’t even be in the room during that period for the remainder of my time at the school. As much as I would have liked to just put it behind me, my imposed exile for that hour reminded me of it everyday. The nature of these offenses dictates that children’s stories always have to be taken seriously, and I support that; the injustice is that, ultimately, there’s no burden of proof, until it goes to court. But it doesn’t even have to reach the point of litigation for a teacher’s reputation to be tarnished, which could jeopardize his or her entire career. I am lucky that nothing went into a permanent record for this (they don’t keep files on student teachers, anyway). The big kicker came when it was revealed that the girls’ primary motivation was the desire to switch teams (the seventh grade is split into two “teams”; within a team, students generally travel together from class to class) to be with their friends on the other team. They thought this story could get them out of this class. It didn’t, but it got me out of there. The rest of that class, who had defended me when interviewed, according to the principal, were left with no clear reason as to my sudden exit. On my last day, when each class had a party for me, I got to hang out with them again. Two girls were conspicuous by their absence– confirming my suspicions as to their identity, which had remained confidential from both me and my teacher.

Now I have signed on to work with this same school as a “grader.” The students are writing essays as preparation for the CSAP, which is Colorado’s version of the big state standardized test everyone has to take in March. The injustice of such tests is a topic I will have to tackle another time, but the fact remains that they need to prepare for it, especially this group, since only about 58% of them scored as proficient on the extended writing portion of last year’s test. So, I get a huge stack of essays, all on the same topic, written under the same conditions as the test, and I get to score them according to the CSAP rubric and write very brief comments, which have to be always phrased positively (i.e. “You have really great ideas! More details will make your story even better!”) For this, I get $10 an hour– I have to track and report my own hours. Heh, good thing I’m honest. Now, I just need to get started!

But now, speaking of work, I have to don the red-and-khaki and make my way to my “regular” job at Target. I’ll be back. Soon. Promise.