Parting Gifts: a Satire
This last school year, I resigned from my current teaching position after eleven years to
teach in another school district. It was not easy to leave. I had started up the new alternative
program in the district, served on a vast number of committees including moving the district towards
becoming one of innovation. I had coached and served as a department chair during my
tenure. There were issues at the upper levels of district administration, and like most school
districts, we had our issues with population and growth, space and lack of resources. I maintained
my classroom and continued to modify, adapt, differentiate and instruct the best way I
knew how.
I had reached a point where I needed a change, and it became clear that the district was
not going to make it easy. The opportunities to move out of my position were limited, so I finally
decided to write the letter resigning my position and seek new opportunities.
It is not always easy to move on and change jobs. I said goodbye to some dear friends
and colleagues, and got a little misty-eyed knowing I would be leaving some of my students.
Then there is the exit paperwork with HR, checking in your supplies at your building, and that
Herculean task of cleaning out your classroom. I decided to throw most of the used pencils, paperclips,
sticky-notepads, tape rolls, and used notebooks away. I kept a few pens, a tape dispenser
and stapler I purchased, and three-ring binders that still worked. I left the teacher editions
of the textbooks, along with the overhead projector (yes, I still use one), in our front office.
I turned in my computer, absent the files and archived emails, to our IT department. Finally, I
turned in my badge. As I retrieved it from my pocket, I was asked if I wanted to keep something:
the lanyard.
I don’t know if I blinked, fainted, heard music or a combination of all three, but something
happened that will surely be considered a watershed moment in my teaching career. I got to
keep the lanyard. The lanyard. That leash-like rope around my neck that held my security
badge. The lanyard that had made its home around my neck by day and around my rearview
mirror at night. The lanyard that had survived numerous classroom lectures on agreement,
powerpoint presentations on Medieval Romance, demonstrations in American Poetry, and those
long hours at the copy machine. The lanyard was there when I had my evaluation conferences;
it was there when I attended those professional development seminars on best practices; it was
there during those data-driven plc’s in the early morning. I can’t believe that I got the chance to
take it with me.
During my career I had become somewhat accustomed to receiving those token gifts
from the district. I could always count on a coffee mug or engraved plaque that had the district
logo and motto on it. Coffee mugs get stained, however, and plaques collect dust. But lanyards
have staying power. They are durable and as long as the metal clip stays strong, the lanyard is
a survivor. I guess I could ask for a jump in salary or a step increase, maybe even some licensure
credit or credit towards another degree or certificate. But money always seems to spend
itself and those certificates just end up in a file. That stuff just doesn’t get used like the lanyard.
It is an everyday thing, kind of like grading and planning and analyzing data. You can count on
it, unlike salary increases that only happen once if they happen at all. I suppose an extra personal
day would have been just as good. Extra time with your family or your personal endeavors
is priceless no doubt, but the lanyard made it all sort of disappear into a fog or misty-like
haze. Like I said before, I think I heard some music.
The lanyard made me forget about things that just did not seem important. I forgot about
those late nights grading papers. I forgot about those early mornings, and those icy streets in
the dark of winter. I forgot about those ridiculous policies set forth by administrators like dress
codes and attendance contracts. I forgot about the changing landscape of testing and evaluation,
growth and data-driven instruction. The lanyard also reminded me why I decided to leave.
As I transition into this new teaching assignment, the process starts over. I have to learn
some new policies and protocols and I expect that. I will also be moving storage containers that
contain over a decade’s worth of materials and classroom history. There will also be a new
staff, administration, building and culture. I will take on a new number and a new identity. This
new identity will take the form of a photograph, laser printed onto a plastic-coated security
badge attached to a district-approved lanyard. And I wonder, amidst all the stuff happening in
public education like the charter movement, the rewrite of NCLB, the new PARCC tests and
Common Core, if I will get to keep the lanyard. I hope so.
This last school year, I resigned from my current teaching position after eleven years to
teach in another school district. It was not easy to leave. I had started up the new alternative
program in the district, served on a vast number of committees including moving the district towards
becoming one of innovation. I had coached and served as a department chair during my
tenure. There were issues at the upper levels of district administration, and like most school
districts, we had our issues with population and growth, space and lack of resources. I maintained
my classroom and continued to modify, adapt, differentiate and instruct the best way I
knew how.
I had reached a point where I needed a change, and it became clear that the district was
not going to make it easy. The opportunities to move out of my position were limited, so I finally
decided to write the letter resigning my position and seek new opportunities.
It is not always easy to move on and change jobs. I said goodbye to some dear friends
and colleagues, and got a little misty-eyed knowing I would be leaving some of my students.
Then there is the exit paperwork with HR, checking in your supplies at your building, and that
Herculean task of cleaning out your classroom. I decided to throw most of the used pencils, paperclips,
sticky-notepads, tape rolls, and used notebooks away. I kept a few pens, a tape dispenser
and stapler I purchased, and three-ring binders that still worked. I left the teacher editions
of the textbooks, along with the overhead projector (yes, I still use one), in our front office.
I turned in my computer, absent the files and archived emails, to our IT department. Finally, I
turned in my badge. As I retrieved it from my pocket, I was asked if I wanted to keep something:
the lanyard.
I don’t know if I blinked, fainted, heard music or a combination of all three, but something
happened that will surely be considered a watershed moment in my teaching career. I got to
keep the lanyard. The lanyard. That leash-like rope around my neck that held my security
badge. The lanyard that had made its home around my neck by day and around my rearview
mirror at night. The lanyard that had survived numerous classroom lectures on agreement,
powerpoint presentations on Medieval Romance, demonstrations in American Poetry, and those
long hours at the copy machine. The lanyard was there when I had my evaluation conferences;
it was there when I attended those professional development seminars on best practices; it was
there during those data-driven plc’s in the early morning. I can’t believe that I got the chance to
take it with me.
During my career I had become somewhat accustomed to receiving those token gifts
from the district. I could always count on a coffee mug or engraved plaque that had the district
logo and motto on it. Coffee mugs get stained, however, and plaques collect dust. But lanyards
have staying power. They are durable and as long as the metal clip stays strong, the lanyard is
a survivor. I guess I could ask for a jump in salary or a step increase, maybe even some licensure
credit or credit towards another degree or certificate. But money always seems to spend
itself and those certificates just end up in a file. That stuff just doesn’t get used like the lanyard.
It is an everyday thing, kind of like grading and planning and analyzing data. You can count on
it, unlike salary increases that only happen once if they happen at all. I suppose an extra personal
day would have been just as good. Extra time with your family or your personal endeavors
is priceless no doubt, but the lanyard made it all sort of disappear into a fog or misty-like
haze. Like I said before, I think I heard some music.
The lanyard made me forget about things that just did not seem important. I forgot about
those late nights grading papers. I forgot about those early mornings, and those icy streets in
the dark of winter. I forgot about those ridiculous policies set forth by administrators like dress
codes and attendance contracts. I forgot about the changing landscape of testing and evaluation,
growth and data-driven instruction. The lanyard also reminded me why I decided to leave.
As I transition into this new teaching assignment, the process starts over. I have to learn
some new policies and protocols and I expect that. I will also be moving storage containers that
contain over a decade’s worth of materials and classroom history. There will also be a new
staff, administration, building and culture. I will take on a new number and a new identity. This
new identity will take the form of a photograph, laser printed onto a plastic-coated security
badge attached to a district-approved lanyard. And I wonder, amidst all the stuff happening in
public education like the charter movement, the rewrite of NCLB, the new PARCC tests and
Common Core, if I will get to keep the lanyard. I hope so.