Passing Times

‘Teachers will now be expected to wipe down all desks during each of your students’ passing times, to remove any vandalism and offensive marks,’ Mrs. Jacobson said. To this end, she handed each teacher a 500 count box of lemon-scented multi-purpose wipes. She explained that more boxes would be made available in the front office, should the first be used up (which it most certainly will). Graffiti is becoming commonplace at Brackenridge Middle School. 

Mr. Elliot raised his hand. He always seems to question Mrs. Jacobson when she tries to implement anything new. Like me, he’d been a teacher at Brackenridge well over fifteen years before she was hired on as its new principal.

‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘but haven’t we teachers also been told to stand in the doorways of our classrooms during passing times to monitor the hallways? Listening for offensive language? Watching out for physical displays of affection and dress code violations? How is it that we are supposed to manage both of these duties in a span of just five minutes?’ 

‘Great questions,’ Mrs. Jacobson responded flatly. She completed her administrative degree two years ago and is much younger than most of the teachers she’s now expected to lead. She often speaks in phrases that sound straight out of graduate text books. ‘I’m confident that my seemingly incongruent directives will become manageable- workable- over time. Let’s focus on the bigger picture: why we do what we do. When students see teachers watching out in hallways, they feel safe. When students see clean desks, they feel ready to learn. It is our responsibility to create an environment in which students can be successful.’

 ‘What are the students’ responsibilities anymore?’ Mr. Elliot pressed.

‘Getting to school, for starters,’ Mrs. Jacobson answered after only the slightest pause. ‘It’s not like students get paid to be here. Do you know how difficult it is for some of our students to make it out the door each morning? When their alarms go off, their parents could be working night shifts or passed out drunk in bed. A student may be scared to face another day at school with a learning disability, limited English skills, an emerging drug or alcohol problem, or maybe even the wrong-brand backpack. Big or small, there’s so much on these students’ shoulders that we can’t see.’

Mr. Elliot sighed but clearly had lost momentum to take things further. He looked around the room to see if any other teachers were going to pose an objection to the sanitizing wipes or perhaps to this new generation of students in general. I looked down before his eyes got to me.

‘Well, I better grow longer arms and legs if I’m supposed to stand in my doorway while I simultaneously scrub desks, during seven passing times each day,’ he said under his breath to Ms. June. She giggled and looked up guiltily, as if she were worried about being reprimanded.

The thing is, I can kind of see what Mr. Elliot was saying. The number of teachers gets reduced each year, our class sizes grow, the students’ behaviors get worse, and everyone is asked to do more with less. Prior to this mandate, we left the desk cleaning to the over-night janitorial crew, though they generally only made it to each classroom twice each week.

‘And while you’re at it, you may want to grow eyes out of the back of your head too,’ Mrs. Jacobson responded, in a tone that was equal parts joking and threat. Rumor has it she’s placed Mr. Elliot on a Plan of Action, meaning he’s got three chances to improve his teaching practices or he could be fired.

Personally, I think he just needs to change his attitude and get on board with Mrs. Jacobson’s way of doing things. If you’re a teacher long enough, the only constant is that procedures will change every few years. Why fight it? Nothing that comes along seems any better or too much worse than what came before. Fifty years ago, teachers could go for a smoke during passing times. That was eliminated because smoking was deemed unsafe. But now, they’re suggesting we bring guns to school for protection! How’s that for progress?

The sad thing is, if these changes didn’t come along, I probably would have quit long ago from the sheer monotony. Six classes each day. One planning period. Same curriculum packaged in different ways over the years. The teachers who cling onto things remaining the same are the ones who end up killing themselves during Spring Break after ten years. It happens.

That aside, I did feel a twinge of regret when we were told we’d have to wipe down our desks throughout the day. I’d gotten into the habit of taking a half hour at the end of my work day, to examine the graffiti on each desk, looking for patterns. It was like reading a personalized copy of the school’s newspaper- The Brackenridge Times.

The words and drawings of middle school students offer a mix of sexual innuendo, humor, romance, and pain. Graffiti is how I learned that Gwyneth, a sixth grader, was considering suicide. I learned Coach Moore cries in the locker rooms after home-games (whether the team wins or loses). I learned Ms. June goes crazy on the weekends at Al’s Pub and Grill. And, last year, I learned that Mr. Elliot loved Ms. Townsend. That’s me. Instead of love, there was a heart between our two names, but I figured out what it meant.

Neither Mr. Elliot or I were married at the time- both recently separated. We’d been working together all those years and I’d never considered him like that before. He’s in the math department, while I’m in English Literature. It seemed unlikely, yet, the student must have seen or heard something. Otherwise, why would he or she have wasted pencil lead to put us together?

I found myself dressing in shoes with heels and putting on lipstick. I made photo-copies in the staff lounge when I knew he’d be on his lunch break. I asked to borrow his classroom set of rulers for a poetry project on haikus- he’d said yes and didn’t even give me a timeline for their return. Something was wonderfully different for three months. The halls were filled with a buzzing energy that only I could feel. The monotony wasn’t broken because of a change to a rule or regulation; it was the hint of something genuinely new.       

Then I read another piece of graffiti. Same desk. Same handwriting. This time it read Ms. June loves Mr. Elliot. Sure enough, the next day I was making copies for my annual Shakespearean project and those two were having lunch at a table together. Mr. June was at least ten years younger than him. Never married. Science department. A few weeks later, even the teachers were talking about it. Ms. June had asked Mr. Elliot to go dancing at Al’s Pub and Grill. He’d said yes. Apparently, their equation made sense to him and she had the right chemistry for him. That’s middle school humor right there.

And where did that leave me after that? Back to reading graffiti on students’ desks at the end of the day. Sadly, the only thing I’ve read about myself lately is Ms. Townsend is boring. The student traced the word boring repeatedly, like he or she was trying to etch it into the table-top. Honestly, that was hurtful because it wasn’t my top choice to be lecturing on iambic pentameter that day. 

Sometimes students may report things accurately, but other times they see only what they want to see. Students can’t possibly understand the genuine chaos of teachers’ lives when we leave the school. For example, I’ve read on multiple desks that Mr. Barton, the band teacher, passes gas in class, but tries to time it while the tubas are playing. I couldn’t help snickering at Mr. Barton in the hallways after reading that, thinking about a drawing I saw of him that rhymed his name with flatulence. Then, just last Wednesday, I overheard him telling the front secretary that he was suffering from Irritable Bowel Syndrome. IBS can be quite difficult to manage, according to late-night infomercials. Really, Mr. Barton should be commended for coming to work, not laughed at each time his stomach churns! It places him in a whole new light. I’m going to take particular care to scrub off any vandalism with his name on it in the future. And, I may even sit with him in the lunchroom, depending on what he’s having for lunch.