Every year, right around now, I deeply regret transitioning into a teaching career.
I speak, of course, of the end-of-the-year checkout.
This is a miserable process and my hatred for it deepens each year. As evidence, I offer up an essay I wrote on the process almost exactly a decade ago at the end of year five. Note how copacetic I sound:
While the last days of school are usually pretty easy, the very last day of duty is a hassle. Teachers have to get signed off on a bunch of things over the summer, turn in their keys, and leave. You can tell the teachers who count every second of the summer, who have been preparing their room for the end days for at least a week, who know the checkoff list by heart and have it all done before the last bell rings. They’re the ones waiting in line on Friday morning for an admin signoff so they can prove to the principal’s secretary that they’ve changed their voicemail password and turn in their keys.
Then there are teachers who make a day of it–eh, summer’s here, they won’t rush. These are teachers for whom the most significant task—room cleaning—is something they’d rather not think about. They come in late, sigh at the mess of their room, do some grading, get grades in, lackadaisically pack up a few boxes, go get coffee, come back and sigh at the mess of their room, shove a bunch of stuff into their car, go get lunch, toss a bunch of stuff they’d been saving in case they needed it, jam anything left over into their cars, and then look at the sign-off sheet to see what other tasks they need. By this time it’s usually late afternoon and everyone’s left, so they skate the things like turning in two copies of grades, turning in keys, changing voicemail and so on. They email the principal’s secretary and drop by a few weeks later to turn in their keys. You’ll never guess which sort of teacher I am. Go ahead, guess.
I am still that sort of teacher. Not for me, the joy of seeing the checkout list as the harbinger of summer break. I can’t even bear to think of summer until I’ve handed in my keys (and many years, I take so long I don’t even hand them in).
Scouring the web for online examples of checkout forms to inform those unaware of this hellish ritual perversely made me realize how good I have it. I don’t have to clear my counter space or turn in student books and teachers’ editions like the teachers in Marion, nor do I have to move my own classroom furniture out into the hallway . Hating the checkout checklist is clearly a thing in teacher land, but while the waiting-in-line to get sign-offs for grades, attendance, and technology is annoying, the simple truth is I hate this day or days of days because of item #8: I have to clean my fucking classroom. Clean off my desk, pack up all the random shit that’s accrued throughout the year, find all the whiteboard pens, wipe down all the mini-boards….ok, it doesn’t sound like a lot when I write it down.
Looking up these Tiktok videos was actually therapeutic because the guy who had to take the furniture ot gave me some insight into why I don’t just shove everything into a closet and be done: I don’t want to deal with all this at the start of the year. We only get a day to unpack our rooms. My philosophy on back to school is to coast until Labor Day weekend–I am deeply resentful of the constant shifting of the school year from late August to mid-June to now mid-August to end-May. So I don’t want to do any serious work when I get back for at least three weeks. Thus, as much as I despise organization and cleaning, I spend time sorting pencils, pens, and white board markers. I stack all my paper by type: lined, graph, colored, stock. I keep all the student tests until fall in case a parent complains. I stick all the extra worksheet copies I made throughout the year in individual folders. (No, I don’t throw them away and yes, I often use them.) I take down all the student notes and pictures on my bulletin board. Every year I spend time looking at all the organizers and paper holders and keys that previous occupants left in the room and some years, like this one, I remember to put them outside my classroom, which means “throw them away” but my brain doesn’t like to think of that way, like I’m hurting a cheap plastic bookshelf’s feelings. I spend time mulling all the keys in the desk that I didn’t throw away the year before. Maybe someone will come back for them?
It doesn’t sound like a lot, does it? My memory refuses to save the other tasks, I think. Trust me, it’s an awful time for someone who combines rampant disorganization with an idiosyncratic hatred of just shoving mess into a drawer.
In years past, my job entailed a cleanout that took weeks, so as agonizing as this year’s tasks were, it was a huge step up. I got out by 6:00 on Monday, packed up my Explorer on Tuesday, and am currently typing this 20 feet from a lake. Taking my kayak out soon.
Ten years ago, I showed Rear Window as an end of the year celebration with donuts or pizza and once again, the Hitchcock classic was on the bill. I take the phones. Students have to watch or sleep. They watched. Five times, they went nuts as Lars Thorwald comes back up the stairs, sees Lisa Fremont signal to Jeff and watch Raymond Burr realize that someone’s watching him. Five times they collectively gasp as Jimmy Stewart realizes that he’s got a visitor, tries to hide, can’t, and then…the light under the door goes out. Five times, they clap at the ending and tell me they didn’t know “old movies” could be so awesome.
And five times*, I gave some form of this speech:
“I began this year in a deep, deep depression. I didn’t want to leave my last job–it was my choice, but I was miserable in making it. The beginning of the year was hey, just get up. Put one foot in front of the other. Get the job done. I’m sure some of you have been there.”
“And….it got better. The reason it got better was you guys. Students. You argued, you ignored me, you wouldn’t get off your damn phone, but hell, you also listened, laughed, and learned. So many of you realized I was teaching geometry different from other teachers and stopped to thank me. There are kids in this room who started off strong and developed their skills. Others of you came in having cheated yur way through the past two years with no plan B until I kicked you and by golly, you learned, too, if only in self-defense. You gave me a chance and I took it and by working with you, the depression and grief got better. You reminded me that teaching is a great job and I’m lucky to do it. Thanks for being with me during a tough year.”
And they clapped again, but that was just them being nice.
Gonna go put my boat in the lake.
*I was given a sixth class at the semester, taking away my prep period and that undoubtedly was also a big help to my mood. But they were an algebra support class and watched Galaxy Quest.
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