Teacher Shortage: Part 1

Photo by Kat Smith

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“Okay class!”

“The word is ‘gritty!’ Can anybody tell me what this word means?”

“Oh! Oh! I know Ms. Klüg.”

One of my students stand up. They start shuffling across the floor doing a sort of dance.

“Oh yeah!” Three more students stand up, they frame their eyes with their hands like eyeglasses.

I put my hand on my forehead.

“GriTTy.” I say. “Not THE griddy.”

“Ohhhhhh.” The first student squints his eyes. “Yeah, I don’t know what that means. WAIT!” His eyes widen. “How do YOU know what the griddy means?!”

“Oohhhhhh!” Another student shouts. “Ms. Klüg I bet you know the griddy!”

I’m now coaxing my 16 third graders to get back in their desks. The whole class is laughing.

I want to laugh with them. It’s hard not to.

But if an admin were to walk by right now…

My students weren’t hitting each other anymore.

Well, not as often.

But I was on the watch list.

I had gotten to know my students individually. I knew all about why they did the things they did.

I’d recently broken up a fist fight between two of my students. I wish I could say this was a rare occurrence.

I was kicked and punched in the process. Scooping up one student into a hug and saying…

“Hey! It’s alright. It’s alright!” I called over my shoulder. “Y’all sit down. NOW!”

The rest of the students hurried to their desks.

I move to the next student. “Hey. Are you alright?”

The student is crying. I know their story.

I feel for them.

“Please don’t send me to the…”

But the door opens. Admin walks in.

“What happened?”

“The students were playing with their Fun Friday toys. One student had a question about his math test. I went to my desk to answer his question. Another student said there was some play fighting. I stood up to intervene and then this student launched at the other.”

“Come with me.”

Both students left, tears running down their cheeks. Choke marks on one of the kids’ necks.

Another new teacher walked in. “Are you alright? I heard there was a fight.”

“Yes, I’m fine. Just…”

“Yeah. I know. I’m sorry.”

The entire third grade PLC received an email a couple hours later, detailing how teachers shouldn’t be answering texts or emails during a Fun Friday activity.

I threw my red pen across the empty classroom when I read it.

I was informed I wasn’t even supposed to break up the fight. I wasn’t trained to do so. My sister, who’s a PTA, told me she had treated patients who were teachers because they had gotten hurt breaking up a fight at school.

The next day, I received two apology letters and hugs from the students involved.

I wasn’t mad at them. I was never mad at them.

They were the only people keeping me sane in that school.

I loved hearing about their weekends. I loved their antics. I loved catching them drawing on their tests instead of actually taking them.

I’d correct them, with a smile, knowing I used to do the same thing and I turned out alright.

My third grade class had BIG personalities.

60% of them were also two or more grade levels behind in reading.

Yes. You read that right.

60% could not READ.

In third grade.

I mean, even the most basic of words.

Some didn’t even know how to follow along with the words as I read TO them.

“How did they make it through this long?” I asked my PLC.

“It’s not a mandatory retention year until the third grade. And these kids started school with Hurricane Michael and then went straight into a global pandemic. They have never known a normal school year.”

I breathed out in a rush. “So that’s the reason all of us are new?”

They didn’t say anything.

Yes. All of the third grade teachers in my PLC had either NEVER taught third grade or were completely brand new teachers.

Why?

Third grade is a mandatory retention year.

And this elementary school hadn’t only gone through the pandemic like the rest of the world—which research shows now has the average student 1-2 years behind—but also a catastrophic hurricane that destroyed their town, their homes, their families…

Which, mind you, this elementary school is in an area that was hit with the worst.

Nobody wanted that job. Why would they?

Third grade at this particular elementary school was given an impossible task.

“So why don’t we just focus on reading?”

“We have to teach third grade standards. We don’t have a choice.”

“But they can’t READ?! How are they supposed to do these math word problems if they can’t even read? How are they supposed to take their open book Science or Social Studies tests?” I had a thought. “By the way, where are our Social Studies and Science books?”

One of the teachers gave a small smile. “We don’t have any.”

“WE DON’T HAVE ANY?!”

No wonder these students were frustrated.

No wonder the behaviors were seemingly out of control.

They were frustrated. They were angry.

And probably—most definitely—didn’t understand why.

There was a seeming correlation between the behaviors and the kids who couldn’t read.

Imagine being given work every day in a language you don’t understand. And, by the way, you’re expected to write in complete sentences and answer complex, multiple step questions.

And the work is not optional. You have to go to this place every day or your parents/guardians could go to jail for not sending you there. Not to mention your teachers could be sued for not properly following an IEP or 504… and over half their class probably has at least one of these plans in place.

I’d be pissed and want to fight somebody, too.

So many of my students had IEPs and 504s. So many had specific health needs I was responsible for overseeing.

When it’s one student, it’s manageable.

When it’s three, it can be done.

With 10 students, you start drinking 5 cups of coffee instead of two and your sweet tea at the Mexican restaurant turns into 2 margaritas. The fishbowl kind.

But 16 students. In a room. With no help.

I saw teachers crying in the hallways on a daily basis.

“I cried for an hour before coming in today. How are you doing?”

“No tears today. But I did sit in my car for 20 minutes before convincing myself to go in.”

“Cheers!” And we clink our coffees together.

So I never yelled at my students. I couldn’t yell at them.

Because I was angry, too. But not at them.

How had we allowed this to happen? My daughter is in the third grade. Her teacher is brand new. I knew exactly what my daughter was dealing with in her own classroom.

“They keep bullying me.”

I’d sigh and put my head down. “I’m so sorry, honey. I know it doesn’t matter. They should not treat you this way.” I lean back in my office chair. “But you have no IDEA what that child goes through at home. Don’t take it personally. And you have my permission to defend yourself if it somehow gets physical.”

Reading small groups are absolutely mandatory. Teachers are expected to split their class up. One group working on the computer, one group doing a worksheet, and the other reading at the teacher table.

“Your low group should be at your table every day reading leveled readers.”

The issue was, my low group was over half the class.

I couldn’t fit them all at my table. And my low group simply could not work independently.

They couldn’t READ.

I shot off emails to my contacts at the district asking for help. I was taken out of my classroom and put into more teacher trainings.

I’d return to chaos.

I’d explain my concerns to admin. A veteran teacher was assigned to help me with my small group twice a week.

The very first day she was supposed to come in, she told me she was unable to.

I went to a monthly staff meeting. We were shown a supposedly inspirational video saying the most bizarre things.

“A teacher will give up her precious 24 minute lunch break to teach Johnny to read…”

I had to keep the profanities from flying out of my mouth. No I would not be giving up my lunch break. What on earth?

Admin stopped the video and spoke to us. “We ask so much of our teachers. You’re superheroes.”

Too much. Too much from our teachers. I was at the school until 10pm the night previous.

The district sends out an email about the teacher shortage and negotiations with the union about teacher pay.

“We know we could never pay our teachers enough.”

I bang my head on my desk. Did you know Bay District teachers do NOT make the state mandated $47,500 a year? That wasn’t in the advertisement.

In fact, it was often after hire that new teachers found out they would actually be making $20 an hour until they were certified. In the meantime, they were still expected to do all the work as a teacher and were strongly encouraged to be at open house on a volunteer basis.

Which, by the way, to actually successfully do the work of an elementary school teacher, you’re up at the school an extra 15-20 hours a week minimum outside of your contracted hours.

New teachers found out they would NOT be making teacher pay until AFTER they were certified. They also found out they would not be receiving back pay for holidays until after they received what’s called a statement of eligibility.

New teachers I know are still waiting.

It was also news to the newbies that they would not be reimbursed for all the classroom supplies they had purchased.

“But I just spent $160 on whiteboards! They said I had to have them!”

“I had to buy a new carpet!”

“I’ve spent $1,000 on my classroom.” And that new teacher hung her head.

I was in the room when they started crying.

I was not surprised when the news announced that over 20 Bay District new teachers quit in the first three weeks of school. Coincidentally soon after that new teacher training where the room melted in tears.

I was assigned a mentor. She was wonderful and was supposed to help me teach a class once or twice a week. Only… her planning period was the exact opposite of mine. She couldn’t come in unless my paraprofessional could come watch her class…

… And my paraprofessional’s attendance was infrequent. There is also a shortage of paraprofessionals.

Besides the random pop ups from admin complaining about how loud my class was…

I was clearly alone.

So, I came up with an idea. A small one, but one I thought would make a big difference.

Part 1/5

About Sandi MarLisa

Sandi MarLisa is a professional writer and musician in Panama City, Florida. She is co-founder of the band Jack and Gin, as well as author of three books, including her latest title Fire Flurries: Confessions of a Small Town Rockstar.

Learn more about her at her website: www.sandimarlisa.com.