I walked slowly around the table, speaking to everyone and feeling Marek’s eyes on me.
“Let me break this down for you,” I told them, crossing my arms over my chest and speaking slowly. “Every time we get a text or a tweet or a Facebook notification,” I explained, “we get a shot of adrenaline. The constant influx of information has become an addiction – like a drug – and when our phones beep or light up, we get a small rush.”
I met their eyes.
“And like all drugs, it isn’t long before we need our next fix.” And I gestured to their phones on the table as I spoke. “Which is exactly why you all brought your phones into this meeting with you right now instead of leaving them in your own offices,” I speculated. “Sooner rather than later, you know you’re going to feel that desperation, which will prompt you to check for a new e-mail or message. You’re addicted to the information, same as your children.”
“But in school?” a woman burst out. “Why should they have phones in school or be allowed to play around on social media for homework?”
“Because you let them have it at home,” I shot back, trying to keep my tone gentle. “Do you expect the craving for it to end when they step onto school grounds?”
She twisted her lips and sat back in her chair.
“How does a teacher compete with the kind of hold social media has over his or her students’ attention?” I asked them. “Because even if they’re forced to be without their phones, they’re thinking about their phones. They’re hiding them. They’re texting under their desks. They’re sneaking to the bathroom to use them…” I trailed off, hopefully proving that the battle was real.
“I have two choices,” I continued. “I can either fight it and treat it as a nuisance, or…” I calmed down, looking at Marek. “I can embrace it as a tool. Not only is their technology ensuring one hundred percent participation in my class,” I pointed out, “but it is also teaching them community and digital citizenship.”
I lowered my chin, pinning him with a hard look. “They do not merely attend a class, Mr. Marek,” I explained, seeing his eyes narrow on me. “They interact with one another on multiple forums, seeing through social barriers and expressing themselves in the tolerant community that I oversee. They’re learning, they’re engaged, and they’re treating one another well.”
I moved around to his other side, standing more confidently than I had since the open house.
“Now, I understand you’re a smart man,” I went on, “and you couldn’t have gotten where you are without being determined and intelligent. But I also think that you do whatever you want and say whatever you like without fear of accountability. I always have a very good reason for everything I do. Do you?
“Don’t tell me how to do my job,” I advised, “and I won’t be so arrogant as to tell you how to do yours.”
And before anyone had a chance to speak, I twisted on my heel and walked out.
SEVEN
EASTON
“
W
hat will you do with the textbooks?” I asked the librarian as I unloaded the old history books I’d been storing in my classroom.
She grabbed the stack and started pulling them off her counter, one by one, to load onto a cart.
“I think they’ll be donated,” she answered. “Although I hear you don’t even use the new fancy ones we paid good money for.”
I smiled, bending down to my rolling chair to pick up another four books to hand to her.
“Not that I don’t appreciate them,” I teased? and she shot me a wink.
If anyone had a problem with me not teaching from the textbook, it certainly wasn’t her. She had been teaching in Orleans Parish for more than thirty years and had been in all types of schools, from the advantaged to the destitute. She knew how to make do with what you had and had told me the first week that the best teachers were facilitators. The more the kids did for themselves, the more they learned.
“Hey,” someone chirped.
I twisted my head, seeing Kristen Meyer pushing her rolling chair toward the checkout desk as well.
“What’s up?” She heaved a sigh, sounding out of breath.
“Just getting rid of the old history texts,” I told her. “You?”
“Ugh.” She unloaded a stack of what looked like typical library books on geology. “Is it winter break yet?” she whined.
I let out a laugh. It wasn’t even October yet.
“All right, I’ve still got a few things to do before I head home for the day. Thanks,” I told the librarian, and then looked to Kristen as I leaned down to start pushing my chair back. “Have a good night,” I singsonged.
“Wait,” she shot out. “I’ll come with you.”
She hurried, dumping the rest of the books on the counter and pushing her chair, following me out.