Tuesday, July 19, 2011

The Complaint Coach

I've always been an avid people watcher. From as long as I can remember, I've always marveled at the complexities of the human face. Not one person looks alike (well, it is said we all have one twin) and the millions of shades and shapes of a face can create so many distinct looks. That said, people's personalities and actions in public have always been intriguing as well.

My very first job I worked as a bagger and runner for a inner city grocery store. With me never really learning Spanish, I really worked on learning body cues, eyes and body language. Moms frustrated with kids, the various staff that ranged from retired grandmas who returned to the working field and young kids in college who were already living on their own. I was used to catching people's glances, the eyes of a man watching a woman walk down an aisle, a flirtatious look between co-workers, the late-night redness of eyes after a few too many. The hardest face ever for me to read was that of Mr. Lao, one of my supervisors. The Vietnamese man never showed any type of emotion. He would have won the lottery and you would have thought he dropped a kidney stone.

After a few other service jobs that had more to deal with behind the scenes work, I began a long "career" of sorts with the county Toll Road. All I did was see faces! Morning faces, business faces, drunks, the police behind large aviator sunglass faces (too many viewings of "Cool Hand Luke"!), the looks of confused people driving the wrong way, the astonished look of people after an accident.

Being able to read faces (or at least the luxury of trying) has served me well as a teacher. I know the look of a kid who is confused and the kid too cocky to have even looked for his answer within the text. I know the looks of kids who probably were getting the business from their moms before they rode the bus, only to hear it from the bully or the one kid in class who can't read but is always talking trash about how smart they are.

Of course, reading kids is only half the fun. Working with fellow teachers is another sub category of people watching. As a cut-up myself, I had to know which teachers were prime for ridicule, sarcasm or nothing whatsoever. Now being on the other side, teachers are so fun to watch. I love the looks across the room when a principal spouts a philosophy they're not buying into. Or the look down onto a phone when looking for a volunteer. I especially love the looks of teachers in the summer.

My wife and I signed up for a development day, but were moved along to the side as everyone storms in at 9 (we want kids to be there on time, but we are allowed to show up whenever we want). One lady was not "registered" and was having a hard time being told to wait and wasn't convinced she was going to get her stipend. This was the moment when she decided to look around the hall at the many of us waiting alongside. She needed some support for her frustration and surely her teacher brethren would stand by her side and ease her frustration by agreeing with her. All she saw from my wife and I were shrugs and smiles. It's like the guy in line at a fast food restaurant who just had cheese on his hamburger and didn't ask for it and has to look around the entire place for someone else who was wronged. Dude, if I wanted someone to spit in my food, I'd ask, otherwise take your grievance elsewhere!

Once we entered the room, I was struck more with the decor of the building. Old pictures adorned the walls (one frame showcased scholars that suspiciously ceased in 2006) and the library windows were postered with reading campaigns from the early 90's. The heat was no better. Since the building had AC in only some of the rooms, it seemed fitting we were pitted in room without. The sound of box fans whirled around the room. Everyone had sweat on their foreheads. One large man sat in the high school sized chair and sweated profusely. His arms seems almost too small for his body. We never saw him after lunch.

One group of teachers were from the same building. I loved their camaraderie and conversations, he sharing of a pack of gum, the same destination for lunch and hair tied back in a pony. I loved the look of the guy in the Darth Vader rolling chair, his Charlie Sheen shirt sweating along with him. Even the lady with the perpetual smirk drew my attention. She too was like the registration lady in that she wanted some confirmation from the room on the day's dynamics--the heat, the computer problems, the stalling of the professional staff. I never once smiled at her as I didn't want her to somehow influence me into her worldview. People in complaint mode, teachers or otherwise, always someone in their camp. They are like prize boxers who cannot walk into a ring without an entourage. They are surrounded by back-patters and towel wavers. Even when their faces are being pummeled, they can sit next to their complaint coach and fight another round.

How did I stay cool? I teased my wife with "I hate yous" and drawing in her book. I wiped sweat on her arm and judged her choice of lecture snacks. I dozed off. Tomorrow we go back. I'm wondering how many will return (knowing that we are getting a stipend will mean they will come back, if anything, they will complain more because they feel entitled to being paid). My wife and I will be there. Nothing to complain about that.

Sunday, July 17, 2011

Finding the King

There's something to be said about a proper ending. Movies used to get them right before the age of the sequel. The killer keeps being resurrected by the dollar, the monster leaves a nest somewhere hidden by the screenwriter and the hero's 50 foot fall was only an illusion. TV shows are more problematic. Sometimes they get cancelled halfway through a season. Some you invest your time in only to realize you'll never know how their stories end. The only season of "Freaks and Geeks" is a prime example. I'll never know what happened to those kids after their summer.

In life, you hardly ever get to have the right ending. People move, people die. Most of are lucky to have that "Shane" movie ending where the kid calls out our name as we lay slumped over a horse riding into the sunset. Better yet, we don't even die a anti-hero's death like in "The Wild Bunch," in slow motion glory while we take 50 mexicans to hell along the way. Ask Steve McQueen how he felt about his ending, as he traveled to Ohio for treatment of cancer that wouldn't quit. Cancer loves matinee idols, heroes, cowboys, moms and even kids.

Today my daughter played her final game of the summer. For about 15 minutes or so, the girls stood in a circle and simply stared at one another. Some of the girls will never play with their high schools again, or travel softball. They are moving on to college where the game will be more like a job. Their tears are not tears of fear. Perhaps it was a simple innocence. They know the next time they will see each other it will be under different circumstances.

Amid their ending, parents too stood in a wavy line around them, shaking hands, hugging, and crying too. To many of us, it was an ideal ending. Another chapter in the volume of parenting. My book has yet to be written, so to speak, or has found its ending.

Characters have come and gone, resurfaced and changed. Some remain static. I don't remember the literary term for them in my mind, but my writing teacher warned they were only needed to further to make the main character grow. Too many and your novel was doomed. A friend told me this weekend that the static players in my life are there simply because, as a teacher, I'm used to seeing results. I expect change, I demand it, perhaps.

So I find myself in the middle chapters. There's so many characters in my book. I'm not privy to who will remain or who will change. One thing I do know, it is not my responsibility to "make" them grow along with me. Leading a bible study, praying or inviting them over for wings or barbecue will not suddenly transform anyone and my epiphany is simply this: It's okay. I have to release the teacher in me.

I've been reading about the cheating scandal in Atlanta. Teachers changing answers, erasing furiously in locked rooms. Placing poor performing students next to the smart ones so reading their answers would be easier (hell, we already do that in non-testing situations!). I don't want to be that person. I cannot move people along a chess board with hopes they will find their King. I cannot erase anyone's mistakes, simply to bubble in their next step with a #2 pencil.

I do want that perfect ending. It's the human part of all of us. We want to fly around the earth like Christopher Reeves after he saves the planet from leather-clad villains. I want to stand on the podium as Princess Leia places the medal around my neck, barking like Chewbacca. I want to stand in the circle like my daughter and her teammates, shedding a tear with the ones I love, our uniforms dirty from life, but alive and willing to see what is next.