The Desk in the Sky: The Humorous and Poignant Experiences of a Classroom Teacher

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Part 1

The Beginning

Chapter 1

The Desk in the Sky

Chapter 1

The Desk in the Sky

The main office of the Long Island junior high school was packed with returning teachers, many of whom had not seen one another since the previous June. We were all anxious to begin the kickoff of the new school year. Many quick hugs were passed around as we all collected our mail from the pigeon-hole boxes on the wall to the right of the entrance. The heat of the day was beginning to build, and all wanted to linger in the office a bit longer since it was one of the only air-conditioned places in the building. But linger, we could not.

As usual, on the first day of school teachers are overwhelmed by the seemingly millions of urgent matters needing immediate attention, and the list seemed to grow each year. Cards of all sorts needed to be filled out, and supplies, plan books, and attendance cards collected. When will we be free to do the job we came to do? I always wondered. This year was no different, or was it?

It was that time of year…once again. The start of another school year, and my feelings were as always mixed. Three more teachers entered the already crowded office. The summer vacation had erased the strain from their faces leaving them looking relaxed. All I could think about was the fact that yet another summer had ended. I hated to see it slip behind me and all those lazy days reading on the sands of Nissequogue Beach end. There was no place closer to heaven for me than lying on a beach towel with a cold drink and watching the pages of a great novel stirring in the cool summer breeze.

Stretching over me to gather his mail, a colleague bumped me gently, and I was brought back to the office again. As more colleagues arrived, filling the office to capacity, I opened the door to the hallway and the heat hit my face, and I felt my body try to accept the discomfort as I convinced myself that I would adjust to the stifling heat as I had done for twenty years now. I needed to get to my desk to unload the box of supplies I was lugging. Working in a school always presented one with challenges. Some were pleasant, and others were not.

Always an adventure, I laughed to myself.

Sweat was now beginning to form on my brow as I reminded myself of the promise I’d made some twenty years before when I set out as a fresh-faced young teacher. No matter what challenges came, I told myself, I would never lose sight of my core beliefs.

First, that a teacher should make the school experience enjoyable and worthwhile for every student. Second that a teacher needs to be aware of the precise or the special needs, of each student. Third, that a teacher needs to educate all students by keeping information about their personal learning needs uppermost in mind. Also, that students will be more apt to learn if the experience is fun. All else takes a back seat. The curriculum, important as it may be, cannot be taught unless these other factors are in place.

In addition, students need to feel that the school is there for them and that they are safe and wanted. They need to know that should they have a problem, be it academic or emotional, they can seek help in the school environment. They should feel that the school exists for no other reason than to accommodate their learning.

Another important factor is love. Yes, love. Students need to feel that their teachers love and care about them as much as their families do. When a student feels love, he or she wants to give it back, and is more receptive to the process of learning.

Subsequently, it occurred to me that the persons most concerned about my students’ education were me and their parents. To the rest of the school faculty, they were just kids they saw in the hallway or kids for whom a room needed to be assigned. Naturally, my colleagues were devoted to their students and that’s the way it had to be, and the administration was responsible for the whole school of which we were a small part.

This year would be no different. I tucked my summer memories away and began looking forward to what the following days would bring - the beginning of a new school year and a crop of students whose education I was being entrusted to provide.

Trudging down the hot corridor with a box of supplies in my arms, I had already begun to focus on the lesson plans I’d need to write, the reports I’d need to read, and the supplies I’d need to unpack when one of the administrators approached me. Between the heat and the crush of tasks weighing on her, she already looked half wilted. Preliminary pleasantries were curtailed as she delivered her news and I was not ready for the first big surprise of the year.

Dr. La Fiandra, uh, the school building is undergoing some renovations. During these renovations, your desk and some others needed to be relocated - just for a time.

Previously, my desk had been on the school’s lower level. Not in an office per se but in a basement classroom where I had taught for about eight years. The small windows in this classroom looked out at the inside of a window well. Nothing to distract my students there! Okay, I thought, where are they putting me now? I didn’t use my desk a lot but when I needed it, I really needed it.

So, I asked cautiously, where is my desk? The box was getting heavier; all I wanted was to put my belongings in their accustomed location and get to the faculty meeting which was about to begin down in the cafeteria, the coolest, non-air conditioned area in the building.

We put your desk in the balcony of the auditorium.

I see, I nodded, thinking, Unusual, to say the least. But, after all, as a teacher of special needs students, I was used to unusual challenges.

Nevertheless, this out of the way placement of my desk said to me that the administration and I viewed my work with special needs students differently.

As I climbed the marble stairs to the second floor, I felt the air getting warmer with each step. By now the weight of the box seemed to be increasing. I arrived at the doors to the balcony, gripped the brass handle of one door, and pulled it open to see my new office.

There, situated behind the last row of seats, was my old gray metal desk. I’d hoped that during the move, someone might have noticed the four letter word carved in the lower right corner of the desk top and, perhaps tried to sand it out but, no, the word still glared at me. Still, it was good to see my desk again. I hastily placed my lesson plan book, sharpened pencils, paper clips, and a variety of other necessary supplies in the drawers in hope of dashing back down stairs to our first faculty meeting of the year. But, for a moment, I hesitated.

This was not the first time in my teaching career I’d handled a curveball. But something about this one stood out.

Here I was, facing another year of teaching kids with special needs - extra needs, on top of the ones most kids face. If anything, I needed more support and fewer challenges. So, why was I being shoved off handedly to the back row of the balcony? I felt a bit petty thinking this way, but the thought that crossed my mind was why did they move the teacher of the special needs kids here and not the teacher of the gifted kids?

While sequestered in the balcony as I now was, I stood there wondering whether I could provide my students with all they needed from me. I would be out of the mainstream for a time each day, and therefore less available to gather those students who had a hard time, say, in Art class and were in the hallway cooling off or to notice the student who was in the nurse’s office having an injury treated. Each of my students had individual needs. Could I do the same quality job hidden away up here as I was doing from my more accessible desk in my basement classroom? I wondered. Time would tell.

Okay, I told myself as I closed the balcony door behind me. Don’t make a big deal out of this. The administrator said it was just temporary.

As I left the balcony, I had no idea how this desk placement was going to affect me and how it would awaken incidents in my experiences both as a student and as a teacher. In many ways, my desk in the sky as I had begun to refer to it was going to give me a great deal of food for thought.

Further, I understood that I also had individual needs which required attention for me to do the best job I could do. My job was to understand and meet the special needs of my students, and the school administrators’ job was to address my needs so I could be best at my job. At this time, I wondered if they had.

Presently, I made my way down the marble steps to the cafeteria where the faculty meeting was about to begin. Here, I was informed of the wonderful changes that were in store for us during this coming year. We were told that the renovations would help to transform the school into a more effective environment for learning, that the entering sixth graders brought with them many advantages to our student body, and, most important of all, that parking spaces would be assigned for all.

While absorbing all the good news the principal reported, my mind traveled to another year and another first day when a young girl was entering school for the first time. Not quite five years old, that girl had individual needs just like every student who would be coming through the doors of our middle school in an hour or so. That little girl did not have a joyful experience that first day, and it was her experience that had taught me what students really need in order to fully open themselves up to learning.

Chapter 2

Lessons from a Kindergarten Dropout

Chapter 2

Lessons from a Kindergarten Dropout

I recall vividly that day in 1945 when I first encountered public school and public school first encountered me.

The day was bright and sunny when I arose from my folding bed situated in the corner of my parents’ bedroom. My mother and I carefully folded the bed up, placed the sheets inside the fold and stored the bed in its spot on the wall between the clothing closet and the door to the hallway. It was already hot, as most days at the beginning of September in New York City are. The day before, my extended family had gathered at Jones Beach on Long Island for our annual Labor Day celebration. I had been hugged and kissed by Aunt Ida, Aunt Anna, Uncle John, cousins Elena and Americo, and other loved ones like Anne R. and her brothers Joey and Pete who were not technically family but might as well have been. This event marked the official end to summer and the beginning of the New York City school year. More importantly, it marked the beginning of my educational experience in that system.

I shed my pajamas and dressed in the frilly, blue starched dress my mother had laid out for me on her freshly made bed. In our sole family bathroom, she lovingly combed my hair and placed satin blue ribbons on the ends of my two braids. That done, we walked back to the kitchen where my grandmother had my hot breakfast ready. I sat in my own chair which had a big thick pillow on it and ate my oatmeal in the company of my mother who was having a second cup of American coffee and my grandmother who was already on her third cup of Italian demitasse coffee. Eating breakfast while listening to Mom and Grandma decide whether to make stuffed artichokes or stuffed mushrooms as a side dish for the evening meal made me want to remain right there and be part of the preparations. In spite of my wish to remain home, Mom and I left the apartment after my grandmother bent down and kissed me on both cheeks.

My mother, who was in her fifth month of pregnancy, walked me the five long blocks from our apartment on Hone Avenue in the North Bronx to P.S.89 on Mace Avenue, and, as we walked, we talked about how exciting it was going to be for me to be beginning my formal education. Mom grasped my hand tightly as we crossed Allerton Avenue and said, You’re going to make so many new friends, Johanna, and you’re going to learn new things. It’s going to be a lot of fun. Mom went on to describe the many fun things I would be doing in school. I couldn’t wait to finger paint, make animals with clay, and to use empty egg cartons to create caterpillars like I had seen other children do.

My mind racing ahead, I picked up my pace. I was more than ready for fun and new experiences. However, I loved being at home making Pignoli cookies and ravioli with my mother and my grandmother. Thus, I was a bit anxious as we walked along Allerton Avenue hoping they would not start baking without me because I loved sticking my finger in the bowl with the almond paste to get a sneak preview of what the cookies would taste like when baked. Besides, they needed me to measure out the sugar in Grandma’s chipped measuring cup. But mostly, I was excited about meeting new friends.

When we finally reached the school, I felt my stomach doing flips from the excitement of what lay ahead. P.S.89, like all New York City elementary schools, was an imposing three story building whose front steps were enveloped in the massive shadow of the building. Mom and I walked up the front steps and into the cool lobby. It felt good to be out of the late-summer heat. Immediately, we were surrounded by other mothers escorting their chatty children to the same kindergarten classrooms. On the first day of school-today- kindergarteners started an hour after the regular school day began, so the only other children entering the building at this time were other kindergarteners. In we all marched, our heels clicking on the tiles, splitting off into one of the two kindergarten classrooms located at the very end of the passage. Suddenly, my excitement slipped a little, and I gripped my mother’s hand a bit tighter as I progressed into this still-unknown world called School.

As I entered the classroom with its wall of huge windows, the sills covered with thirsty plants and its many blackboards displaying the names of all my classmates, written in perfect letter formation, I began to feel tiny and out of place. Would I ever feel as important here as I had always