Well-Worn Shoes

It's the first day of school in Broward County, Florida, and I'm on the other side of the country in Elbert, Colorado, visiting my brother and his wife, Shannon.

I feel elated as a retiree. I'm relaxed and staying in the moment. Got nowhere I need to be and content to be right where I am, sitting outside with a view of the Bijou Basin and writing my first blog.

This August I have not had to suffer the first-day-of-school blues nor the inevitable night-before anxiety about the unknown demands that await me in the morning. In contrast, my ultra laid back mood is exquisitely sublime.

In my relaxed state, I ponder the root cause of years of anxiety on the eve of the first day of school and on every Sunday night before the work week began. A simple analogy would be to liken it to the dread one might feel turning over the role of driver, and therefore the control of one's life, to a speed demon, wreckless and insensitive to this passenger's white-knuckling grip on her seat. I would no longer have control of the speed or the destination, nor the way we got there.

More recently, this anxious feeling has arisen more  from my role as a member of my school's leadership team than in my role as autism coach. In my role as a school leader with this latest principal, I would finish the first week of teacher preparation feeling like I was careening down a treacherous, mountain road in a blinding rain. The year's expectations would be gloriously presented to attract buy-in but I long-ago learned that the path was littered with minefields.  To his credit, this  principal had high expectations for my school's special needs population. I took no issue with his desire to set lofty goals for a new school year but there would be an ominous underpinning of his message for the administrative team shivering both literally and figuratively in the meat locker he called his office, behind closed doors. 

It went without saying that I would be expected to tow the line, get out the principal's often unpopular message and uncomfortably admonish my peers when asked to do so. While the leadership team's opinions were expressly welcomed, the spider lay in the center of the web waiting for his prey to take the bait. This man did NOT like to be challenged! Inviting discussion was an empty gesture, forgotten as soon as it was offered. My often critical, brilliant but calculating, and combative principal saw no need to motivate or inspire, as he felt he was not responsible for employee morale and said so frequently.  Ultimately, the staff would do the job they were paid to do or suffer the consequence of "progressive discipline."  Feeling a sense of unease, I would toss and turn Sunday night and limp to the starting gate on the first day of school Monday morning.

It's a different school now. There was a mass exodus of old timers; seven this past year and several more during this principal's tenure. I'm part of that past and I knew it was also time for me to leave. It was a good run and I've been deeply satisfied in my role as a teacher - of students and adults. No regrets. Now it's somebody else's turn to fill my well worn shoes because I'm back in the driver's seat. Today I am a retired educator and as I drive off into that proverbial sunset, I look over my shoulder and give a wink and a nod to the past.