“Jared, you do light up a room wherever you go, and you also command respect. Role-modeling that type of positive energy in the world is important for kids to see. You definitely bring a cheerful vibe into school every day.”
“I get that from my mama,” Jared admits, willing to share some of his credit.
“I’d love to meet her someday,” I say, smiling and pulling my chair in a little closer. “I’m happy you’re comfortable sharing why it’s important for you to have strong relationships with this community.” I pause and give time for my last compliment to sink in, because the time has come to get real about his teaching.
“Aside from your role-modeling and rapport with the community, let’s talk about your actual classroom performance. How do you think your lesson planning and project design are going? The first year of teaching is extremely challenging, even for a smart young man such as yourself.” I’m dragging my toes along the edge of what I suspect is going to be unfriendly waters.
“Like I wrote in my reflection, I’ve got it all under control. Nothing for you to worry about.” Jared gives me a dismissive wave, checks the classroom clock above his head, and starts drumming his fingers on his thighs. “The kids are happy in my class, and they’re having a good time. So, there you go, the proof is in the pudding.”
“Uh-huh. But see, the thing is, the proof is actually not in the pudding. The proof is in the put-in.” Jared’s posture changes in reaction to my voice. He knows I’m not playing. “The sweat and soul you put into your work. The relationships you get out of it. You’re only going to become a great teacher if you put serious effort in to developing your teaching skills. From what I’ve observed this year, I’d say you’re putting a lot into making sure the parents like you, and for sure a lot into coaching basketball. I’m just not seeing you put in that same level of effort and commitment in your classroom. That’s what I’ve got to see if you want a future here.”
Earlier in the year, after a handful of observations, I tried to help Jared course correct before things got too dire, but he blew off our follow-up conversations. I’m not seeing an ambitious professional, hungry to improve his craft, challenge his students, and impress his boss. I’m only hearing about a pied piper who wants to lead children to an athletic promised land. It’s my job to convince Jared there’s more to it. “What I’ve witnessed this year are a whole lot of lengthy stand-and-deliver lectures to twelve-year-olds with three-minute attention spans.”
Jared looks at me, surprised by the divergence from the Jared is the man narrative. I can’t entirely blame him, because that’s the message he’s been getting from the Royal-Hawkins community. But they don’t determine his future employment. I have to turn his classroom game around now because I fear if I’m forced to fire him, I’ll be vilified by the whole community.
“Jared, I have all the faith in the world that you have the potential to be an exceptional teacher, but it’s not going to be without effort. You are in the early stages of your career, and becoming a seasoned teacher who has impact on his students is a craft that takes time to hone. I’m up for working with you if you are,” I share, trying to sell our journey to Jared’s betterment as an energizing joint venture.
“Have you talked to Winn about me?” Jared asks, straight up. Given that I just delivered a barely passing grade on the first six months of his career, I’m unclear why a conversation with Winn would play into Jared’s professional review.
“Faculty performance is not a part of the school that the board of trustees oversees. That falls squarely under me.”
“Hmm. I’m just sayin’， you may want to talk to Winn before you come up with additional plans for me outside the classroom based on your opinion of my teaching. An opinion, I might add, that doesn’t align with what I’m hearing from parents. We almost done here, Nina? Winn’s meeting me at practice today.”
Holding your boss’s boss over your boss is a boss move.
TWENTY-ONE
I know you are not tryin’ to break up with me before Valentine’s Day, Leo!”
“I’m not breaking up with you, exactly, and it’s only January 31,” Leo semi-assures me, reminding me not to get ahead of myself on the holiday fanfare. Whew. Since the botched marriage proposal on the plane that resulted in the engagement ring being returned to Leo’s pocket, we have more or less returned to our normal rhythm of life. Wednesday and Thursday nights are spent at my house since I like to be at work by 7:30 a.m. at the latest, and weekends are at Leo’s, so we can more easily take in all LA has to offer. Mondays and Tuesdays we catch up on our individual lives. Though I have noticed Leo’s been spending more time riding his bike after work and showing up later and later at my house, while I’ve been parked alone on my couch massaging my own swollen feet.
“You’ve shut down the idea of us being a family several times, and a man can only take so much rejection before he knows to stop asking. So, now I need some space to consider where I fit into your picture of life with our baby. Right now, you have me feeling like I don’t fit in at all.”
“Please, Leo. That’s not true!” I say, waving my wrist to brush off the ridiculousness of his assertions. “Come on. Dinner’s almost ready, and I’m eating for two.” Why’s he messing with my feeding schedule?
“Oh, no? You’ve made it clear that the vision I have for the three of us moving forward as a family is not your vision. You say you want me in your life, but only on your terms. And that’s not okay with me. We’re supposed to be partners, Nina.” Leo looks more pained and tired than usual, and now I know why he’s been biking so much. Our life and our future as a family are weighing heavy on him.
“Leo, you know my concerns have nothing to do with you. I have a full plate raising Xandra, running a school, watching after my father, and now having this baby. I’m tired, and being pregnant at forty-three is not what I had planned.”
“Hey, it’s not what I had planned either, but I’m one hundred percent here for all three of us and . . .”
“And truthfully, on top of all of this”—I’m circling my stomach with my index finger—“race is complicating our situation. I’ve been dealing with it my whole life. You’re facing this issue for the first time, and I don’t have the energy to be educating you and your family on race in America.” Maybe that was a little abrupt mentioning my concerns, but there they are.
“I don’t remember anyone asking you for a lesson. Since Omaha, you’ve made assumptions about my family without even getting to know them other than our one quick trip. We’re good people, Nina. No one in my family wants anything more than to love you, love me, love this baby. But you have us falling down on the job of raising this kid before he even gets here. Why you would choose less love for a baby instead of more is beyond me.”
“Listen, Leo, if we have a boy, the experiences your son will have and what he’ll need to learn from you is so drastically different from how you grew up, you have no idea.” I’m finally letting out the worries I’ve been holding inside about raising a child with Leo. I don’t want to hurt him, but this is my truth.