Prelude to a Swan Song

"That's not a job; that's a sentence."

A friend of mine once remarked on my description of my teaching job. I've been seeking concise ways to explain why I left teaching, but the numerous elements involved often make it sound like disjointed rambling.

At times, events occur that seem entirely unjust, and you choose to let them go and move forward without questioning them. Other times, you may feel that sharing your experience could be valuable.

Two years ago, I left a career to which I had dedicated my entire life. From a young age, I knew I wanted to be a music teacher, and my path was determined since the fifth grade. I was committed to serving the community that raised and saved me, the school district that gave me a chance despite a challenging childhood. However, it was this same community that eventually led me, or rather pushed me, away from teaching.

Me playing piano at my great grandmother's house

Please be aware that this is the first post in a series detailing my transition away from teaching. Although it might appear lengthy and disorganized, all this background information is crucial for setting the context for future posts. The upcoming posts in this series will be more focused and concise, so I encourage you to continue following along.

In the next few days, I intend to publish a series of posts detailing my last year of teaching. These posts will cover the events that led to my being escorted out of the building by administration and security. The names of those involved have been changed, and the location kept intentionally vague. However, I'll still share proof and stories from those who witnessed what happened during my final year.

To begin my teaching journey, I taught instrumental music at a private school while in college. School was very difficult for me. It took 10 grueling years before I was able to graduate with my music degree. After earning my teaching certificate, I briefly worked at a charter school and quickly realized it was as problematic as I had anticipated.

Overcoming Adversity Through Personal Loss

and Tragedy

It was only about a month after leaving that job that tragedy stuck. I got a call from my sister.

"She's dead"

That's all I remember her saying, and the rest was a blur. When I arrived to their house, medics were working on my mother, administering violently aggressive CPR. I hugged my sister, walked into the kitchen of my old house, and fell to my knees, begging God to save my mother just one more time. But to no avail.

Fentanyl took her life at age 55.

That was the last time I prayed to God.

As her eldest daughter and best friend, I was responsible for planning my mother's funeral, and her ashes were interred in February 2020. About a month later, on March 12th, while teaching my after-school band class ( I was rehired at my original private school,) I opened my phone and read the governor's announcement that all school activities were to be suspended immediately and indefinitely.

Covid was here.

I suddenly found myself without a job and still couldn't find the time to mourn the tragic passing of my mother. The worldwide lockdown due to the pandemic caused me significant harm. I was unable to grieve, cope, or handle the PTSD that developed from the night I lost my mom.

It felt like a miracle when I finally secured my dream job in the district where I grew up. I called my partner and shouted, "I GOT THE JOB!" so loudly that a stranger in line outside the BMV congratulated me afterward.

Early Career Challenges

During my first year of teaching, everything was conducted online, which was both absurd and challenging. It was quite nonsensical. As a strings specialist, I had to teach orchestra online without any instruments. Once we moved to in-person learning, I had to travel to three different schools daily. This was far from ideal. Therefore, I eagerly took the opportunity to become a choral director at a new middle school. They were calling it a "pilot program," as it was to be a tester for a new type of immersion school.

During a Zoom interview, I was informed that the school would combine Spanish and French Immersion programs, with some students from "World Academy" (which is what we'll call it here), which hosted newcomers, refugees, and non-English speakers. World Academy was a "program," not a school. This distinction was important because that way they could not be held to the same standads as an actual school.

On the first day, the new teaching staff was caught off guard by the majority of students who didn't speak English, as World Academy had closed its middle school grades and transferred them to our school. I left my position teaching strings, anticipating a role at an immersion school, but instead found myself teaching five choir sections each day, handling up to 150 students, with as many as 40 at a time. Although I am not fluent in Spanish, I had to rely on it more than English. Communication was difficult due to the presence of 8-10 different languages in the classroom, and some students couldn't read or write in any language, rendering tools like Google Translate ineffective.

Despite unforeseen challenges, I did my best.

For most of that school year, I was enduring a sexual assault trial from my time in the Marines, and was suddenyl being asked to testify against a Marine who had assaulted and harassed me and other women. I suffered from PTSD due to Military Sexual Trauma and informed my principal about the trial. The defense attorneys made things difficult by constantly changing trial dates and pressuring me for information. I had previously taken time off for two major vascular surgeries, so I aimed to be transparent to avoid seeming unreliable or taking too much time off.

However, instead of receiving support, my boss used this information against me, closely examining my actions afterward.

My second year, I was determined to have our first vocal music concert. The previous year was so hard to adjust to for everyone that we were unable to have a choir performance. As a choir director, I was entitled to a supplemental (bonus money) but was unable to receive it due to not having a performance that year. This is important to keep in the back of your mind for later in this story.

The Initial Betrayal: Friends and Colleagues

Begin to Turn Against Me

In my first year at "International Language Middle School" (let's refer to it that way), I developed a close friendship with the band director, "Brian." I often used my planning/free period to offer individualized instruction to his students, aiding his rehearsals. If you're a teacher, you'll understand the sacrifice it is to give up your planning period almost daily. It was hard to say no when his students would beg for help! We attended a fun Tubachristmas event together, texted often, and frequently chatted after school. At the start of the school year, we joined the Strike Band during the teacher's union strike, which strengthened our bond.

Despite limited funding and resources, my students and I organized a winter concert. The administration underestimated the effort required for a successful choral concert. We lacked the funds to hire an accompanist, but fortunately, one of the teachers volunteered to play for us. An administrator helped me rent choir risers from the district, ensuring they were delivered promptly due to the district's usual delays. She chose to have them delivered the next day because she knew it would take a long time to arrive, and we were pressed for time. Besides, the district typically moves slowly, and the risers would never actually arrive the next day... right?

Wrong—the risers were unexpectedly delivered the very next day. This was the turning point when the mood and energy among the other two members of the performing arts staff changed. The Drama teacher, "Brianna," began shouting because the school delivery employees were setting up risers in "her auditorium" and on "her stage." It's important to note that this is why the theater/drama teacher needs a separate classroom outside of the auditorium. All the other schools in the district do this because the auditorium is a shared space, and having it as one teacher's classroom is unreasonable and causes conflict.

Brianna's room was across from mine. She began shouting at me as my middle school students entered my classroom. Unable to leave them unsupervised,I told her I'd return after class. Despite a language barrier and cultural barriers, I couldn't understand her issue, but she was visibly upset. I apologized, reiterated my class obligations, and closed the door.

A Quick Backdrop on the Challenges of the

Choral Program

I was responsible for:

• Managing five choir sections with 150 students without any assistance

• Organizing a concert by teaching songs by rote, as the students couldn't read music or much of the words.

This challenge was more demanding than what most choir directors face. I aimed to reduce the number of choir classes and introduce general music, world music/drumming, or a Modern Band class. However, when I proposed these ideas to the principal, whom we'll call "Sarah," she dismissed them, insisting that I focus solely on singing. "Don't we already have a band teacher? You are to teach singing and singing only!" she exclaimed. You see, Sarah was a brand new principal and was very apparently unfamiliar with how the performing arts functioned in a school. I explained that choir teachers often teach alternative music courses, and my mentor, a fellow choir director, had even developed the curriculum for Modern Band. Here's a link that can briefly tell you what Modern Band is. If you just merely click on the link, you will have done more research on the subject than my principal bothered to do.

https://www.pmea.net/modernband/#:~:text=Styles%20that%20are%20studied%20include,%2C%20technology%2C%20ukulele%2C%20etc.

While some directors might appreciate having five choir sections, my students hadn't chosen to be in the class. On the first day, I asked each class if anyone had selected choir, and not a single student raised their hand. I understood why this happened- it was to fill my room with as many students as possible. As I mentioned earlier, ensemble classes have no cap.

I spent my entire first year pleading with the guidance counselors to include other music classes besides choir in my schedule. It was explained to me that we had more students in the building than we were equipped to handle, and my class was being used as a "dumping ground." Prior to that second year, "Dave," the counselor, managed to arrange a few sections of general music for me. I was thrilled! But do you know what he told me? Right before the school year started, Sarah, the principal, went in and changed all the classes back to choir! I was out in the 90-degree heat on the picket line for my students, and she chose to further undermine my teaching experience. So, she needed to see the consequences of that decision. That's why I didn't hold back in including all of my choir students on this concert.

Leading Up to the Concert

I was tasked with bringing students to the stage who had never performed before. Many students had never even attended a school before! Although choir was an elective, none had chosen it. With nervous performers, and reluctant participants, I realized we needed extra dress rehearsals to practice getting on and off the risers and singing on the stage, which differed from the classroom. I faced significant resistance from the drama teacher and administration, leaving me frustrated. I wanted to provide these kids and their parents, but I wasn't allowed to take the necessary steps. (This underscores the need for the auditorium to be a shared space, not just a classroom for the drama teacher.)

I said something to my friend Brian about how I needed to rehearse on the stage, and it was in that moment I knew he had turned on me. He refused to look me in the eye and said

" well, it's her auditorium."

The betrayal was deeply hurtful. He understood that I needed to rehearse in that space, and how crucial it was for a sucessful concert. That's when I began to sense that Brian and Brianna might be getting closer than merely coworkers. I'm not claiming this as a fact; it was just a feeling I had. ( Which was only reinforced by pictures of them "socializing" together on social media.)

Despite my efforts, I faced significant resistance and denial when trying to use the auditorium. I turned to a social media group for music teachers for advice on handling the situation, ensuring that I kept names and locations anonymous. As a result, my colleagues at the local high school offered their auditorium for our rehearsals and concert.

This was my social media post

The building union representative, and computer teacher, "Ms. Hackster" informed me that the principal wanted to discuss my social media post. I asserted my right to free speech, that I maintained the anonymity of those involved, and followed all rules. During the meeting with Sarah about the post, she issued vague threats, implying she had "eyes and ears everywhere" and advised caution when posting. She mentioned having "friends" throughout the district. Ironically, after this, I was offered "anything you need" and finally received permission to use the auditorium for rehearsals. The vice principal, "Maria," was present and added everything to the school calendar. Although reprimanded for my Facebook post, it ultimately enabled my students and me to have a successful concert. I stood up for my students and succeeded.

side note, I later discovered that the person who sent my principal screenshots of that post texted her "Is your school really that magical?" So I can see how that would get under Sarah's skin

The Concert

The concert itself was at 1pm, during the middle of the school day (not my decision) which added a new layer of chaos. I speculated that Brian didn't want the concert at night because it's easier to hide potential disaster and mediocrity during the middle of the day. I asked that my choirs go last, and he obliged.

I rehearsed my classes individually and conducted dress rehearsals to practice smooth transitions. Many of the 150 kids, mostly ELL, were new to performing and faced language barriers. Some uncooperative staff posed challenges, but with the help of supportive friends and colleagues, the concert was possible. I'm grateful to those who assisted me.

I remain incredibly proud of what my students accomplished that day. They managed to create a memorable experience and held the first-ever choir concert at the school, starting with almost nothing. Despite facing some challenges, as I mentioned, the grand finale featured my sixth-grade class. For some added flair, I had borrowed some fake candles from a friend at the high school.

My class performed our own arrangement of "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" by U2. The ensemble was dressed in all black and was to sneak onto the risers with all the lights off, including the house lights. During our first dress rehearsal, Brianna shouted that she refused to turn off the house lights in "her auditorium." This was one of those language barrier situations where I wasn't sure why she was so upset. Eventually, she agreed and even helped us with the lighting for the entire show! I was thrilled to see her step up, make amends, and assist. Her lighting choices were very creative, perfectly timed with the lyrics. I was truly grateful for her help.

For the finale, the choir assembled on the risers in the dimly lit auditorium. My 6th grade soloist began singing at the stage's edge, delivering the opening verse with minimal piano support. He was nervous about performing in front of the entire auditorium, so I gently whispered along with him, and he executed it perfectly! A lantern was placed in front of him, and he lifted it as he sang the lines "But I still haven't found what I'm looking for..." At this moment, the auditorium's back doors were meant to open, allowing the rest of my students to walk down the aisles, joining in on the chorus with candles in hand. The backing ensemble ( on the risers) joined the chorus, illuminating their cell phone lights and waving them like stars in the night.

The thing is- Brian was responsible for instructing the students at the door when to open them. He knew the cue and the precise moment for the doors to open. However, when I turned to see the doors open and my students arrive, Brian was chatting and laughing with a female student, completely ignoring me and the concert. His sole responsibility was to signal for the doors to open. The students were waiting for his cue, which now seemed like deliberate sabotage. Both the staff at the back and the students noticed as I frantically waved my hands to get their attention to open the doors while keeping the choir going. For a moment, panic. (You'll notice this happening on the video posted below.)

Fortunately, the doors eventually opened. My students walked down the aisles despite the timing mishap. The audience joined in, singing along and waving their phones in the air. One parent even waved her lighter! The ensemble squeezed onto the stage, and we all sang the last verses together "But I still haven't found what I'm looking for."

It was hauntingly beautiful.

It could have been smoother, but even despite some mishaps, it went exceptionally well. Staff, administrators, parents, and students were all singing, smiling, and capturing the moment. After the song, we were met with thunderous applause, cheers, and a standing ovation.

My students were beaming with pride. They shared messages with me about how proud their parents were to watch them perform on stage.

Even though the concert was at 1 p.m. in the afternoon, this didn't discourage the families, as the choral parents constituted the majority of the audience.

I thought this was a start of a great program- but what I didn't realize is that it was only the start of my final chapter.