
In NYC, there's no dress code for teachers. I don't have a problem with that. But when I started, I used to wear a tie every day. One day, in a mad rush to get out the door, I forgot to put the tie on, and the security guards wouldn't let me in the building. That's how young I looked when I started (Sadly, I don't have that problem anymore).
Since then, though, I've worn a tie pretty much every day. Eventually, I acquired a bunch of jackets to go with it, and began to look even more serious. A few years back, I stopped eating white sugar, switched to whole carbs, and lost 40 lbs. When I tried to buy new jackets, I found that I could buy suits for the same price or less. What the hell, I figured, and upgraded.
So now, with a bunch of suits in my closet, I've discovered that a lot of cool-looking people wear long-sleeve Ts with suits, and figured after 20 years, I could finally ditch the tie.
The kids said nothing. My supervisors couldn't care less. My principal said not one word. My wife didn't even notice. But one of my colleagues found it completely unacceptable.
"You have to wear a tie," she told me.
"Hardly anyone else does," I countered.
It doesn't matter," she replied. "
You have to."
"But I have to get up early, and I'm in a hurry, and..."
"No excuses," she said. "You can't dress like that without a tie. That's my final word on the matter."
Why should I listen to her, I asked myself. She's not my boss. There's
no way she's gonna tell me what to do.
Today, one of my students asked me, "How come you're wearing a tie every day?"
"Ms. Bright made me do it," I said, and added, "I'm a little afraid of her."
"We're afraid of her too," he said.
She's a very successful teacher, I think.
I still feel that way, but I started thinking a lot about the concept of a "unifying mission." Unifying mission or no, I'd probably manage my classes very similarly. But as I walk down the halls of our crammed to the rafters building, I often observe the deans telling kids to take their hats off, turn off their radios, and straighten up and fly right. The kids, walking right in front of me, move about ten feet before putting their hats back on, turning on their radios, unstraightening themselves and flying incorrectly.
Now I'm rushing to class, and I honestly have neither the time nor the inclination to deal with these kids, none of whom I remotely know. My experience in hall patrol has taught me that what the AP Security's office most desires is to be left alone, and that they're unlikely to issue even a slap on the wrist to anyone I bring in. So honestly, why should I bother?
If the administration were willing to strongly enforce its rules, and back up teachers who help, it would be one thing. But in the real world, I'll deal with the kids in my class, all of whom know their problems in my class will follow them home, due to my efforts (and those of a loose team of translators I've assembled through the years).
Personally, I like teaching in a regular public school. But while the chancellor cries that all incidents must be reported, merit-pay for principals hinges on as few of them seeing the light of day as possible.
And while I may control things in my saloon, once the customers step outside those swinging doors, it's the Wild West all over again.