The Interview Day

For weeks before the interview day, I came up with a lesson plan that would "wow" the selectors. All interviewees would be placed in groups of nearly 10 and have discussions with each other around a central point, would "teach" the group a concept, and would then have a one-on-one interview.

I was most nervous about teaching the group. I chose to teach a lesson about synonyms and antonyms. I practiced for weeks for my husband. He knew every part of it.

I practiced at work with Izzy and we gave each other feedback on how we were dong. We were both so excited and so nervous.

Finally, the interview day came. We met each other at the front door and walked in together. We met the head of the program in our city and frantically looked at the list to see what rooms we would be in for our interview day. We were in the same room! It was hard to believe.

We patiently listened to the background and information about the program, and then went to the interview room. We met the other people interviewing and the interviewees. We interviewed first by doing our lessons, then by engaging in a discussion (hard, by the way, because you were getting graded on your answers and you needed to fight to be heard!), and then writing a short essay answering a question. I believe the question was about being assigned to a school that you were supposed to be making a difference in or something...I can barely remember. I answered the best I could, all the while feeling completely unprepared and praying I gave the right answer.

There was a long lunch after that, while we each waited to be interviewed individually. The individual interview was excruciating. The questions were "what-ifs" and things that I knew nothing about, that I took crazy guesses for. The interviewer wrote down my answers, dragging it on even longer. It was pure torture.

One question that Izzy and I discussed later was "Give a percentage of whose responsibility it is for a student to learn." I didn't give an exact percentage and was nicely reprimanded by my interviewer and told to give a percentage. I settled on the teacher being primarily "to blame", with parent and students following up behind. Izzy told me that she settled on an even 10% for all, though she knew it didn't add up to 100%.

And then we were left to wait for weeks to hear if we made it in.

The Journey Begins!

For the purposes of this blog, my name is A.N. I wasn't always a special ed teacher. I started out as a social worker. During my position at that company, I worked with foster parents. I was specifically their worker and made sure their homes were compliant with all of our agency rules.

The agency was relatively new but was interconnected with other government child welfare agencies around the city. There really is no way to describe that job. I sat behind a desk about 75% of the time and would walk around foster parent's homes the other 25%.

The job was excruciatingly boring. I rarely had enough work to do, while the girl whose cubicle was adjacent to mine was increasingly busy. She rarely left early and rarely took days off. I, on the other hand, was so not busy that I was screaming in boredom.

While there, another member on our "team" (unit made up of 7-10 workers under an immediate supervisor) became my friend. She was extremely kind and friendly and almost "too good". We became friends and would often email or go for walks on our lunch hour. Her name was Izzy.

I began to scour the Internet frantically for another job, any job, to get me out of this place. I applied to numerous child welfare agencies. I had calls for interviews and did embark them. One day, while I was still bored and unhappy, I saw an ad on a job website to become a teacher. It was an alternative certification program.

I read about it for days, putting off applying. There was a deadline, but I had time, and I wanted to make sure it was something I could really see myself doing. It was a program that takes professionals from other careers and puts them in high-needs schools to be teachers. The opportunities at that time were for bilingual, math, science, and special education needs. My degree in social work seemed to best fit into special education.

It would be a life changing opportunity. Within two years of being this program, I would not only have my teaching certificate, already been teaching for those two years, but also have a Master's degree. Besides these important parts, I would also need to move into the city I would be teaching at. I could not live in an outlying suburb.

After discussing it with my husband, I applied. The application process involved resumes, letters of reference, transcripts, an application (of course), essays on specific teaching questions, and a "rigorous" interview process. I applied with fervor and fear.

Shortly after, as I was walking to the bathroom from my cubicle with Izzy, we discussed other job opportunities. She told me she had applied to this program. I couldn't believe my ears! I told her I had too. She did not believe me. We discussed it in excitement, and what we would do to prepare for the interview day.

Neither of us knew about the huge changes that waited ahead for us.

Glazed Eyes

It's funny the looks you get from people when you tell them your job. You say you're a social worker. They may ask what exactly you do, but once you tell them - eyes glazed. You say you're a factory worker building refrigerators. Interest for about .1 second...eyes glazed. You say you're an accountant...immediate glazing.

You say you're a special education teacher for students with emotional and behavioral disabilities. You wait for the glaze. It doesn't come. So you launch into your spiel about what age group, what school, how many students, what gender, what they're like, etc.

That is how I see it. That is how it happens for me. The glaze eventually happens, but being that I could talk about my job all day, sometimes I fail to notice. I have come across those few people in my short time as a teacher though, who really don't get what it is like to be a special ed teacher.

They have no clue what it must be like to deal with students who are so angry and so mad that they don't care who they hurt. Explaining my life to them is difficult.

I will attempt to do it here.