Our faculty has been discussing the “culture”and “community” of our school. A survey of what was going well and what needed work started the conversation, and a post about kindness prompted a off-campus conversation thread about what sort of qualities teachers and schools should nurture in our school.
Here are a few comments:
- I think RESPECT is the key word. If you build community, there is mutual respect. We are kind and caring to (and protective of) our community and those we respect.
- So so important in today’s world. There is not enough kindness or respect.
- Perhaps respect is used often in place of politeness or manners.
- How about respect just acknowledging what another person’s wants or needs are even if they are not the same as ours and allowing that as long as it doesn’t take away from my wants or needs.
- Curiosity, reflection, kindness, self sacrifice, limited competition (but some), arts integration, co-operative inquiry and group work, awareness of the intersection of race, class, gender, ability, ESL, sexual orientation etc (ask people how they identify) and most important for a school cultural norm is CARING.
Kindness, respect, caring. I think all these words are part of a healthy school culture, but how those qualities manifest and how people interpret them differs. I mentally prepared to continue this conversation at our next faculty meeting.
Our principal asked that in small groups we come up with specific actions we — the faculty — can take to improve our school culture and community. We had not defined what we meant by “culture” or “community,” but, based on some of the suggestions, it became apparent that these words mean different things to different people. For example one suggestion was to clearly articulate school rules for teachers and students followed by accountability measures. I suggested some staff training so that we could better support our growing number of students with mental health concerns, but one teacher suggested a faculty outing to a baseball game followed by a night out. This teacher thought too many teachers were isolating themselves socially — hermits, he said — and that more faculty social time would promote greater interdependence among teachers.
We had just wrapped up a school-wide assembly of a teacher-student events: a basketball game, scooter race, dance-off, and even a solo-acoustic guitar performance by a teacher. It was a beautiful event of community that I watched in the bleachers with the students. Several times during the event, teachers were called down from the bleachers to dance or be scooted, but I cringed, even crouching down to avoid being called out. During the event, however, I laughed and clapped alongside students appreciating my colleagues and students on the gym floor and feeling so happy that they were enjoying themselves and our school. I was social, but from the perimeter, and that’s where I wanted to stay.
The “hermit” comment, however, got to me. Essentially, this teacher held up a mirror for me to take a good, long look at how I was or was not contributing to the faculty culture. At first, I took offense or rather went on the defensive by saying that I have worked hard to collaborate with small groups of teacher this past decade and that while I do not go to faculty events, I do value the professional relationships I have with teachers. I was making an argument to myself for being hermit-like and why that was okay.
I was too defensive, however, which gave me pause. I think I have been kind to many faculty members; I have been respectful; and I have even been caring, but I have not been particularly social. I can’t say I have any “friends” at school, and I can’t say that very many teachers know much about me — only the ones who have been in my writing class and listened to my life stories. The mirror was saying that I was not doing my part to build a sense of community among the faculty, but I liked being a hermit teacher rather than the rockstar teacher (and there are so many teachers better suited to be the rockstar). And I know there are plenty of teachers along the continuum of hermit to rockstart who have found different ways to be a part of the faculty community. Still, I found myself asking: Do I have to change? Am I part of the problem?
At one point in my career, I taught a lesson introversion/extraversion as a way to illuminate for students (and for me) diversity of dispositions. The concept helps my argument for why I am not a more social colleague:
The term “introversion” can mean a variety of different things in different contexts. Carl Jung defined it as an orientation through “subjective psychic contents,” while Scientific American contends that introversion is more aptly described as a lessened “sensitivity to rewards in the environment.” It’s generally accepted, however, that as Stephen A. Diamond gracefully describes it, “[Extraversion and introversion] are two extreme poles on a continuum which we all occupy.”
When I started teaching, I wanted to be part of the faculty community, and I thought the best way was to join in wherever I could. I went out with teachers on Fridays and attended every shower or retirement party. It wasn’t long before I realized that I was burning out.I am close to the introversion pole and nearly left teaching a few years ago because of it. Between teaching six classes, having two periods of collaborative meetings, lunch with colleagues or students, and after-school responsibilities, there is very little time to recharge in the school day. Relative solitude to recharge is crucial to many introverts, but I think teachers all along the continuum appreciate that solitude, which may only happen when we can lock ourselves in the bathroom at school (until someone knocks).
A few years into teaching, I began locking my classroom door and turning off the lights at times so that I could be alone to think through some ideas and shut down for a bit. I have invested too much to burn out, and I would be lost without teaching. This time by myself makes me more present for students. Now, instead of going out with faculty on Fridays, I stay behind; Fridays after school are a quiet time in the building when I can have that solitude to reflect on the week and plan for the next without taking my work home. I stopped attending faculty social events altogether. I realized that I was putting forth a lot of energy to fit in. I loved to see teachers laughing and enjoying each others company, but I did this from the fringes, which, perhaps, isolated me further in the eyes of some teachers.
In truth, I am a “hermit,” one living in seclusion from society. When I am not in school, I do live in seclusion for the most part. I don’t go to parties or concerts. I avoid malls and other crowded spaces. It is rather odd that I even found my way into teaching, where I voluntarily spend my days in a building with over a thousand people.
I thought I was finding my own way to be a part of things at the school. Large groups are so uncomfortable for me. I may not be speaking out in meetings or grabbing the mic at an assembly, but I will send a private note of thanks or share an article with a colleague. I will likely never be seen as the “fun” teacher, and faculty may never feel like they “know” me, but I hope students and faculty know that I care about our school and contribute to its culture and community in small ways.I do better working with teachers one-on-one or in a small group. I truly value the professional relationships that I have nurtured with a handful of teachers in my building because we have come together on a project or to problem-solve with students.
The pockets of the school with lots of talk and sharing are very lively, brimming with community. Many teachers have made lifelong friends and talk about their families and time spent together. I smile when I hear the chatter. I love the life I witness in those pockets of the school. Our school needs them. I need them — to hear their joy. I do not yearn to be a part of it because I am a part of it by bearing witness albeit on the fringe.
After a few hours of processing the faculty meeting conversation, I think, perhaps, that my colleague is right. In my heart, however, I know the school needs hermits like me: a teacher who will stay in the bleachers with the students, who will send private notes of encouragement to teachers, who serves the school in quiet ways, and who notices and celebrates the teacher continuum of hermit to rockstar. Still, if there are teachers who see me as standoffish and unapproachable, then they are not feeling my respect or my kindness. I have some work to do. I have to reach out.
Do you have suggestions for building faculty community? Do you think the social events are important or can community be built one relationship at a time? Do you think school faculty relationships necessarily have to extend beyond the school day?