A Teacher's Mirage

A Teacher’s Mirage

For a month the sixth grade math, science, social studies, reading, and English teachers devised lesson plans around coastal ecosystems. The sea green bulletin board area served as a learning station. Students handled starfish, seahorses, a variety of seashells, a sea bean, and a coconut, all collected by a beachcomber, their teacher, Ms. Carpenter.

Their studies were to culminate in a field trip to Port Aransas, Texas, to visit the UT Marine Science Institute, to journey through the back bays on a tour boat, and to scavenge the shoreline for finds washed in from the Gulf of Mexico. Susan Carpenter loved the beach and immersed herself enthusiastically in teaching and organizing details for the field trip.

On a sunny Friday in April, before the first bell of the school day, students, teachers, and brave parents who had volunteered to chaperone, gathered by the two yellow school busses in the faculty parking lot. Teachers collected permission slips, verified signatures and phone numbers, and finally the ninety-odd sleepy but excited adolescents boarded the busses and stowed their personal gear for the day. On the 45-minute ride from Corpus Christi, Texas, some students slept, some ate taquitos from home, while others chatted and laughed.

Susan felt confident that the day would go well. Students with an eight month history problems, demerits, and office referrals were left behind with a stern substitute and a mountain of written assignments to complete. Those students attending the field trip had signed behavior contracts acknowledging they understood the rules and agreed to follow them. With events finally in motion, Ms. Carpenter foresaw no problems, and relaxed into a bumpy seat toward to back of the bus for the ride to Port Aransas.

Students would be supervised in three large groups, and shuttled between activities. Soon the middle schoolers arrived at the piers where the tour boat docked.

Susan’s bus, at the front of the caravan of vehicles, arrived at the pier first. She scouted the situation, not yet releasing the students from the bus.

Walking toward the tour boat, she waved and shouted “Ms. Carpenter and her students are here for the tour.” She stepped on board the 30 foot vessel where the captain and two other bronzed men hovered over a large piece of machinery in the middle of the deck. A rotund leather-skinned man, dressed in a well worn blue shirt and jeans, rose from the group.

“Ma’am, I’m afraid there ain’t gonna be no back bay tours today. We have engine trouble. It’ll take a few days before we’re able to get her up and running again. We got to get new parts for the engine.” The captain pointed toward the problem area, and squinted his eyes in the bright sun, his voice sounded as weathered as his sea-faring vessel. "Sorry, Ma'am. We can't help you today."

Susan stood, swaying with the rock of the boat moored to the dock, her mouth agape. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She looked back at the busses of students, feet and elbows visible in blast off mode. The captain had his hands and full attention on the greasy machinery. Susan, walking away from the boat and docks, realized she’d better come up with a "Plan B” fast. Her brain raced as she walked slowly, focused in concentration, back to the yellow school bus.

Susan took the initiative to direct the drivers of the school busses to pull around to the beach, close to the jetties. A steep wall of concrete and cement blocks lined the entry of the bay from the Gulf of Mexico. Sloshes of water against the wall indicated deep water. A few fishermen had selected their spots for the day, and glared at the arrival of the adolescent circus. Activity had already disturbed the calm of nature.

The five teachers gathered in urgent discussion while the students, anxious to escape the confinement of the busses, gathered cameras, radios, and other personal belongings in anticipation. With some rapid brainstorming, the teachers decided that half of the students would first tour the Marine Institute, while the other half would be released for beachcombing.

Susan and Mrs. Vera each boarded a bus and explained the change in plans to the students. The teenagers heaved a groan of disappointment as only they can. However, they were too excited to be daunted from impending freedom. Before the students were released from the busses, they were again reminded of rules, and cautioned about behavior. No one was to venture into the surf more than knee deep.

As the students emptied from the busses, each was numbered as a one or a two. The “ones” would follow Mr. Hinojosa, the science teacher, and his group of chaperones to the Marine Institute for the one-hour tour. The “twos” were given plastic grocery bags and instructed to walk the shoreline toward Horace Caldwell Pier, and to collect interesting beach finds. The majority of parent chaperones and teachers stayed at the beach where the busses had parked. The adults loaded cans of colas and bottles of water into chests of ice.

"Don't touch the purple jellyfish!" Mrs. Vera shouted as a last word of warning. They then settled into supervising the students who rapidly disseminated down the shoreline and into the surf.

After observing the gleeful students to verify that no obvious problems were about to erupt, Susan grabbed a plastic bag for her own collection and headed south down the beach toward Horace Caldwell Pier. One of the parents joined her, and soon she was flanked by a number of students wanting to join in the teacher’s beachcombing.

The group strolled down the beach, continuing past the pier, collecting and discussing finds as they walked. Susan was familiar with the beach, and the group soon reached an especially interesting object. The three foot square rusty thing set exactly at sea level. Waves washed past the object, with accumulated green slime and barnacles attached to it.

Susan thought it had washed in as a part of a shipwreck, or maybe a piece of refuse from an oil rig. She asked the students for their opinions about what this thing was, where it came from, and how such a heavy object had come to rest where the surf met the sand. The group was in loud animated discussion when Susan glanced in the direction of the jetties to see a boy running rapidly.

The roar of the brisk seaside wind, and the crashing of the waves drowned out the boy’s shouts until he was within a few yards of the group.

“Ms. Carpenter! Ms. Carpenter!” The boy had run a good sprint, and was out of breath.


"Mrs. Vera said you have to come back right now. She’s really mad.” He gasped, his chest heaving for air.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Susan’s level of concern escalated and she tried to focus her eyes in the distance. She could only distinguish a vague scattered group, far down the beach.

“A bunch of kids went out in the deep water.” His words came with huge gulps for air. “Mrs. Vera told them to come back, and they told Mrs. Vera you said it was okay. Mrs. Vera is really mad.” Exhausted by delivery of the message, the boy, dressed in wet shorts but a dry shirt, focused on catching his breath.

“They went out too far in the water! God! If they didn’t hear anything else I told them . . .”

Susan wasn’t a runner, but with a burst of adrenalin she bolted more than a half-mile back to the area in which the busses were parked and the majority of the group had gathered.

No one was to go into the water further than knee deep. Susan had even stood on top of her teacher’s desk, had raised her skirt just above her knees, certain that such dramatics would leave a lasting impression. When Ms. Carpenter had asked all her classes “How deep are you allowed to go into the water?”

The classes had all replied in unison, “knee deep”. Susan drilled them so often in the weeks preceding the field trip that students’ eyes’ rolled at the very question. They all knew the answer, and they had discussed the reasons why in class.

As she approached, Susan counted more than a dozen heads and shoulders visible in the surf above the four rows of choppy waves. Mrs. Vera was knee deep in the surf herself now, holding up her skirt with one hand, waving with the other, and shouting at the group to "come in." The wind and waves muffled her voice and blew it back to shore. A few of the wayward had turned back toward shore and were ever so slowly tromping through the water with great splashes to the depth in which they belonged.

Susan slowed her stride, and she and her beachcombing companions, as out of breath as the messenger had been, merged into the maze of students watching the antics of their disobedient cohorts. Most were dripping wet from head to toe.

Mrs. Vera demanded everyone board the busses immediately. Skeptical of the safety of such a field trip from the plan’s inception, she pronounced the field trip "finished." Once the words were out of Mrs. Vera's mouth, the parents and other teachers began escorting the sandy and wet students into the busses. The daylong field trip was finished before it was well underway. Lunch wasn’t even over at school yet.

Susan thought Mrs. Vera too harsh in her independent decision to call an end to the event. She thought the field trip could have been salvaged since the beach group was within minutes of becoming the Institute tour group. However, this was no time for adult dissention.

The half loaded busses paused at the Marine Institute, and Mrs. Vera collected the remaining, disbelieving students.

“We didn’t do anything wrong! We didn’t even get to walk on the beach or get in the water at all!” Their pleas to remain fell on deaf ears as the bus doors whished shut.

The ride back to school was long, hot, and itchy. Those who didn’t have sand in their pants wriggled from the antics of those who did. However, there was no laughter. The only sounds on the bus were the crunch of potato chips and low murmurs of discontent.

Before the closing bell rang on that day, 23 students had been suspended and sent home through the principal’s office. Susan had seen Mrs. Vera angry before, but not with the furious vengeance that she castigated that day.

Feelings among the group of sixth grade teachers were never the same. The “team” of teachers agreed to work independently for the rest of the school year. Susan attempted to get along with everyone as before, but for the remaining two months of school Gracie Vera dogged every suggestion or comment Susan made. It was the longest eight weeks she ever experienced—trying to keep her students from realizing that middle school teachers can be as petty and irrational as the students whom they teach.

Mrs. Vera didn’t pass Susan in the hall without saying “Someone could have drowned because of your field trip! We never should have taken that field trip.” It cut Susan to the core. She avoided Mrs. Vera as much as possible.

Susan used up her accumulated sick days during the remaining part of April and May. At night, to relax from the pressures of the day, she substituted whiskey for her usual glass of wine. She thought May 29 would never come.

Mrs. Vera, a tenured educator and chairperson of the math department, had a reputation for being pushy and headstrong. Somehow she always turned situations to her advantage, as an outspoken faculty member.

There had always been an undercurrent of tension between the two women. Each was well liked by her students. There was no formal popularity contest, but Mrs. Vera seemed to resent the amiable relationship Susan had with their mutual students. Gracie Vera had previously undermined Mrs. Carpenter's attempts to coordinate after school tutoring, and detention, among the ninety odd students the five core subjects teachers shared.

Susan felt that Mrs. Vera held herself above reproach, and put her own interests ahead of those of their academic group. It became increasingly difficult for Susan to maintain an objective countenance with a daily grind of verbal abuse. Both lost respect for each other. Susan smiled on the outside. Mrs. Vera smiled, and twisted the knife further and deeper in Susan's back. Susan held her tongue, and maintained as positive an attitude as possible. She could think of no words to fix the situation. The field trip was over, and she knew it was time to get over it, despite the nightmares of drowning students that haunted her sleep.

Susan told her students when she first presented the idea of a field trip to Port Aransas, that a young boy drowned there the year before. He was fishing in the surf with his father in the very area of the jetties they planned to visit. Strong currents are dangerous and unpredictable. Mrs. Vera thought the adventure too risky, but was outvoted by the other teaching team members.

In social studies class, the students studied about the Gulf Stream, and that tides and currents are very strong separate streams of moving water which travel through a larger body of water, like the Gulf of Mexico or the Atlantic Ocean. In math students calculated the weight of water and the force of water pressure.

Students studied various forms of marine life. In group presentations with posters in illustration of different forms of marine life. Purple Man O' War jellyfish can sting, even when they are washed ashore and dead. A fish called a sting ray is shaped like a large pancake and has a thin tail with a very sharp barb at the end. Sharks are seldom reported venturing close to shore, but a small shark doesn’t need much water in which to swim. In science class students discussed the many dangers which can be found along the shoreline. Susan felt confidant that the necessary information had been discussed in all the core classes, and that her students would show their maturity when the day of the field trip arrived.

She could still hear the reverberations of a classroom full of students . . . “knee deep. . . .”

The thought of how close some of her students had ventured to danger gave Susan goose bumps, When her mind wandered back to that day. She shuddered. She just couldn’t think about it. But she couldn't get it out of her mind either. It wasn’t her fault. The field trip was just history.

No matter how hard a teacher tries, she can’t see everything, hear everything, and be physically aware of what’s going on in all her students’ heads. Ms. Carpenter, like other teachers, didn’t really have eyes in the back of her head. And she had no idea the effect five words from a twelve-year-old special education student would have on her feeling about responsibility.

“Ms. Carpenter said it’s okay!”

Susan Carpenter had a different feeling about taking the Lord’s name in vain after that. It wasn’t exactly the same thing, but her name had been used by another, for purposes that weren’t her own.

His friends, in the waves, surrounded Benito that day. He was swept up in the excitement. He knew what was right, and what was wrong. However, when you’re 12-year old with a learning disability, you may act on the here and now, with no thought of consequences. Benito thought, but not of consequences, using selective memory, perhaps.

Since Ms. Carpenter was the team leader for this academic team, and since she had been the most emphatic about not going out too far in the water, Benito figured out if he said, "Ms. Carpenter says it's okay," then that made it okay.

After six weeks of study and anticipation, the day of the field trip finally arrived. The students, and five teachers too, had looked forward to this day, and things had been going along fine, until Benito. The trip was well planned, and the students well prepared.

Those students who had an eight month history of misbehavior had been left at school. The problem makers had been left behind with work. These were the kids who mostly followed directions. No step of preparation had been neglected.

Benito’s friends were swept up in the excitement of the day too. They fell for Benito’s ploy for company in the deeper dangerous zone. Only two allies followed him at first, but the battle cry of “Ms. Carpenter says it’s okay,” and the sight of classmates past the knee high zone, lured other students to follow like a herd of cattle. With no visible danger--previous warnings be damned. Susan understood the psychology of what happened, but it gave her little consolation. She realized she wasn't able to be responsible for another. Saying did not make it so.

During the 23 student-parent-teacher conferences, held before the students were allowed back in the classroom, the students admitted they had broken an important rule, and apologized to the teachers. More than breaking a rule, Ms. Carpenter felt many had broken a personal trust. She had no words to explain her feelings to her students. After all, they were only children.

Susan questioned the sagacity of including the mainstreamed special education students in the field trip. If the resource students had been left behind, Benito wouldn’t have been there that day. Nine others, who were innocent of roaming into deep water, would have been left behind with him. However, that defeated the purpose of mainstreaming special education students. They need the experience of fitting in with everyone else, instead of being identified as different or dumb. They have the need, as others their age, for successful social interaction. Friendships don't always follow academic lines.

Many of the teachers complained about having extra documentation paperwork, and having to modify lessons to suit individual students. Ms. Carpenter didn’t particularly label these students in her head, though the office required the student’s name be highlighted in the grade book.

When resource support paperwork for these students was required, it appeared in the teacher's office mailbox. The core subject teacher simply placed checks in boxes on a preprinted form regarding learning success and behavior issues, looked for any new information or instructions, and then returned the folder to the mailbox of the resource coordinator. The student was not present during these evaluations. Filling out forms satisfies state requirements.

Susan had never taken any Special Education courses in college. She had not anticipated the need. It seemed to her that the institution of education, perhaps, slighted the students’ greater needs by mainstreaming them into anonimity. She had no easy solution to the dilemma.

The principal strongly encourages every teacher to do everything possible to keep from failing a student, especially a special education student. All Ms. Carpenter’s students were given every opportunity to pass. She often stayed after school to help someone who didn’t understand the lesson, possibly because he, or she, had been playing around in class. Her co-workers chided Ms. Carpenter when she gave up her Saturday afternoons to meet students at the public library in order to help the participants in the school’s History Fair competition.

“Don’t you have anything better to do? Get a life!” Mrs. Vera chided.

Susan knew teachers who never took any work home. She wasn’t organized that way. She was not a workaholic. Her world revolved around the activities at the school. However, she was miserable, and her life had to change in order that she feel good about herself again. For starters, she wanted to get away from Mrs. Vera, though she’d made other friends during the four years she had been in middle scool.

She thought teaching a different age of students, older and more responsible, might be the change she needed. After Ms. Carpenter submitted a transfer request for the following school year, the assistant principal, Mr. Davidson called Susan to his office. He acknowledged the difficulties Mrs. Vera continued to throw her way.

“Everybody knows about Vera and her attitude”, Mr. Davison assured her. “The incident on the field trip wasn’t your error. No one was even hurt. You’re a good teacher, and I don’t want to lose you to another campus, but I understand.”

“I’ll miss this school. I’ve made a lot of good friends here. I have good memories. But now, the bad memories outweigh the good,” Susan replied sadly.

Somehow, Ms. Carpenter got through the school year. During the summer when she went to the beach, she tried not to think about the field trip, and what might have happened. Teachers deserve summer vacations too. Susan found peace in the continual rhythm, of the waves washing in and out.

Mrs. Gomez, Susan’s former principal who had been promoted to Director of Secondary Personnel, called Susan at home in early June.

“I just ran across an opening for a high school English position, and I thought of you, Susan,” said Mrs. Gomez.

“It’s good to hear your voice again”, Susan smiled, remembering all the fun activities they had shared with the students and other teachers for two years.

Mrs. Gomez hired Susan when she first moved to Corpus Christi. Knowing few people in town, Ms. Carpenter took every opportunity to attend school football games, carnivals, and gladly accepted the position of Student Council sponsor. Soon everyone in the school knew who Ms. Carpenter was—the tall skinny teacher with the brown curly hair. Students who were not in her class often greeted her in the hallway, usually asking for a loan of lunch money that was never repaid. In November of her first year at the school, she was voted “Teacher of the Month” by the faculty and staff. Susan Carpenter put her all into school.

Susan discovered how differently students behave outside a classroom setting, when grades don't matter. The candy drives, carwashes, and middle school dances, left her feeling as if she had been given special insight to these students, as well as those in her classroom. Susan was happy then, and Mrs. Gomez remembered an enthusiasm that had paled with the passage of time.

“Susan, you were so wonderfully involved with the students at Moody Middle School that I think this position would be just perfect for you. Hamlin High School needs a sophomore English teacher who will sponsor the Trojanette Drill team,” Mrs. Gomez baited the hook cheerfully.

Susan had always dreamed of such a job. Hamlin High had a good reputation. The position would include teaching Shakespeare, her passion. She would be teaching classic literature, instead of drilling sixth grade spelling words.

Susan was surprised at the words that came to her so easily, so quickly.

“Mrs. Gomez, I really appreciate you considering me for the position. During our time together at Moody Middle, I would’ve jumped at the opportunity to teach high school and sponsor the drill team. I had so much enthusiam then." She took a deep breath.

"But, honestly, I don’t have the energy a position like that requires. Also, I’m at a point in my life where I’d prefer to just teach, with no extra duties. My boyfriend and I are talking about marriage, and I want to keep my after class hours for myself.” Susan lied herself out of the situation, because she had just started moving out of her boyfriend’s house.

“Well, congratulations Susan. We have been out of touch awhile. I understand. The drill team requires many extra hours, but it does have a stipend attached. Of course, there are times in your life when money isn’t the primary consideration. I’ll keep your transfer file on my desk, and call you when another position comes open. You let me know if the wedding date comes before I call you, okay?” Mrs. Gomez was out of the middle school gossip circle. She was always so unpretentious and upbeat in her attitude about everything.

The words Susan spoke were true. The meaning behind the words was a total falsehood. Susan, and the man she had lived with for seven months, had talked about marriage. She had taken an off-white, chiffon, semiformal, handkerchief-tired evening gown to Las Vegas, when the two of them had vacationed together over Spring Break. Susan had asked him if he wanted to visit a wedding chapel, since they were there. He said no. She left the evening gown to wrinkle in her suitcase. He must’ve thought she was joking, because the subject never came up again. Ms. Carpenter nedded to make several changes in her life.

Although she was emotionally devastated, she was grateful to find out at that point their relationship had no future. What she regretted most was that she had confided in Mrs. Vera when she returned from Spring Break. It was just another subject Mrs. Vera used to explain to others about what was wrong with the way Ms. Carpenter did things—even in her personal life.

After hanging up the phone, Susan pondered about the teaching position she had just declined. Mrs. Gomez must not have heard about the field trip fiasco, or she didn’t care. Either way, it didn’t really matter.

With too many intense years of teaching, she burned out. The solution to burn out, to giving more than you have to give, is to find a more nurturing environment. The high expectations of a student teacher eventually becomes obliterated with reality.

A twelve year old girl causes a disruption about going to the restroom during class almost every day. She wants to follow the rules, so she always asks, regardless that the teacher had previously told her to go ahead without a hall pass. As a resource student, the teacher gives the benefit of the doubt. She was told by the school nurse that the girl had been sexually assaulted by her stepfather.

Abused kids will take all the love you can give them. But you have to love yourself first.

Ms. Carpenter entered the apartment business that summer and soon became manager She enjoys talking to residents and collecting rent, and tells stories about her days as a teacher. Maybe someday, when the tide turns, when things look different, she will return to the classroom as a happy teacher.

4425