Teachers Keep Abreast of the Cleavage Problem

That first day back to work for teachers can be pretty draining what with all the time-eating pointless activities. 

Howard was certainly "dragging ass" when he got home, but Tally, his former abductee and current life partner and love of his life for the time being, wanted to hear all about it.

"Tell me, Howard, what did you learn today? Tell me everything," she pleaded* upon his arrival. "All day, I've been thinking of you and remembering the famous saying by the Chinese philosopher Confusion: 'The longest journey begins on the first day,' or something like that. So share, you large, laid-back lug!" (Like Aaron Judge, Howard is 6'7" and weighs 285 pounds.)

Howard sighed a sigh of disappointment.

"Okay, Tally," he said. "As you know, I'm interested in learning about the balance between inviting student participation and relaying information, you know, between discussion and lectures.

"Unless we inspire students to think on their own, to share their thoughts and insights, and listen to their classmates with patience, tolerance and civility, we have missed a rare opportunity and have deprived young people of a meaningful growth experience.

"On the other hand, they cannot discuss the law of gravity, latitude and longitude, the boiling point of water or the contents of a water molecule. We teachers are the founts of this quantifiable learning, so at some point, lecture we must, and become the often scorned Sage on the Stage.

"And of course there's the precarious balance between authenticity and authority. The students need to see the teacher as a human being, you know, 'One of us! One of us!,' but also a person superior in wisdom, more experienced in learning, more mentor than mate."

"So what's your point?" Tally queried.

"I'm just saying these are what I want to learn more about, so today I held up my hand to seek input from the administrators and seasoned but listless teachers, but our principal Mr. Z. cut me off and began the meeting thus**: 

'Folks, we have to talk about dress code. We are going to get on top of it this year, and you're gonna write up the non-compliers and send'em down and we're gonna call momma and tell'er to come pick'em up.'

"'Send'em down! Pick 'em up! Send'em down! Pick 'em up!' chanted a large band of teachers, but others tried to shout them down with 'School uniforms! School uniforms! School uniforms,' but lacking the rhythm of the original cry, the second chant soon faded into obscurity.

"Before Mr. Z. could respond, a coach from the back row shouted out, 'I'm tired of seeing cleavage!' Then a woman near the front added, 'And butt cracks! I've had it!'

An example of cleavage

"'This year's policy will address both those issues,' Mr. Z told us. 'Each and every teacher will be issued a Cleave-a-Rater app, which basically serves the role of a ruler. If you see one of the young ladies dressed in what you deem an inappropriate manner, simply approach her and hold your phone near her, uh, around the, uhh . . . '

"'Boobs!' shouted a foreign language teacher known for her candid outspokenness.

"Mr. Z. continued, 'Boobs, right [some snickering from the older faculty]. Your app will beep if the student is revealing two inches of cleavage or more. At that point, you will write up the referral, and send her down.'

"And again, the cry rang out: 'Pick 'em up! Send 'em down!'

"'Now, are there any questions about this issue before we move on to our policy on butt-cracks -- or intergluteal clefts or plumber cleavage, as they say on the streets?'

"A seemingly nice lady who I was told had been at Medford for 26 years had the first question: 'What if the cleavage is, say, 1.8 inches? Do we just issue a warning, and is there paperwork involved in a warning? 

'Or what if it's 1.5 inches when she enters the classroom, but through the various natural movements of her body, swells to 2 inches? Can she not claim that she had adhered to the dress code but was then victimized by gravity over which she has no control? Then what?'

"After 17 more questions, we finally moved on to butt cracks about which the major issue was length, sex, gender, sexual preference, sex at birth, and sex currently. Was a guy's butt crack, for example, more of a distraction to girls (or boys) than cleavage was to boys (or girls)?  

"Should the butt-crack measurement take place when the student was sitting, squatting or standing? Or was it possible that since fashion has allowed exposed butt crackage for close to 20 years now, the nether crease may no longer be a distraction at all, no more shocking than, say, a bra strap?

"As you can imagine, Tally, my brain quickly dismissed my pedagogical concerns and replaced them with a lurid PowerPoint featuring vivid depictions of various cleavages and butt cracks.

"My colleagues, though, considered the time well spent. Apparently they believe that if the kids cover their bodies in a corporate, appropriate, modest way, they will be more eager to take in vital information about the wide, wide world and all its various cultures and values, and to improve their critical-thinking skills so they can grow up to be happy and creative human beings and informed voters capable of transforming this Great Nation into a land of justice and compassion."

"Bummer. But Howard, you'll be teaching Pre-K kids,*** so why do you need to worry about cleavage?"

"We all have to go to these meetings whether or not the subject is relevant to us. The reason is because they are required. Mandatory. Obligatory. Non-optional.

"At any rate, we were still discussing butt cracks at the end of the day -- literally -- so Mr. Z said we'd have to postpone our discussion of all the new initiatives coming down from the state and some major changes in the benchmarks and standards and the reasons our union couldn't scratch out even a cost-of-living raise.

"'We know y'all have a lot to do and are eager to get to your classrooms and get this year underway,' he said, "So we'll work really hard to finish up tomorrow. Meanwhile, I'd just like to thank you all for all you do on a daily basis. We appreciate your love of teaching and love of the kids, except for Mr. Renfroe's, of course, whose love crossed the red line, sending him to the pen for a while, but thanks to all the rest of you, and give yourselves a big hand!'"

Clap, clap, clappity-clap, clap.

*Or "pled"

**Or "thusly"

***In the interest of verisimilitude, I should point out that Medford school was very small, so it contained within its halls all grades, Pre-K through 12.

Getting to Know You

And now Zephaniah Nahum, aka Mr. Z, begins Medford High's First Day Welcome Back Breakfast and Professional Development In-Service:

 "Welcome back, y'all, and welcome to all the teachers new to Medford School, home of the Fighting Meds, athletes and learners! We know you have a lot to do today and are eager to get back into your classrooms and cover the wall with wise sayings from Ayn Rand, Lysa Terkeurst, Henry Miller, Rudyard Kipling, Steven Pinker, Norman Vincent Peale, L. Ron Hubbard, Charles Bukowski, Martha Stewart, Edgar Guest and Oprah, and with oversized memes featuring kittens and Marvel Comic heroes to help motivate your kids to work hard while also displaying your 'withitness.' 

A high school fave -- God only knows why.

"Certainly we know how hectic this first week can be for you, and we appreciate all that you do on a daily basis, so we're going to make this as brief as possible. 

"We have just a few things to pass on to you from the State, the County and from our 3-hour principal meeting yesterday, but we should be able to wrap up this whole thing in, oh, 15 minutes or so.

"So we'll introduce the rookies shortly, but first let's go around the room so each and every one of you can tell us how you spent your summer.

"Let's see, there's 87 of us, so we'll start at the back. When your turn comes, first tell us your name, what department you're in, how long you've been here, what you did before you came to Medford, where and when you got your degree, why you wanted to be a teacher and when you first realized it, then tell us about your summer.

"Welp, ladies first! Ruth, we'll start with you."

Sadly for those eager to get to work, Ruth had given birth, vacationed in Iceland, taken horseback lessons in Chuluota, watched her home go up in flames after a lightning strike, found a bear cub in the backseat of her Prius, published an article on "Progress Monitoring in the Appalachians: Reaching Out and Helping the Kids Left Behind Get Ahead" which she felt moved to read in its entirety, and started a book club focusing solely on the works of Roberto Bolano, George Eliot, David Foster Wallace and Karl Ove Knausgaard.

As the teachers share their summer memoirs, and nervous Howard tries to conjure up a story more interesting than accidentally abducting a homeless man, let's dolly the camera back and upward to give us a God's-eye view of this learned congregation, this assemblage of senseis*, if you will.

There are the young and restless, eager to begin what they believe to be a lifelong calling, maybe even a lifelong passion, but, untutored in traditional socialization and decorum, are reluctant to make eye contact with their elders. 

And there are the veterans who, like the gray beard just now entering through the double doors, are hoping with all their hearts this is their last first day back, and that next year this time they'll be sound asleep, mildly hungover, still hours away from facing a new day of freedom. 

Over the summer, the faculty's weight has been redistributed -- some have gained, some lost -- but collectively the group weighs the same as it did in June, accurately indicating a consistent collective fitness about which few other schools can crow.

Eight teachers, six of them guys, have shaved their respective heads and grown the now popular Russian-novelist beards. 

Dostoevsky, Fashion Prophet

As the teachers' riveting narratives go on and on and on, a posse of coaches, seated in the back, continue to chat among themselves with their outside voices. 

A few teachers have surreptitiously inserted ear plugs and are chewing gum to the beat of Lil Uzi Vert, Keith Urban, Childish Gambino, Patti Page, Khalid, Taylor Swift, Barry Manilow, Webb Pierce, Ariana Grande and that one female vocalist with the massive bows in her hair and bangs that reach her lips.  

Many, many years pass as the teachers describe their fruitful summers, then finally Howard -- just waking from a nap in which he dreamed about abducting one of the "realators" who had catered their delicious Chipotle breakfast -- heard Mr. Z say, "That's everyone, right? Is that it? Anyone else? No? All right! We have time for a brief restroom break before our next meeting, then we'll finish up quickly and get you outta here. But first, everybody give yourself a big hand!"

Clap, clap, clappity-clap, clap.

And on and on, and the afternoon and the morning were the first day.

*A Japanese word

A Teacher Begins His Journey

The Medford school district was so hard up for teachers that Howard Desseray's convicted-felon status in no way hurt his ranking among the 14 applicants, most of whom had no college degree, let alone a teaching certificate, and wouldn't know a pedagogue from a pedant.

In fact, during his interview he openly recounted some of the highlights of his various incarcerations in the state pen, those accounts only serving to impress the school's principal, Zephaniah Nahum. 

(The Medford district was so antiquated and micromanaged that teachers themselves were not allowed to interview their future colleagues, even if they -- the future colleagues -- had done time.)

"We respect the dignity of all our candidates regardless of their little lapses in judgment," Nahum told him. "Also, your time in prison will make it easier for you to acclimate to our architecture, our students, our food and our soul-crushingly rigid schedule. Now tell me, Mr. Desseray, how are you with kids? I mean, like 4- and 5-year olds?"

Howard, courtesy Jade Deatherage

"As an abductor, I've had plenty of experience with them. They seem inclined to trust me, and I try not to betray that trust. I always abduct them in a way they'll recall fondly, if their parents promptly deliver the required ransom, of course.

"And speaking of parents," added Howard as he pulled a manila folder from his book bag with '17486490021' printed neatly on the top, "here are a dozen letters of recommendation from parents, enumerating the many times I've 'gone the extra mile' while acting in loco parentis cum abductus."

The principal and former football coach removed an imaginary pipe from his mouth and said, "That's good enough for me, Mr. Desseray! Monday morning, 6:30 sharp! Welcome to the team -- more than a team, really. We think of ourselves as family here, at least the administrators do, but whatever, see ya Monday. Oh, and they call me Mr. Z." 

And so the morning of Howard's first day as a teacher came to pass. Will he finally leave his criminal life behind and help America's youth mature into thinking human beings?

* * * *

It was Medford's First Day Welcome Back Breakfast and Professional Development In-Service, and the 2017 Golden State Warriors seemed to be running their patented fast break through Howard's digestive system.

He was standing in line with people he had never met, all of them wearing the obligatory orange shirts, all trying to squeeze out some small talk as they inched tortoise-like toward the Chipotle breakfast buffet funded by a group of local realtors (or "realators," as they called themselves), all of whom had once been teachers, but whose dream of kindling the intellectual flame of this Great Nation's young had dissipated as soon as they realized the pay would doom them to a life of poverty.

Breakfast is on the"realators"!

(The "Head Mama" of the realators evoked a nervous chuckle from the teachers when, in the spirit of jocularity, she assured them that "there's no reason to worry about norovirus so soon after the recent Chipotle outbreak. You know what they say: The safest time to fly is the day after an airliner plunges nose-first into the icy waters of Kaffekluben Lake! Heh, heh.")

Anxiety -- unrelated to norovirus -- tightened Howard's esophagus as he pecked away at the guacamole atop his mountainous burrito bowl. 

Luckily, speaking was unnecessary as he sat at a table populated by younger teachers, all of whom, making no more noise than a mouse pissing on a cotton ball, texted feverishly, their smartphones stationed neatly next to their bowls. 

While his youthful colleagues munched and tapped, Howard reflected on the encouraging words of his likely fiance, past abductee, and future ex-wife Tally Dolcet, a devotee of art and welding: "If you're going to give up your calling as an abductor, you must do all in your power to become the best teacher you can be, given your felonious gene pool. Hang on to every word at the Opening Day meeting. Surely, those eloquent pellets of language will be golden gems of wisdom, keys to the bolted doors of young minds, an alchemical lubricant facilitating the passage and transmutation of knowledge from teaching to learning."

God bless Tally. He could picture her now, taking a break from welding the door back on their shed after an ill-tempered abductee had kicked it off, sitting on their new liver-colored sofa, watching her beloved Steve Harvey. Oh, how that woman loved Harvey's teeth!

After the teachers posed for their yearbook and ID photos (Howard embarrassed himself by instinctively turning sideways for a profile shot), the Opening Day meeting, at long last, got underway in earnest with "a few words" from Mr. Z.