It’s sad news to be sure, but as I begin this blog there are only two school days remaining. I work as a Special Education Assistant (SEA) at a high school for students with severe Emotional/Behavioral Disorder. Those in the know understand this to be abbreviated as E/BD. If you stripped away all of the acronyms and abbreviations from special education, all you’d have left is a one room schoolhouse staffed by a giant squid accompanied by a monkey on an organ grinder. Those in the know will further understand when I explain that the school I work at is a standalone facility, a Federal Setting IV, which is where the word “severe” comes from in my earlier description. If I’m incredibly reductive, I might describe our students as having heavy involvement in street gangs, being deeply entrenched in the juvenile justice system (such as it is), and having many mental health needs that are often unmet. Of course there are other issues, race and class the most obvious, with chemical dependency trailing closely behind.

So that’s what I do, I assist with the Special Education. More to the point, I’m what’s called a “floater”, one of three among the SEA ranks, a sufficient number given our low student population. Floaters carry walkie-talkies, and answer calls to escort students to the restroom (which is locked, as is the classroom door after it closes behind the student – for better or worse, our students need to be escorted everywhere, through many a locked door), to check-in students who arrive late for school (they trickle in all day, and need to go through a metal detector, etc.), to remove students from a classroom who are in an escalated state, or, if we’re honest, are just rubbing the teacher the wrong way. At times I feel as though I’m being pulled in three or four different directions, doing other staff member’s jobs for them. Other times I sit and read the paper. I’ve become rather adept at sudoku. Earlier this year it was the Cryptoquip puzzle, until I found the puns in the solutions insulting.

A police officer assigned to our school told me once, “I’m not always paid for what I do, but what I may have to do.”

It’s a dream job, though not one I ever would have dreamed for myself.

If not for the fact that I am within spitting distance of my degree, and that SEAs don’t make any money, I might just stick with what’s comfortable. But that’s not to be.

In fact, in six months, if all goes according to plan, I’ll be on the job market with a college degree and a teaching license from the State of Minnesota. A license in secondary English Education, which I might as well print in my basement on the back of the Mailbox Values circular I just recycled for all it’s going to be worth. Schools are closing left and right in this city, and English teachers (unlike Science, Math, Special Ed, or just about anything that isn’t Social Studies) are a dime a dozen. I could go work at a charter school, but then I’d be contributing to the demise of the great American tradition that is free and public education (more on that at another time).

So while my dream job has me in a High School Language Arts classroom using Public Enemy to explain Magical Realism (I wrote a lesson plan that does this, available upon request), I worry that it may not ever be much more than a dream.

For that reason, I’ve envisioned a plan B for myself, just as much of a long shot as the first dream. I would like to create a dedicated youth writing center similar to McSweeney’s’ 826 centers or Chicago’s Young Chicago Authors, but that exists under the umbrella of an urban public school district. I believe that, as public schools struggle to stay relevant (and open!), it might not take much more than a kick-ass publication or two and a couple of real-deal release events to sell both students and parents on the positive and transformative power of the written (and spoken) word. If these students and parents (and their larger communities) can see these publications and events existing as a part of something larger (i.e. their local public school district), they might think twice about bussing out to the suburbs to be a part of a winning basketball program – on the contrary, the city schools might be able to steal back a kid or two from the suburbs. Why not? It doesn’t undo the larger problems caused by No Child Left Behind and charter schools, but it’s a positive step in the right direction.

In the end, if I want a job, I’ll probably have to go even further into student loan debt in order to secure for myself an E/BD license. I might get to work in the building I’m currently in after all.