To say I've learned a lot in our almost year here is an understatement. The current lesson has been mindblowing - labor unions, government and my kids. Here's the thing - today is Thursday, but functionally, it's our Friday because for the second day in the past two weeks our district's schools are closed for rotating strikes by the teachers. I don't have completely informed opinions about this whole mess, but I do have opinions. Information is hard to wade through and not readily available in some instances, so I'm sticking with observations of the process. I'm a process person and have been utterly fascinated by this particular process as it's so new to me.
Caveats:
*I am NOT a labor attorney, nor do I have any formal training in labor negotiations (translation: I don't get all that's going on from a legal or technical point of view)
*I am a child of an educator and an educator myself and I deeply value public education and those who are committed to helping my children grow in public schools
*Unions are new to me.
*I have a singular perspective as I've been through this in one school for the first time living in a country not of my birth.
Now that I *hope* I've explained my relative ignorance to this whole process because of its newness to me and our newness to this place, here we go. Strikes are a funny thing - they're polarizing with the hope of effectiveness and they're reported through the eyes of media and messages are passed through representatives - so I've learned that it's hard to find the actual nuts and bolts of decisions and their implications. Here's what I think I understand:
-Teachers in British Columbia are part of the BC Teacher Federation - the teachers' labor union.
-The government negotiates with the BCTF through the BC Public School Employer's Association.
-Currently, the main sticking points are: teacher compensation, contract term (length), class size and class composition (meaning how many special needs young people may be mainstreamed into each class).
-The BCTF started by asking for a 15.9% pay increase over 4 years (plus cost of living adjustments).
-The BCPSEA countered by offering a 6.5% increase over 6 years (plus cost of living adjustments).
-There are requests from the BCTF on classroom size caps + caps on the number of special needs children in each classroom - I've had a hard time finding firm numbers on that though, so I just raise the point.
-Apparently, there was a strike a couple of years ago which was technically illegal because the government had said teachers didn't have the right to mobilize and strike. The BC Supreme Court recently ruled that teachers do have that right and here we are.
-Job Action began in April with teachers discontinuing duties that fall outside of those for which they are actually contracted including no longer attending meetings called by administration. That was considered Phase One. It ramped up 2 weeks ago to Phase Two - rotating strikes. This meant that for one day each week every school in British Columbia would close. Now we're bumping up against a vote next Monday/Tuesday by which the teachers will decide whether to escalate the job action to a full strike; translation: in theory, beginning June 16, teachers could walk out and school would be cancelled until there was an agreement between union officials and the government. The last day of school is supposed to be June 26.
-A government 'lock out' of teachers was imposed - teachers were told they were not allowed to work during certain parts of the day and there was a subsequent reduction in their salaries by 10% [as of May 26] to cover for the lost work time. This led to the union telling teachers they needed to leave campus during those times for insurance sake.
Here's the fall out I've observed:
-Cancellation of year end field trips for Grade 6 & 7 classes and the ruling of no field trips for anyone after a certain date unless the trips were pre-planned and fell within the guidelines of permissible trips. And let me tell you - when a Grade 7 student who's waited for their 5-day trip to camp since they started at our school gets told it's cancelled, it's really sad and they're really disappointed.
-Confusion on the part of parents and students. Teachers aren't supposed to talk with kids about the strike, but are able to talk to parents, I think. I've had some enlightening conversations with a couple of teachers, anyway.
-Angst among parents who have to scramble for childcare when days off of school pop up and some childcare programs are closed when school is out due to strike for their own reasons (which I don't know so I'm not hypothesizing). I'm grateful that we're in a position where I'm at home with our kids, though.
-Potential that end of grade report cards won't be written because teachers may only work 45 minutes prior to and 45 minutes after the school day's end and must leave campus during recess and lunch.
Who *I think* gets the shaft:
The kids.
And I'd also say the parents. While I've found this entire dance fascinating, it also makes me really, really sad. My children will potentially miss quite a chunk of their school year because the big people have their heels dug in so deeply that they've essentially picked up all their toys, stormed off the playground and are huddled up in their own camps congratulating themselves on how right they are and how wrong the other side is. That's sad. And it's crappy modeling, really, when we are trying to teach our children about healthy conflict resolution. While I may be really oversimplifying, it seems that the time has come for a good ole family meeting - where someone...even if it's just ONE person...from each side is willing to stick out their neck and say, "Let's come to the table. Let's figure it out. Let's both be willing to bend a little." And maybe that's on the horizon - I don't know. What I do know is this: we'll be out of school another day next week, tension will continue to be the norm among teachers at school, and there's the potential that next Friday will be our last day of school. I'll continue to watch this unfold and be fascinated by it and I'll pull out the workbooks I bought at Costco and checkout the Kahn Academy to be sure my kids are ready for the fall [assuming all this gets sorted over the summer before school starts back]. And I'll try with all my might to explain this whole mess to my kids so their faith in grown ups isn't marred - all the while hoping for an amiable end to the situation. It's interesting stuff, friends, and I find that I'm still a student myself.
Thursday, June 5, 2014
Sunday, June 1, 2014
The F-Bomb
Every single moment of every single day as a parent, I've decided, humbles and reminds me of how much of a teacher we parents are, whether we like it or not. This weekend it's been BEAUTIFUL in Vancouver and we've soaked every minute of outside time possible out of it. For the first time since we arrived, we ventured to Grouse Mountain in hiking clothes instead of skiing clothes. We traded our helmets for sunscreen and boots for tennis shoes and hit the runs walking normally - realizing that my husband and children really had been zooming down rock face cliffs was quite sobering. It was important for Philip to venture down The Cut Run as there's one spot each time he skis down that gets under his skin and sends him into fits of self-talk until he reaches the bottom of the run. There was something spiritual about walking to that very spot and conquering it and then drinking in the views of downtown that aren't visible when the skies are filled with snow clouds. It was a lovely day.
Then - we saw that Lydia's Ski School building transforms into a hub for ecotours and a viewing point for the two Grizzly Bears who make their home at Grouse. It was amazing really, to be that close to such large creatures, and to actually want to pet these wild animals before you snap back into the reality that they could break you in half. We walked past the site of the "Magic Carpet" that escorts skiiers to the top of the hill, giving their legs a brief respite from their intense work and observed that it actually sits about 3 feet off the ground - and we watched them dig that strip of moving rubber out of snow while assuming it set right on the ground mere weeks ago. Down to the chair lift we walked because we saw people riding on that engineering marvel to the top of Grouse Mountain (marketed as the "Peak of Vancouver") and learned that our local's pass gained us a free ride up to the top! Right about now you're probably thinking we're really lucky to live in a place where chair lifts come with season entry and ski resorts turn into hiking meccas in the Spring and Summer. My friends - while you're right from a financial standpoint, my heart function respectfully disagrees.
I love my children. I love my children so much it hurts and so much that it makes me irrational sometimes. I love my children so much that I walked up to the red square painted on that wooden deck like I was excited and I sat on that moving chair and was off the ground before I ever even knew what had happened. The piddly little bar that sat across my thighs was supposedly a safeguard against a most painful and grueling death that would happen if I fell out - and I prayed for that death because if I just fell down and broke a lot of bones then I'd be really irritated when normal life got interrupted. I did OK for the first portion of the trip as we could see the bears' habitat from the lift and I was distracted looking sideways instead of straight up at the near 90 degree angle that lift took to the peak (OK it was really more like a 50 degree angle max, but it may as well have been straight up). We were reminding the kids of the importance of not swinging the chair and not looingk around too much (so as not to have to look with them or deal with the fact that we were suspended over ground that looks much softer covered in a blanket of snow). And then it happened.
Our chair rolled gently, yet abruptly, to a STOP. And we were NOT at our destination. And the mother of all swear words flowed off my tongue as if I were uttering my children's names, calling them to dinner. Yep - I dropped the F-bomb. And while I thought it was silent, the deep, soul-tickling laughter that sprung from Henry's mouth made it clear I had betrayed the notion of silence. And he laughed that deep laugh that I love to hear - except when I'm dangling in a death trap over a rocky surface below. But I got tickled too - and laughed that nervous laughter that you laugh when you're really not supposed to laugh at all (you know, like during Communion or your child's Christmas concert when another child screams at their teachers) and the tears began flowing. The good news/bad news of the situation was that the tears prevented my being able to see how far up we were but the laughter made our chair move more than I liked. Alas - we were at least on our way again. I finally calmed down enough and hushed Henry from making utterances about the likelihood of our falling, the beauty of the view behind us and such. Then, I kid you not, the damn chair stopped again and there came that word AGAIN! Cue laughter, chair movement and tears.
Once we finally started again (after about 3 seconds) and I calmed down again (about 3 minutes), I realized that whoever sat in our little death trap of a chair on the way down might think we greased the pole that sat on our thighs where my hands now sat. The sweat on my palms was so prolific that a doctor would most certainly examined me for a possible cardiac event. What seemed like a half hour later (probably more like 6 minutes), we debarked our chair, proclaimed victory to the lift attendant and proceeded to solid ground. Had I thought the muscles in my legs might have allowed me (you see, they were still seized up in fear) I would have knelt and kissed the ground. Our children laughed mightily at my fear, and frankly I did too. Heights never used to bother me - I'm chalking it up to parenting changing my phobias. Naturally - we walked down the run after admiring the lovely views. We walked down a path with a warning sign that read: HIKING NOT RECOMMENDED because this path isn't monitored and there's loose stone. BUT - it was ON. THE. GROUND. The kids were freaked out by the gravel under their feet but we made them walk - after all - we'd faced our fears and it was their turn.
Once we got down the run, we grabbed a "beavertail" (fried pizza dough dipped in a cinnamon + sugar mix - don't judge - we'd earned it) and settled in for the lumberjack show. It was a cute show that made us laugh ourselves into a more relaxed state and we headed for home. The exhaustion set in - Henry slept in the car as we sat in traffic on the Lions Gate Bridge and we fell into the couch after we opened the door. And suddenly I was alone with my thoughts for a brief moment - and it dawned on me. I had single-handedly taught my children that when you fear for your life (whether it's rational or not) that the single best weapon you have against that fear is the F-bomb. Frankly, I'm OK with that - and I'd forgive them for the same transgression if they involuntarily uttered that word under duress. Now I can also rest easy that they know I'm not perfect - that has been a real tough façade to maintain all these years :) Carry on, fellow parents - that's what we do - imperfections and all. Carry on.
First patch of snow we encountered - from clearing paths assumedly...
More snow! My hunch is this was one of the season's jumps on the Cut Run.
King and Queen of the World!
Downtown as seen from The Cut Run
I love my children. I love my children so much it hurts and so much that it makes me irrational sometimes. I love my children so much that I walked up to the red square painted on that wooden deck like I was excited and I sat on that moving chair and was off the ground before I ever even knew what had happened. The piddly little bar that sat across my thighs was supposedly a safeguard against a most painful and grueling death that would happen if I fell out - and I prayed for that death because if I just fell down and broke a lot of bones then I'd be really irritated when normal life got interrupted. I did OK for the first portion of the trip as we could see the bears' habitat from the lift and I was distracted looking sideways instead of straight up at the near 90 degree angle that lift took to the peak (OK it was really more like a 50 degree angle max, but it may as well have been straight up). We were reminding the kids of the importance of not swinging the chair and not looingk around too much (so as not to have to look with them or deal with the fact that we were suspended over ground that looks much softer covered in a blanket of snow). And then it happened.
The Death-Defying Lift
Our chair rolled gently, yet abruptly, to a STOP. And we were NOT at our destination. And the mother of all swear words flowed off my tongue as if I were uttering my children's names, calling them to dinner. Yep - I dropped the F-bomb. And while I thought it was silent, the deep, soul-tickling laughter that sprung from Henry's mouth made it clear I had betrayed the notion of silence. And he laughed that deep laugh that I love to hear - except when I'm dangling in a death trap over a rocky surface below. But I got tickled too - and laughed that nervous laughter that you laugh when you're really not supposed to laugh at all (you know, like during Communion or your child's Christmas concert when another child screams at their teachers) and the tears began flowing. The good news/bad news of the situation was that the tears prevented my being able to see how far up we were but the laughter made our chair move more than I liked. Alas - we were at least on our way again. I finally calmed down enough and hushed Henry from making utterances about the likelihood of our falling, the beauty of the view behind us and such. Then, I kid you not, the damn chair stopped again and there came that word AGAIN! Cue laughter, chair movement and tears.
Once we finally started again (after about 3 seconds) and I calmed down again (about 3 minutes), I realized that whoever sat in our little death trap of a chair on the way down might think we greased the pole that sat on our thighs where my hands now sat. The sweat on my palms was so prolific that a doctor would most certainly examined me for a possible cardiac event. What seemed like a half hour later (probably more like 6 minutes), we debarked our chair, proclaimed victory to the lift attendant and proceeded to solid ground. Had I thought the muscles in my legs might have allowed me (you see, they were still seized up in fear) I would have knelt and kissed the ground. Our children laughed mightily at my fear, and frankly I did too. Heights never used to bother me - I'm chalking it up to parenting changing my phobias. Naturally - we walked down the run after admiring the lovely views. We walked down a path with a warning sign that read: HIKING NOT RECOMMENDED because this path isn't monitored and there's loose stone. BUT - it was ON. THE. GROUND. The kids were freaked out by the gravel under their feet but we made them walk - after all - we'd faced our fears and it was their turn.
Views from the top - totally beautiful!
Warning: don't hike here (whatever!)
Once we got down the run, we grabbed a "beavertail" (fried pizza dough dipped in a cinnamon + sugar mix - don't judge - we'd earned it) and settled in for the lumberjack show. It was a cute show that made us laugh ourselves into a more relaxed state and we headed for home. The exhaustion set in - Henry slept in the car as we sat in traffic on the Lions Gate Bridge and we fell into the couch after we opened the door. And suddenly I was alone with my thoughts for a brief moment - and it dawned on me. I had single-handedly taught my children that when you fear for your life (whether it's rational or not) that the single best weapon you have against that fear is the F-bomb. Frankly, I'm OK with that - and I'd forgive them for the same transgression if they involuntarily uttered that word under duress. Now I can also rest easy that they know I'm not perfect - that has been a real tough façade to maintain all these years :) Carry on, fellow parents - that's what we do - imperfections and all. Carry on.
Henry's car snooze
A lovely Spring sunset to conjure a peaceful feeling...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)