Election day 2024. The world really didn’t make sense any more. This wasn’t a fluke this time, as a majority of Americans apparently had a different idea of what our country stands for. It’s also possible I’ve been living under a rock or had rose-colored glasses for too long: are we really this backwards? I didn’t recognize the place.
I started writing a wacky fan-fiction story to channel my frustrations. If the world doesn’t make sense, and seems beyond my comprehension, why not build one that does? It may never get published (it is…different, and started out as speculative fan-fiction but seems to suggest something else…in other words, needs more editing!) but writing did help up to a point; it was, after all, fiction.
At the time my son was in his first year of high school and, surprisingly, going to class. He had alphabet soup grades but there were no ER visits or calls from administrators. All his teachers spoke highly of him and - an even bigger surprise - he liked them. What was going on at Springbrook? I mentioned all this to my department chair (resource teacher, RT) and admitted that the election made me seriously consider doing something radically different, like changing schools. The status quo isn’t working. In the blue moon chance a position was to open up at Springbrook, I’d take it, or so I said. She completely understood and supported me, but there were no open positions. It was just talk.
The students there were quite engaged, friendly, spirited, and diverse. I played with the marching band for homecoming, went to the fall and spring plays and talent show. Every event floored me. These were kids truly passionate about what they were doing. I got to know the wrestling team pretty well, giving rides to the athletes and seeing them win and lose. The wrestlers were really polite. My son hadn’t wrestled before but he found a connection with the charismatic coach and the rest is history. I’m just glad he found something he likes at school. I felt this place was the polar opposite of what our country voted for. It was a safe place. It felt familiar.
So when a position opened up teaching the same preps, I applied. I told my RT and she enthusiastically advised, “Be sure to answer the questions!” Obvious advice, yes, but she admitted, “Many candidates say a lot of words but never answer the question. And one more thing,” she added. “Just be yourself.”
I’m flanked by the principal, 3 assistant principals, and the resource teacher. I’d been up since 3 AM. Everything was going well (although a bit over time) until the last question: “Can you share your personal teaching philosophy?” I don’t remember much other than being completely overwhelmed. “The 2024 election really hit me hard. I felt like I needed to make a change, to find solidarity with the very folks targeted as disparaged, dismissed, and deported. Springbrook has a majority-minority student population, after all. I saw how uplifting, affirming, and inclusive a place Springbrook is, and I said to myself, ‘This place feels like home. I want to be a part of that!’” Tears. The principal brought me a Kleenex box. I was certainly being myself!
After, I paced the campus waiting for my son’s wrestling practice to conclude. Would they call right away? Was I too emotional? Were there other candidates? I soon knew the answer. The principal called an hour later, offered the position. Of course I accepted! I was so excited to start this new chapter, but what to tell my students?
The following morning started at 2 AM. I couldn’t sleep. This was going to be hard. I’d made a mental note of the students not in my classes who I needed to tell in person, and hoped somehow I would see them. I kid you not, those students showed up before school, unprompted, so I could give them a pass. It was as if God knew what I needed. Hand trembling, I scrawled out their names, the time and date on the passes. “What is this about?” They’d ask. “I have something.” How do you say goodbye?
There were tears. Lots of them. “Why are you leaving us?” It took me an hour to explain. Or try to. I wanted them to know that I loved them dearly, that although this seemed abrupt, it was something I’d been thinking about for a while. I wanted them to know I found a new home at Springbrook where you didn’t have to have 20 years experience to join the team, where being different is normal, where you can find pride in yourself and your school community. One student led a round of applause: “I think, Mr. Miehl, I’m speaking for all of us, we are all happy for you!” He was a wrestler.
A week after, at the faculty luncheon, there were more tears. My RT read a beautiful dedication which was received with a standing ovation by the faculty and staff. I was humbled and touched. I had been there for 22 years, a short lifetime.
My new RT is wonderful and so are the staff I’ve met. My room is older, but it’s huge and has lots of storage and light. One of the International Baccalaureate (IB) coordinators is a former AP chemistry teacher, an invaluable resource after having been the only one for years. Did I mention my daughter was accepted into the IB program and it’s less than 8 minutes away?
The world still doesn’t make sense. Did it ever, really? For now, I found one that does. It has the secret sauce of community, student affirmation and engagement that attracted me in the first place. Maybe I’m just deluding myself? After all, Springbrook has a bit of a “reputation,” and I could subconsciously be attracted to the novelty of a new place and relish the attention my move has generated; I did get a lot of heartfelt notes from students and 8+ pages of yearbook messages. I could be just another character in my wacky fiction, just making it up in my head. But do I deny my own eyes, ears, and heart? The current regime would like me to do just that. No, those were actual students who were really excited about their school, Springbrook. My son really liked (most of) his teachers, those were actual tears shed, and my new RT is nearly a clone of my current one. It was real. I feel real excitement, real hope. These were people who loved their school, who they were, and what they were doing. Of course I’d want to be a part of that story! And that makes perfect sense.