July 7, 2010

July 7, 2010 is not the date where my world came crashing in around me. Those dates had already happened. October 18, 2008, July 28, 2009, February 6, 2009. If the world had crashed in around me on July 7, 2010, it would mean there wasn't any world left. Rather, July 7, 2010 was a date where my world as I knew it completely changed.

It was an exciting day for me. I had taken the job at Waukee and I was meeting my co-worker for lunch to discuss the year. My three years of hell were behind me and I was thrilled to leave them behind.

I was wearing my bracelet that said, "Live, laugh, love." I had bought the bracelet on a shopping trip the month prior with my best friend. It was something that signaled my new beginning, and something I wore every day to remind me that I was a fighter and that I had made it through the gauntlet.

I was wearing my green skirt, white shirt, sandals.It was a beautiful day, only a few clouds in the sky, and hardly any humidity, which was rare for July. We met for lunch, discussed the year, and overall had a very pleasant lunch. We talked about new beginnings, for the both of us, and our lunch was filled with excited chatter and laughter.

It was a Friday, and as I got home mid-afternoon and putzed around the house, I kept thinking of my new beginning. The things I would get to do, the name I was building for myself. The world I was leaving behind. I picked up the house, read a few of my professional magazines, and when the mail came, went out to the mailbox.

It was weird that I should get a huge envelope from the Board of Educational Examiners for the State of Iowa. Those are the people who grant teachers their licensure. I knew that I didn't need to renew my license, nor was I expecting anything from them in regard to my license.

The envelope was at least an inch thick and I had no idea what could be in it. So I opened it and from there, tried to make sense of the letter at the forefront of this stack of papers. And as I read, it was like someone had found a string in my confidence, and I was watching someone ever-so-slowly pull this string to unravel me.

I couldn't figure out what the letter was saying. Too many big words, a ringing in my ears and blurry vision. Concentrate. My mind began racing. What was this letter saying? Concentrate. I remember starting the letter again, "Dear Laura" and again, getting lost in the second paragraph. I read words like, "investigated" and "harassment" and "discrimination." What? 

Still not making sense, I flipped quickly through the stack of papers that had come addressed to me. Again, I read words like, "harassment" and "discrimination." I saw dates, I saw accusations, I saw red.

This letter, followed by the diatribe of accusations that followed blurred together. I remember picking up the phone and calling someone. Maybe it was my husband, possibly my best friend, but I remember the first person to answer my frantic phone calls: my mom.

Part of me didn't want to tell her what I thought this letter was saying. Part of me was embarrassed. This only happens to teachers who really did something wrong. I didn't do anything wrong. I didn't do anything wrong. I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG.

I don't know how often in my three years of hell that I repeated those words. "But I didn't do anything wrong," became a mantra for me that I began nearly every sentence with. I had people working in my defense, but clearly, with this letter, all had been in vain. That mantra had never, truly, been heard by anyone of any importance. Because this was still happening to me.

So I talked to my mom. I'm sure she said some comforting, motherly words that I will never remember. But I do remember my mother asking if I needed a lawyer. Yep, I think I did.

But I had tried a lawyer. In fact, I had tried several times. Several times, I had been turned away, after being told that it was a "school issue" and I needed to take it up with "school officials." You mean, those school officials who continue to let this happen to me? Several times over? These school officials treated these issues like they were a stain you cover up with a rug - you can't see it, but it's still there. These parents and their child, they were still there. And these school officials were still not doing anything about it.

So I hung up with my mom. I re-read the letter, now only seeing red and ready to fight. How dare this student and her parents accuse me of the things they were accusing me of? Discrimination? I had only opened up my door and my teacher's heart for this child. I had handled her delicately, and with every ounce of professional being I had. For three years. And this is how I'm repaid for it?

"But I didn't do anything wrong." It didn't matter.

I called my new colleague, who probably felt like I hit her with a ton of bricks. She advised me to call my union representative. So I did. My representative gave me the number to the Iowa State Education Agency, which is, essentially, the union that I belonged to. The union who was a rug, to cover up the stain. They never once got rid of the problem. They didn't do a damn thing for me.

Being it was Friday, I was only able to leave a message. I remember when Eric got home, having to tell him what happened. He was furious. We thought this was behind us. We had been fighting these exact same allegations for almost 2 1/2 years.

I remember my best friend calling me and me telling her what had happened. I remember later that night she called again, telling me that she had done some research and in allegations such as these, not a single accuser had won. Not a single one. But that didn't mean that I couldn't be the first defendant to lose, right?

As we went to bed that night, myself exhausted from crying and crying and crying, I whispered to Eric in a tiny, shaken voice, "I don't know if I can do this again. I don't know if I can keep fighting." Eric rolled over, embraced me, and told me that I had to keep fighting, because there was no other option.

July 7, 2010 was not a date where the world came crashing in around me, because, as I said, that would mean there wouldn't be a world left. But there was one. A new, scary, shaky world. And as I closed my eyes that night, that new world opened.