Interview or Quiz Show?

As I prepare myself to write this post, I must preface the entry with two comments:

The first is that I mean no insult or degradation of any of my teaching colleagues who may have had the same experience as me, and not felt as negative about it. There are people I know who may be well suited for the job I speak of below, and that does not mean I do not think highly of them. The second is that I fear I am reaching a Jerry Maguire moment in my career. It has been building for quite some time and though my sentiments are shared by many, I am beginning to feel it may be worth the risk of being ostracized to publicize my current state of opinion. So, here it goes...

A couple of weeks ago, after making it through a first-round screening of my résumé and a couple of reference letters, my school district invited me in for what they touted as a series of three 20- minute interviews for a professional development position. Already suspect of the data artifact portfolio I was asked to prepare (if the school district is involved, data must be the center of attention), and the 5 minute teaching video I had to send (who the hell can capture good teaching in 5 minutes of video?), I made the arrangements to spend Saturday morning at the dog and pony show.

Before I go on, I should probably mention, only because it's relevant, that I am currently scheduled to complete my doctorate in curriculum and instruction in May. My dissertation is a qualitative study about what works in professional development from the teacher's perspective. I have been a specialized ESE school director, a PK-8 principal, an education coordinator of a residential school for juvenile offenders, and of course a teacher and team leader (I've taught just about every grade from 3rd to 12th, and college). Needless to say my experiences have been diverse, and I have had no shortage of leadership positions in my career.

I'm sure if you spoke to any of the teachers who worked "for me" when I was an administrator, you would hear lots of comments about my work ethic, my beliefs about the importance of quality curriculum and instruction, and my propensity for leading by example. I have often said mentoring other teachers was my favorite part of being an administrator and educational institutions should have instructional supervisors apart from building managers. This love and drive for working with my colleagues and focusing on the teaching craft is what inspired me to begin my doctoral studies, and to focus on curriculum and instruction rather than educational leadership. The latter seemed more for those who aspired to be principals and assistant principals in public schools. I did not, and do not have such aspirations.

Naturally, when this leadership position was announced, and described as a teacher-leader to help with school embedded professional development, I was encouraged. I started to think there may be life in leadership for me after my doctorate. After months of struggling to formulate a response when family, friends, and colleagues asked me what I wanted to do next, I thought I had an answer. I would  apply for this position with my school district and work with other teachers to hone their craft. The added bonus of 40% of my time being slotted for direct contact with students made it seem like the perfect package.

So I reluctantly recorded my video and sent it off, gathered my "data artifacts" and created a mini portfolio, and I put on my costume (suit from my principal days) and headed out to my call backs. While sitting in the lobby waiting to be called for audition, I found myself feeling nervous for the first time ever at an interview. Never before had I doubted what I could bring professionally and personally to an organization with whom I was applying. I always thought of an interview as my evaluation of a possible workplace and colleagues, and my chance to ask them questions to help reveal tidbits about whether I would want to work there or not. But this was different..

Suddenly, I knew I wasn't right for the part, and as I started to seriously consider it, I didn't think I wanted the part. I've never been much of an actress; I don't know how to be anything but myself. The more I thought it over, the more I realized I would likely be asked to become someone I'm not. For fear of being rude, and knowing my principal recommended me, I decided to take the stage and give it a shot...

Soon, several other applicants and I were herded from the lobby to another waiting room where we sat and made small talk for about five minutes. We were then brought to another area where we were split up into groups of three to be rotated through the three interview sessions. I was escorted to my first room where I waited outside the door on a chair listening to the interviewers inside process their thoughts and score sheets (yes, there were score sheets) for the previous applicant (I'm sure they did not realize I could hear them). The door opened and a man in a tie leaned out waiting for the score sheet runner to take his papers. He invited me in.

Enter room one. It did not feel like a stage audition, or a job interview. It was like a quiz show. My hosts were a woman who commanded no respect (at least not from me), and a man who by condescending facial expression alone, made it clear he was about to judge me. Admittedly, I was intimidated for about 10 seconds, until I gave it some thought. I was likely more educated than him and more experienced than him, and quite frankly I had just about arrived at the conclusion that I was no longer interested in the job. The two of them explained their list of four questions and my approximate 3-4 minutes to answer each, though her iPhone timer would not sound. It was just for her to keep us on schedule. There would be a knock at the door when time was almost up so I would know I had to wrap up. Great.

The particulars of what we talked about in this room, which by the way was the instructional leadership portion of the interview, is not really important. The significance lies in the emphasis on data (though this was not the data portion of the interview), and my lack of opportunity to talk about any of my true instructional leadership experiences. Nothing about my education or dissertation. Nothing about any of my administrative experiences. Nothing about anything meaningful. All they wanted to hear about was the answer that fit in the box on their answer forms. The 20 point answer. I didn't have it. I said thank you. I walked out of the room, returned to the chair and considered leaving rather than waiting until round 2. Once again, out of respect for my principal I stayed, knowing deeper and deeper with every passing minute that I didn't need this job, I didn't want this job, and I would not be selected for this job.



Enter room two. This was the session actually labeled data. Here I was met by three women; two sitting to my right were a bit warmer than my previous hosts, and one to my left was almost as cold. I placed my binder, filled with every data "artifact" I could excavate from classroom, on the table in front of me. I had some ideas about which things I would pull out and what would best highlight my use of data to inform instruction. But I was waiting for a lead, a question, something to go on. There was none. I don't remember what they actually said, but it amounted to as much as, "Show us what you've got."

I was left with a split second decision: Do I pull out FCAT, FAIR, and STAR scores, none of which I find to be particularly meaningful for guiding day-to-day instruction? Or do I pull out math pretests that I give to help plan centers groups for the upcoming math unit, so I know which students would need more scaffolding and support? Maybe, I should show them the homework check sheet I have used all year, and how I noticed a correlation between low math report card grades and low homework completion (all kids who failed math had lower than 20% completion). It was this correlation that led me to start homework support after school, on my own time. If you know me, it's not hard to figure out which choice I made. Again, I don't know how to be anyone but me, so I pulled MY data.

Any guesses to the reactions I got?

Now I knew I didn't want the job. But I was two thirds through, and I'm glad I decided to stay. The last session was the one that restored my faith that though the system is completely screwed, there are some good people working within it. I guess that's the way I'd like to think of myself and quite a few of my colleagues. Anyway, I was greeted with two warm smiles by two women who seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say. They put the quiz questions in front of me in case I wanted to read any of them as they asked them.

Side note: This was the cherry on top of the "I'm no longer interested" sundae. I saw the  score card and how we were being rated. It was just the kind of script and formulaic nonsense we're being bombarded with to use with our kids. It was then my assumptions were confirmed. My answers needed to fit in their boxes, literally and figuratively. I was done.

The two cordial, yet professional women asked me about classroom instruction. I told them about some of the projects I do with my kids, we chuckled and talked about the challenges of working in a Title I school. I told them the same things I told the data people, but this time I had personal stories and student impact behind it. We talked beyond the knock at the door, and when they said, "Thank you for coming," it seemed genuine.

I walked passed the next herd of my colleagues waiting in the lobby, took off my suit jacket, and got in my car. I kicked off my shoes in exchange for flip-flops, pulled down my hair, opened the sun roof, and took off down the road. On the way home I decided that I'm bound for something bigger and better. I have no doubt that my future holds something much more meaningful and satisfying than becoming just another cog in the machine.