Why I "tow the party line": A teacher's thoughts on being a union member

I consider myself a "lucky" teacher. When I graduated from UBC with an education degree in a high-demand specialty, I had my pick of jobs in both the public and private school systems. Having previously been a member of both the BCGEU and CUPE, I was well versed in the benefits and challenges of being a union member. I entered the teaching profession within the last ten years so I was fully aware of the acrimonious relationship between the provincial government and the BCTF. Nevertheless, it never occurred to me to teach in anything but the public education system and become a proud member of the BCTF. I walked into this seemingly never-ending fight with my eyes wide open. I'm an active union member. I attend the meetings and sit on my executive. I don't do this because I blindly follow union rules and directives. I do it because it is part of my job as a public school teacher. When I signed up to be a public school teacher, I also signed up to be a member of the BC Teacher's Federation. In my eyes, you are not one or the other - you are both. I'm not doing this because I love meetings, or because I quote my collective agreement to my administration. I don't agree with every decision my union makes but I understand that decisions are made following a set of agreed upon rules and a code of ethics. If I don't agree with something, I speak up. That is also part of being a collective. Individual voices working together for the good of the collective. As a specialist high school teacher, I have to admit that sometimes I don't really feel like this is "my" fight. I don't have issues with class size and composition. But I am part of a collective and my collective is drowning in issues of class size, class composition, inadequate support services and under-funding. And that makes this "our" fight. Because, although I am a "lucky" specialist teacher today, I don't know where I will be tomorrow. And what benefits the collective could be what I will need at some point. This week I walked the picket line, in the rain, at 5:30 in the morning. I hate mornings and I live an hour away from my district. I also sat in a lawn chair on the sidewalk for four days at lunch. I had a sign which read: Our Kids are Worth It. I've lost a day's salary and have had my salary "rolled back" 10%. I dutifully get up and exit my school at 3:45 because I am "locked out" leaving behind mountains of marking. The dozen or so kids I help everyday during lunch are not getting that support. This is not my choice; it is my employer's. I did all these things - even though I feel, honestly, like a sitting duck on the sidewalk holding a sign - because I'm part of something bigger than just me and what I want or need. I'm doing these things because the teacher down the hall has a class of 30 with a half dozen or so IEPs and about another dozen waiting for some sort of testing or support. Standing in the rain or sitting on the sidewalk seems like small potatoes compared to these daily challenges. And, I don't forget, could one day be me. In my nearly 20 years of being a union member, this is what I have learned: 1. There are always union members who resent being or are apathetic about being union members. These are the colleagues who continue with their work after the 45 minute lock-out deadline, the people who pretend the school is a community centre after a certain hour, the people who continue with the extra curricular activities. My question for these people is: why did you sign up for this job? There are jobs in the private sector and you'd save money on what you consider "useless" union dues. All this is doing is undermining the work of the collective - the collective which is working on your behalf. You might not need that now but someday you will. So, in short, you are undermining your own support. 2. Your employer may "support" you but he does not have your back. Your union does. This is nothing personal. The union's mandate is to have your back; your employer's is not. This is goal #9 in the BCTF's member's guide. I'm an active member of my union because I also recognize that, at the end of the day, the first person who needs to look out for my own best interest is me. I want to make sure that the union is working for me. 3. The resentful or apathetic union members, no matter what the profession, are usually the people who run the fastest to the union when they have a problem with their employer. We are in an odd situation with a rotating strike and the partial, alternating times lock-out. I am baffled by the people who pick and choose what aspects to stand up for. Your working conditions and your profession - your livelihood and how you support yourself and your family - are under attack. What would you do if you came knocking on your union's door looking for support and they decided to randomly pick and choose which aspects of your issue they would act upon?

Switching gears and blogs...

Thinking that my head might actually implode after the re election of the public education hating Liberal government, I have deliberately avoided putting my thoughts about this calamity down but I have been writing!

I looked and looked for a blog about BC families adopting BC kids and could only find ones relating to single parent and/or international adoption so I started one myself. Please share with anyone you know who may be considering, is currently doing, has ever adopted or is just curious. :)

Somehow reflecting on our adoption process in a blog titled "No Social Sieve" did not seem appropriate so I have been tracking our journey under the new blog.

http://expectingourkids.blogspot.ca/

Road to Parenthood... The Sequel

My tale as a parent began with one line to my doctor: "I'm sorry... say that again?" followed, of course, by an expletive. This first tale could be aptly titled "Dazed and Confused" with the lead player walking around in a state of constant bewilderment over the predicament she landed herself in. However, a happy tale nonetheless with many humourous stories along the way.

Fast forward 13 years and the sequel is an entirely different endeavour. The cast has grown to include an incredibly supportive co-star and a precociously opinionated under age supporting player. Throw into the mix a "not-quite-an-adult" surrogate child - during the hockey season - playing a minor supporting role (but who weighs in nonetheless) and a gazillion family members and it all adds up to a ensemble dramedy. A fitting title for the sequel would be "Kid Fever."

Adoption. It really is an ensemble dramedy. Having spent over a year working solely with one individual to expand our family with three failed attempts, it is like coming out of the dark into the light to shift focus and be able to include people in our plans. It is so refreshing to be able to make concrete plans, to look at a timeline and see ourselves working through our steps (we are at step 6 of 17). Our journey is well on its way and the pay off will be huge... two to four individuals huge! (I imagine we will "compromise" at three).

As we worked on our story board for this sequel - especially over the last six months - I have to come to really recognize what it is I - as a parent and an individual - am looking for. I want more children. Holding my newborn nephew (and godson... yay!) a few weeks ago as he spat up all over me, and as I gagged from the smell, I had my aha! moment. I don't "suffer" from baby fever... I "suffer" from kid fever. Since I was a teenager, all I wanted was a big family... four kids. When I think back about what I dreamed about, it was not having four babies... it was about having four children.

Sitting down with our social worker last night, it is surreal to discuss what you are and are not looking for in children. At the same time, we are fortunate to be able to sit down with our supporting player and speak frankly about growing our family and to allow him input as well. At the end of the day, the only real difference between giving birth to a child and adopting a child is the way the gestation period works. So, if our gestation period takes a little longer, involves 17 steps but I can bypass weight gain, heart burn, hemorroids and all the rather yucky physical effects of physically birthing a child... I am really okay with that. And, if you know me at all, you know that is the God's honest truth.

As I watched my girlfriend and her two adopted children on the weekend, I realized that she is too darn busy raising boys to stop and think about how her children arrived in her life. End of the day: Love is what makes a family. How that family comes to be together is really just transportation.

Farewell 2012... forever dear to my heart

I picked up this annoying habit when I did my BEd... reflecting. Ugh. It rears its ugly head every now and then... like tonight. As I sit in a quiet house listening to Sarah McLachlan's beautiful Wintersong album, the need to refllect on this past year is like a grade 9 girl screaming in my ear... as irrational and annoying as it is, there is no choice but to address it.

When you begin a year going through a miscarriage, experiencing a debilitatingly inconvenient mystery ailment and a backpack full of bad decisions, it leaves you a little apprehensive about what the new year has in store for you. Despite the rough start, what an amazingly beautiful and generous year. I know I have said this before but when I look back over the last two years, what an incredible amount of change for the three of us. More than anything that all this change has brought, I am thankful for the peace I feel in my soul. Should my time here on earth end tomorrow, I would begin a new journey (or just go with the wind - I haven't really figured out what I believe will happen) with a full heart. Every unfortunate decision I have made or regrettable path I have taken has landed me in this place at this moment and I sit here with my pups at my feet looking at a beautiful tree and a home ready to welcome people I love to celebrate Christmas.

I began this year by listing off what I was thankful for on a regular basis. Although I think about it every day, I have not really written about it in a while. I am so incredibly grateful to be ending this year with a new husband and a new extended family; what an amazing gift these people are. I am thankful for all the wonderful people we have welcomed into our lives with our move to our new home. I am so flattered to be held in such high regard by a new neighbour and friend that she is unable to believe that I am not her Secret Santa. I appreciate so much the people who have continued to be a part of our lives, to welcome the paramedic into their lives and to embrace us as a couple and a family. I am so happy that the kidlet has neighbourhood friends and a school where he is thriving... and for his teacher who made a DVD of his acting debut. I feel great appreciation that I am well enough this year to participate in the holidays: to host a holiday luncheon for 140 students; to catch up with old friends who are in town for the holidays; host two Christmas dinners and a New Year's Eve party; and just to be able to leave the house. I am thankful to reconnect with a childhood friend, pick up where we left off (albeit virtually) and celebrate the silver anniversary of our friendship. I am thankful that I am back to a job that I love... and for my sense of humour during the times when I am not really loving it all that much.

While we said good-bye to others this year, I am grateful for the time we shared and the lessons they taught me... whether intentional or not. I am sad part of our family decided to leave but excited at the possibilities in store for my brother. I am thankful that I have come to an understanding with my 80 year old man stomach... I will steer clear of all things dairy and it will allow me - about 85% of the time - to get on with my life. I am certainly happy to accept an 85% recovery rate at this point... and just be thankful that it wasn't one of the more serious ailments the doctors threw at me with a wave of their dismissive hands as they ordered more pointless tests.

Earlier this year, the mother of someone who is incredibly special to the kidlet died. Although we were only acquaintances, I think about her often... usually as I listen to her daughter's laughter come through the speaker on the kidlet's iPhone as they "secretly" chat via Facetime or when our hockey kids tease the kidlet about his not-so-secret first love. Her not being able to hear her daughter's beautiful giggle has helped me find my own peace and perspective. At the end of the day, I am just so darn grateful to be witness to all these milestones in the life of such a special boy and to have a unique and dynamic person by my side holding my hand and kissing my forehead.

Ding Dong... Kids Come Knocking

The other day, as I looked into a rather disgusting toilet that I had only just cleaned a few days before and was somewhat perplexed at how this came to be, it dawned on me... I live with four guys. Four! It was yet another light bulb moment which reminded me how life can change in ways we never imagine... never did I imagine my household looking like it does at this moment and never did I think I would be my age with two "sons" in their late teens. Hell, to be perfectly honest, sometimes I look at the kidlet and still wonder "Where the heck did you come from?" And never, never! did it dawn on me I would one day be the smallest person in the house. Once again, the surprise of the inevitable...

On the Oprah channel, they constantly flash the saying "The Best of Times is Now..." and this year I really get it. Our household today looks nothing like I imagined it would this time last year... two strangers came to live - one we planned for and one who just came to us unexpectedly - and what a perfectly great fit. As my mother constantly points out, "It's like they have always been here."

As parents, we are experiencing a lot of inevitable and surprise firsts this year... buying the kidlet shoes which are five!! sizes bigger than they were this time last year, the kidlet Facetiming a girl, finally! watching him perform in a school play, having the puberty talk (way to go, paramedic!), going through a dozen eggs in one meal, hearing a 19 year old introduce me as his "mom," hiding in our room while our older "sons" entertain, picking kids up from parties at 2 am, grounding an overgrown kid to the breakfast table until he comes clean with a girl, watching the kidlet's face light up as he is incessantly teased by the older guys over everything from girls, to picking up dog poop, to haircuts, to eating his fruit a day... watching the joy on the kidlet's face has probably been the greatest out of all these truly awesome experiences.

I have learned many things from our new experiences this year - including that, at every hour of every day, you can find either Friends or the Big Bang Theory on at least one channel - and so, despite my favourite Ross Gellar quote of "Nobody likes change except for a wet baby" - I sit on this rare quiet, snowy evening and think "Actually, I do..." What unfolds for us in life is like the greatest surprise gift of all... it would just be super duper if all these surprises came with a cleaning lady.

Yes, Just the One

At some point I reached the age where people started asking, "Do you have any children?" I'm not exactly sure when it started but now, every time I meet someone new, it is asked... without fail. When I lived in the city and I gave my answer of "yes, I have one kidlet, he is (insert age here)" following it with some funny little tidbit about him, that satisfied the curiousity. Since I moved to what is - let's face it, the country - my answer never seems to be suffice. People out here seem to find it inconceivable that people only have one child. Inevitably, the follow up question is: "Just the one?" I am tempted to answer this completely assanine question with one of two possible responses:

1. No, I have more  but he is the only one I like so he's the only one I acknowledge.

2. Yes, but we are vigorously trying every other day - sometimes up to five times in one day - for more. Do you have any suggestions on the best positions for procreation?

I'm sort of floored as to what people who have just met me are expecting me to say. Seriously. If I had more than one, I am pretty sure I would mention it. I mean: have they ever met anyone who responded with a "no, I have more"?

A couple of weeks ago, I was introduced to a couple and the woman asked the "just the one?" question so I gave my standard response of "For now..." which seems the best way to curb any further discussion. She then went on to tell me about her baby and then dropped that they already had another baby on the way. My first reaction was: How lucky.. and how very Tori Spelling of you but then her husband made some sort of dig implying the third baby was her fault. A couple with two babies in a little over a year or so sitting across from us who just had another miscarriage and another couple who knew both our stories. It was like someone had just plunked down a huge piece of awkward pie in front of all of us.

Even though I am pretty sure she did not know about our loss, she seemed embarrassed and apologetic about her fertility... I am guessing she was probably told she was to blame... he certainly did not seem elated about another addition to his family. Instead of my mumbled "Congratulations," what I really wanted to say was "Please don't apologize for having another baby... just apologize to yourself for who you are having these babies with because that is how I ended up with just the one."

The End of a Love Affair...

I fell in love for the first time in 1989 but the relationship was fleeting and not fully my own. It belonged to my high school boyfriend's mother. A 1987 Subaru Loyale. While my first time left some lifelong scars, (a collision between car and garage door; thankfully my high school boyfriend did not rat me out to his mother until we broke up nearly six years later), I became a life long Subaru lover. Three years later, I spent a winter in Lake Louise covetting all the Subarus of the year round residents. After the break up, when I would see my former boyfriend driving around in the Loyale, I am not exactly sure which one my heart was aching for.

My love was not to be reciprocated until 2008 but it was worth the wait. A 2006 Subaru Outback with barely any kilometres in my favourite colour. A dream come true! (Seriously, when asked the lotto question, that would be my response). After owning seven other cars, I was so completely enamoured with my car I would drive just to drive.

I was so excited, I actually posted pictures on Facebook... and was completely puzzled when people questioned my sexuality. Seriously. They did. I had no idea that lesbians had an official car. I called down to San Diego to confirm this with my lesbian aunts. They had no idea. Frankly, I did not care; I was in love. Hilariously, I received a call from San Diego less than a week later letting me know that Martina Navratilova was pitching Outbacks on the lesbian network... at least she has good taste and recognizes superior automotive craftsmanship.

For four years, my Outback and I have been inseparable. We have survived two separate encounters with drunken teenagers, hauled around kids and dogs and sports equipment, spent nearly a year together being hobos with money, enjoyed numerous camping and road trips and spent hours upon hours commuting in car lover bliss. We have racked up nearly 165 000 km together and never once has it let me down... even when I neglected it more than I should.

How ironic that it would be a man who would come between us. How ironic that my beloved Outback would not accommodate the body of the guy I married. How ironic that the guy I married would accept everything about me but my car. Tomorrow, I bid a dieu to my beloved Subaru in exchange for a vehicle that will accommodate both my humunkuous (Big Bang Theory reference here) self and my Gigantor spouse as well as kids and dogs and stuff.

My heart is broken. When I was six and my brother four, my parents traded in their BMW and I remember watching my mother try to console my sobbing brother at the dealership; his grief was almost overwhelming to watch. Until today, I did not fully appreciate how one person could be so attached to a car. I get that it is just a thing without any feelings and that I am being rather silly but it seems only fitting to write this eulogy and shed a tear or two.