Why I Left

The kids were screaming.

So was my soul.

I know, I know, so dramatic, isn't it? I'm so dramatic. Even I know when too much is too much.

But it works.

I had not been on a ruder flight to Colorado, since, of course, the last flight to Colorado. It made sense. A terrific, maybe a not so terrific, excessively hot vacation had come to a close. The kids, stuck waiting on line to meet Mickey McCheese and now they were stuck on a plane with various boring adults. No wifi (which sucks moosedick, dear Frontier), no more cool hats or sugar options. They ran up and down the aisles or stared at whomever, making sure that their various targets would hate every child in existence. The adults were just as bad, but I think that they weren't tourists, unless they were grandparents. Instead, their prostates sang in unison, so that when the seatbelt light went out and we evened out, they formed a queue at the lavatories.

Just like every other attraction in Florida.

Yeah, I was annoyed. I was annoyed that my family would not come back to Florida and I, instead, had to fly to Colorado to see them. So, even if the flight was filled with gold and free coffee (another reason to hate Frontier, the fuckers, you had to pay for coffee), I probably would have found something wrong.

That's me, all angsty-like.

I had to return home. Dad was sick, mother, well, she was always ailing with something, but now? She needed an oxygen tank to get around-or, as the world of the theater calls it-props. She needed props to keep the show going. So wasn't moving.

When Mohammed couldn't make it to the mountain, the mountain came to Mohammed, no?

So I flew out. It'd been a decent four years since my last return and I felt in necessary, no matter how much this queen protested. Family is family, after all. And, no matter how much they work on me trying to develop a hatred for them, I still loved them.

Liking them, well, that was a different story.

But as I flew and got a shitload of reading done (probably why I'm in such a mood to write), I thought that, maybe, just maybe, I should put down why I finally gave up the ghost and moved to Florida. I noticed, in casual conversations, I give so many reasons as to why, I realized I probably should put it down some where. I think, too, that the reasons I left my homeland multiplied as the years passed, and I realized the hold my wonderful misery had on me. I'm from an ethnic family. Misery and suffering is pretty much omnipresent. As I suffered out in the snows of Pikes Peak, it did not occur to me that I was suffering, I thought it was what I was supposed to do.

Here's the thing. A good portion of this particular trip involved planning for the end of life of my parents. Not because they are dying, they're not. They are acting as if they are, but that's nothing particularly new. But I realized that I'm STILL holding on to the pain that I had there in Colorado. I don't want to die with that feeling.

I'm pulling a let-it-go moment. This is it. I've started this list before. Time to bring it to a close.

And sing Disney tunes.

I had long heard of "burnout." They actually have lessons and workshops on it when your undergrad. When you are an idealist and young and think that nothing can happen to you. I had been at my job teaching at the school for the deaf for a decent twenty years when they hired the only applicant for a principal. Now, think about that. The only applicant. Deaf schools are vital to the Deaf community. They are place where Deaf Culture thrives and sign language is internalized and grown.

But they only had on applicant. And since they didn't have a principal, they hired the first person who applied.

She didn't last. The school had been there for over 100 years. That mean many of the things they did there had been set in stone. Technology was a struggle. Many of the teachers were about to retire, which meant that a newer, younger staff was about to take the reigns. And the school, desparate and afraid of losing the budget from the government grabbed the first person who came along. She was great, actually, but she was not ready for what was before her. She didn't last and the newer teachers, were unable to step up to fill the gap.

Hiring had to come from within. I was offered the position, but, in all honesty, I'm no administrator. I don't like telling people what to do, and, frankly, your job would be mostly calling parents to talk about issues. I was not young, like most of the pregnant staff (I shit you not and that is not a sexist statement...we hired 12 young women who were preggers within their first 6 months of the job....a crisis was looming), nor was I ready for retirement.

They asked, as they looked for a new principal, if I would fill in in the afternoons while the super took up the mornings?

No extra pay, but a crapload of street cred. It'd only be a week or two.

Sounds good.

4 months passed. I had to help with everything, since the superintendent was in another building and didn't know half of the staff or the students beneath them. I had to interview possible new hires. The ones who were Deaf did not have degrees or experience in anything. The ones who had experience could not sign, knew nothing of the culture to begin with.

And my brain started to frazzle. I started staying at the school until 8 or 9 at night and had to come in on Sundays to do lesson plans-since our population kept increasing. Deaf students were failing the state-mandated tests. So? Schools, afraid of the special education students bringing their scores downwards, would ship them to the state school.

A place that had been failing their state tests for pretty much the same reason.

And the super was already yelling at the staff to get the kids to pass. Kids with a 1st grade reading level.

The flames had begun. I began to burnout. Vacations taken were filled with sickness as my body was so plagued during the week. Yes, I eventually moved my coworker into the position and shared her office (all the while, teaching English) and had to get her up to speed.

For no extra cash.

I quit the job the next year. And everyone was surprised for some reason. I guess that meant I did a good job, but not once was I thanked, not once was a kudo handed my way. The job, my FIRST teaching position ever, had been soiled by items out of everyone's control.

I remember the last school play I did not direct, my first time in 20 years. A young lady (not pregnant...yet) had taken the reigns with her performing arts degree. She had special effects, movies, it was incredible. I remember trying to get the same things for years, but I would ahve to sew the costumes, alone, in the basement; I had to build the sets because the vocational classes and the maintence crew was too busy to do so.

Yet I had installed a young blonde and, funny, she got the men to work for her. Go figure.

It was time to leave. THe place was in good hands.

I took the job for teaching the deaf in the public realm, and set up a mainstream program with my colleagues still at the Deaf school.

My first meeting at the new job ended at 5. Union rules. I went home and made dinner. And saw a movie, midweek, with my husOtter.

If such a change could lower my heart rate, it was time to start doing things for my own sake.

I took the job at the Deaf school because that's what I wanted. But it was my first job and it really defined me. Without much experience, I didn't realize that there was a whole different culture in public schools. I was seen, suddenly, as an equal. My meetings came to an end. I wasn't working from item to item.

I could teach.

It was time to leave and see what else was out there.

I am more grateful than this article elaborates, believe me. But yes, those classes about burnout had suddenly struck my brain like a match.

And I was on fire.

In the fall of 2007, my grandfather, a great man, passed away. He had said, in my last deep meeting with him, upon meeting my husOtter, "you know, he could be part of our family, too, with him living with us." He got it. In his own way, his history would not let him say with confidence but his dying heart knew, his grandson was happy and living with someone. As we placed him into time itself, I realized that man had done everything from the same seat in his house for eons. My father was born in the house that my grandfather would eventually die in. All my aunts and uncles.

But they had moved on. We had. But he had stayed. He never saw Paris, never could afford it. Maybe he didn't want to, and that's alright too.

With his deepening connection in those final days and hours, I saw more of him and me and realized that, even though he passed away happy, knowing he had communicated his wishes for eternity.

Suddenly, my fate came into a bit of a clearer focus. Would it be alright if I passed away in the hosue I was in now? Would it be okay to move onto the Secret Worlds without never seeing Paris?

Yes, I'd be fine.

And that kind of confidence defined him. And it defined me.

So? I wanted to move to Florida. Why was I waiting? You know the cliche. What would you do if you knew you'd not fail? Move on and try a different life.

I did. I wanted to be like my grandfather. I wanted to be confident into my last days. And such a risk was a rare and alien thing.

I left Colorado with him in mind. He never got to Florida as it was. I was to take him there, then.

Speaking of passing, I had to head back. It was a last minute thing, my own stepDad was not doing well.

Guess what happened when I posted about heading back on social media?

Nothing. Only two people even noticed.

Fancy that. Now, that's not directly attached to my grandfather, but it is the environment I had no realized I left, until, of course, I left. Wealthy barons of all sorts pander to the Colorado territory and, to some extent, it's why shootings tend to happen there. People just feel entitled.

And when I announced this recent visit, people were like, "great, you should come back."

Not, "who/what/where/when."

Only two found a reason to put down their various hookahs and call in their private choppers for a visit. Okay, that was mean...but funny.

Two. I lived there for my whole life. Two. People who tell me I'm wrong on social media. Just two. We all want a standing ovation. People are busy. It typified what I'd been up against my entire life. A culture of entitlement that I had not expected and was part of, sadly. And when I left? It became more and more apparent.

Like the lady screaming that at the gate attendant that she was in Zone One for her flight's seating and, ergo, should step ahead, after all, she had 5 children.

The lady at the nail shop arguing I needed a full back massage for 59 extra dollars.

Fuck you. No, I don't. I need a foot massage and some cookies.

My own mother made very similar observations, I recall, when we visited New York to see members of her family.

I guess, in the end, you can't go home again. And, since home is where you heart is, I guess my heart was not into it.

So? I left then and I'm still happy I left, now. What is it they say? People tend to pay more attention to critical reviews AFTER they've consumed something. Go figure. I'm thinking that's what happened here. I didn't realize how yucky things were until long after the fact.

So? I left.