Yes, we are still on the Yellowbrick Road to The Emerald Steel City.

The past few weeks have been a reminder to me that our journey back to Pittsburgh really is mirroring The Wizard of Oz. Just like Dorothy, I feel like I have been in a cyclone and dropped into a new and semi-strange land. I haven’t posted in so long because my free time has been spent getting reacquainted with my home state and the education system there. Since I left in 1993, so many things have changed it makes my head spin just to think about it.

First, there are two more criminal clearances than when I first earned my certificate to teach in PA. Don’t get me wrong, I certainly do not mind submitting to them and want school children to be safe from predators. I applied and paid for the first one online. Simple and convenient. I’m all clear and safe to teach. Yeah! I can check that one off the list. However, the second one required a list of all of my addresses and all of the people with whom I have lived since 1975. Yes, since 1975! In 1975, I was . . . well never mind how old I was but it was very, very young. Also, do the boyfriends of my college roommates count because a couple of them NEVER seemed to go home? Needless to say it took forFREAKINGever to make sure that document was accurate. I even had to use Google Earth to check on a few addresses. Then, this one had to be snail mailed and paid for with a money order – Do money orders still exist?? Apparently, so – who knew? I guess I’ve gotten too complacent with my newfangled, fancy-pants check writing and credit card using.

I knew this day was coming but I didn’t know it would bother me so much.

I had a professional meeting today and it was uncharacteristically positive and productive.   I was discussing the future and vision of my subject and it was . . . how else to explain it?? Amazing.  Finally, someone else seems to see the big picture and acknowledge my ideas as valid and useful and in the best interests of students.  The idea that I could be a part of the solution and not the problem and discussing the possibilities with someone who my mother-in-law would affectionately refer to as a “BIG, Big-Wig!”  I prattled on and on about improvements over the past few years and looking toward the next few to help build this Camelot-esque community.  I could see myself being a resident of that very office someday (or frankly a better one with a better view and I would talk to little people like me about big plans for the future .  .  .

It didn’t  hit me until I signed on to a few sites to check on the status of my applications and security clearances.  I may not be here to see any of that happen.  The sorrow washed over me and and I had to physically catch my breath. I,  or rather my husband and I,  have committed ourselves to moving back home.  Of course this never came up in conversation because . . . well . . . I forgot for a few minutes.  I was blinded by the light or science or something.

We were never leaving to get away from this city – just to get back to our city – Pittsburgh.  He would be starting a new job in the same field but I would really be starting over professionally.  Will giving up the professional successes I’ve had be worth the personal comfort and joy I hoped to gain by going home?

So, I still heart PGH, but I’m torn . . .

July, 2009 – About 4 months ago, my husband asked me to update his resume and cover letter.  After being assured that he was not being laid off (ALLEGEDLY!) I agreed.   NOTE: Remember in The Full Monty when Tom Wilkinson was laid off but he kept getting dressed and leaving for work as if nothing happened so he would not disappoint his wife?  It could happen . . . you never know.

Anyhoo, I said, “Sure, I’d be happy to do that.”  After all, it was just the busiest time of year at my job AND 15 years since I wrote his first and only resume for the first and only job he has ever had post college.  I also have no earthly idea what he actually DOES all day except ignore the well worded, and might I say, HILARIOUS emails write to him during the day.  I mean I know what his degree is in and I know what his job title is but beyond that – actually, I most likely just said ”OK, I’ll be off of crack, I mean, Facebook in a second.”

I’m starting on that resume today.

UPDATE:  This part of the story was written about 2 months ago when we decided to move back to Pittsburgh.  About 2 days later, he was offered a job WITHOUT a resume or interview or job search.  I don’t want to jinx it but if it all works out it will be perfect for moving home.

I, on the other hand, am right in the middle of all of trying to jump through all of the hoops necessary to even submit an application for a teaching job in PA.  Don’t get me wrong – I think any and all  screenings necessary for students to be safe are completely warranted in this day and age.

Add to that, the question of when to send an application for next school year – is it too late? too early?  Will they really keep it on file for a year or will it get lost among the zillions of apps they get every month?? How do I even choose the right districts when I haven’t lived there in so long??

It all just makes me anxious to know that there is only so much I can do while still living in exile.  Maybe I’ll check out some updates on Facebook to relax for a minute . . .

It is 7:oo am on a Thursday morning in early September and I step out of my classroom for hall duty.  For those who do not work in the hallowed halls of education it just means that my colleagues and I watch kids walk by on their way to 1st block.  I am very self conscious about my attire – a black polo shirt and Khaki’s.  It is a bit under-dressed for my Principal’s standards so I anxiously watch the end of the hallway hoping he chooses a different route for his morning greetings. 

As the students file past I am distracted by their attire.  Several different versions of number 86 in white on a black field or black on a white field catch my eye.  I turn my head to answer a question of from colleague and spot the corner of the D in Delhomme on the shoulder of a student who is clearly a freshman.  Wow, I think to myself, that kid has some nerve wearing that to school today.  I silently hope he makes it home safely but not without the appropriate amount of good hearted teasing.  I continue ’securing’ my little kingdom of the hall way for the next 10 minutes.  As the minutes tick by, I subconsciously check off the Steeler jerseys filing past me me:

34 – Mendhenhall (rookie year take 2) √.     

 92 – Harrison √√.    

7-Big Ben (only 1?)  √.  

43 – (Hey, these kids have good taste!) – Polamalu √√√√√   

10-Santonio Holmes - (does that kid have on gold tennis shoes?  I hope that he makes it across the  threshold of the classroom without having to dive) – √√√

Then I see it: A black jersey running past me in a flash of speed hoping not to be sent to lockout.  I did not have my glasses on . . .  Is that an 88?  I thought they retired Lynn. . . maybe or the life of me I could not remember who was #88 on the Steelers now – (Hey!!!! Give me a break it was 7:00 am and I had been up for 2 hours getting my own fam appropriately dressed for Steeler game day.)   The white number 88 zooms past me and when he passes I see the name – Swann. . .  Of course, a throwback.  Both Swann and Holmes make it to their destinations unscathed.

When the late bell rings, I turn to go into my classroom and look down and see the tri-colored hypocycloids on the black polo shirt I hijacked from my husband’s closet.  It is going to be a great day!

Setting: September 3, 2009  – Suburban high school in Charlotte, North Carolina.

While living in NC for 14+ years, my husband and I would pack up the fam and make the 8 hour trek home at least twice a year and sometimes more often.  On the way north, we eagerly awaited the chance to be greeted by the Monongahela River which flows under a bridge somewhere near Morgantown, WV.  Without fail we would shout “Hello, Mon!”   – I know, super corny.  At that point in the trip we could get a signal from WDVE and it was as if we never left.

Our trips back to NC were always bitter sweet.  It became a tradition to discuss moving back while we drove through WV, VA and most of NC.  Eventually, it was almost as if we were reading from a script debating the pros and cons of the issue.  The discussion always ended in a draw – although we both missed our hometown, it probably wouldn’t work out.   Then we would go back to our day to day existence and look forward to the next trip ‘home’ and the next lament-filled trip back to Charlotte.

That is until our last trip in July.  Nursing a hangover from a party (what can I say, I’m a lightweight) with high school friends and former teachers while my husband drove and tried to keep the kids quiet, I heard the faint beeping of a text message.  Summoning all the strength I had left from trying not to puke in his car, I leaned over to check my phone.  It was a 412 number I didn’t recognize right away.  It said, “chk fb wn U gt hm.”  Thinking there was an embarrassing pic from the party posted, I used my newly acquired skills to check Facebook Mobile right then.  There was a message from one of my former teachers (Hi, Pete!) -

“ESL position at Chatham College in PG today.  You would be perfect for it.”

When I was sure the boys were sleeping, I mentioned it to my husband.  I figured that it would be the beginning of our usual sadness laced dialogue about how we should move back to the ‘Burgh but really couldn’t do it.  Instead, the new script had just one line:

“I think you should apply for it!” 

And so started our  journey back to Pittsburgh.

I was never one of those people who planned to leave his or her hometown as soon as possible. On the contrary, I remember the day I was forced to accept the fact that I would have to leave Pittsburgh. It was one of the worst days of my life.

It was in the late spring of 1994 and I was substituting at my Alma Mater, Langley High School, during the day and working at Kaufmann’s at South Hills Village at night. I had just completed my student teaching in the fall at another urban (although not in PPS) Pittsburgh Area high school and graduated from IUP in January. My GPA was just average but I earned an A++ for my student teaching and had glowing letters of recommendation. Life was good.

One day, I got a message from my cooperating teacher saying that he decided to retire and had recommended me to replace him. I couldn’t contain my excitement at the prospect of getting a real life so soon after graduation. My friends would all be jealous!!!! It was common knowledge that teaching jobs were worth their weight in gold in PA so I couldn’t believe my good fortune. I followed his directions to the letter, applied for the job and started planning to decorating my first real apartment in the best IKEA had to offer.

A few weeks passed and I didn’t hear anything. I called the school office to check and make sure my application and resume were received. “The position has been filled,” was the answer I received to my inquiry. What? There must have been a horrible mistake because the retiree recommended me – I mean who would better know who could do the job, right?

Ah, the folly of youth. Apparently, there were several people who knew better (the interview team) and apparently they were looking for a teacher with experience. Which I didn’t have. Because I needed to get a job to get experience. A job which I couldn’t get because I didn’t have experience. I hate Catch-22’s. Even the term Catch 22 is annoying. It didn’t even help that I was a woman in a field of education generally dominated by men. The Department Chair even went to bat for me. He insisted that the interview team should meet with me as a courtesy, just so I could get some interview experience.

Instead of cool, Swedish mod furniture, I started decorating my bedroom with rejection letters from school districts. It was pathetic. The only consolation I had in this debacle was that there was a regular substitute at that school who had been subed there virtually every day for 6 years. He was 40 and he couldn’t get an interview either. I saw it as an omen.

I had to make the impossible choice: Stay in Pittsburgh and try to pay my bills while paying my dues substituting and working odd jobs or take a chance on finding a teaching job somewhere else and see if teaching was really what I should be doing with my life.

Truly, I had no choice but to leave.

West End Girl