Among School Children by Tracy Kidder

himself: "One of the better skills I have is organization: How." "One thing you're gonna learn about me, I'm not gonna change." He could be brusque, even with Chris, who was one of his favorites. Chris attributed most of Al's mannerisms, the ones that irritated her, to his being short, a condition that she understood. If in the morning he walked right past her hello, he would show up in her room later on, ostensibly to chat about something of small importance, and this was, Chris realized, Al's way of apologizing. He was teasable. She found him coming out of his office one morning, jingling his huge bunch of keys. "The more keys, the more power," she said.
    "Not at all," Al answered, implying what he often said directly about his job, which was: "This isn't easy, hey."
    Al could be gracious. He'd sent thank you notes to her and the other teachers who had come in before school started to prepare their rooms. Chris appreciated the gesture; she didn't get many thank you notes. Al wasn't fastidious about every little rule. He wasn't one of those principals who made a hard job harder. And she was glad that he wasn't a "Mr. Mealy Mouth." Around Kelly School the threat of a trip to the principal's office had weight. When she sent a child there, Al almost always took some action. Unlike some principals she'd heard about, he never declared that he was off duty. Some teachers disliked Al, but Chris would stand behind him, if a little off to one side.
    Al was Chris's government, all the government she knew. But Al did not imagine himself expert in instructional theory and practice. Mostly he visited the classrooms of new teachers who needed help in keeping order. This year he'd observe only one lesson taught by each of his veteran teachers. After watching Chris in action, he'd say little more than that she was doing a good job. Chris appreciated Al's restraint, but she thought she'd like more advice.
    She didn't get much advice of any sort from her students' parents. Research shows that, typically, teachers in affluent school districts complain of too much parental interference, while those in poor districts, such as Holyoke, complain that parents don't get involved enough. These days, Chris always had a hard time persuading some of her students' parents to visit her, even for the scheduled biannual conferences. This year she would receive just one note from a parent that contained a request about her teaching. The note came from the upper-class Highlands, from Alice's mother. It read: "Alice seems to be having trouble with her math homework. Would you please go over her work with her in class."
    Chris felt grateful for the message. "I'd like to have one year of parents pushing me," she said. "Just one year."
    She had always pushed herself. Over the years she had volunteered for almost all of the extra training that the school system occasionally offered. She had a reputation, not to all minds flattering, for signing up to serve on committees—the School Improvement Council and the Language Arts Curriculum Committee were her current ones. In the past, Chris had gotten some push from other teachers, swapping ideas and tips about instruction. Once in a while, she had taught classes jointly with other teachers. The opportunities for that kind of collegiality always arose by accident, when like-minded teachers were placed in the same grade as she and had similar schedules. The arrangements were always informal. They seemed precious because they resembled acts of free will, and because in her experience they were relatively rare.
    Some evenings that fall Chris called up teacher friends—Candy or Mary Ann or Debbie—to discuss ways of handling Clarence. In between lessons during the day, she often conferred with Debbie about strategies for teaching reading. But the faculty did not routinely discuss academic matters when groups of them on the same schedules met over coffee and lunch in the Teachers' Room. In there, banter and