Tenacious E

You called me “tenacious” and you said that can be good in some situations, but not in the administrative role that I had applied for. This is a political role, you said, and it requires being diplomatic with a wide variety of people.  I asked you if you thought I could learn and grow into this role, and you said it was too important a role to take a chance– maybe I would grow some, but if it wasn’t enough I could be damaging to the district. 

Tenacious.  That word stuck in my mind.  I looked it up: Tenacious: (adj.) 1. tending to keep a firm hold of something; clinging or adhering closely. 2. not readily relinquishing a position, principle, or course of action; determined.  

It almost makes me laugh.  Yes, I am tenacious.  I had no choice. I married young, had two children and a step-child by the time I was 28, and lived in poverty for 8 years with an alcoholic husband.  By the time I met you, I had been teaching for many years, scraping and clawing my family out of poverty and into the middle class.  I had managed to buy a house in our affluent community– a two bedroom house, so my son slept on the living room couch for a few years.   All the while, my husband drank excessively in two year cycles.  When he was drinking, we were very unstable.  I think we talked about divorce 10 times in our 20 year marriage.  In spring of 2009, we had been stable for a good year and a half when he learned that he was rapidly losing his hearing. He started drinking again and we started fighting again and finally decided to separate. In May of 2011, he died in a DUI.  A year later, my mother died suddenly from COPD.  My daughter moved away, and then my son went to college. I found myself middle-aged, alone, and grieving. I had to be tenacious to pull myself out of poverty, survive my grief, and make my life good in spite of loss.

And then, a few years ago, things began to settle and shift.  I met the love of my life.  My son moved back home after college. met a wonderful young woman, and got engaged.  My step-daughter had two beautiful children and we started talking more.  I felt like I was healing.  I looked back at my life and thought about how much I had suffered and struggled to keep my head above water, and I thought about how much potential I had that was wasted.  Maybe I could do more?  I worked hard on myself, going to Al-Anon meetings, working the steps, listening to podcasts about Buddhism and how to live with regret and loss.  I took classes in leadership.  I applied for this new position in our district, the place where I have worked for 24 years.   

A week after my interview, I was told that I had breast cancer. I had to wait for surgery because of Covid-19.  I had two surgeries, then radiation.  

And now you’re telling me that I did not get the job because I’m too “tenacious?”  

I try to recall the times you might be referring to.  Standing up to teachers who refused to do the work to learn better teaching strategies to use with English language learners?  Speaking out when my colleagues were racist or xenophobic?  Is that what disqualifies me for this job?  Is that the trait that is so ingrained in me that you can’t even trust me to grow and learn as a leader? 

Well guess what– I wouldn’t have survived if I were not tenacious. Just as I see my students’ bilingualism and biculturalism as strengths, I see my tenacity as a strength, a huge asset in a difficult life. Some educators call it “grit.” So, fine.  I will go to another district, to an urban school where there are LOTS of tenacious people– students and faculty. Black and brown people, economically resourceful people, and English language learners who have tenacity in abundance.  I will go where THEY learn and grow, and we will learn and grow together.  Because sometimes the medal goes to the runner who goes fast and far, and sometimes the medal goes to the one who clears the most hurdles.