Walk a Mile in a School Librarian's Shoes (Bring Arch Support)
Moving from the general education classroom into the library three years ago was a big change for me, and since no one knew quite what to expect coming out of pandemic protocols that had shuttered the library for the year prior, I felt I had a great opportunity for a substantial re-set of the space, the feel, and the outcome. Thanks to wonderful mentors, I had some idea of what I could do, and what I needed to do. I interpreted the re-opening of the library as a sign that its resources and my job were deemed essential. Valuable.
I emptied shelves onto book carts and nearby furniture, measured, shifted, shoved, pulled, heaved and groaned cabinetry into new locations, measured and adjusted shelf heights, and then repositioned books back into their new homes. I purchased area rugs and picture frames, created signage and displays, and brought in many plants from home. I purchased plug-in scent diffusers to help replace the scent of stale yuckiness with something more enticing and set up stuffed animals and quilts to soften spaces.
I've been weeding and buying new books ever since. Science books twenty or more years old, biographies of folks no third-grader finds interesting, and Mailbox magazines from the 1990s and early 2000s have gone the way of all good things. New books with fresh illustrations regularly join our established favorites, though most of those require extensive cleaning and new dustjacket coverings. The collection is gradually experiencing rejuvenation.
After teaching for a quarter of a century in the kindergarten classroom, I was already comfortable with multiple transitions and activities occurring within a forty-five-minute amount of time, but wasn't certain if centers, movement, and absolute student choice were going to be accepted by administrators, colleagues, and families as best practice within the library. So many had experienced libraries as whisper or quiet-only zones of tippy-toes, shushy librarians, and independent reading, interpreted creative manipulatives as solely unstructured and non-academic play, and expected students to be herded toward bookshelves sorted into leveled reading options before being given parameters for how and when they could browse for self-selected content. I wanted to support all learners and readers, and I found myself needing to be in more than two places at any given time inside and outside of the library, so a thirty-minute lesson with a ten-minute check-out period wasn't going to work.
I had to earn a master's degree in order to perform every aspect of this job, from cataloging items to repairing them, evaluating them, weeding them, selecting them, shelving them, promoting them, reading them to students, and compiling them into resource lists for teachers. I'm creating digital content and tracking down appropriate online resources for students and teachers, and teaching readers all about books, book care, and responsibility, not only for books but for their own learning. I have to integrate my knowledge about developmentally appropriate practice and teaching while addressing the Kansas State Standards for Library Media, and plan lessons for six different grades of students. I promote reading and support the rights of children to read content of their own choosing, following guidance from the American Library Association and the Principles of Intellectual Freedom, and I integrate and support technology in education for the benefit of learners aligned with ISTE standards.
I have no library assistant or aide with whom I can share collection maintenance responsibilities. Being told again and again to "just ask for parent volunteers" feels wrong to me, likely for the same reasons it felt wrong to my predecessors. Parent volunteers do not have the same schema, knowledge, and experience that I have. They are essential helpers during book fairs, helping students create wish lists and shop, running registers, talking with visiting families, making book suggestions as they share their own favorites, straightening up items, and suggesting to me which to restock. But they are not librarians, and they cannot do my job, even when that job has me seated and reading quietly to myself, applying clear covers and tape to book jackets, typing on my computer at the circulation desk, or reshuffling books onto a shelf to re-establish Dewey Decimal order after a class fascinated by sea mammals moves like a tornado through its section. I promise I'm not "doing nothing," nor should what I'm doing be equated to lounging and eating bonbons, obviously available for "real" work or helping students in some other, more valuable way. My job does not require an audience of a small group of students or a class full of twenty in order to be essential. I do not have to work in the teacher supply closet in order to appear to be performing tasks for classroom and instructional use. Rolling books on a cart toward the shelves upon which they must be placed in a certain order while examining each book for damage is an important part of my job, just as teaching long and short vowel sounds is to kindergarten, first, second-grade and ESOL teachers. Stop suggesting that I get someone else to do it. These are the tasks, apparently unbeknownst to you, that librarians need to do.
In addition to morning and afternoon student supervision duties outside for arrival and dismissal, I have an intervention block daily, and must also supervise and facilitate move-to-learn physical intervention activities twice per week during times that are student-free. Adding the significant responsibility of social-emotional support for many more students during each class, I now do the job of at least two and a half or three people, yet I am to fulfill all of the previously listed tasks between the contracted hours of 7:40 a.m. to 3:40 p.m. You likely already know what I'll say next: it's not possible to take care of the library during the school day, so I arrive at the building an hour to an hour and a half early every morning. No, it's still not making up for time lost each day. No, I'm not behind because I'm a new librarian, inexperienced, disorganized, or incapable. No, I am not paid for the extra hours that I put in to do this job. No, I do not stand in front of each class for half an hour to teach, prep take-away materials for every student, and then follow up instruction with ten minutes for students to browse and check out books.
I require every hour of the contracted work day to teach within the library, evaluate, maintain, and grow the collection, collaborate and support teachers with library and digital resources and research, and help students outside of their class library visits. Why the extra time with students? Because readers are diverse: some finish several books weekly and shouldn't be made to wait a week until their class returns. Some are learning what a good-fit book is and require several attempts. Others are just figuring out that they do actually like reading, but the topics and books that they enjoy aren't available at home or in the classroom, and they appreciate the extra time to browse. Some are absent on the day of their class visit. English Language Learners benefit from one-on-one guidance as they learn about the library and begin to select books, and in my situation, these particular students represent diverse global cultures and backgrounds, which can make library access an entirely new experience that requires added sensitivity and time. In addition to time with kids, a sub will need a book that was mistakenly taken home by a classroom teacher, the counselor will need books when a student experiences the death of a pet. New learners will be registered and will arrive mid-week needing to select biographies, something that their classmates did two days prior. Emergent readers want to read one-on-one with someone other than their teacher or parent, and that person tends to be me, their librarian. A first-grader needs to bring a damaged book to me and deserves my time and complete attention as we discuss what happened, how to prevent it from happening again, coming to a resolution that ends with the child still eager to visit the library, borrow books, care for them, and trusting in me, knowing that accidents happen and that problems can have solutions that don't require embarrassment, humiliation, punishment or deprivation. Parents want to talk with me in order to better understand why their child is checking out books above or below their reading level. Some want to ask me about limiting access to certain topics or genres because of their personal beliefs. Colleagues want to have in-depth discussions about whether or not graphic novels count as "real" reading. Many student, family, and staff interactions aren't scheduled, and library maintenance tasks can vary daily, which seems to infer to non-librarians that we work without goals or deadlines outside of lesson planning and standards. I need to be available at any time of the day to support all readers and learners, and this ready access isn't "free time" or devoid of meaningful student and staff interaction. I am not "doing nothing" even when it appears that "all" I'm doing is wiping off dirt and debris from book covers.
My mother and other mentors used to remind me not to be critical unless I'd walked a mile in someone else's shoes, and the value of that good advice cannot be understated. But what can school librarians do when administrators, colleagues, and the community at large choose not to put on their tennis shoes with good arch support and spend days with us or take us at our word as we advocate to support all learners with our own essential program? We're not trying to get out of other duties as assigned. We're trying to do all of the essential work that is needed from libraries and librarians.
*****
By the way, did you know that librarians really do need to wear shoes with great support? Here are some of my favorites (click on photos to learn more):
Comments
Post a Comment