I hate missing school, planned or unplanned. Taking a sick day is a anti-plague in itself; the thought of leaving my yelping whiners in the care of some unknown, probably rather untrained and certainly underpaid Substitute with lesson plans painstakingly clearly written and plenty of office referral forms is enough to send my heightened fever plummeting to all-time lows.
But over the past week I took two and a half days off, and lo and behold, just like M said would happen, the world didn’t end.
I almost thought it did, there for a bit yesterday and today. My Wednesday sub left a note for me, which I found sorting through my desktop Thursday morning: “I was surprised that not a one said the Pledge of Allegiance. I was told that you told them they don’t have to. I explained they should do it out of respect. They thought it is a big joke.”
“Guys,” I reminded my class of my expectation, which we see and do together daily. “I don’t say the Pledge for personal and religious reasons; you are certainly welcome to if you want to, but you are not required to. But let’s all stand and at least be quiet out of respect.” We all did, as usual, and no student, as usual, recited along with the principal on the public address system.
A couple hours later in a team meeting, another teacher reported that she’d checked in with my sub on Wednesday and she was fine, “although,” and here the teacher gave me her all-too-common hairy eyeball she tries to disguise as overwhelming concern, “she was understandably upset that your class wouldn’t even stand for or say the Pledge.”
“Yeah, I talked to them about that,” I said.
“We can’t make them, though,” the civics teacher said.
That night I looked it up: Yup, in 1943 the Supreme Court ruled that public school students can’t be required to say the Pledge–but I found no highest-court ruling that gave that same protection to public school teachers. Some sources suggested that teachers were considered exempt along with their students under that same 1943 ruling, and that some lower courts had ruled to that end, but I lacked certain documentation.
I thought about writing down the ACLU’s phone number, just in case.
I thought even harder about doing that when after this morning’s Pledge the principal announced that the school was starting a new Pledge procedure: Starting next week, the person making the morning announcements would start the Pledge, and then each classroom teacher would lead his or her class in saying it.
He’d found me out, apparently, was incensed, and was on a witch hunt. Next week, I just knew, he and the other administrators would come to my room to observe “just for the heck of it,” and there I would be, not saying the Pledge. That would be insubordination, I was sure, and my lovely family and I would be homeless in no time flat.
I thought fast. “You know I don’t say the Pledge,” I told my class. “Would anyone like to be in charge of leading it next week?”
Nothing but apathetic stares.
While my students exacerbated their Friday-morning brain cramps, I stewed and steamed a while to myself. Could I add a few words to make saying the Pledge bearable to me? I figured “I (really wish I could) pledge allegiance…” might do, as would “I’m required to say that I pledge allegiance…,” but finally I decided I just needed to speak straight up with the principal.
And during my planning period, I did. “Do you think I might be able to receive a waiver from the new Pledge procedure?” I asked. “I don’t say the Pledge for personal and religious reasons.”
He was exceptionally gracious and understanding. “If no one in your room wants to lead it, standing in silence during that time is fine,” he said. “I won’t ask you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”
Is there such a thing as principallegiance?
