From on high

Teachers are hungry folk; put food in front of them--as this evening Mexican, along with some bottles of this and that--and they gather, joke and tell stories readily.

This evening we heard from our over-structure, the concentric spheres of supervisors and directors centered on the company's owner, whom we know from the mission statement printed and signed on the wall of our school.

There was a worldwide meeting a few weeks ago of company leaders and sales people, and the upshot was: whereas we have been the product at the bottom of the sales pyramid (though highly respected), we now are at the top. The pyramid's been flipped on its head; we're in the next cantica. Well, well.

I imagined I heard the rumbling if muffled voice of one (though many-headed) that has of late been in contemplation of me and my mates, pondering our place in its plans, and has decided graciously to bestow an honor on our branch (or twig) of the greater organization so as to ensure us the dignity appropriate to our new status.

That voice tells me changes are consequent. Probably so; perhaps profitably so. The voice, however, that commands our attention is that of the conversation between teachers and students, which has its own dignity.

Certainly I listen when I encounter your voice, oh management. We have a new name, a new standing, and soon a new (but familiar) place. In the meantime, the voice of the classroom is what we have to attend most closely to, day in and day out, whatever is going on above.