Election

Not unlike FBI Agents and Wal-Mart employees, I am required to wear a plastic identification badge that bears my name, title, a barcode, and a particularly unattractive photograph of my face. The ridiculous picture is the work of an unlicensed professional armed with a very powerful camera a mere 24-inches from my forehead. The inevitable result is not exactly a glamour shot.

My badge informs all onlookers that I am “Teacher/Reading – 6^th” which means in terms of a paycheck, it is modest. In terms of working hours, they are from 7:55 AM until 4:00 PM. In terms of power, I have little.  In terms of responsibilities, I have lots. The reason being the district incorporates a particularly sneaky little phrase in teacher contracts that reads something along the lines of, “and other duties as assigned,” a humpback whale of a clause covers everything from school dance chaperone to crossing guard attendant.

Every October “and other duties as assigned,” means that I will be volunteering my personal service to student campaigns as an impromptu poll worker.  Student Council Representative is the highest elected office in the land a sixth grader can obtain and competition can be particularly fierce. Students campaign, give a speech, and the two candidates with the most votes become Representative and Alternate, respectively. The rest are losers.

Perspective candidates filled out the required form and began laying plans for the impending campaign that would last approximately 24 hours as the vote was planned for the next day. I had meant to tell them earlier, but I forgot.

The following morning Election Day was in full swing. Students made paper buttons proclaiming their love and support for one candidate or another. Candy changed hands. Mechanical pencils proved to be particularly effective bartering tools. Like all good politicians, candidates required that voters pledge their unwavering loyalty before handing over the goods.

At long last, 4^th period advisory arrived and it was time for the speeches. Speeches aren’t exactly required, but I had forgotten to make copies of a crossword puzzle so I needed a time-killer, plus I thought it would be interesting. Seven brave souls marched to the front of the class and more or less explained what previous experience they did or did not have, what revolutionary ideas they had come up with for the school, and what made them right for the job. Ethan declared that he was so responsible that he had never been late to a single class in his entire eleven years of life. I immediately marked him tardy.

The students were extremely concerned about voter privacy and the security of the ballot box. I eventually realized that many of the more opportunistic (read: greedier) of my students had promised votes to most of the candidates that were offering candy incentives. I toyed with the idea of making the students raise their hands to declare their vote, or better yet, march up to the front of the class one by one and mark their vote on the board. I could only imagine the looks of betrayal and disbelief as candidates watch their promised voters cast their ballot for someone else. However, to avoid the risk of riots, or worse- tears and angry parent phone calls, I went with a secret vote instead.

I cut index cards in half to save supplies and to ensure nobody was stuffing the ballot box with fake votes. I was not expecting our mini-election to take very long, but it did. Stricken with guilty consciences, students wrestled with the right decision, torn between the relative merits of Snickers and Skittles. Many took a long time to write anything down at all.  I watched a girl with a “Vote for Hannah” button carefully write “Isabel” on her ballot with her newly acquired “Vote for Ethan” mechanical pencil.

Once all decisions were made, I demanded silence and began to tally the votes. The seven candidates’ eyes roved from the pile of ballots on my desk to the faces of their future constituents.  Forbidden to talk or risk getting thrown out of the race, the runners are forced to mouth their messages across the room. Who did you vote for? the candidates silently ask. You, the voters lie.

Aaliyah and her economy-sized bag of gummy bears have run away with first place but there is still a three-way tie between Gianna, Ethan, and Madison for the position of Alternate and now I find myself with my own moral quandary, though it has nothing to do with candy.

I know very well that it is against the Teacher Handbook to play favorites and most of the time I do not have a problem with this policy as I dislike most sixth graders as a rule. However, in the interest of full disclosure it should be known that I love Madison Patterson and I am currently working out the details to clone her for my own child one day. She is a very small girl with golden blonde hair in a perfectly styled pageboy that curls just under her little chin. She boasts such characteristics as intellect and humor and the particularly endearing quality of wanting to please me at all times.

I am not one to be interested or involved in the affairs of my students (academic or otherwise), but I desperately wanted Madison Patterson to win. I found myself justifying my actions to myself. After all, she was more than qualified for the job as a member of the Cupcake Club and a competitive gymnast.

Just as Aaliyah bought herself a position of power with colored gelatin, it seemed only realistic that there be some creative interpretation in the counting of votes, much like the doings of ACORN and absentee ballets and hanging chads.  But just as I was about to announce the beloved Madison as the Alternate, the sick feeling that is called integrity crawled up into my throat, hijacked my vocal chords and forced me to say, “We have a three-way tie. There will be a run-off election to determine the winner of the Alternate position.”

Sick with worry, I distributed fresh index cards and waited for the worst.  The students went through the voting process much more quickly the second time around. Their consciences’ clear now that Candy Queen Aaliyah was safely in office, they could now cast their ballot for one of the other people they had previously promised to vote for.

Two minutes later, the polls were closed and I began to count. I had noticed a number of  “Madison” ballots when I picked up the votes and I was hopeful that I would not be forced to compromise my professional ethics in exchange of dirty middle school politics.  However my assurance was short lived because vote after vote bore the name of Ethan. Damn those mechanical pencils!

With only one vote left to count, there was yet another tie between Madison and Ethan and I was once again brought to my breaking point. I could feel 60 eyeballs watching my every move as I wrestled with what to do. I began to rationalize ways I could rectify the situation in Madison’s favor.  After all, didn’t I get a vote? I am the teacher. And since I am the senior member in the classroom, shouldn’t my vote be the equivalent of say, ten student votes? That seemed perfectly equitable. Whoever said this was a democracy anyway, I was the leader, no- the dictator of the classroom. I should just appoint who I wanted to represent C220 with a tap on each shoulder with a sword.

Nobody would know. Except for me.  Just me.  And that was enough.

With a heavy heart but a clear conscience, I unfolded the final vote.

In carefully written pink ink, a heart over the “i" was the name, “Madison.”