If You're Going to Work in Childcare, Work Here
Or how to appreciate a good job when you see one
When I graduated from college and got my first salaried paycheck with retirement and insurance taken out of it like a real adult, I appreciated the money. It wasn’t a lot, even by 1997 standards, but it was a windfall compared to slowly chinking away at my college savings, which had left me with less than a hundred dollars by the time I walked into the Texas Association of School Boards to be a lead teacher in their onsite child care program.
A 21-year-old can appreciate $18,500 a year when she’s made next to nothing for four years, aside from the odd summer job and occasional babysitting gig. I did not, however, fully comprehend how lucky I was to wind up at The Corner School. Let’s talk about childcare for a minute.
Have you ever worked in childcare?
Working in an early childhood classroom demands you have more patience than humans are wired for, more versatility than Batman, and more energy and perseverance than, well, Batman.
Childcare people often work long hours; if they’re salaried, they don’t get paid overtime. And that salary ain’t much. (My eighteen-five was pretty damned impressive, for reference.) They are expected to ignore their own needs the entire time they are at work — the need to pee, sit down, take five minutes to make a doctor’s appointment when the office is actually open (which is always while you are at work), the need to not wipe body fluids off the floor for the ninth time that day.
Childcare workers are teachers, cooks, janitors, plumbers, nurses, scientists and client relations specialists (the clients being parents). They are often faced with unreasonable demands by their superiors and the aforementioned clients. They are vastly underappreciated, and at many places, they are simply pushed and overworked until they burn out and quit. They are considered expendable because for some reason, nurturing our future adults and teaching them how to operate in the world (cue Whitney Houston) isn’t valued in a lot of institutions beyond lip service.
Side Note: Staff turnover says a lot about a childcare center. If you’re trying to find the right place for your kiddo, know this: low staff turnover = It’s a good place. A facility that takes care of its caregivers means they stick around. They feel good about coming to work every day because they are respected and rested enough to give your kids what they know they need — their attention, patience, love and thoughtful guidance.
TASB’s Corner School was such a place.
It was a unicorn childcare job that I didn’t fully appreciate until later when I did a seven-month stint in a big chain childcare center and came crawling back to The Corner School begging for my old job (which they gladly gave me — another reason they are awesome.)
At The Corner School, we never worked more than our scheduled eight hours. We got breaks. The teachers had office space. We had free lunch and a small on-site gym. We maintained strict NAEYC teacher-to-child ratios, well under what was legally required. My classroom of three-year-olds maxed out at just 12 kiddos, and I had a well-trained assistant teacher to help me. We got paid to go to off-site training and had small budgets to supplement our classroom materials with whatever puzzles, books, art supplies or cooking ingredients we chose. We were supported, and we had a lot of autonomy over our own space. And guess what? It was STILL hard. (Seriously, if you know someone who works in childcare, buy them a drink or three.)
It was rewarding as shit, though, even through the 50-plus children I helped potty train, which did indeed involve a lot of shit. I watched kids learn math organically by adding and taking away the wheels on toy cars. I watched them squish paint between their toes and enjoy how it felt. I watched them make friends and get in arguments and tool around the playground path on tricycles pretending to be their parents in cars. When I swept all the gravel off the porch for the eightieth time one day, a child said, “Yay, Miss April! You did it all by youself!”
Where else is someone going to cheer for you for sweeping?
I watched one five-year-old reflexively use the ASL sign for “please,” without remembering I’d taught it to him when he was two. One three-year-old, whose parents were going through a fraught divorce, didn’t like for me to ever leave the room and would let me and no one else read to her. I was her constant.
Because all of those kids’ parents worked on-site at TASB, we got to know families intimately, sibling after sibling. It was uniquely easy to stay in touch with parents and know what was going on in these children’s lives outside of school, which makes teaching and caregiving so much easier.
Children’s minds are fascinating.
There is nothing so interesting as watching a child figure out something new on their own. There is nothing more hysterically funny than seeing a three-year-old kick the crap out of the child-sized toilet because he’s mad he has to use it before he can go outside.
There is nothing more wonderful than having a child bring you a book to read while she sits in your lap, as you sense the others slowly wandering over in interest at the story your voice is weaving. They plop down right up next to you, so you can smell the warm, sugary, earthy little-kidness of them.
The reason I was able to enjoy all that is because this was a nurturing environment where children and adults could learn and grow. Pam Wilder was the visionary who created the school, the one with the child-development-driven perspective who created small classrooms and banned coloring books in favor of blank paper and all the paint a child could ever want. Who championed sensory experiences, no matter how messy — mud, sand, confetti, water, bring it on.
I felt trusted to do my job.
Pam hired me and trained me when I had a degree but little experience. And when she moved on, Janice took the helm as director. Eventually, she would put me in charge of the school-age summer camp program and let me run the whole thing — with support but without micromanagement. She would then promote me to assistant director and continue that same hands-off approach but with an open door that I was comfortable walking through if I needed help or a little camaraderie.
The best jobs I’ve had combined two things — I was doing something I was passionate about and the people were supportive in that natural, authentic way that allows for a little grace and a lot of humor. I felt useful and confident in my ability and trusted. I was surrounded by people who cared about what we were doing together.
I didn’t know how good I had it there when I was 21 years old, but I sure as hell see it now. This is a love letter to all the places I’ve worked where I felt like part of a family — The Corner School, Mason Elementary School, Momentum Consulting. Keep doing what you’re doing, y’all.