As we recently celebrated National Teacher Week, and honored those leaders of the classroom, it brought to mind how much teachers do, and how much they do, and how grateful some are for our teachers, but also, how much they are overworked, underpaid, under-respected, and under-appreciated, in their roles as educators, by some others.

In 1955, folk song writer and performer, Pete Seeger created what became a ’60s song for Peace titled “Where Have All the Flowers Gone,” which was later covered by The Kingston Trio, and Peter, Paul, and Mary. Seeger was inspired to write that song from a traditional Cossack folk song (“Kolada-Duda,”) which came from a passage from the novel titled, And Quiet Flows the Dawn, authored by Russian writer Mikhail Sholokhov.

Many of us growing up, and living as young teenagers in the 1960s, knew the melody, quickly learned the lyrics, and were soon heard singing along with those who sang and covered this popular song. The words were easy to learn, and understand, and were meaningful to many who watched the news at that time, and who followed what was happening in our country (world) back then.

Often, people in trying to make a point in other situations will refer to songs from their listening to music, and tweak some of the lyrics to help make their point a little more understandable. In some of the roles of my life, I’ve used music as a valuable part of my parenting, teaching, coaching, officiating, and volunteering. I’ve found it to be extremely helpful in reaching many of my goals in those tasks.

Prior to the opportunity of penning this column, I wrote many letters to the editor in this publication. Many of those were opinionated letters written offering my point of view on a topic, or a pet peeve, or a commentary on something positive that I may have been a part of, or had seen and want/wanted to express my comments to those who were involved with that.

Today, as I’m witnessing something that really hits, not only close to my heart, but that’s imbedded in my heart, and is the foundation and the engine that supplies much passion in my soul, I wish to use Pete Seeger’s song of the 50s & 60s, with a slight tweak of the title words, and ask, and maybe offer some possible answers to, the question offered in the title of today’s VFTB narrative.

“Where have all the teachers gone? Why have all the teachers gone? I can ask the same questions repeatedly, by changing the word teachers to coaches, officials, and/or volunteers.

Many do not realize what goes into being a person serving one or more of those roles. Many parents want (often demand) to have their children participate in extracurricular activities, like sports, music, and school clubs, etc. The same goes for community activities, and travel teams too. For many reasons, some good reasons, some questionable ones, parents want their kids involved in many things.

If you’ve ever attended parent/teacher conferences, or extracurricular activities, many parents today, seem to want to be able to call the shots, so to speak, when those teaching, mentoring, coaching, directing, officiating, and/or volunteering, who have stepped up to take on these roles, have been trained in some (many) aspects of what they are doing. Many of the people demanding their children be involved in these activities, (many with less training, expertise, passion for the activity), seem to feel they have the right to demand how the teacher, coach, officiate, volunteer, should do their jobs, along with demanding extra credit assignments for students who received zeroes (if teachers are allowed to give zero credit for zero work), more playing time and/or special treatment for the child, special treatment regarding the bending/overlooking of expectations regarding classroom, halls, and/or and off the field behavior, classroom, and/or dugout responsibilities and behavior, assignments and/or practice requirements, how to wear their uniform (including their cap), and how to be respectful to school staff, other students, opposing players, coaches, fans, and officials.

Some think that because they are “paying” teachers (taxes), and coaches (those coaches who do get paid), that they’re entitled to all of this, along with walking into dugouts or behind benches to give their child their coaching ideas that may or may not contradict what the coach might say. Many also feel they can make their own rules regarding expectations and requirements coming from the teachers and/or coaches. Some act like they want teachers to just babysit their kids. If that’s the case, they should be paid like daycare workers/babysitters. ($25.00 an hour seems fair X 25 students X 6 hours/day X 180 days equals a $675,000.00 salary, and they are not doing the work they are paid to do. Sounds like a pretty good gig.) Coaches, volunteers, advisors, etc., should also be paid that same base pay of $25.00 per hour.)

How many people many who are parents, realize, or care, that teachers, coaches, officials, and volunteers take time away from their own families, by spending extra time with other people’s children, some before school, some after school, and some before and after games, and practices, and all the responsibilities that go with that? There were many times when after a school trip ended after school hours, and an estimated time was told to parents as when to pick up students, there were some students whose parents were more than an hour later than the estimated time given out. The same went for after practices, games, etc.

There were also times when many spectators found it within their rights to strategically sit near the coach’s or official’s spouse/children and criticize the coach/official loud enough for his or her family to hear, mainly because they were “better” coaches/officials from the bleachers, instead of using that expertise from a classroom, or practice field, or sidelines. All that falls under the title respect. Lately, I’ve just found it easier to believe that those who can, do, those who can’t, will just criticize!

Speaking of respect, have you been to a concert, or school play, or school activity, or a ballgame or a meeting, and heard many people talking at once, or trash talking opponents, or berating, other kids, officials, or teachers, and what about some of the very colorful language that comes from some of the mouths of some of the people at those events?

There were days, many of them game days, when I left my house at about 5:30 am, arrived at school, set-up for the day, used the copier if necessary, put the Homeroom Activity on the board, welcomed students, used my prep periods to correct papers and record grades, leave anywhere between noon and two o’clock (depending on whether we played a home game or away (most of those in Buffalo), coach the game, wait for all to be picked up, then go home, compile my after game report, record my stats, figuring all averages and other information, contact the media to report results, and then sit down to eat dinner (away game days usually between 10:30 – 11:00 pm, again, on away days I could do a lot of the paperwork on the bus ride home). On home game days and practice days, my days usually brought me home around 7:00 pm or so, and after doing my post-game paperwork dinner was closer to maybe 9:00 or so. During football season, I would add scouting assignments, as well.

When my kids were small, Sally covered for me with their school activities, meal conversations, bedtime stories, and giving extra absentee goodnight hugs/kisses, along with making sure I got a hot meal.

I was not unique in what I did. I learned from many coaches that this came with the job, and I accepted that in all the roles I undertook. It all had to do with Learning Skills, like Responsibility, Reliability, Punctuality, Meeting Deadlines, Expectations and Rules, Consequences and Accountability, Teamwork, and Respect, many, if not all of those, which seem to have been tossed by the wayside, by a far less than silent majority.

So, in conclusion, if you ask yourself, or hear, the question atop this narrative, maybe what’s followed it, sad as the whole topic is, might answer the “Why” part of the question.