You’re being excessed.
Those three little words uttered by my principal at the first staff meeting, my first day back at work, three days before the start of the school year. Excessed. Numbly, I stumble out of the meeting and make my way back to my classroom. I sit in the new green chair I had just purchased to match the decor for my universal transitional kindergarten class. I sit and stare at my classroom, trying to process what has just happened. Excessed. I have to pack my personal belongings and supplies. Excessed. I have to take everything off the walls. Excessed. Where am I going to put all these boxes? What school and grade will I be moving to, and when? Excessed.
Excessing, also known as involuntary transfer, occurs when schools have a lower number of enrolled students than were projected, and now there are too many teachers at one site. Districts move teachers between schools to fill vacancies that can open, partially due to higher/lower than expected enrollment, funding shifts, teacher retirement, etc. Excessing a teacher from their site usually happens in the spring, at the end of the school year.
Fall excessing, or being transferred to a new school/grade in the time after the new school year has begun, is rarely voluntary. It is a heartbreaker and destroys a teacher’s spirit due to the emotional investment that teachers put into their classrooms and their future students at the start of each new school year.
I explained fall excessing to my husband, a retired school bus driver, like this: “Imagine someone tells you that they have too many bus drivers and they need you to now drive a dump truck in a brand-new city. You know how to drive, you’ve been doing it for ages, and you are well trained to drive vehicles. However, you’ve never driven a dump truck before, and you’ve never driven in this new city. There is no new training for driving a dump truck, and you are expected to master the new vehicle, new city and its rules within two days.”
Sounds great, right?
In the spring of 2024 my union, San Diego Education Association, and my district came to an agreement to “minimize fall staffing movement.” This signed and approved contract agreement is supposed to encourage the district to sort out their enrollment numbers well before the start of the school year. The idea behind the agreement is to reduce the chances of a teacher being moved after school has already started. But it wasn’t enough to keep me from being excessed.
So I call for reinforcements. A teacher friend whose district hasn’t started yet gets busy packing up my old classroom. My husband loads my new green chair into his truck and takes it home. Eight hours later, my personal classroom items are making their way onto two pallets, headed to the school’s multipurpose room, while a stunned teacher who has been moved down two grade levels is making his way into the classroom to now teach transitional kindergarten.
My former classroom looks like it’s been pillaged, with leftover boxes, rolls of tape and a steady stream of boxes from the new teacher. The once sunny and bright room looks sad and forlorn, like she’s having trouble letting me go, as I am struggling to let her go as well.
I grapple with the hopes and dreams I had for these new students, whose names were already written on their tables, and etched on my heart. The students will be fine, they will only know one teacher, the one taking my place, three days before the official start of school. But I will always know that they were mine first.
The next few days are a blur of packing the last few boxes, crying, showing the new teacher the curriculum, crying and talking to union reps and the human resources department at my district. I feel crushed, unimportant, deflated. I am dismayed to hear that I have to stay on my campus for, a minimum of three weeks, but likely more like six or seven weeks. As a newly excessed teacher, I have to wait until the official fall excess date, typically the third or four4th Friday of September, before I know where the district will place me. In the meantime, I will remain on my campus as a support teacher. It is a painful reminder of who I am to the school district. A body, an ID number. A bus driver who can be told to drive a dump truck.
In an ironic plot twist, only half of the district’s excessed teachers were moved to new school sites. The other half, myself included, were allowed to stay at our current schools. To reduce the number of combo classes, I was directed to teach a newly created first grade class. At this point, I felt like a pawn in a mysterious chess game, with the rules only known to the upper administration.
I’m just a teacher who was excited to get ready for going back to school, but instead was delivered a big dose of fall excessing. I took my green chair with me to my new classroom, but it wasn’t the same. I left a little piece of me in that former classroom and with those students who were supposed to be mine.
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Kelly Gonzales is a primary grade teacher at a Title 1 school in San Diego, and a teacher leader with the California Literature and Reading Project.
