Registration…Karen Speaking

The phone rings. I answer.

“Registration…Karen speaking.”

This is the way I have started my workday since November 12, 2011.

Only my third job since college, I landed in a school district here on Long Island that educates 7,281 students as of 1:32 p.m. today. Soon to be 7,283 if the set of twins I’m waiting on ever submits their applications.

But who’s counting?

Me. I’m counting.

School started Wednesday, September 2nd—two days ago. While everyone else thinks of the first day of school as new backpacks, freshly sharpened pencils and adorable pictures on front porches, I think of it as the finish line of a marathon I have been running all summer.

I work year-round preparing for Day One and then spend every day afterward cleaning up records, accounts, addresses and the approximately 47 billion changes that come along with 7,000-plus students.

Then there’s the other part of my job.

Investigations.

Yes. Investigations.

Part of my position involves finding families who say they live in our district but actually live in another town—sometimes five minutes away and occasionally an hour away.

That part of my job is insanely gratifying but grueling. It requires meticulous documentation, attention to detail and, every now and then, a little Nancy Drew action.

When I first started this job, everything was submitted on paper.

Everything.

Parents had to prove residency, which meant a constant parade of people through my office carrying utility bills, leases, deeds, licenses and assorted paperwork that looked like it had been shoved into the glove compartment sometime during the Clinton administration.

Nine times out of ten, no copies had been made.

So off I went to the copy machine approximately 8,878 times per day.

By the time I returned, their children might be climbing on my desk or rearranging the family pictures on my wall. Occasionally, the way a parent spoke to their children—or to me—would make me wonder:

If this is how we’re behaving in public, what in God’s name is happening at home?

I digress.

In 2013, I attended a workshop showcasing something revolutionary: online registration.

Parents could upload documents from home. I could review and import everything electronically into our student management system.

Cue the angels singing.

I was a one-woman show, and I convinced the district that the benefits far outweighed the cost.

We became the first district on Long Island to implement the program.

Since then, I’ve met with representatives from about 14 other districts and convinced them to purchase it too.

No commission for Kiki.

Still waiting on that check.

But I remain very proud that we climbed aboard the S.S. Online Registration before practically everyone else.

This morning, while talking to a parent on the phone, a thought popped into my head.

How the hell do I keep all of this together?

And the truth is, sometimes I don’t know.

If you’ve been here awhile, you know I was involved in a serious car accident. The injuries from that crash affected my memory and my speed. So I quietly adapted.

I created a system.

My system.

I document everything. I check. I double-check. I leave myself breadcrumbs so nothing gets lost along the way. No one walking into my office would ever know why I do things the way I do, and that’s exactly how I want it.

Because these aren’t just files.

They’re kids.

A mistake in a student record can follow that child into a classroom, an account or another school. I never want that mistake traced back to my desk.

So I do whatever it takes.

Every deadline gets met.

Usually early.

The day before school opened this year, I sat in my car at the end of the day and took a picture of myself. I posted it on Instagram announcing that all students were officially locked and loaded for the 2026–2027 school year.

Wave One complete.

I was exhausted.

And proud.

I reread that post this morning and had a thought I wasn’t expecting.

This may have been my last summer.

My last tidal wave.

My last countdown to Day One.

My last time staring down thousands of registrations and wondering how in God’s name I was going to get them all done—and then somehow getting them all done anyway.

I have some numbers to crunch when October rolls around. Early retirement may be knocking on the door.

And for the first time, I’m wondering whether I want to do this all over again next summer.

Fifteen summers is a long time.

And what a fifteen years it has been.

After Hurricane Sandy devastated our district, I sat in my dark office with families by flashlight, collecting paperwork so they could file for homeless status. Nearly half the homes in our district were affected. I listened to people tell me what they had lost and where they were sleeping that night. Some of those families have only recently finished rebuilding their homes.

I still keep in touch with many of them.

Then there are the stories on the completely opposite end of the emotional spectrum.

Ohhhh, the residency investigations.

Families who insist they absolutely, positively live at an address in our district while investigators are watching them sneak out of a completely different house early in the morning and pile into a car.

Then they sit across from us in a meeting and lie.

Straight-faced.

Absolutely committed to the performance.

Until my superintendent calmly turns the laptop around.

And there they are.

On video.

Busted.

There really should be popcorn served at those meetings.

Through hurricanes, investigations, piles of paperwork, new technology, thousands of phone calls, a pandemic, my own accident and fifteen first days of school, I’ve kept answering that phone.

“Registration…Karen speaking.”

I’ve personally registered nearly 28,000 students during my time here.

Twenty-eight thousand kids.

Twenty-eight thousand beginnings.

There is nothing glamorous about my job. Nobody applauds when the student database is correct. There is no standing ovation because every child has an ID number, an address, a schedule and a seat waiting for them on the first day of school.

That’s okay.

Because I know.

I know what it took to get them there.

Maybe I’ll do it all again next summer.

Maybe I won’t.

Maybe this really was my last great registration tidal wave.

But if it was, I think I can walk away knowing something pretty wonderful:

For fifteen years, while thousands of kids were getting ready for their first day of school, I was quietly getting ready for them.

And somewhere along the way, nearly 28,000 little names passed across my desk and into classrooms.

Not bad for a one-woman show.

For now, though, the phone is ringing.

And I’m still here.

“Registration…Karen speaking.”

Unknown's avatar

Author: KikiFikar

Kiki Fikar is a native New Yorker who is passionate about taking the day to day life we all experience and sharing it in her tales from Suburbia. She will often be found at the gym, writing snippets each day for future story lines, listening to her two children create their lives, and building the perfect beachfront home and writing retreat in her mind.

25 thoughts on “Registration…Karen Speaking”

  2. This really hit me. Fifteen years, nearly 28,000 students, countless families, hurricanes, investigations, technology changes, your own accident, and all those long summers—and somehow you kept showing up and making it work. That isn’t just a job; that’s a legacy.

    What really stands out to me is that you never let the challenges become an excuse to lower your standards. You adapted, built your own system, double-checked everything, and kept those “breadcrumbs” so every child could have what they needed. Most people will never understand how much invisible work goes into making something look effortless.

    And honestly, if this is your last registration tidal wave, I hope you walk away proud as hell. You earned that. You didn’t just process paperwork—you helped give nearly 28,000 kids a beginning.

    Whatever you decide when that time comes, I hope you know there are people who see the heart, dedication, humor, and sheer determination behind everything you’ve done. I’m damn proud to call you a friend, and I’m always going to be rooting for you—whether the phone is ringing with “Registration…Karen speaking,” or you’re finally answering a different call: “Retirement…Karen speaking.” ❤️

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  4. I plan to incorporate many of those stories into my tv series in the future. Changing the names of course. 😂😂😂 My boss always says he wants to play poker with me because I hold it together!

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  5. I love this so much! Way to go for keeping that all straight! My school was about 130 students so nowhere near that many and not as much paperwork because we were a private school, but definitely a lot of tiny details that are important. I know your admin team must appreciate you for all of that! Or at least, I hope they do! I definitely appreciated my admin assistant who did all that. Good luck on figuring out next year! Retirement will be very weird, but worth it!

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  7. Thank you so very much! I appreciate this! Our district is great but not so generous with the words. That’s ok. I just love the families each year (not the liars). They make the rest of the year sing.

    Happy Labor Day weekend!

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  8. How I love this. Thank you my friend. Thank you. I mean as much as I freak out each summer – it’s still such a fabulous place to be and I adore working with people. You never know who is on the other end of that phone. We shall see. I might squeak out one more summer on the south shore.

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  10. you are one of the most important pillars in society! and I’m glad that we not only have teachers that take their job seriously, but also admin and staff that make sure theirs and the student paperwork is all set and managed. there’s a lot to keep track of, and doing something for such a long time – at a high level – is something that not a lot of people can hang their hat on. a beautiful piece Kiki, I’m hoping you will get clarity in terms of what you want to do moving forward. but for now, enjoy the new school year 🙂
    Mike

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  12. Wow, that’s a lot of registrations. Early retirement looks pretty good to me after all of that. The new registration process, at least in our school district, is pretty awesome. Everything is done online, even requests to take kids out of school for appointments are automated. Gone are the days when parents had to spend days trying to register their kids for school while carrying a box of paperwork.

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  13. Thank you my friend. I truly love what I do. Not one day is the same as the one before. Part of me doesn’t know if I can actually walk away from this even when it is time to retire! I really can’t imagine not doing this anymore but at the same time, don’t know how much more my brain can take! This year was particularly tough for reasons I haven’t been able to name yet. It will all settle out in the next few months, and I will trust my gut with what happens next.❤️

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  14. It is so much more streamlined now. After COVID – coming to my office was no longer an option. Now I get the people who are waiting for me in the lobby with the paperwork because they can’t upload. I scan it all now and upload it for them to encrypt it. I tell those people please don’t share that I did this for you because everyone will want this done!

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  15. Well, that’s nice of you, and I can see that. I’m sure there are families who don’t have internet access or scanners and need to go to their local library to upload documents. Those families might also need support from school administrators.

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  19. I’m sorry to learn about your accident, of which you make only a passing mention, but it adds another dimension to the story of your focus and dedication. I can well imagine the smorgasbord of feelings you must have experienced while writing this piece. I am sure the meticulous record of registrations — and investigations — you have maintained over all these years will be acknowledged and appreciated by many. But perhaps the person who will value it most, when you look back, will be none other than you.

    And about that retirement you have on your mind: I suspect you are going to miss it all rather deeply. That much I can tell you from personal experience.

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  21. Thank you so for these kind words! To add to this – I’m a perfectionist on top of everything else. Having something undone or unorganized does not sit well with me. I just won’t rest if something isn’t complete. That’s the part no one sees. So when I suffered the brain injury I knew I had to develop plans to keep this going. Somehow I made it work.

    I haven’t said much about the accident yet as there is a major lawsuit swirling behind the scenes. I was hit by a vehicle that flipped my Jeep up in the air and landed on its roof. It’s still unclear as to how long I was unconscious but I was able to crawl out on my own.

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  22. That mishap sounds genuinely scary. Perhaps the powers that be decided you still have far too much priceless work left to do! I’m very glad you came through it safely. May the Force continue to be with you!

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  24. Hoping that I did is all I need. There is zero recognition in this setting but knowing I completed everything is the win.

    Hope your weekend is off to a great start, my friend!

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  25. It’s great detective work. I have several programs I use. One I get a few positive hits on a different address I will dispatch the actual investigators. Sometimes I casually drive by on the way to work to see what cars are outside of the house. If the cars are not there in the morning – I write up the case. No sense in wasting the district’s money! Lol

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