So, I was grading Unit Test when I realize that there are only (technically) 5 weeks left this semester. I will only have these, my first ever, students for five more weeks. The realization was difficult to swallow.
In five weeks, I would say goodbye to these students and welcome in a whole batch of new faces. I had prepared for everything except this. I had forgotten how it took me close to a month before I knew all 73 names and faces. We, my kids and I, had formed this bond. It’s like they were teaching me, as I was teaching them. Now they would be moving on, and I wondered if I would eventually fade into the back of their minds.
“Happy Grams” went out today. When I checked my box, I had tons; more than any other teacher (that’s what I tell myself!). Kids can send Happy Grams to their friends or teachers. I could not believe that so many of my kids took the time to think about me. One student wrote all over the front and back of the gram. He told me how I was his favorite teacher, how much he loved me, how he looked forward to my class, how much he was going to miss me, and how he hoped I had a great first year. I was touched!
As I read through the grams, I found 3 from students I had never heard of. When I read their grams, I realized that these are students I will have NEXT semester! These students haven’t even had me yet. They wrote me notes to tell me they could not wait for me to be their teacher! I was speechless.
I don’t know if I am a good teacher, I am defiantly not the teacher who inspired me, but I think…maybe, I have the beginnings of being a great teacher. I wonder at what moment a person really becomes what they were supposed to be in life. Do we become a teacher the moment we walk into our classrooms? Do we become a teacher when our students take their first test? Or do we become a teacher when we receive our certificate? I’m still working on that one; I’ll have to get back to you.
As far as today, it was a good day. I really needed it!
Monday, November 17, 2008
Survival: n. the act or fact of surviving, esp. under adverse or unusual circumstances.
The fact that my fingers still remember where the keys are located on this laptop continues to baffle me. For I, Ms. G- the pillar of strength and endurance, have begun to crumble under the pressures of educating the youth. My ferocious plan of attack on my depleting mental well being fell “aft agley.”
When I am not teetering on the very thin line between sanity and insanity Monday through Friday, I have taken pleasure in sleeping. My metabolism creeps along at a slugs pace and my motivation to do anything about it has long since retired to some remote island in the Caribbean; where it is, most likely, sipping margaritas and laughing gaily at some inside joke running between itself and my once creative wit.
I find nothing motivating about my job. I have found myself staring blankly at my lesson plans, confused by the mere sight of them. Just yesterday, I had planned to have the students discuss the character traits of Brutus and Cassius; however, after the entire lesson ran amok before my eyes, I ended up showing them some streamline video on tree frogs. I am serious. I understand tree frogs have nothing to do with literature, but I was completely beaten down. I prayed the students would just fall asleep during the film; I also had nothing else for them to do for the last 15 minutes of class. Fearing the repercussions of my “tree frog” lesson, I had the students write a brief essay critiquing the documentary. This, at least, met one of my standards; and should I have another “walk through evaluation,” they would see that I was utilizing technology in the classroom. She shoots, She SCORES!
I am defiantly in the infamous “survival phase.” Apparently, the survival phase happens about a month before the Christmas break. Supposedly, new teachers feel the real pressures of teaching during this phase. I should say so!
Here is how my last three weeks have played out:
October 7-9 PSAT (I had to Proctor, no planning period was had)
October 17 and 20 (Midterms, I had no idea I was even required to give one. Because of scheduling, no planning period)
October 21 – 23 HSAP (I had to proctor, yet again; no planning period)
My planning period is very precious to me. Nothing fills my heart with joy as much as when the 2nd block bell rings to signal the beginning of my planning period. My heart leaps with joy when, during a lecture, I glance at the clock to find I am only five minutes away from my “free” time. Sometimes, I turn off the lights in my classroom and just sit in the dark. I hid from fellow teachers wishing to share some insignificant instructional strategy for teaching drama or whatever.
I don’t want you to think that my day revolves around planning periods and discovering new ways to ditch my coworkers; because, it’s not like that…well not every day. I just feel so overwhelmed. I had no idea teaching would require so much of my personal life…what little I have anymore. I feel incompetent every single day. I question my decision to go into teaching, I question if I made the right choice moving to this new town. I miss the old Ms. G. I used to be fun and funny. I used to let my troubles roll off my back. I have become tired, moody, angry, and resentful. I bottle these feelings up inside and muddle through my day. I feel neglected by my “teammates” at school and underestimated by my students. I think this is what they mean when they say “burning out.” But how is this possible? I just started! Burn out isn’t supposed to happen until after 30 years of teaching! I just started!
What if I never come back! What if I can no longer reach my students? What happens when a tree frog video becomes a staple in my weekly lesson plans, and what happens if someone catches me sleeping during my planning period?
Lesson plans, faculty meetings, new teacher training, PACE training, volunteer programs, insolent students, insolent parents, snotty teachers, paperwork, observations, overhead projectors with faulty cords, PowerPoint presentations, more paperwork, IEPs, 504s, BIPs, Little Johnny forgot his pencil, high fail rates, HSAP, EOC, more paper work, and a partridge in a pear tree...all of which have become the bane of my existence.
31 days until Christmas break....
The fact that my fingers still remember where the keys are located on this laptop continues to baffle me. For I, Ms. G- the pillar of strength and endurance, have begun to crumble under the pressures of educating the youth. My ferocious plan of attack on my depleting mental well being fell “aft agley.”
When I am not teetering on the very thin line between sanity and insanity Monday through Friday, I have taken pleasure in sleeping. My metabolism creeps along at a slugs pace and my motivation to do anything about it has long since retired to some remote island in the Caribbean; where it is, most likely, sipping margaritas and laughing gaily at some inside joke running between itself and my once creative wit.
I find nothing motivating about my job. I have found myself staring blankly at my lesson plans, confused by the mere sight of them. Just yesterday, I had planned to have the students discuss the character traits of Brutus and Cassius; however, after the entire lesson ran amok before my eyes, I ended up showing them some streamline video on tree frogs. I am serious. I understand tree frogs have nothing to do with literature, but I was completely beaten down. I prayed the students would just fall asleep during the film; I also had nothing else for them to do for the last 15 minutes of class. Fearing the repercussions of my “tree frog” lesson, I had the students write a brief essay critiquing the documentary. This, at least, met one of my standards; and should I have another “walk through evaluation,” they would see that I was utilizing technology in the classroom. She shoots, She SCORES!
I am defiantly in the infamous “survival phase.” Apparently, the survival phase happens about a month before the Christmas break. Supposedly, new teachers feel the real pressures of teaching during this phase. I should say so!
Here is how my last three weeks have played out:
October 7-9 PSAT (I had to Proctor, no planning period was had)
October 17 and 20 (Midterms, I had no idea I was even required to give one. Because of scheduling, no planning period)
October 21 – 23 HSAP (I had to proctor, yet again; no planning period)
My planning period is very precious to me. Nothing fills my heart with joy as much as when the 2nd block bell rings to signal the beginning of my planning period. My heart leaps with joy when, during a lecture, I glance at the clock to find I am only five minutes away from my “free” time. Sometimes, I turn off the lights in my classroom and just sit in the dark. I hid from fellow teachers wishing to share some insignificant instructional strategy for teaching drama or whatever.
I don’t want you to think that my day revolves around planning periods and discovering new ways to ditch my coworkers; because, it’s not like that…well not every day. I just feel so overwhelmed. I had no idea teaching would require so much of my personal life…what little I have anymore. I feel incompetent every single day. I question my decision to go into teaching, I question if I made the right choice moving to this new town. I miss the old Ms. G. I used to be fun and funny. I used to let my troubles roll off my back. I have become tired, moody, angry, and resentful. I bottle these feelings up inside and muddle through my day. I feel neglected by my “teammates” at school and underestimated by my students. I think this is what they mean when they say “burning out.” But how is this possible? I just started! Burn out isn’t supposed to happen until after 30 years of teaching! I just started!
What if I never come back! What if I can no longer reach my students? What happens when a tree frog video becomes a staple in my weekly lesson plans, and what happens if someone catches me sleeping during my planning period?
Lesson plans, faculty meetings, new teacher training, PACE training, volunteer programs, insolent students, insolent parents, snotty teachers, paperwork, observations, overhead projectors with faulty cords, PowerPoint presentations, more paperwork, IEPs, 504s, BIPs, Little Johnny forgot his pencil, high fail rates, HSAP, EOC, more paper work, and a partridge in a pear tree...all of which have become the bane of my existence.
31 days until Christmas break....
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
The Re-Education of Ms. G (Part 4)
I believe I have defiantly hit rock bottom. Wait...before we jump to such an extreme conclusion, let us define “rock bottom.”
Rock Bottom: n. Colloquialism for “gutter” or “hell.” A seemingly endless procession of HELLS a normal, intelligent woman finds herself surrounded by; of which, escape is as painful as ones decent to the, aforementioned, place.
Yes, I have hit rock bottom.
The seventh week of school began, much like those before, in a series of small let downs and circling conversations. I found myself becoming completely absorbed by the politics in education. “Dumb down lessons”... “Raise your standards”... “Follow the standards”... “Don't teach to the test”... “Teach to the test.” The signals were more convoluted than the current state of our economy.
I believe it was Voltaire who said “Madness is to think of too many things in succession too fast, or of one thing too exclusively.” Yeah, that sounds about right.
Frustrated by the abundance of F's on my most recent Unit Test, I left school with a feeling of despair in the pit of stomach on Wednesday. Why the hell are these kids not getting it????? How, pray tell, can they know the material on Monday, then turn around and fail the test on Tuesday? In what language do the words “You scored a 2 on the Unit Test...out of a possible 100 points” inspire feelings of euphoria among high school students? OH! I know! ENGLISH!!!!!! I would assume it were my teaching habits, had the minimal amount of A's and B's not come to fruition.
SAMPLE QUESTION:
Who Wrote “The Road not Taken”
a) Emily Dickinson b) Alice Walker c) Audre Lorde d) Robert Frost
Next week....we are coloring pictures of Langston Hughes...maybe, a Dot-to-Dot of William Shakespeare, I haven't decided yet.
So, 5 pm on Wednesday...I have a complete nervous break down. I am talking an all inclusive trip to the Emergency Room and a continues refill of Zanex. Let the good times roll!!!! Needless to say, Thursday was my first “Mental Health Day.”
After my retail therapy, I made a conscious (read as: semi-conscious) decision to draw a line in the sand. It seems my problem, or one of my problems, was that I was taking their failures personally. Perhaps, the hardest part was that I knew they understood the material. Their problems laid exclusively in the fact that they don't have the desire to pass. I took it personally when they did not do the reading. I took it personally when they slept through class. I took it personally when they refused to turn in assignments.
There is a fine line between the person and the occupation. I found these two persona beginning to merge. While I was a teacher at school and a mother at home, I began to bring to much of my “teacher self” into my private life. I was forgetting who Hayley was and becoming Ms. G, even to my own children. That's not good.
So, what does one do when they are faced with becoming completely absorbed by their occupation? I ran; and so begins the "survival" phase of my re-education!
Currently, there are 77 days until Christmas Break...I am counting every single one. I bought a special pen just for marking a big, black X on each day.
Rock Bottom: n. Colloquialism for “gutter” or “hell.” A seemingly endless procession of HELLS a normal, intelligent woman finds herself surrounded by; of which, escape is as painful as ones decent to the, aforementioned, place.
Yes, I have hit rock bottom.
The seventh week of school began, much like those before, in a series of small let downs and circling conversations. I found myself becoming completely absorbed by the politics in education. “Dumb down lessons”... “Raise your standards”... “Follow the standards”... “Don't teach to the test”... “Teach to the test.” The signals were more convoluted than the current state of our economy.
I believe it was Voltaire who said “Madness is to think of too many things in succession too fast, or of one thing too exclusively.” Yeah, that sounds about right.
Frustrated by the abundance of F's on my most recent Unit Test, I left school with a feeling of despair in the pit of stomach on Wednesday. Why the hell are these kids not getting it????? How, pray tell, can they know the material on Monday, then turn around and fail the test on Tuesday? In what language do the words “You scored a 2 on the Unit Test...out of a possible 100 points” inspire feelings of euphoria among high school students? OH! I know! ENGLISH!!!!!! I would assume it were my teaching habits, had the minimal amount of A's and B's not come to fruition.
SAMPLE QUESTION:
Who Wrote “The Road not Taken”
a) Emily Dickinson b) Alice Walker c) Audre Lorde d) Robert Frost
Next week....we are coloring pictures of Langston Hughes...maybe, a Dot-to-Dot of William Shakespeare, I haven't decided yet.
So, 5 pm on Wednesday...I have a complete nervous break down. I am talking an all inclusive trip to the Emergency Room and a continues refill of Zanex. Let the good times roll!!!! Needless to say, Thursday was my first “Mental Health Day.”
After my retail therapy, I made a conscious (read as: semi-conscious) decision to draw a line in the sand. It seems my problem, or one of my problems, was that I was taking their failures personally. Perhaps, the hardest part was that I knew they understood the material. Their problems laid exclusively in the fact that they don't have the desire to pass. I took it personally when they did not do the reading. I took it personally when they slept through class. I took it personally when they refused to turn in assignments.
There is a fine line between the person and the occupation. I found these two persona beginning to merge. While I was a teacher at school and a mother at home, I began to bring to much of my “teacher self” into my private life. I was forgetting who Hayley was and becoming Ms. G, even to my own children. That's not good.
So, what does one do when they are faced with becoming completely absorbed by their occupation? I ran; and so begins the "survival" phase of my re-education!
Currently, there are 77 days until Christmas Break...I am counting every single one. I bought a special pen just for marking a big, black X on each day.
The Re-Education of Ms. G (Part 3)
There is a perfectly good reason why I have not mentioned how school has affected my home life until now; because, I have not had time to think about a “home life.” It is now the fifth week of school, and I have just begun to get accustomed to the politics of teaching.
Currently, I have lost all interest in personal hygiene and housekeeping. If DSS (Department of Social Services) came by my house, they would most likely take my kids away from me. Last week my children had “Hot Pockets” for dinner, five nights. I know how this sounds; but, it was only because I was out of “Bagel Bits.” My once, immaculate house has taken on the smell of excrement; so much so that last week I actually asked “Did someone stinky on the floor?” Speaking of bowel movements, I ran out of toilet paper last week…I am still out. Taped to my door, when I got home at 5:30 on Thursday, was an over flow notice from the Post Office. Normal, this is nothing to raise ones eyebrows about…except my mail is delivered to my house…right outside…a few feet from where I park…every day….
I quit shaving my legs and other things. Initially, I convinced myself that winter would soon be coming; therefore, shaving my legs would only make them cold. I have lost all sense of style. What do you mean an orange shirt does not go with pink pants? Since when? I have taken, instead, to parading my nasty, unshaven self around campus in, what can only be described as, self-deprecating clothing.
Around Wednesday, of last week, it finally occurred to me that I may be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Teaching was not supposed to be a real job…like something hard. I was supposed to be off by 3:30, remember? That was the deal! I come in at 8:05 and leave by 3:30; since when did my schedule include 7:15 to 5:00, only to go home and work until 12:30 or 1 am???? I don’t know people with real jobs that have those hours!!! Who works 17 hours a day???? This was not at all what I signed up for. I was/am on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
When school started, I was on this amazing diet and had actually lost quite a bit of weight. Somewhere around the second week of school, the diet was thrown out the window. I had taken to coffee for breakfast; skittles, M&M’s, Snickers, Mrs. Freshly Cupcakes, and French Fries for lunch; and Hot Pockets and Ice-cream for dinner. Pepsi and Coke cans littered my trash can at school…and at home. It was a really nasty scene…complete with a 2 pack a day cigarette habit I had picked up along the way. I could feel the ends begin to unravel, quickly!
My only saving grace is that, while it was extremely taxing, I love to teach….and the weekly “staffing” my new teacher friends and I have every week at Apple Annie’s after work, is also a plus! The stress of teaching, being a single mom, and trying to revive my fledgling personal life was all too much to take. It was just time for some self-evaluating.
First, I contacted a local therapist to set up an appointment; I needed to reorganize my thoughts. Second, I signed up for Nutra System…it was the only hope I had for ever looking normal again. Third, I decided to use every bit of my time at school to get my papers graded and decrease the work load I was hauling home every day. Fourth, I had a long talk with the kids about “helping Mommy.” I assigned day task, and I had the kids take on a greater responsibility around the house. Oh, and I finally shaved…
So, as I head into my 6th week as a first year teacher, I am clean; I have bought healthy food for my kids for dinner to prepare this week; my house smells wonderful again; and my car is clean. OH DAMN! I still have to go write lesson plans…Gotta go!
Currently, I have lost all interest in personal hygiene and housekeeping. If DSS (Department of Social Services) came by my house, they would most likely take my kids away from me. Last week my children had “Hot Pockets” for dinner, five nights. I know how this sounds; but, it was only because I was out of “Bagel Bits.” My once, immaculate house has taken on the smell of excrement; so much so that last week I actually asked “Did someone stinky on the floor?” Speaking of bowel movements, I ran out of toilet paper last week…I am still out. Taped to my door, when I got home at 5:30 on Thursday, was an over flow notice from the Post Office. Normal, this is nothing to raise ones eyebrows about…except my mail is delivered to my house…right outside…a few feet from where I park…every day….
I quit shaving my legs and other things. Initially, I convinced myself that winter would soon be coming; therefore, shaving my legs would only make them cold. I have lost all sense of style. What do you mean an orange shirt does not go with pink pants? Since when? I have taken, instead, to parading my nasty, unshaven self around campus in, what can only be described as, self-deprecating clothing.
Around Wednesday, of last week, it finally occurred to me that I may be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Teaching was not supposed to be a real job…like something hard. I was supposed to be off by 3:30, remember? That was the deal! I come in at 8:05 and leave by 3:30; since when did my schedule include 7:15 to 5:00, only to go home and work until 12:30 or 1 am???? I don’t know people with real jobs that have those hours!!! Who works 17 hours a day???? This was not at all what I signed up for. I was/am on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
When school started, I was on this amazing diet and had actually lost quite a bit of weight. Somewhere around the second week of school, the diet was thrown out the window. I had taken to coffee for breakfast; skittles, M&M’s, Snickers, Mrs. Freshly Cupcakes, and French Fries for lunch; and Hot Pockets and Ice-cream for dinner. Pepsi and Coke cans littered my trash can at school…and at home. It was a really nasty scene…complete with a 2 pack a day cigarette habit I had picked up along the way. I could feel the ends begin to unravel, quickly!
My only saving grace is that, while it was extremely taxing, I love to teach….and the weekly “staffing” my new teacher friends and I have every week at Apple Annie’s after work, is also a plus! The stress of teaching, being a single mom, and trying to revive my fledgling personal life was all too much to take. It was just time for some self-evaluating.
First, I contacted a local therapist to set up an appointment; I needed to reorganize my thoughts. Second, I signed up for Nutra System…it was the only hope I had for ever looking normal again. Third, I decided to use every bit of my time at school to get my papers graded and decrease the work load I was hauling home every day. Fourth, I had a long talk with the kids about “helping Mommy.” I assigned day task, and I had the kids take on a greater responsibility around the house. Oh, and I finally shaved…
So, as I head into my 6th week as a first year teacher, I am clean; I have bought healthy food for my kids for dinner to prepare this week; my house smells wonderful again; and my car is clean. OH DAMN! I still have to go write lesson plans…Gotta go!
After C dropped out of school, I became even more determined to make these kids succeed. Every afternoon I hauled this huge canvas bag, filled with student work, home; and every morning hauled it back to school. I offered extra help after school, which nobody bothered to show up for. I don’t think my eyes shut at night before 1 am, and I rewrote lesson plans about 5 times that first week. It occurred to me, rather painfully, that the kids just weren’t going to do the reading. If this was the case, this was going to be one long year.
“I want to welcome each of you to This High School!” one of my 4 assistant principals greeted us at the “New Teacher” meeting. “We just want to thank each of you for joining our team here; and let you know that if you need anything, all you have to do is ask.” She continued. After 45 minutes of lecturing on where the copy machines are located (and a warning about making too many copies), the legal ramifications of showing movies in class, referral procedures, and the new rule about jeans on Fridays she says “We have many organizations in our school to encourage the students to be involved. Let me suggest that you volunteer for one of these, if you don’t we will volunteer you for one.” All of which is said with a smile.
So, let me get this straight: I have three children of my own, each with their own extra-curriculum activity; I have 73 students who could not be any less interested in school; and I have an enormous stack of papers to grade that follow me home every night. Now, I have to volunteer to sponsor an extra-curriculum program. Beautiful! So, not to let this new job assignment rain on my parade, I volunteer for the Sophomore Homecoming Float Committee and the Student Writers literary journal. I figure this will not take up much time, at this point what difference does it really make?
The use of Standard American English I, mistakenly, took for granted as a staple in academic writing. Apparently, dat, dis, sopose, den (as in- den I when to the store), wuz, and wez (as in – we’z went to the store) are acceptable forms of writing. I also had no clue that they’re, their, and there are all interchangeable. Imagine my surprise, when I learned that if you choose not to read a story that is assigned, a student still expects credit; because, at least they came to class. Let’s forget for a second that I have to teach these children well enough, so that they are capable of passing the HSAP in a month; and focus more on the fact that most of them have no idea that the word student’s is much different that students or students’. I vow to myself that, if nothing else, by the end of my class they will know that alot is two words, a lot.
Unit Test One was a flop. While the scores ranged in a normal pattern (after I curved them), it was obvious that the students were just not ever going to do the reading. This was going to be difficult. How could I get them to do the reading, and realize the importance of being prepared to discuss it in class? AHHHHH ---- GUM!!!So began the “bribery” portion of my class. For each student who did the reading for homework, and also contributed a meaningful comment, he or she would receive gum! It worked like a charm. Finally, the kids were reading. I know, I know you shouldn’t bribe them; but let me ask you this, if your job was on the line if a group of 10th graders could not pass a standardized test, would you resort to whatever tactics worked? Thought so. At this point, I am going through about 8 bags of gum a week.
Poetry, the torn in the side of every high school student alive, has finally begun. “Okay, guys! New Unit. Poetry.” I smile. The “boos” and “awwws” can be heard well down the hall. “I know. I know it is not your favorite unit, but if I have to teach it then you have to learn it.” I smile again. I really cannot help taking pleasure in their misery over poetry; let’s not soon forget, these are the same kids who refuse to do reading homework unless there is sort of candy involved.“So, why do people write poetry?” I ask.
“Because, it sucks.” One of my smart ass students responds.
“Um, not so much.” I respond, the kid smiles.“Seriously. Why?” I ask again.
“To express emotion.” Another student offers.
“Okay. Anyone else?” I ask. Of course no one else has an answer. “I have always thought that poetry was written to inspire. Later, I am going to read you a poem by Mr. Robert Herrick titled “To the Virgins to Make Much of Time.” The sly smiles spread across the faces of every horny kid in my class. “I see you smiling, and your smiles are warranted. Mr. Herrick wrote this poem to encourage young virgins to sleep with him. His thinking was that if he made them feel like time was running out for them, that he might be more successful in his quest. He was right.” I introduced the literary element of “Author’s Intent” and selected a few poems from the text. The kids read the poems aloud, and we discussed the author’s intent of each one. I wanted the kids to not be afraid of interpreting the poems in their way. I know we are supposed teach them to find the real “author’s intent”; but I just feel that teaching them to think for themselves might be a greater justice.
“Ms. G, why can’t you just tell us what it means? Why we gotta guess?” one kid asks.
“Because, I want the poem to mean something to you. I want you to connect it to your own life.” I respond.
“The dude that wrote these poems is dead. How you want me to make a dead man’s poem connected to me?” same kid.
“Okay….here’s why.” I begin reading:
“GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
the higher he's a-getting,
the sooner will his race be run,
and nearer he's to setting.
That age is best which is the first,
when youth and blood are warmer;
but being spent, the worse and worst
Times still succeed the former.
Then be not coy,
but use your time,
and while ye may go marry:
For having lost but once your prime
you may for ever tarry.”
“So what do you think this poem means?” I ask.
“It’s about things that suck!” another smart ass kid answers.
“No, you are wrong again. You are not very good at this are you?” I know, I should not be a smart ass…just think “GUM”…I HAD TO BUY THEM GUM TO GET THEM TO FUCKING READ!
“It’s about not wasting your time.” A kid that actually passed the Unit Test answers.
“Okay, anyone else?” I ask
“It’s about doin’ all the stuff you can before you die. Like if you want to be a famous basketball player, or whatever.” Another kid answers.
“Okay, anyone else?” A few other kids respond with similar answers.
“How does the poem make you feel?” I ask next.
“Like I need to, maybe, do some stuff with my life.” Another kid answers.
“Do you think the poem is a romantic poem? Is it about love?” I ask.
“No” a sampling of kids respond.
“Okay, the title of this poem is ‘To the Virgins to Make Much of Time’” I say and the kids all start to smile. “So, now do you see why it is important to make a personal connection to the text? Poetry is not written for the author, it is written for the reader. You have to make it yours” and, having lost complete track of time, the bell rings signaling the end of class…and finally my day!
One minor success later, I am on my way out to my car feeling like it might be able to make it until Christmas.
“Ms. G” a voice calls out behind me
Oh, hey Mrs. Z. How are you doing?” I ask.
“Oh, I am just fine. You, on the other hand, are not.” She comments in a snippy attitude. “You still have not signed your IEP’s or 504’s. You know that is against the law. I suggest you get to Guidance and sign those tomorrow.” She smiles and sharply turns away.
“Yeah, you know what…sign them your damn self! I was just about to have a good day, when you have to march your fat ass out here and tell me another thing I am not doing. How about next year, you send me some notice? I am a first year teach, damn it!” of course I did not say this…but this lady drives me crazy. So, I make a complete U turn and head to guidance.
Apparently, I have 5 students who are on either IEP’s (Individual Education Plans) or 504’s (some other state mandated program). I read all the accommodations and sign my name. I was just about to push open the door, when one of the counselors reminds me “you have to fill out a weekly behavior chart on each one LD students, they are due Monday. You have to submit 3 weeks’ worth of reports, because you are late signing your accommodations” Beautiful!
Okay…here is where you are going to seriously begin to doubt me….So, I finally make it to my car, at 5pm; when the assistant principal stops me to 1) Ask if I have posted my lesson plans on the internet yet.2) Ask if I have contacted my department head to schedule a meeting for the sophomore class float committee that I sponsor.3) Ask if I have begun writing my LRP that is due Sept. 25th.4) Ask if downloaded the Homecoming Queen ballots from the internet and printed them.5) And to remind me that she will be coming by this week to “observe” me.
Oh holy hell!
So, check this out. The LRP (Long Range Plan) is a plan you have to write during your new teacher training. Apparently, you add onto it over the years. I can understand this, I can appreciate it. What still baffles me is why anyone would expect a first year teacher to know what the hell they are going to do in terms of the long range? I don’t know what I am going to be doing next week, much less all semester!!!! I just think this is something they might have considered waiting on, until a new teacher's second semester…when she actually knows if what she is teaching is working. Ya know? I mean, I have never taught in my life! I have no idea what my long range plan is…I will know…next semester, when I have one unit behind me! COME ON!
Hi…my name is Ms. G, I am a glorified babysitter to 73 kids; I file behavior reports on students who barely even come to class; my long range plan consist of not hitting anyone child today; I sponsor the Sophomore Homecoming Float Committee, whatever the hell that is; I have taken to sarcasm in the classroom; I bribe kids with gum; oh! And I teach English II CP.
After my observation…THE NEXT DAY…I got an e-mail from my assistant principal.
Subject: IMPORTANT
Comment: Come See Me
Her office scares me. The chairs are hard, plastic student seats. When I sit down she pushes her glasses up on her nose.
“I just wanted to tell you that, when I observed you today….” she begins.
“Okay let me say this first! The reason the kids were sitting on the floor is because I promised them an outside day but it was raining and so I told them that they could sit on the floor and write their poetry there because I didn’t want to let them down and if that is what I did wrong I am sorry and I just wanted you to know that I really love being here and I really love my….” I manage to say in one breath before she interrupts me.
“I was just going to tell you, that you are doing an excellent job. Keep up the good work! You know, we have an outside classroom. Check it out sometimes. Hayley, I can tell your kids really like you; I can tell you are really enthusiastic about the subject matter. Keep up the good work!” she smiled.
Oh. My. God. I am an AWESOME human being! This is what I was born to do and, even if it isn’t, there is only like 83 days until Christmas….
“I want to welcome each of you to This High School!” one of my 4 assistant principals greeted us at the “New Teacher” meeting. “We just want to thank each of you for joining our team here; and let you know that if you need anything, all you have to do is ask.” She continued. After 45 minutes of lecturing on where the copy machines are located (and a warning about making too many copies), the legal ramifications of showing movies in class, referral procedures, and the new rule about jeans on Fridays she says “We have many organizations in our school to encourage the students to be involved. Let me suggest that you volunteer for one of these, if you don’t we will volunteer you for one.” All of which is said with a smile.
So, let me get this straight: I have three children of my own, each with their own extra-curriculum activity; I have 73 students who could not be any less interested in school; and I have an enormous stack of papers to grade that follow me home every night. Now, I have to volunteer to sponsor an extra-curriculum program. Beautiful! So, not to let this new job assignment rain on my parade, I volunteer for the Sophomore Homecoming Float Committee and the Student Writers literary journal. I figure this will not take up much time, at this point what difference does it really make?
The use of Standard American English I, mistakenly, took for granted as a staple in academic writing. Apparently, dat, dis, sopose, den (as in- den I when to the store), wuz, and wez (as in – we’z went to the store) are acceptable forms of writing. I also had no clue that they’re, their, and there are all interchangeable. Imagine my surprise, when I learned that if you choose not to read a story that is assigned, a student still expects credit; because, at least they came to class. Let’s forget for a second that I have to teach these children well enough, so that they are capable of passing the HSAP in a month; and focus more on the fact that most of them have no idea that the word student’s is much different that students or students’. I vow to myself that, if nothing else, by the end of my class they will know that alot is two words, a lot.
Unit Test One was a flop. While the scores ranged in a normal pattern (after I curved them), it was obvious that the students were just not ever going to do the reading. This was going to be difficult. How could I get them to do the reading, and realize the importance of being prepared to discuss it in class? AHHHHH ---- GUM!!!So began the “bribery” portion of my class. For each student who did the reading for homework, and also contributed a meaningful comment, he or she would receive gum! It worked like a charm. Finally, the kids were reading. I know, I know you shouldn’t bribe them; but let me ask you this, if your job was on the line if a group of 10th graders could not pass a standardized test, would you resort to whatever tactics worked? Thought so. At this point, I am going through about 8 bags of gum a week.
Poetry, the torn in the side of every high school student alive, has finally begun. “Okay, guys! New Unit. Poetry.” I smile. The “boos” and “awwws” can be heard well down the hall. “I know. I know it is not your favorite unit, but if I have to teach it then you have to learn it.” I smile again. I really cannot help taking pleasure in their misery over poetry; let’s not soon forget, these are the same kids who refuse to do reading homework unless there is sort of candy involved.“So, why do people write poetry?” I ask.
“Because, it sucks.” One of my smart ass students responds.
“Um, not so much.” I respond, the kid smiles.“Seriously. Why?” I ask again.
“To express emotion.” Another student offers.
“Okay. Anyone else?” I ask. Of course no one else has an answer. “I have always thought that poetry was written to inspire. Later, I am going to read you a poem by Mr. Robert Herrick titled “To the Virgins to Make Much of Time.” The sly smiles spread across the faces of every horny kid in my class. “I see you smiling, and your smiles are warranted. Mr. Herrick wrote this poem to encourage young virgins to sleep with him. His thinking was that if he made them feel like time was running out for them, that he might be more successful in his quest. He was right.” I introduced the literary element of “Author’s Intent” and selected a few poems from the text. The kids read the poems aloud, and we discussed the author’s intent of each one. I wanted the kids to not be afraid of interpreting the poems in their way. I know we are supposed teach them to find the real “author’s intent”; but I just feel that teaching them to think for themselves might be a greater justice.
“Ms. G, why can’t you just tell us what it means? Why we gotta guess?” one kid asks.
“Because, I want the poem to mean something to you. I want you to connect it to your own life.” I respond.
“The dude that wrote these poems is dead. How you want me to make a dead man’s poem connected to me?” same kid.
“Okay….here’s why.” I begin reading:
“GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
the higher he's a-getting,
the sooner will his race be run,
and nearer he's to setting.
That age is best which is the first,
when youth and blood are warmer;
but being spent, the worse and worst
Times still succeed the former.
Then be not coy,
but use your time,
and while ye may go marry:
For having lost but once your prime
you may for ever tarry.”
“So what do you think this poem means?” I ask.
“It’s about things that suck!” another smart ass kid answers.
“No, you are wrong again. You are not very good at this are you?” I know, I should not be a smart ass…just think “GUM”…I HAD TO BUY THEM GUM TO GET THEM TO FUCKING READ!
“It’s about not wasting your time.” A kid that actually passed the Unit Test answers.
“Okay, anyone else?” I ask
“It’s about doin’ all the stuff you can before you die. Like if you want to be a famous basketball player, or whatever.” Another kid answers.
“Okay, anyone else?” A few other kids respond with similar answers.
“How does the poem make you feel?” I ask next.
“Like I need to, maybe, do some stuff with my life.” Another kid answers.
“Do you think the poem is a romantic poem? Is it about love?” I ask.
“No” a sampling of kids respond.
“Okay, the title of this poem is ‘To the Virgins to Make Much of Time’” I say and the kids all start to smile. “So, now do you see why it is important to make a personal connection to the text? Poetry is not written for the author, it is written for the reader. You have to make it yours” and, having lost complete track of time, the bell rings signaling the end of class…and finally my day!
One minor success later, I am on my way out to my car feeling like it might be able to make it until Christmas.
“Ms. G” a voice calls out behind me
Oh, hey Mrs. Z. How are you doing?” I ask.
“Oh, I am just fine. You, on the other hand, are not.” She comments in a snippy attitude. “You still have not signed your IEP’s or 504’s. You know that is against the law. I suggest you get to Guidance and sign those tomorrow.” She smiles and sharply turns away.
“Yeah, you know what…sign them your damn self! I was just about to have a good day, when you have to march your fat ass out here and tell me another thing I am not doing. How about next year, you send me some notice? I am a first year teach, damn it!” of course I did not say this…but this lady drives me crazy. So, I make a complete U turn and head to guidance.
Apparently, I have 5 students who are on either IEP’s (Individual Education Plans) or 504’s (some other state mandated program). I read all the accommodations and sign my name. I was just about to push open the door, when one of the counselors reminds me “you have to fill out a weekly behavior chart on each one LD students, they are due Monday. You have to submit 3 weeks’ worth of reports, because you are late signing your accommodations” Beautiful!
Okay…here is where you are going to seriously begin to doubt me….So, I finally make it to my car, at 5pm; when the assistant principal stops me to 1) Ask if I have posted my lesson plans on the internet yet.2) Ask if I have contacted my department head to schedule a meeting for the sophomore class float committee that I sponsor.3) Ask if I have begun writing my LRP that is due Sept. 25th.4) Ask if downloaded the Homecoming Queen ballots from the internet and printed them.5) And to remind me that she will be coming by this week to “observe” me.
Oh holy hell!
So, check this out. The LRP (Long Range Plan) is a plan you have to write during your new teacher training. Apparently, you add onto it over the years. I can understand this, I can appreciate it. What still baffles me is why anyone would expect a first year teacher to know what the hell they are going to do in terms of the long range? I don’t know what I am going to be doing next week, much less all semester!!!! I just think this is something they might have considered waiting on, until a new teacher's second semester…when she actually knows if what she is teaching is working. Ya know? I mean, I have never taught in my life! I have no idea what my long range plan is…I will know…next semester, when I have one unit behind me! COME ON!
Hi…my name is Ms. G, I am a glorified babysitter to 73 kids; I file behavior reports on students who barely even come to class; my long range plan consist of not hitting anyone child today; I sponsor the Sophomore Homecoming Float Committee, whatever the hell that is; I have taken to sarcasm in the classroom; I bribe kids with gum; oh! And I teach English II CP.
After my observation…THE NEXT DAY…I got an e-mail from my assistant principal.
Subject: IMPORTANT
Comment: Come See Me
Her office scares me. The chairs are hard, plastic student seats. When I sit down she pushes her glasses up on her nose.
“I just wanted to tell you that, when I observed you today….” she begins.
“Okay let me say this first! The reason the kids were sitting on the floor is because I promised them an outside day but it was raining and so I told them that they could sit on the floor and write their poetry there because I didn’t want to let them down and if that is what I did wrong I am sorry and I just wanted you to know that I really love being here and I really love my….” I manage to say in one breath before she interrupts me.
“I was just going to tell you, that you are doing an excellent job. Keep up the good work! You know, we have an outside classroom. Check it out sometimes. Hayley, I can tell your kids really like you; I can tell you are really enthusiastic about the subject matter. Keep up the good work!” she smiled.
Oh. My. God. I am an AWESOME human being! This is what I was born to do and, even if it isn’t, there is only like 83 days until Christmas….
The Re-Education of Ms. G (Part 2)
The First Week-I love teaching! Yes, God has defiantly led me in the right direction. I don’t know why I did not do this sooner! These kids love me! I can tell they have a thirst for knowledge, and I am going to lead them to a love of literature.
I stood in front of my class and introduced myself. “Hello everyone, I am Ms. Glick. In have selected some very interesting text for us to cover this semester, I think you will all be excited about these.” The class smiled up at me. I was reaching them.
I turned on the overhead projector and began to explain the class rules. I gleaned over the school and district rules for information that applied only to my class. After a short reading of the class procedures, I had the students write a brief essay describing their life. I delighted in the fact that each head was bent diligently over their papers, and their hands moved with purpose across each page. Look at these wonderful young scholars, so eager to learn!As my very first class wrapped up, I collected the papers and gave each student my most approving smile. The bell rang and as I placed the papers in the folder marked “First Block” a student approached me.
“Uh, Ms. Glitch?”
“Yes.” I said with another approving smile.
“I just gotta tell you now, you prolly gone havta write me up a few times”
“Oh, I don’t think so. We are going to have a great semester! You’ll see.”
“Well, I jus think you need to know dat”
Let’s call this student “C.” Well, I have to admit, I was completely taken aback. Who comes up to a person they have never met, only to warn them about their behavior? C was going to be my personal project this semester. I knew he had already failed 10th grade 4 times. Well, Mrs. G would have none of that!I assigned a short story for homework, “The Cold Equations” by Tom Godwin. I had already devised an extraordinary lesson plan for this first assignment; the students were going to be deeply moved!
Before class started the next morning, I wrote the stylistic elements on the board that we would cover during the lesson. When the bell rang and the students began to file into the room, I greeted them with a smile.
“Good morning everyone! Okay, today we are covering suspense. Can anyone give me an example from last night’s reading of suspense?” not a hand was raised. How sweet! They are shy! They must feel intimidated by me. “Come on guys, don’t be shy! Can anyone give me one example?” still no hands. I assumed their apparent shyness was directly related to it being the first week of school. So, in order to relieve the tension, I had the students write one thing they remembered from the reading. After a few minutes, I asked the students to share what they had written. Again, no one wanted to volunteer!
“Ms. Glitch, day ain't gone ansu cause ain't nobody read.” C comments from the back row.
“C, I don’t think that is the problem. Okay, so who wants to tell me one thing they learned?” I asked again, this time a little more firmly. C begins chatting with another student in the back of the room. I make a conscious decision to ignore this. He is not going to get to me! “Anyone?” I ask again. “Okay, everyone take out your books.” C raises his hand. “Yes, C?”
“Uh, I ain’t got my book.” He smiles.
“It is the second day of class. What do you mean you don’t have a book?” I ask, getting a little perturbed.
“I fo’got it” he smiles.
“Well, look on with another student.” I say. “Okay, I want everyone to answer the five questions at the end of the story. You have 15 minutes and…” I see C’s hand waving in the air; he has a smirk on his face. “Yes, C?” I say in a voice that indicates I am clearly pissed off.
“Uh, I ain’t got no pencil.” He smiles.
“Well, borrow….” I begin.
“I ain’t got no paper either.” His grin spreads across his face.
“Are you serious?” I can feel myself loosing it. “Seriously??” oh here it comes! “This is an English class; chances are you are going to need a pencil and paper.” I snap. “How many people did the reading?” I ask the class. Not one had rises.
“See, I told you Mrs. Glitch. They ain’t read” He smiles.
“First of all C--- (I exaggerate each syllable of his name), it is Ms. G**** not Ms. Glitch. Second, if you guys are thinking that you can just breeze right through this class, you have another thing coming!” I am practically out of breath at this point. “The reading is THE most important part of this class; you will never be able to pass if you refuse to do the homework! What did you think I assigned that for? My health? Because I thought it would be fun? Because…”
“Uh, Ms. Glick, I read.” C smiles.
“Oh really, well why don’t you come up here and tell us all about it!” I smile sarcastically. C makes his way to the front of the room. He is a pretty large kid. I would guess about 6’2 or 6’3, 250 or 260 lbs.
“Well, Marilyn Cross is a passenger on a futuristic space craft.” He begins in the clearest, most intellectual speaking voice I have ever heard. I can feel my mouth gapping open.
After a 15 minute explanation of the story, including page numbers, he looks at me and smiles. After class, I asked C to stay a second. I apologized for underestimating him. “It’s okay Ms. G----; people do that all the time. But, I don’t want you to feel bad when you have to write me up.”
“Oh, I promise I won’t.” I smile.
“Aight, have a good day Mrs. G****.” He smiles back.
“You too, C.”
Oh this was going to be excellent! I was going to take C under my wing! I was going to be the teacher who believed in him! This was going to be my star student!
Over the next week I grew very close to C. I really began to like him as a person. He was smart, caring, and really did have a good heart. He wrote some of the most eloquent essays in the class, and it was interesting to watch how involved in the class he became.The next week, during a school pep rally, C was arrested for making gang signs and encouraging other students to join. His mother came to the school and withdrew him. I think he is in Adult Ed. now.
I stood in front of my class and introduced myself. “Hello everyone, I am Ms. Glick. In have selected some very interesting text for us to cover this semester, I think you will all be excited about these.” The class smiled up at me. I was reaching them.
I turned on the overhead projector and began to explain the class rules. I gleaned over the school and district rules for information that applied only to my class. After a short reading of the class procedures, I had the students write a brief essay describing their life. I delighted in the fact that each head was bent diligently over their papers, and their hands moved with purpose across each page. Look at these wonderful young scholars, so eager to learn!As my very first class wrapped up, I collected the papers and gave each student my most approving smile. The bell rang and as I placed the papers in the folder marked “First Block” a student approached me.
“Uh, Ms. Glitch?”
“Yes.” I said with another approving smile.
“I just gotta tell you now, you prolly gone havta write me up a few times”
“Oh, I don’t think so. We are going to have a great semester! You’ll see.”
“Well, I jus think you need to know dat”
Let’s call this student “C.” Well, I have to admit, I was completely taken aback. Who comes up to a person they have never met, only to warn them about their behavior? C was going to be my personal project this semester. I knew he had already failed 10th grade 4 times. Well, Mrs. G would have none of that!I assigned a short story for homework, “The Cold Equations” by Tom Godwin. I had already devised an extraordinary lesson plan for this first assignment; the students were going to be deeply moved!
Before class started the next morning, I wrote the stylistic elements on the board that we would cover during the lesson. When the bell rang and the students began to file into the room, I greeted them with a smile.
“Good morning everyone! Okay, today we are covering suspense. Can anyone give me an example from last night’s reading of suspense?” not a hand was raised. How sweet! They are shy! They must feel intimidated by me. “Come on guys, don’t be shy! Can anyone give me one example?” still no hands. I assumed their apparent shyness was directly related to it being the first week of school. So, in order to relieve the tension, I had the students write one thing they remembered from the reading. After a few minutes, I asked the students to share what they had written. Again, no one wanted to volunteer!
“Ms. Glitch, day ain't gone ansu cause ain't nobody read.” C comments from the back row.
“C, I don’t think that is the problem. Okay, so who wants to tell me one thing they learned?” I asked again, this time a little more firmly. C begins chatting with another student in the back of the room. I make a conscious decision to ignore this. He is not going to get to me! “Anyone?” I ask again. “Okay, everyone take out your books.” C raises his hand. “Yes, C?”
“Uh, I ain’t got my book.” He smiles.
“It is the second day of class. What do you mean you don’t have a book?” I ask, getting a little perturbed.
“I fo’got it” he smiles.
“Well, look on with another student.” I say. “Okay, I want everyone to answer the five questions at the end of the story. You have 15 minutes and…” I see C’s hand waving in the air; he has a smirk on his face. “Yes, C?” I say in a voice that indicates I am clearly pissed off.
“Uh, I ain’t got no pencil.” He smiles.
“Well, borrow….” I begin.
“I ain’t got no paper either.” His grin spreads across his face.
“Are you serious?” I can feel myself loosing it. “Seriously??” oh here it comes! “This is an English class; chances are you are going to need a pencil and paper.” I snap. “How many people did the reading?” I ask the class. Not one had rises.
“See, I told you Mrs. Glitch. They ain’t read” He smiles.
“First of all C--- (I exaggerate each syllable of his name), it is Ms. G**** not Ms. Glitch. Second, if you guys are thinking that you can just breeze right through this class, you have another thing coming!” I am practically out of breath at this point. “The reading is THE most important part of this class; you will never be able to pass if you refuse to do the homework! What did you think I assigned that for? My health? Because I thought it would be fun? Because…”
“Uh, Ms. Glick, I read.” C smiles.
“Oh really, well why don’t you come up here and tell us all about it!” I smile sarcastically. C makes his way to the front of the room. He is a pretty large kid. I would guess about 6’2 or 6’3, 250 or 260 lbs.
“Well, Marilyn Cross is a passenger on a futuristic space craft.” He begins in the clearest, most intellectual speaking voice I have ever heard. I can feel my mouth gapping open.
After a 15 minute explanation of the story, including page numbers, he looks at me and smiles. After class, I asked C to stay a second. I apologized for underestimating him. “It’s okay Ms. G----; people do that all the time. But, I don’t want you to feel bad when you have to write me up.”
“Oh, I promise I won’t.” I smile.
“Aight, have a good day Mrs. G****.” He smiles back.
“You too, C.”
Oh this was going to be excellent! I was going to take C under my wing! I was going to be the teacher who believed in him! This was going to be my star student!
Over the next week I grew very close to C. I really began to like him as a person. He was smart, caring, and really did have a good heart. He wrote some of the most eloquent essays in the class, and it was interesting to watch how involved in the class he became.The next week, during a school pep rally, C was arrested for making gang signs and encouraging other students to join. His mother came to the school and withdrew him. I think he is in Adult Ed. now.
The Re-Education of Ms. G
I decided to become a teacher for lack of any other job offers. I know this isn’t the answer you want to hear; you want to hear the great American dream story. How, through great struggle and self determination, I returned to college and finally followed my lifelong dream of becoming a teacher; Yeah, not so much. The reality is that I graduated college, only after I realized life was going to be pretty hard for an uneducated woman; teaching was a career that practically fell into my lap.
I was lured in by the promise of 190 days of service, sprinkled with 3 days off for Thanksgiving, two weeks off for Christmas, one week off in the Spring, two and a half months off for the summer, and your random national holiday; not a bad gig for an English major.
I started substitute teaching in the Spring following graduation. When I saw how “easy” the teachers had it, I thought “This is fucking awesome.” So let me get this straight- you show up for work, any time between 7:30 and 8:00; you are off by 3:30, five days a week? This is what God wants me to do.
The old adage goes “The best laid plans of mice and men, gang aft agley.” In other words: No matter how much planning you do, things don’t always work out the way you plan. This seems to be the motto of my life. So, with my dreams of becoming the world’s greatest American author shelved, for the time being, I began the honorable quest of becoming a teacher.
PACE is a tedious, three year course designed to turn average, degree holding people into teachers. Because of a teacher shortage in South Carolina, PACE allows you to fulfill all the state requirements for teaching in a series of 2 two week intensive training sessions. The training sessions were intense, and I use this term loosely; after the sessions are over, you are given an official “temporary” certification, a pat on the back, and a friendly wave. CONGRATULATIONS! You are a teacher…a teacher. You are responsible for the education of no less than 70 students.
Armed with my week of lesson plans, a Shakespeare poster, Walt Whitman’s “Leaves of Grass,” and a pack of number two pencils; I walked into my classroom for the first time. For inspiration, I watched “Dead Poets Society” the entire week before school started. I was going to change young minds through poetry and prose. I was going to have them standing on desks and, in unison, they would sing “O' CAPTIAN, MY CAPTIAN!” It was going to be beautiful!
On the outside of my door I smoothed the freshly printed room sign that read:Ms. G’s Room English II. It had a boarder around it with pictures of Emerson, Thoreau, Whitman, and Shakespeare. Beside the room sign, I hung little thought bubbles that had famous quotes meant to inspire and motivate the students. I bought colored chalk and on the board I wrote, in multiple colors: WELCOME TO TENTH GRADE. This was going to be The Best Year Ever! I was going to be that teacher who was voted “Teacher of the Year” her very first year!
I decided that all summer, since I would not be working anyway, I would attend seminars to educate other less motivating, teachers on how to be as exceptional and awesome as I. While my mind danced with ideas and delusions of grandeur, I slicked my freshly pressed khaki slacks and pinched a piece of lint from my button up red shirt. I straightened my teacher badge and checked my hair once more in my compact. I pressed my lips together to refresh my lip gloss, the new Cover Girl Long Last that I had purchased special for only this day, and just as I brushed a stray hair away from my eyes the very first bell rang. Come to me eager minds, let me show you all that is LITERATURE!
I was lured in by the promise of 190 days of service, sprinkled with 3 days off for Thanksgiving, two weeks off for Christmas, one week off in the Spring, two and a half months off for the summer, and your random national holiday; not a bad gig for an English major.
I started substitute teaching in the Spring following graduation. When I saw how “easy” the teachers had it, I thought “This is fucking awesome.” So let me get this straight- you show up for work, any time between 7:30 and 8:00; you are off by 3:30, five days a week? This is what God wants me to do.
The old adage goes “The best laid plans of mice and men, gang aft agley.” In other words: No matter how much planning you do, things don’t always work out the way you plan. This seems to be the motto of my life. So, with my dreams of becoming the world’s greatest American author shelved, for the time being, I began the honorable quest of becoming a teacher.
PACE is a tedious, three year course designed to turn average, degree holding people into teachers. Because of a teacher shortage in South Carolina, PACE allows you to fulfill all the state requirements for teaching in a series of 2 two week intensive training sessions. The training sessions were intense, and I use this term loosely; after the sessions are over, you are given an official “temporary” certification, a pat on the back, and a friendly wave. CONGRATULATIONS! You are a teacher…a teacher. You are responsible for the education of no less than 70 students.
Armed with my week of lesson plans, a Shakespeare poster, Walt Whitman’s “Leaves of Grass,” and a pack of number two pencils; I walked into my classroom for the first time. For inspiration, I watched “Dead Poets Society” the entire week before school started. I was going to change young minds through poetry and prose. I was going to have them standing on desks and, in unison, they would sing “O' CAPTIAN, MY CAPTIAN!” It was going to be beautiful!
On the outside of my door I smoothed the freshly printed room sign that read:Ms. G’s Room English II. It had a boarder around it with pictures of Emerson, Thoreau, Whitman, and Shakespeare. Beside the room sign, I hung little thought bubbles that had famous quotes meant to inspire and motivate the students. I bought colored chalk and on the board I wrote, in multiple colors: WELCOME TO TENTH GRADE. This was going to be The Best Year Ever! I was going to be that teacher who was voted “Teacher of the Year” her very first year!
I decided that all summer, since I would not be working anyway, I would attend seminars to educate other less motivating, teachers on how to be as exceptional and awesome as I. While my mind danced with ideas and delusions of grandeur, I slicked my freshly pressed khaki slacks and pinched a piece of lint from my button up red shirt. I straightened my teacher badge and checked my hair once more in my compact. I pressed my lips together to refresh my lip gloss, the new Cover Girl Long Last that I had purchased special for only this day, and just as I brushed a stray hair away from my eyes the very first bell rang. Come to me eager minds, let me show you all that is LITERATURE!
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