The First Days of School

I’ve gotten three emails today, complaining about my poor blog. So…here’s what I wrote last Sunday (when I promised I would write). I didn’t quite get it finished, and then I got whisked off to “Green School”, a WEEK-LONG all-school retreat (aka, five days of 24/7 babysitting). Anyway, I had no computer and no internet last week, so I got a little behind.

********

Three years ago, I completed a Masters degree in Secondary English Education. While I enjoyed the program, my student teaching experience was a nightmare. I had two classes of 36 eighth graders in a New York City public school and a cooperating teacher with whom I did not cooperate. Her classroom was one of yelling, harsh disciplining, and singling students out. She was constantly telling me I wasn't being hard enough on the students, when to me, a classroom is not a place for yelling. There's no part of learning that requires yelling. I finished up my student teaching feeling like I hadn't done my best. I was too busy with my coursework to devote any real time to planning; I hated teaching with my cooperating teacher constantly watching me; I went to bed every night and woke up every morning with dread. And if there's one thing of which I am certain, it is that a person's job should not involve daily doses of dread.

And so, when I started working – initially temporarily – as an administrative assistant at a financial recruiting company in New York, I felt relief. I had my life back. I could leave work at the end of the day and stop thinking. I could wake up in the morning and look forward to the day ahead. I could go to the gym, have dinners with my friends, and importantly, I enjoyed a great deal of responsibility at my job, and I felt valued. I had daily doses of praise from my boss. You’re doing a great job, Ellen. Please stay with us. So I did.

Of course, a year and a half later found me fleeing to South America. Work had offered me a promotion, and I wasn’t ready to see my life as a financial recruiter. I had never in my life been remotely interested in finance. The culture nauseated me, but more to the point, the job wasn’t me. It just made no sense.

Teaching has always made sense to me. I’ve always wanted to do something that encourages others to love learning the way I did, growing up (even though I was never an “academic” type). I’ve always wanted to do something that was meaningful and that I could walk away from feeling like I’d at least tried to do something useful for the rest of the world. “Ahhhh, so you’re a keener,” a fellow teacher – and a Canadian – said to me just today. (I guess this is some weird Canadian way of saying you’re idealistic.)

I felt guilty about leaving my Masters degree unused. And when I started looking for jobs at the beginning of this summer, I just HAD to get a teaching job. I knew that if I didn’t try teaching this year, I would likely never get around to it, and that would be something I wouldn’t be able to live with. When I got offered this job in Warsaw, I was elated. I was finally going to be given a chance to tackle this teaching thing I’d been toying around with for so many years. And I was determined to do it right.

Tuesday (Sept. 1) was technically "the first day of school" but didn't require much effort on anyone's part, save the parents, who were expected to be present. We had an all school Welcome To School assembly, at which students met and sat with their homeroom teachers; both the headmistress and the owner of the school gave formal remarks; teachers were introduced; and, of course, parents were treated to a lovely reception afterward.

The parents of this school are a sight. They have money, and they make sure it's obvious to anyone who looks at them. It's gaudy wealth. L.A. wealth. European wealth. It's Coco Chanel sunglasses and huge D&G handbags. It's manicured nails and skimpy clothing. And that's just the mothers. It's a private school, so I expected some overt displays of wealth, but I was genuinely shocked at the tackiness of it all. I actually saw one woman pushing a baby in a stroller, wearing a dark red, flapper-style, mini-dress, complete with layers of fringe. It was noon. Ah, we can't all be as tasteful as everyone at Harpeth Hall, I know.

After the festivities, a large group of teachers organized themselves to go out for a few drinks. I was torn. I still felt like I was not at all ready for the real first day, but I did feel it was important to try to get to know my fellow teachers. One beer couldn't hurt, right? Well, of course I had two, and by the time I got home at 6 PM, I realized I had asked for yet another meltdown. And the worst thing about this particular meltdown was that I couldn't blame anyone else for it. I was furious with myself. Ellen! This was important to you. You were going to do this the right way. This was not how you were going to start the year.

So I gave myself a few slaps on the cheek, banished all of those feelings of self-loathing, and set to work. I stayed up til 1:30 AM.

My dear friend (and a teacher), Melissa, gave me a book called The First Days of School right before I left Nashville in August. Read this book, she told me. Read it over and over until it all sinks in, she told me. If you do everything this book says, you will be fine. But I beg of you, she said, read this book. Generally, I think how-to books are silly, but I read this book. I took notes about the importance of organization and routine. I went over and over the sections on classroom management. Good classroom managers, the book said, do not have to be disciplinarians.

Wednesday morning, my first class walked into the classroom. I had a syllabus for them, outlining the grading procedures for the class and the materials they would need. I had a detailed list of classroom procedures (what to do when you enter the classroom, what to do if you come in late, what to do if you need to go to the bathroom, what to do if you don’t have your homework, etc.). I had a short list of classroom rules – and consequences. I had a seating chart prepared, and I had name-markers on those desks, so those students didn’t need to ask. I welcomed those students at the door. I told them to find their seat and get started on the assignment on the board. And let me tell you something. The first bell rang for the class to begin, and my students were sitting quietly, in their assigned seats, and they were WRITING! They were working. I was exhausted, but I took in the situation and thought, YES! This is exactly what was supposed to happen.

I had just three days of classes that week, but I had met all of my students by Friday, and I felt really positive about the task at hand. That’s all I’m going to say for the moment. I know I haven’t gotten to any of the fun details yet (like how naughty/charming/silly my students are), but I will get there, I promise. You just cannot imagine how busy and chaotic and exhausting the last two weeks have been! And the internet I got for my apartment (another story) isn’t working very well. So. Complications, as usual. But keep harassing me with emails. It actually helps.

Love to you all.