My first two days of teaching this year were glorious. I was sure that I had become an electric being. Not only had my activities gone well, but I had become a tough disciplinarian. Like Harry Wong, I chose to be a smiling teacher, one that was excited to be in the classroom, not this stern warden that didn’t smile for 2 months. I did my best to let my students know I was there for them, and that I wanted to get to know them, but I was also able to switch into an authority figure when they got too loud or began talking too much. My teaching highlight of the week was when I called down some seniors for leaving campus before their lunch passes were ready. I went from being a meek and timid teacher of freshman to a second year teacher drunk with authority. To top it all off, that Friday night, because of a mistake in directions, I ended up at dinner, alone, with the cute new science teacher. Then, as if things couldn’t go my way any further, I was on TV, seen in the background of Friday Football Fever.
Before the year began, I was informed by central office that my students had exceeded expectations on their test scores. Even if this was some ploy to boost my self-esteem, as I suspect it was, it had the desired effect and I was pleased. It’s not that my kids passed the EOC, it was just that, on the whole, they showed great improvement. This made me happy, but it also worried me. This year they would expect results. I didn’t relish the thought of having to duplicate results. I liked laboring under no expectations or beating low expectations. I excel at laziness.
My school is going through upheavals like never imagined. Principals are leaving left and right and we replaced 3/5 of our science department. There are tons of new teachers at the school. Last year there was just me; suffering alone in my room with only seasoned experts to guide me, no one save a student teacher that arrived in January to confide in. This year they were a unit, lots of them to rely on and share their burdens with, and I was determined to be there for them in any way they needed me.
The new teachers showed up after the first day with faces that must have mirrored mine. They looked as if bombs had gone off inches from their faces, blinded them with shrapnel, and deafened them with noise. Meanwhile, I was capable of doing a tango in the sky. I felt like it was my duty to look in on them, guide them, and help them. What I couldn’t offer them in real help; I could at least be a sympathetic ear. I was living proof things got better. In class on Saturday, I told all the new teachers that everything gets better, shinier, and faster in your second year. This was to be my new calling, a shepherd of new teachers. Of course, it didn’t hurt that the two teachers I checked on the most were blond cuties. Yes, yes I am sexist and awful.
My two days of glory extended beyond the classroom walls. My confidence on the battlefield of pedagogy transferred to my civilian life as well. Saturday continued my good fortunes as another beautiful woman was in my teaching class. She also taught in Alamance County and had a shock of beautiful red hair. Instead of staying from 9-4, we got out at 10:30, and I spent the afternoon with another delightful woman.
I can see how this is a bit personal and more than most people want to read about me. I’m also aware that I’m bragging very much, but after my first year of teaching I felt strange. I had crossed the finish line, but that was all I had felt I had done. I spent the summer in denial about having to go back work, and a vague feeling that things would be different or better, but mostly I thought I would fall into a sophomore slump. Also, my personal life and become a roller coaster ending in a bitter break up with a woman that had stood by in my long dark nights of the soul. I had one more class to take to obtain my license and I flip-flopped between giving up, giving it another go, and even pushing for my masters. In the end, I was too lazy and scared to find a new job. If nothing else, I knew that if economic times turned worse and there was no other job I could find, if I had my license I could always teach. Being practical about it, I knew I had a job at my school and great co-workers and support staff.
The last Sunday before I had to report back for teacher workdays I went swimming with my family in my parent’s pool. While swimming, I put on goggles and opened my eyes under water since the first time since I began swimming with contacts in my eyes. All summer swimming had felt like sensory deprivation, as I would curl up fetally, eyes closed and hover between the pool bottom and the real world. Now, I felt a sense of calm as I watched my niece and nephew glide under water like child super beings. I too knew what it was like to have the feeling of swimming as flying, but now I could see in 20/20 vision. I took a deep breath and knew this year would also be a plunge.
Once I was back at school and it felt great to be there. My room looked better than ever, and I came to discover I truly liked my school and my co-workers. Once teaching began, I realized my first year of teaching had sent me through the siege perilous, like some Arthurian knight, and I was remade a sharp katana forged in the heart of the sun. I knew I was zooming close to that same, life giving sun on wax wings, but I hoped and prayed I wouldn’t have that Sunday morning comedown. I didn’t. It happened on Monday.
I was wired on Monday morning with an activity designed, I thought, to bolster my students’ self esteem and let them know I was compassionate and caring for them. My students were tired and seemed to miss my point. I wanted to talk about failure, how first we must fail before we can succeed. I think the only thing they caught was that they would fail. Each block handled the lesson with less enthusiasm as their eyes rolled and heads dropped to their desk as my Tavis Smiley NPR interview played out its 6 minutes of forever. Then, they took their grammar pre-test, which they all failed. At lunch duty I felt awkward and unable to find the commanding voice I had so easily possessed a few days before. The other new teachers, of which I had become self-appointed protector/leader, had similar days. Instead of being their guide and listening to them, I screwed up and blabbed about how my teaching experiences had been and pretended to be a teacher capable of leaping a tall building in a single bound.
Tuesday was a bit better, but each day featured its varying degrees of failure. Not sending a kid out here or poor classroom management there. Reality had set in, looks like I was Peter Parker after all. Still, I was a better teacher. That much was true. I knew I couldn’t maintain the energy of my two glorious days forever, and I was somewhat glad the comedown came quickly. As I said to my mom, “If Monday is the worst day I have all year, this is going to be an amazing year.” It should be noted that my defeat on Monday was not a soul crushing blow, but simply not a spectacular landing. It all seemed bad in the hindsight of such an amazing early start. In fact, last year, that Monday would have obliterated me, left me lying awake at 3am dreading work, and wondering how I would escape my job/ death trap. Now, the bullets bounced off, and I was determined to not let my optimism waver.
On Friday night, as I trudged home at half time from a football game my school would end up losing, I was told by an AP that I had become the model for all the new teachers. My heroic arc of starting off bad to getting better would be there’s to follow as well. The APs could already tell I had grown as a teacher. I still don’t have much figured out, but I do have a lot of confidence on my side. Confidence that took a swift beating as each of the women from the previous week turned out to be married, with boyfriend, deny me, or simply not interested. I was back to square one.
The week stretched on to infinity and by Friday at 3:20, I limped across the finish line blistered, bruised, and tired. I’ve spent the weekend reading and sleeping in an effort to recover and prepare myself for the long haul to Halloween. I’m attempting to recommit myself to becoming a better teacher as I had planned all along before I got sidetracked with easy success, false shepherding, and cute girls. Maybe I was Peter Parker again, but Peter Parker is still Spider-Man. For two days I rode the madness of the superman Nietzsche had spoken of. I can do it again.
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