Reflection

I took a graduate course for teaching writing in the primary grades this week, and our first assignment was to reflect on either our first year of teaching or the reason we became teachers in the first place. I had such a bad first year that I really didn't want to write about it, but we took a vote and majority ruled. The worst part was that the instructor was going to reproduce them and pass every single story back to each of us in a book.

Writing it was really emotional for me, and I was incredibly uncomfortable sharing my feelings with 37 strangers, but I found that putting it down on paper helped me to work through some of it. I had to be vague in the details, as I don't know who knows who in this town, and I didn't want to point fingers or name names for obvious reasons, but it was still quite therapeutic.

As you know, I've been struggling with my decision to become a teacher, and trying to figure out if I should stick with it or take some time off to explore other paths. This class got me excited to get back into a classroom, but at the same time made me feel incredibly sad that I don't have a school to call home, and probably won't for several years. Needless to say, I'm torn. My heart wants a teaching job more than anything, but my brain is telling me to be sensible and let it go, at least for now. The next few weeks will determine my path, so I guess we'll see.

So here's my reflection. I've been so wrapped up in this class that I really have nothing else to post, so here it is. And there's no swears, if you can believe it.


~~~~~~~~~

It was Halloween when I got the call to interview for a position. I’d already had several interviews, and was quite discouraged at my apparent inability to impress anybody. I walked into the interview with full expectations of yet another failure, but with the faint hope in the back of my mind that maybe this would be the one.

The interview itself was a blur…I couldn’t tell you exactly who was there, or the questions that were asked, but I do remember the principal asking me to tell the panel a little bit about myself. Ah, the dreaded open-ended question, probably the downfall of many a candidate. I swallowed hard, and paused for a moment to think. What should I share? What tone of voice should I use? What can I say to impress? I should have gotten a manicure, why didn’t I get a manicure? I had answered all of the other questions well, and knew that the whole interview was hinging on this one last response. I put my hands in my lap to hide the telltale shakes and unpolished nails, and just started talking.

I talked about my education and work experience, why I became a teacher, and why I love it so much…I don’t think it was very eloquent, but it was honest and from the heart. I wrapped it up with a statement that summed up my feelings at that exact moment.

“I know I can do a lot of good. I just need someone to take a chance on me.”

No sooner had I walked in the door that my phone started ringing. I was hired. I cried, called my grandmother, and then headed straight to Staples. Now I didn’t really need anything at Staples, but damn it, I was a teacher, and that’s just where teachers go. I signed up for my Teacher Rewards discount card and proudly put the bright orange tag on my key chain. I was finally official.

Within weeks, excitement and exhilaration were replaced by feelings of frustration, confusion, exasperation and anger. Now don’t misunderstand…none of this was directed at or a result of my students, but was a side effect of the unique position and situation into which I was placed. My students were the only reason that I had to come back every day, and I focused on them as hard as I could to distract myself from the adult sources of my frustration.

I would pore over students' records to gain insight that would help me reach my most challenged students, only to have my suggestions and concerns overruled and dismissed. I would spend hours on a big poster, or cutting out extra large manipulatives for a child with fine motor issues to use during math only to have my lesson cut from the day’s activities. No matter how much I wanted to pull my hair out or simply run out of the building screaming, I put on a smile and rolled with the punches. I may have been unhappy in my situation, but I was determined that my students would NOT suffer because of it.

My decision to stick with it paid off. I learned more from the children that year than I learned in any class I’ve taken, or from any veteran teacher I’ve known. They taught me about patience and kindness, and kept me from breaking down and crying many a day with simple gestures (Don’t you just love those cards that you get on lined paper with the stick figures and stilted cursive?) and unspoken thank-you’s. Those breakthrough, “OOOOOHHHHHH, now I get it!” moments spurred me on and kept me focused. I was reminded that I was there for them, and nobody else. I was doing good. There’s nothing in the world that’s better than that feeling.

I finished my year, and walked out of the building on that last day of school with my arms full of boxes, clumsily moving toward an uncertain future. I had no job lined up for the fall, and probably should have been worrying about that, but I filled up the trunk, sat down in my car and smiled to myself.

“Someone took a chance on me, and I did a lot of good.”

Mission accomplished.