Musings of a New-Again Teacher

Abstract

AS I WRITE this column, Halloween remains two weeks away. But our third-grade classroom is already filled to overflowing with black-and- orange paper chains, bats and vampires and witches galore, and jack-o'- lanterns drawn in every imaginable shape and size. We still have to make scarecrows, stuffed paper people dressed in Halloween costumes; a frightening door mural; and individually carved jack-o'-lanterns. There are also many scare stories to be written, laminated, and framed. And, of course, there is the party. Plans for the best Halloween party ever are constantly developed and revised. I note that each evolution includes large amounts of sugar and increasingly elaborate costumes. Now, I'm an experienced teacher. I know there is surprising joy in orange-and-black chains and bats made of toilet paper rolls. I know the sparkle in a child's eye and the sense of power in her voice when she creates a new variation on the standard decorative fare. I know that the patience of Job is required to get through the holiday roller coaster that is October, November, and December. I've taught preservice teachers about it. I've mused with practicing teachers about it. But living what I know, or what I think I know, is quite different from memories, notions, and theories. I hadn't begun a new school year with children since 1985. So I was unbelievably hyper -- actually more like a madwoman -- when that big first day finally came. I wanted to do every single thing possible to make sure our day was successful. I had gotten rid of the teacher's desk, added a carpet for morning meetings, and found enough tables to set up five centers. I had done all I could. I was worried and excited when the first child crossed the threshold into the space we would share for 180 days. This room is really colorful, Saffie said. What do you think of that? I asked. sometimes I think too much color can overwhelm you. But this is balanced. My feet began to melt under me. Well, I said, about if we start out like this, and if the color doesn't work for us we can change it? She agreed. I noticed my palms were sweating. Even with the confidence-shaking beginning, I've had a pretty successful first quarter. With Saffie's guidance, our class has morphed into a comfortable living and working space. The walls are filled with children's work, our systems and expectations have become articulated, and the children can make good choices about how learning will take place. They are finally beginning to understand that they can have fun and learn, something that took a surprising amount of work to attain and requires constant attention to maintain. As for me, I have managed to find the teachers' rest room. My feet have stopped aching all day. I've learned to use the laminating machine without catching my shirt in the rollers (if you have seen the Three Stooges, you can probably visualize that experience). I can, most of the time, use the computerized attendance system. I understand the field trip policy and the different roles the administrators play. The lesson plans are killing me. They take hours, and the week's plan must be turned in each Monday morning. I can usually follow Monday's plan and make only minor alterations for Tuesday. But by Wednesday I have learned so much more about what the children need that alterations and shifts make the plans written the previous Saturday seem irrelevant. And there are still things I just don't get about school. For example, the lines! Who in this world came up with the idea the children should walk in straight, single-file lines everywhere they go? It just goes against nature. But in our school it is important, so we try. In that trying, I often feel like a sheepdog herding my little flock to music or art or recess and everywhere else, barking if they get out of line, nipping at their heels to keep them together. …