The first time I walked into a seventh grade classroom, as the teacher-not the student, I thought to myself, "now this is what I'm supposed to be doing with my life." I loved the smell of the erasable markers. I loved the three bulletin boards, all mine to decorate. I loved the desk where my own apples and inspirational quotes would sit proudly, urging my students to succeed. To put it mildly, I was hooked on the idea of being a teacher. Ironically, what I would learn that first day of school would reinforce my determination to become the best teacher I could be, but in a much different manner than I first expected.
The October air was not even a little bit cool in Jacksonville, FL as I drove my then-boyfriend's (now husband) Jeep Wrangler to the back door of building B at Kernan Middle School. I was loaded up with boxes and bags full of "teacher things" I had spent the weekend acquiring at Target, Wal*Mart, and Dollar Tree. I was positive that my "I've been caught doing something good" sticky's and "Get out of Homework free" passes were going to be a hit. Not only would I be the youngest teacher, at a mere 22, but I would be far-and-away the coolest teacher KMS had ever seen. As playing school had been a favorite childhood game of mine, I was sure I had this teaching thing "in the bag," as they say.
I would have five classes of thirty-six students each and one co-teacher for the students with exceptionalities. We were already eight weeks into the school year. Eight weeks during which these five classes, now mine, had been run by a teacher who had a mental break down followed by various substitutes, all of which had run screaming after one day. In my innocent mind I figured all these kids needed was a teacher who would love them, nurture their strengths, not dwell on their weaknesses, and smile all the time. Don't get me wrong - I was a smart, tough cookie but it was my bleeding heart that had led me to this particular school, this particular situation.
When the warning bell rang, it was like a whoosh of electricity surged through the one-level hallway. Kids literally ran screaming, tossing, jumping, cursing, laughing, and crying down the corridor while I stood at my door utterly terrified. It's just Monday morning jitters, I told myself. I don't think I was so much scared of the kids as I was of the fact that my perception of "being a teacher" was critically different than what I realized I was about to experience.
In my first period class I politely asked Miranda to pick her head up and open her eyes as sleeping was for our beds, not our desks. She responded back with a not-so-polite, "f**k you" which took her on a trip to the principals office.
In my third period class I asked Nathan to stay at his seat instead of continually popping up and down to see what was going on at everyone else's desk but his own. His loud and powerful response was, "you're not the boss of me" as he proceeded to launch his whole desk at my head. Student number two to the principal's office.
In my fourth period class, right after lunch, Junior told me, "we've scared off nine other teachers, see I've kept count," and showed me a tally (including names and number of days) of each teacher this group had been through in eight short weeks. My response to him was, "keep my name off that list buddy because I'm here to stay!"
A lesser woman would have cracked by this point.
As the day wore on and I was the recipient of more obscenities than it would be polite to reproduce, more objects were lobbed in my direction, and more comments were made about my staying power as their teacher, I became more and more determined to win over the whole lot of them. The sad truth was becoming evident - all my gimmicks were for naught - these students would have to be persuaded by strict teaching, tireless effort to engage, and a caring demeanor.
When my sixth and final class was about to begin, I actually had a two-minute window where the class before had packed up quickly enough and the next class hadn't finished goofing around at their lockers yet. A veteran KMS teacher recommended that I line each class up outside my classroom and so as to have them enter in an orderly manner. I was taking a quick breather to collect myself at the end of a trying day and even though I was sure I wanted to be a teacher, I was feeling beaten down by the mayhem. The next class was lined up at the door. I could hear them jostling books and slapping backpacks around as they waited restlessly. The door of my classroom creaked open and as I began to say, "not just yet," a tiny, squeaky voice exclaimed - "teacher's got booty!" and then slammed the door. Now as I was only 22 and in my pre-baby body, I was pretty sure that "teacher's got booty" was meant to be a direct compliment of a certain body part. I could hear the rest of the class, we're talking thirty-five other twelve-year olds, start to giggle in the way where they knew something inappropriate had taken place but it was too funny not to laugh. For whatever reason, it was okay to shout expletives at me, but talking about my butt was off-limits. For a minute I thought that's it, I'm outta here. No pre-teen boy whose voice hasn't changed should be noticing my booty, much less talking about it but then something happened. I started to laugh. I laughed and laughed and laughed my way right over to the door where I greeted them all merrily and welcomed them into their new English classroom. We had a great class and word of the infamous "teacher's got booty" comment quickly spread through 7B. By the next day I had earned a new level of respect because instead of flipping out, which they figured would be the normal adult reaction, I found it funny. And I laughed.
From that moment on, things changed. I realized that being a good teacher meant paying attention to what students really want you to hear and figuring out ways to make the learning fun. Laughing instead of reprimanding taught me that middle school was a place of intensity but also a place of innocence. Once I learned to tap into that innocence that still existed, I would be able to be the best teacher I could be. If not for "teacher's got booty," I may not have found the success that I enjoyed as a middle school teacher for many years after that first day.
T.O. Getting ready for a full-blown tantrum?
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