My First Year of Teaching
Education consumed a large part of my life. Though I am retired, memories surround me like a blanket that gives me comfort. Memories of my first year have lingered the longest. I guess firsts often do. I wasn’t a young first-year teacher. I waited for the realization that my children would someday find lives of their own. I feared that I would miss them so much that I might go crazy, therefore, I did the crazy thing first and became a teacher.
As I think back, I realize that even at the age of thirty-eight, a mother of two children can be very naive. I thought college had prepared me for my new career, and after all, I loved children, what more could I need? Indeed!
I found I wasn’t really prepared to teach a class of thirty-four sixth graders in a small rural school in southwest Ohio, after all. It wasn’t just the classroom that sat on the third floor of the old school building and the three flights of steps I would carry my heavy bags of supplies and books to each day. It wasn’t the lack of air conditioning and the sweltering heat in August that poured through the six very tall windows that lined one wall of the classroom. Or the wafting stench from the plastic producing factory that sat in a direct line with our classroom windows. After all, my room had a 12-foot chalkboard on the other three walls. I could teach from all sides of the room. I had numerous bulletin boards to maintain with every changing season, and there were 2 electrical outlets on opposing walls. Not a problem since cell phones weren’t the most used learning tool in the classroom, yet. And did I mention there was only one set of bathrooms on the basement floor of the building? If you are not a teacher, you can only guess the complications that presented. Right, after several students “lost their way” back to the classroom and other teachers complained, we made lots of class visits to the bathroom. It was usually after the 5th child asked to go, that I knew there would be no point in continuing the lesson until everyone had a chance to go. We went together.
All of that did not matter, because I was given the opportunity to teach thirty-four lovely children who would worship me and the ground that I walked on when we met. Did I say I was nieve? Being a first- year teacher is a blessing of sorts. You actually have no class to compare your first class to. Therefore, there is no benchmark for expectations. I was excited about every discovery I made and exhausted to realize many of the things I learned in books, did not apply to real children. I had not read the expert who said, to be successful, the average classroom size should be limited to 23-25 children. However, it became apparent to the principal that I needed help and he split off some of my students to provide a second Science class and Math class as well. Now my self-contained classroom looked more like the junior high classes. Two reluctant teachers gave up one of their three planning periods to accept these students. Who by the way, unbeknownst to me, had a reputation that preceded them.
I later heard that the 5th-grade teacher waited until this class arrived for a surgical procedure to remove an organ. I learned that teachers are excellent planners from the years of practice in planning lessons. She had planned for some time to get six weeks off during that school year. I had heard my first class referred to as FFA students. I thought FFA stood for Future Farmers of America, coming from a rural community and all. But I later learned, when referencing my first class, FFA also stood for Future Felons of America. I soon found out the true identity of this class.
I also learned that a new teacher can give a different perspective to teaching, that veterans sometimes lack. When labels are removed and optimism (naivete) is in place, many good things can happen. I found my first year was challenging, but also a playground for experimenting with ideas and strategies that worked for this group of children. I met up with medical problems like ADHD and food allergies, and dysfunctional families, caring and neglectful parents, tired and hungry children, those who lacked sleep for various reasons, notwithstanding spousal abuse of a parent, and siblings raising siblings. The list of discoveries grew longer with each of my 25 years of teaching, but most existed within the one classroom of special first class students. I grew to love them all.
I discovered the biggest responsible job of a lifetime. Forming the lives of our future citizens into responsible and caring people. Academics were important, but building character played a bigger role in my job. I have many stories to tell about my first year of teaching, but the biggest story for me was the way teaching changed me. I also discovered that I had many lessons to learn.
I remember the last day of school and feeling embarrassed and afraid to see that I might be the only teacher with tears in her eyes as I waved goodbye to the buses that left and the students who had changed my life forever.
The poem, First Class Students, on the following page was written in memory of that class.
