Tomorrow is not the First Day of School . . . for me
I’m so grateful for the many students I have had the honor to teach. Relationships matter.
I miss teaching teenagers. Tonight is School Eve, the night before all the students arrive. In years past, on this night, I have been frantic. I rearrange desks at the last minute. I wait to make copies until my contract hours are at their end because I know I want to tweak my disclosure statement right until the last moment.
In years past, I have seen that same disclosure statement morph into something entirely new. Add a wiki address. Add a QR code. Delete my late work policy. Delete my cell phone policy. Simplify it to one page. Take away the signature spot. Email it to parents and forgo photocopies altogether.
The first day, too, has shifted. Go over rules, policies and procedure? Yes. Once. It seemed most important. Talk about me? Yes. I had plenty to say, just out of college. Most recently: a writing pre-assessment. On day one. A Nearpod that lets students reflect on their proficiency on each of the five language standards. A grid that shows students a roadmap of their standards for the year. And most importantly, don’t worry about what is said on day one. Instead, take those few precious minutes, those first moments that we are together, to LISTEN. Students will build the first day if you give them a chance, and my stress disappears as I lean more into what they want and need from the very beginning.
Today, I lunched with my best teacher friend. Over Honey Chicken and white rice, we brainstormed what her day one looks like. I listened to her plan and then posed one major question: where’s the fun? In her film and literature class, we came up with the idea of having students write on a slip of paper which movie character they most connect with. As an extension, the class can guess who is who.
In World History, students can play “Dinner with a Dead Guy/Gal” and share someone that they would most like to sit down and have a chat with. It can become a writing assignment, a speaking and listening exercise, but more than that, it stands as a chance for her to listen to the pulse of her classroom. I love that pulse. I love looking at a class of students and knowing that they are mine.
There is such an interesting ownership between a teacher and a student. As a teacher, you belong to students. You are THEIR English teacher. You are part of THEIR freshman experience. And they are yours. I am as fiercely protective of my students as any mama bear would be. They are mine. They are smart and kind and wonderful because they are mine. My students are better than your students because they are mine.
Tonight, on School Eve, I feel strangely quiet. No one is anticipating entering my classroom in the morning. I don’t have a classroom anymore. As I sleep tonight, I will not have dreams or nightmares about tomorrow because the beautiful anxiety of a new school year will not keep me awake tonight.
I will miss that. I miss it already.
I miss teaching teenagers. Tonight is School Eve, the night before all the students arrive. In years past, on this night, I have been frantic. I rearrange desks at the last minute. I wait to make copies until my contract hours are at their end because I know I want to tweak my disclosure statement right until the last moment.
In years past, I have seen that same disclosure statement morph into something entirely new. Add a wiki address. Add a QR code. Delete my late work policy. Delete my cell phone policy. Simplify it to one page. Take away the signature spot. Email it to parents and forgo photocopies altogether.
The first day, too, has shifted. Go over rules, policies and procedure? Yes. Once. It seemed most important. Talk about me? Yes. I had plenty to say, just out of college. Most recently: a writing pre-assessment. On day one. A Nearpod that lets students reflect on their proficiency on each of the five language standards. A grid that shows students a roadmap of their standards for the year. And most importantly, don’t worry about what is said on day one. Instead, take those few precious minutes, those first moments that we are together, to LISTEN. Students will build the first day if you give them a chance, and my stress disappears as I lean more into what they want and need from the very beginning.
Today, I lunched with my best teacher friend. Over Honey Chicken and white rice, we brainstormed what her day one looks like. I listened to her plan and then posed one major question: where’s the fun? In her film and literature class, we came up with the idea of having students write on a slip of paper which movie character they most connect with. As an extension, the class can guess who is who.
In World History, students can play “Dinner with a Dead Guy/Gal” and share someone that they would most like to sit down and have a chat with. It can become a writing assignment, a speaking and listening exercise, but more than that, it stands as a chance for her to listen to the pulse of her classroom. I love that pulse. I love looking at a class of students and knowing that they are mine.
There is such an interesting ownership between a teacher and a student. As a teacher, you belong to students. You are THEIR English teacher. You are part of THEIR freshman experience. And they are yours. I am as fiercely protective of my students as any mama bear would be. They are mine. They are smart and kind and wonderful because they are mine. My students are better than your students because they are mine.
Tonight, on School Eve, I feel strangely quiet. No one is anticipating entering my classroom in the morning. I don’t have a classroom anymore. As I sleep tonight, I will not have dreams or nightmares about tomorrow because the beautiful anxiety of a new school year will not keep me awake tonight.
I will miss that. I miss it already.
