The organization sheet is here.
But before I reveal its contents, let me just tell you about the grief it has caused me these past few weeks: I am exhausted. My head hurts. I itch. I couldn't eat at our potluck lunch this afternoon because my stomach was in knots.
So where did I end up? In a second grade classroom of my own (not a CTT class as previously rumored; I think those teachers felt so strongly about co-teaching together next year that they asked my principal to reconsider keeping them together).
People keep asking me, "Are you excited? Are you happy?" The truth is that I'm not, but it's not even completely because I have to give up my (relatively) cushy AIS position for a classroom, or because I'm totally switching gears again for the second year in a row. It's because my administration has been acting like they're the Wizards of Oz these past few weeks, refusing to divulge any information about their decision-making process -- or, come to think of it, any information at all. There are teachers at my school who got called into the principal's office a week ago only to be told that they were moving rooms, but meanwhile there are other teachers who are making huge program changes, to positions they didn't even ask for at all on their preference sheets, and no one in the administration had the courtesy to tell them in person. More than anything else, I feel disrespected, like I'm being slighted for something I don't even know about. You tell me how fabulous I am all year and then boot me for someone who didn't even apply for it? That, as Cynthia Lord's Catherine would say, stinks a big one.
And now, my head is spinning with everything I'll have to do next year. I'm completely overwhelmed...and so totally done with this year that I don't know how I'm going to stand the next few weeks. And don't get me wrong, it's not that I dread the idea of having my own classroom -- I'm already swimming with ideas and plans. I'm ready to see it as a challenge: You want me in a second grade classroom? I'm going to make it the best second grade classroom it can be.
But please, let me have a little summer first. Please.
Showing posts with label decisions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label decisions. Show all posts
Monday, June 15, 2009
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Ain't no cure for the summertime blues
New year, new template...yes, I did say "new year."
This morning I was browsing idealist.org for jobs, and I ran headfirst into the same conundrum I'd faced before I became a teacher: The jobs that sound the most enticing to me are usually looking for former teachers with two years or more of experience. And, as if I was in a dream, I foggily recalled my original plan: Teach for two years or more and then make the move into the non-profit education industry.
So the song remains the same -- "keeping my options open" -- but as we draw closer to August 1 (the date we can begin to spend our $260 in teacher's choice money and my self-appointed deadline to start doing some more concrete planning for the fall), I'm taking a deep breath and adjusting to the idea that I will probably find myself in a classroom in September.
Pros: If I could mold myself into an awesome writing cluster teacher with no direction whatsoever from my administration, I can certainly mold myself into an even more awesome reading teacher with the adminstration breathing down my neck as they tend to do with reading and math instruction; I'm kind of looking forward to going in with my teacher game face on from Day 1 and a behavior/discipline system so firmly established that I won't be taking any crap from any second graders anymore; I already have some ideas on how to incorporate my marathon training into my instruction as motivation for us all.
Cons: My administration could very well switch my job at the last minute, making me rue the day I was born. (In which case, will I suck it up and take the challenge or just quit?) I may not, in fact, have any idea what I'm doing at all, and my cheery optimism could come crashing down in an ugly mess.
But right now? It's summer, and I have some hard-core relaxing to do.
This morning I was browsing idealist.org for jobs, and I ran headfirst into the same conundrum I'd faced before I became a teacher: The jobs that sound the most enticing to me are usually looking for former teachers with two years or more of experience. And, as if I was in a dream, I foggily recalled my original plan: Teach for two years or more and then make the move into the non-profit education industry.
So the song remains the same -- "keeping my options open" -- but as we draw closer to August 1 (the date we can begin to spend our $260 in teacher's choice money and my self-appointed deadline to start doing some more concrete planning for the fall), I'm taking a deep breath and adjusting to the idea that I will probably find myself in a classroom in September.
Pros: If I could mold myself into an awesome writing cluster teacher with no direction whatsoever from my administration, I can certainly mold myself into an even more awesome reading teacher with the adminstration breathing down my neck as they tend to do with reading and math instruction; I'm kind of looking forward to going in with my teacher game face on from Day 1 and a behavior/discipline system so firmly established that I won't be taking any crap from any second graders anymore; I already have some ideas on how to incorporate my marathon training into my instruction as motivation for us all.
Cons: My administration could very well switch my job at the last minute, making me rue the day I was born. (In which case, will I suck it up and take the challenge or just quit?) I may not, in fact, have any idea what I'm doing at all, and my cheery optimism could come crashing down in an ugly mess.
But right now? It's summer, and I have some hard-core relaxing to do.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Options
The other day I applied for a job -- a non-teaching job, still in the field of education. I don't really expect anything to come out of it, and even if something does, I'm fairly sure it pays less than I make now.
Yesterday I went to Fire Island with my parents, and on the way back I stuck my head out of the ferry window (much like a dog riding in a car), and I thought about my decision. What made me go browsing around for other jobs? Would starting all over in a new job be preferable to my second year at my school? Or should I stick it out another year, gain the experience that many jobs are looking for, and then cast my net wider for the kind of job I eventually think I want to do -- something in curriculum development or literacy or media?
There was a time for much of this year when I would have said that there was no way in heaven or on earth that I'd be returning next year, but teaching gets you. It's not because I miss my students or even because I feel a sense of obligation to return to them, but because I know that this is a job at which I could do so much better, a job at which I could improve a lot in the next year. It's a job I know I can be better at, if given the time and the chance.
But I'm still feeling that pull toward other jobs, other paths. I went to graduate school to cultivate a career in children's media -- working for companies like Nickelodeon or Walden Media -- and I feel an unmistakable twinge of envy every time I hear about a fellow alumnus who's gone down that road, while I'm "just" a lowly elementary school teacher.
So we'll see. Right now I'm telling inquisitive acquaintances that I'm "keeping my options open," and of course if my Dream Job makes me an offer over the summer, I would take them up on it in a heartbeat. But at least I'm not feeling the same sense of desperation that I was in the beginning and middle of the year, when I would have taken any job just to get out.
Fortunately, we have a lot of summer left to go.
Yesterday I went to Fire Island with my parents, and on the way back I stuck my head out of the ferry window (much like a dog riding in a car), and I thought about my decision. What made me go browsing around for other jobs? Would starting all over in a new job be preferable to my second year at my school? Or should I stick it out another year, gain the experience that many jobs are looking for, and then cast my net wider for the kind of job I eventually think I want to do -- something in curriculum development or literacy or media?
There was a time for much of this year when I would have said that there was no way in heaven or on earth that I'd be returning next year, but teaching gets you. It's not because I miss my students or even because I feel a sense of obligation to return to them, but because I know that this is a job at which I could do so much better, a job at which I could improve a lot in the next year. It's a job I know I can be better at, if given the time and the chance.
But I'm still feeling that pull toward other jobs, other paths. I went to graduate school to cultivate a career in children's media -- working for companies like Nickelodeon or Walden Media -- and I feel an unmistakable twinge of envy every time I hear about a fellow alumnus who's gone down that road, while I'm "just" a lowly elementary school teacher.
So we'll see. Right now I'm telling inquisitive acquaintances that I'm "keeping my options open," and of course if my Dream Job makes me an offer over the summer, I would take them up on it in a heartbeat. But at least I'm not feeling the same sense of desperation that I was in the beginning and middle of the year, when I would have taken any job just to get out.
Fortunately, we have a lot of summer left to go.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
You say it's your birthday
Martin: "Miss Brave, is it true that I have a big head?"
Miss Brave: "Who said you had a big head?"
Martin: [evasive pause] "...people."
* * *
Yesterday was my birthday! Because I am the kind of person who enjoys a shameless amount of birthday hullabaloo, I made sure all 420 of my students knew about my birthday. To my older students, I read Patricia Polacco's Some Birthday!, and to my younger students, I read Frank Asch's Happy Birthday, Moon. (After we finished reading, one of my hyperactive ESL first graders inexplicably asked where God lives. I believe my eloquent reply went like this: "Uhhhhhhh...that is a very complicated question!" His classmate responded: "In the sky, of course!")
All my self-promotion paid off: Today (I saw none few of my students yesterday because I was in all-day planning for next year -- the best school-related birthday present of all!) my most perceptive students remembered to wish me a happy birthday! Cutest of all, my afterschool group (who has really been hearing about my birthday for ages because one of them had her birthday on Sunday, prompting endless discussions about which one of us would turn 9 first) launched into a rousing chorus of "Happy Birthday to You" when I walked into the quiet room.
I positively adore birthday hullabaloo.
In other news, with only 12 days to go left in the school year, I'm getting more and more indecisive about whether I'm coming back next year. The teacher whose position I'll be filling next year is retiring, and she has been extraordinarily helpful in preparing me -- the kind of support I lacked entirely when I first started at the school. I'm finally forming relationships with the teachers I'll be working with, and our first planning session together left me feeling a tiny bit exhilirated; it was so nice to be working as part of a team, bouncing ideas off each other and snickering at Lucy Caulkins' ridiculously over the top language in the curriculum calendar. At one point, one of my slightly intimidating colleagues said to me, "Everything you do is so ELL-friendly. I love your lessons." I think I may have actually beamed with pleasure.
So, obviously, I haven't told a soul that there's a possibility I won't be back. Awkward!
Miss Brave: "Who said you had a big head?"
Martin: [evasive pause] "...people."
* * *
Yesterday was my birthday! Because I am the kind of person who enjoys a shameless amount of birthday hullabaloo, I made sure all 420 of my students knew about my birthday. To my older students, I read Patricia Polacco's Some Birthday!, and to my younger students, I read Frank Asch's Happy Birthday, Moon. (After we finished reading, one of my hyperactive ESL first graders inexplicably asked where God lives. I believe my eloquent reply went like this: "Uhhhhhhh...that is a very complicated question!" His classmate responded: "In the sky, of course!")
All my self-promotion paid off: Today (I saw none few of my students yesterday because I was in all-day planning for next year -- the best school-related birthday present of all!) my most perceptive students remembered to wish me a happy birthday! Cutest of all, my afterschool group (who has really been hearing about my birthday for ages because one of them had her birthday on Sunday, prompting endless discussions about which one of us would turn 9 first) launched into a rousing chorus of "Happy Birthday to You" when I walked into the quiet room.
I positively adore birthday hullabaloo.
In other news, with only 12 days to go left in the school year, I'm getting more and more indecisive about whether I'm coming back next year. The teacher whose position I'll be filling next year is retiring, and she has been extraordinarily helpful in preparing me -- the kind of support I lacked entirely when I first started at the school. I'm finally forming relationships with the teachers I'll be working with, and our first planning session together left me feeling a tiny bit exhilirated; it was so nice to be working as part of a team, bouncing ideas off each other and snickering at Lucy Caulkins' ridiculously over the top language in the curriculum calendar. At one point, one of my slightly intimidating colleagues said to me, "Everything you do is so ELL-friendly. I love your lessons." I think I may have actually beamed with pleasure.
So, obviously, I haven't told a soul that there's a possibility I won't be back. Awkward!
Friday, May 23, 2008
Choices
I'm not sure how to break this news, but, um...
I might be coming back next year.
The worst thing about being a cluster teacher in my first year was that I was totally alone. I shared my office with another cluster teacher, who has been very kind to me, in the library with the librarian, who is also very nice, but I was still the only one of my kind. I didn't have common preps or lunch with other teachers on my grade because I didn't have a grade. Planning meetings about math or reading at faculty meetings and grade conferences weren't relevant to me because I didn't teach math or reading. My mentor never mentored me, and there was no one I could ask for advice about my position because it had never existed before and no one thought to tell me what to do with it.
But since I've been assigned to second grade AIS, I've felt more like I'm potentially part of a team. The other AIS teachers have welcomed me ("I hear you're joining us next year!") and so have the second grade teachers ("Hello, fellow second grade teacher!"). In my mailbox today I found a 2008-2009 TCRWP (Teachers' College Reading and Writing Project) curriculum calendar for second grade, addressed to "All Classroom and AIS Teachers," something I never would have gotten my hands on as a writing cluster teacher. Suddenly I felt the warmth of recognition: Someone actually thought to put a relevant document in my mailbox! I exist!
I already know the vast majority of kids I'd be servicing next year, and on the whole they're a good group. I would work with a group of no more than eight students at a time, and as a push-in teacher I would rarely be in the classroom alone (no more getting in the middle of fights between eight-year-olds). I would get really, really good at teaching reading (is there a better story in the world than the daughter of a librarian growing up to be a reading teacher?). I would, for the first time, get to go to all the professional development sessions that all the other teachers always get to attend (not that they're necessarily so fantastic, but at least they would give me some idea of what on earth I'm supposed to be teaching). I would get to see my students from this year -- all 425 of them -- grow and learn and change. And I might finally feel like part of a team: the second grade team.
And the truth is, I have gotten better at my job; I've gotten calmer, I've gotten smoother, and I've gotten stronger. Everyone does say that the first year is the hardest, that you have to stick with it. Maybe...I should stick with it.
I might be coming back next year.
The worst thing about being a cluster teacher in my first year was that I was totally alone. I shared my office with another cluster teacher, who has been very kind to me, in the library with the librarian, who is also very nice, but I was still the only one of my kind. I didn't have common preps or lunch with other teachers on my grade because I didn't have a grade. Planning meetings about math or reading at faculty meetings and grade conferences weren't relevant to me because I didn't teach math or reading. My mentor never mentored me, and there was no one I could ask for advice about my position because it had never existed before and no one thought to tell me what to do with it.
But since I've been assigned to second grade AIS, I've felt more like I'm potentially part of a team. The other AIS teachers have welcomed me ("I hear you're joining us next year!") and so have the second grade teachers ("Hello, fellow second grade teacher!"). In my mailbox today I found a 2008-2009 TCRWP (Teachers' College Reading and Writing Project) curriculum calendar for second grade, addressed to "All Classroom and AIS Teachers," something I never would have gotten my hands on as a writing cluster teacher. Suddenly I felt the warmth of recognition: Someone actually thought to put a relevant document in my mailbox! I exist!
I already know the vast majority of kids I'd be servicing next year, and on the whole they're a good group. I would work with a group of no more than eight students at a time, and as a push-in teacher I would rarely be in the classroom alone (no more getting in the middle of fights between eight-year-olds). I would get really, really good at teaching reading (is there a better story in the world than the daughter of a librarian growing up to be a reading teacher?). I would, for the first time, get to go to all the professional development sessions that all the other teachers always get to attend (not that they're necessarily so fantastic, but at least they would give me some idea of what on earth I'm supposed to be teaching). I would get to see my students from this year -- all 425 of them -- grow and learn and change. And I might finally feel like part of a team: the second grade team.
And the truth is, I have gotten better at my job; I've gotten calmer, I've gotten smoother, and I've gotten stronger. Everyone does say that the first year is the hardest, that you have to stick with it. Maybe...I should stick with it.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Ooops, I did it again
Remember when I was going to be a kindergarten teacher?
Forget everything I posted yesterday! This morning my principal changed her mind. I'm now going to be a second grade reading teacher -- or, as we like to call it at my school, "Academic Intervention Services" (AIS). In AIS, I push into each of the second grade classrooms during reading and work with a group of no more than ten struggling readers.
AIS is what I originally applied for, and I am excited about the possibility -- I already know and teach all of next year's second graders (and they're a lot nicer than this year's second graders), I like teaching reading, I like small groups and I kind of like the idea that I don't have to be with one group of kids all day. But I am a little bummed that I got myself all jazzed up for kindergarten, and I think I would have had a lot of fun teaching over in the annex.
But will my principal change her mind again tomorrow? Who knows!
Forget everything I posted yesterday! This morning my principal changed her mind. I'm now going to be a second grade reading teacher -- or, as we like to call it at my school, "Academic Intervention Services" (AIS). In AIS, I push into each of the second grade classrooms during reading and work with a group of no more than ten struggling readers.
AIS is what I originally applied for, and I am excited about the possibility -- I already know and teach all of next year's second graders (and they're a lot nicer than this year's second graders), I like teaching reading, I like small groups and I kind of like the idea that I don't have to be with one group of kids all day. But I am a little bummed that I got myself all jazzed up for kindergarten, and I think I would have had a lot of fun teaching over in the annex.
But will my principal change her mind again tomorrow? Who knows!
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
The verdict
Yesterday, no less than five people stopped me in the hall to ask me that fateful question: "Miss Brave, do you know what you're doing next year?"
It was a loaded question, and not just because I've been thinking about leaving the school system altogether (something I haven't shared with anyone at my school). My school isn't keeping my writing program next year, and so besides the possibility that I might get excessed, I was headed for a change no matter what. I applied for a literacy AIS position and listed my top three grade preferences: first grade, kindergarten, second grade.
This morning the principal called me into her office and gave me the news: In the fall of 2008, if I decide to stay at my school, I will be a kindergarten teacher.
On the one hand, this is good news; I did not want to teach an upper grade. On the other hand, I had privately decided that if I was given an upper grade, I would definitely be leaving, and so now I'm just more confused than ever about whether to stay or go. Out of all the grades I teach -- and I teach K-5, so that's six different grade levels -- kindergarten is my favorite. In fact, I almost got my Early Childhood teaching license rather than an Elementary one but I didn't want to limit myself in terms of job marketability.
News travels fast at my school; everyone was buzzing with gossip today about who's moving where, and all of a sudden I was more popular than I've ever been. And slowly my head started filling with visions of Miss Brave's classroom and Miss Brave's kindergarteners, with their clean slates and their moldable little minds.
I wouldn't be starting over entirely. I certainly have a better grasp on behavior management than I did at the beginning of the year, my writing curriculum would be totally kick-ass, and I have the TC model down pat. But in another sense, having my own classroom would be like going through my first year of teaching all over again. Am I ready for that?
It was a loaded question, and not just because I've been thinking about leaving the school system altogether (something I haven't shared with anyone at my school). My school isn't keeping my writing program next year, and so besides the possibility that I might get excessed, I was headed for a change no matter what. I applied for a literacy AIS position and listed my top three grade preferences: first grade, kindergarten, second grade.
This morning the principal called me into her office and gave me the news: In the fall of 2008, if I decide to stay at my school, I will be a kindergarten teacher.
On the one hand, this is good news; I did not want to teach an upper grade. On the other hand, I had privately decided that if I was given an upper grade, I would definitely be leaving, and so now I'm just more confused than ever about whether to stay or go. Out of all the grades I teach -- and I teach K-5, so that's six different grade levels -- kindergarten is my favorite. In fact, I almost got my Early Childhood teaching license rather than an Elementary one but I didn't want to limit myself in terms of job marketability.
News travels fast at my school; everyone was buzzing with gossip today about who's moving where, and all of a sudden I was more popular than I've ever been. And slowly my head started filling with visions of Miss Brave's classroom and Miss Brave's kindergarteners, with their clean slates and their moldable little minds.
I wouldn't be starting over entirely. I certainly have a better grasp on behavior management than I did at the beginning of the year, my writing curriculum would be totally kick-ass, and I have the TC model down pat. But in another sense, having my own classroom would be like going through my first year of teaching all over again. Am I ready for that?
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Should I stay or should I go?
We got "preference sheets" in our mailboxes today, which means that it's time for us to list the positions we'd like to be placed in next year.
As I expected, my position was not on the list. Now, I'd gotten the heads up beforehand from a senior teacher, but no one on the administration ever said boo to me -- for all they know, I got this memo today and thought, "Hey...where's my position?" Which leaves a sort of bitter taste in my mouth, because I feel like they set up this position to fail. It's the upper grades who need a writing cluster, to prep for the state exams, and yet for reasons unknown to everyone they made it a K-2; I don't get any professional development or coaching, in comparison to the classroom teachers, who get it on a regular basis; it's my first year with Teachers College; I have 436 students in six different grades. Hello? Anybody out there?
So now it's like this Machiavellian strategic mind-fart for me to figure out what I should list as my preferences for next year, all the while worrying about whether I might get excessed (in which case I am so completely not pouring my time and effort into finding another DOE teaching job).
I guess it's just another day as a public school teacher!
As I expected, my position was not on the list. Now, I'd gotten the heads up beforehand from a senior teacher, but no one on the administration ever said boo to me -- for all they know, I got this memo today and thought, "Hey...where's my position?" Which leaves a sort of bitter taste in my mouth, because I feel like they set up this position to fail. It's the upper grades who need a writing cluster, to prep for the state exams, and yet for reasons unknown to everyone they made it a K-2; I don't get any professional development or coaching, in comparison to the classroom teachers, who get it on a regular basis; it's my first year with Teachers College; I have 436 students in six different grades. Hello? Anybody out there?
So now it's like this Machiavellian strategic mind-fart for me to figure out what I should list as my preferences for next year, all the while worrying about whether I might get excessed (in which case I am so completely not pouring my time and effort into finding another DOE teaching job).
I guess it's just another day as a public school teacher!
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
50 days to go
It is almost certain that my position at my school will no longer exist in the fall.
What that means for me is less certain. My principal swears that she's going to try to keep all of her current staff, but with another 8% in budget cuts coming down the pike, I don't see how that's possible. There are at least half a dozen first-year teachers at my school, and I wasn't the last among them to be hired, but I'm still not entirely clear what that means for me in terms of seniority and excessing.
I didn't want my current job again next year anyway, so in a way it's a relief to know that it won't exist. But what are my chances of receiving my own classroom, or an AIS position in the subject and grade I want? It all remains, as ever, up in the air.
What that means for me is less certain. My principal swears that she's going to try to keep all of her current staff, but with another 8% in budget cuts coming down the pike, I don't see how that's possible. There are at least half a dozen first-year teachers at my school, and I wasn't the last among them to be hired, but I'm still not entirely clear what that means for me in terms of seniority and excessing.
I didn't want my current job again next year anyway, so in a way it's a relief to know that it won't exist. But what are my chances of receiving my own classroom, or an AIS position in the subject and grade I want? It all remains, as ever, up in the air.
Monday, March 10, 2008
We gotta get out of this place
There are 15 weeks of school left. There are 69 days of school left.
I am seriously considering my options for next year.
For a time, I was convinced only that I wanted out of my current position, but I wasn't sure how -- whether I wanted my own classroom in my current school, my own classroom in another school, or some AIS position. But since shortly before February break, I've fallen into this melancholic morass that I can't seem to get out of. It's like I've burned out at 24 years old.
The thing is, I'm not a bad teacher. When one of my colleagues taught her first graders about what she called "telling words," one of her students reported: "Miss Brave taught us this already. Those are called verbs." Another colleague told me that her students had said the same thing, and -- better yet -- when she tried to trick them by challenging them to define a noun, they answered: "A person, place or thing!" One of my new fifth graders recently wrote that she had interpreted the meaning of a fable by "reading between the lines" -- an idiom we had discussed the week before. A fourth grader whom I don't teach, upon seeing my Flat Stanley bulletin board, exclaimed, "I didn't know they had Burger Kings in Israel!" Despite the persistent feeling that I have no idea what I'm doing, my colleagues have complimented me on my creative lessons and my tone with my students.
Would it be easier for me to leave my job if I was obviously terrible at it? I don't know. Is this kind of thinking, six months into my first year of teaching, premature? Probably. But can I do this for another year? I'm increasingly convinced that the answer to that is no.
I am seriously considering my options for next year.
For a time, I was convinced only that I wanted out of my current position, but I wasn't sure how -- whether I wanted my own classroom in my current school, my own classroom in another school, or some AIS position. But since shortly before February break, I've fallen into this melancholic morass that I can't seem to get out of. It's like I've burned out at 24 years old.
The thing is, I'm not a bad teacher. When one of my colleagues taught her first graders about what she called "telling words," one of her students reported: "Miss Brave taught us this already. Those are called verbs." Another colleague told me that her students had said the same thing, and -- better yet -- when she tried to trick them by challenging them to define a noun, they answered: "A person, place or thing!" One of my new fifth graders recently wrote that she had interpreted the meaning of a fable by "reading between the lines" -- an idiom we had discussed the week before. A fourth grader whom I don't teach, upon seeing my Flat Stanley bulletin board, exclaimed, "I didn't know they had Burger Kings in Israel!" Despite the persistent feeling that I have no idea what I'm doing, my colleagues have complimented me on my creative lessons and my tone with my students.
Would it be easier for me to leave my job if I was obviously terrible at it? I don't know. Is this kind of thinking, six months into my first year of teaching, premature? Probably. But can I do this for another year? I'm increasingly convinced that the answer to that is no.
Monday, January 7, 2008
Choose or lose
So here's my big dilemma:
Every single morning (but especially on Mondays) I drag myself mournfully out of bed, and while I'm dejectedly brushing my teeth and deciding whether I'm going to wear my uncomfortable but badass professional shoes or my scruffy but blissfully pain-free flats, I think: I can't do this next year, I don't want to do this next year, I need to have a different job next year, I hope I'm not a teacher next year.
And then most afternoons, as I'm heading away from school toward the gym and Duane Reade (I swear I spend the bulk of my non-teaching time in a Duane Reade), a teeny tiny Vivian Paley-esque spark glimmers within me and I think: Well...maybe. Maybe.
I know that it's perfectly natural to feel dread at the beginning of the school day and relief at the end, but which will be the stronger pull for me? Should I heed the advice in this Monster.com commercial (with which I strongly identify, by the way), or should I take heart in the message of this Teach NYC ad (with which I take exception; obviously New York's other influential role models wear Mets uniforms, not Yankee uniforms).
In other news, tomorrow is Day 1 of the dreaded ELA exam, and hmm, what's that I smell cooking in the air? Could that possibly be the smell of...doom?! I'll be proctoring, so it looks like I get to find out!
Every single morning (but especially on Mondays) I drag myself mournfully out of bed, and while I'm dejectedly brushing my teeth and deciding whether I'm going to wear my uncomfortable but badass professional shoes or my scruffy but blissfully pain-free flats, I think: I can't do this next year, I don't want to do this next year, I need to have a different job next year, I hope I'm not a teacher next year.
And then most afternoons, as I'm heading away from school toward the gym and Duane Reade (I swear I spend the bulk of my non-teaching time in a Duane Reade), a teeny tiny Vivian Paley-esque spark glimmers within me and I think: Well...maybe. Maybe.
I know that it's perfectly natural to feel dread at the beginning of the school day and relief at the end, but which will be the stronger pull for me? Should I heed the advice in this Monster.com commercial (with which I strongly identify, by the way), or should I take heart in the message of this Teach NYC ad (with which I take exception; obviously New York's other influential role models wear Mets uniforms, not Yankee uniforms).
In other news, tomorrow is Day 1 of the dreaded ELA exam, and hmm, what's that I smell cooking in the air? Could that possibly be the smell of...doom?! I'll be proctoring, so it looks like I get to find out!
Saturday, December 29, 2007
There's a hand, my trusty friend
When the fiddle had stopped singing Laura called out softly, "What are days of auld lang syne, Pa?"
"They are the days of a long time ago, Laura," Pa said. "Go to sleep, now."
But Laura lay awake a little while, listening to Pa's fiddle playing softly and to the lonely sound of the wind in the Big Woods. She looked at Pa sitting on the bench by the hearth, the firelight gleaming on the honey-brown fiddle. She looked at Ma, gently rocking and knitting.
She thought to herself, "This is now."
She was glad that the cozy house, and Pa and Ma and the firelight and the music, were now. They could not be forgotten, she thought, because now is now. It can never be a long time ago.
My new year's resolutions as an educator are these:
1) to respect my students' tender minds, their easily wounded hearts, their efforts and their challenges;
2) to challenge myself to think beyond, to get creative, to stoke the fires that will burn tiny fires under the butts of each and every one of my 400+ students;
3) to reflect constructively on my teaching successes and failures and accept them gracefully as learning experiences;
4) to breathe deeply, speak smoothly, and enjoy the ride.
Happy 2008, everyone!
Saturday, November 3, 2007
A change is gonna come
Phillip: "Miss Brave, what's your last name?"
Miss Brave: "Brave is my last name."
Alejandro: "Then what's your real name?"
Miss Brave: "Well, Brave is my real last name."
Phillip: "No, what's your first name?"
Miss Brave: "That's a secret."
Phillip: "I won't tell nobody!"
* * *
Changes are in the air. My students are starting to come to school wearing gigantic puffy jackets, staggering under the weight of their oversized hoods (small childre in rain gear are the cutest, followed closely by winter accessories). Most days I watch the sun rise from the fourth floor of our school; it won't be long before I'm watching it set there too.
Changes are in the air for Darryl: When he came to kindergarten two months ago, his round chubby face was nearly always screwed into a pout, and he threw a fit if another student so much as looked at him. Now he's landed a starring role in the stories of the other kids at his table ("This is me and Darryl at the park"; "This is me and Darryl going to Toys R Us"), and he listens, beaming, as his tablemates sing his praises as a friend.
Changes are in the air for Ms. N's ESL second grade: When I met them, I instantly dismissed them as my most challenging class, full of kids who literally did not stop talking for one instant, ever, with a handful who spent their time spinning around in circles or wandering around the room without asking to leave their seats. Then I read their writing, spoke to their teacher and realized that they're smart kids who are hungry for attention. Now I've fallen in love with them despite myself and that class is one of my favorites; more than any other, they respond to positive reinforcement, and I've never seen a group of second graders get more excited about locating all the adjectives in a story we wrote together.
Changes are in the air for Ms. L's second grade: In our last meeting, I happened to turn around just in time to see Julio carefully aiming the paper airplane he had constructed out of the paper on which he should have been writing. I snatched it out of his hand before he took flight, fixed him with a deadly glare, and asked, "Is this what you think of the work you've been doing?" My voice rose until I was addressing the whole, rowdy, misbehaving, defiant, obnoxious class: "Because when you make paper airplanes out of your work, instead of asking someone else to help you figure out what to do, you're telling me that you think that what you do is just garbage. And you're wrong. Because you can do better. You are all intelligent. But you need to show that to me. Because now, it's just garbage." I crumpled up the airplane and threw it in the trash. It was my Hilary Swank in Freedom Writers, Matthew Perry in The Ron Clark Story, Michelle Pfeiffer in Dangerous Minds moment. Only later I realized: My voice wasn't quavering like it used to. They didn't scare me; they just pissed me off. Maybe that was a breakthrough.
Changes might be in the air for me, too, but it's more difficult to explain. Lately I've found myself imagining what I might do next year with my own class, or how I might fare at a school outside the NYC public school system. I still don't think I want to be a teacher forever; I still think it's highly likely that I don't want to be a teacher next year. But I know 100% that I don't want to be a writing cluster teacher next year...which still leaves open the possibility that I might be able to accept doing something else. Now that I've survived October, winter break seems just around the corner. And the cold, biting air never tasted so sweet.
Miss Brave: "Brave is my last name."
Alejandro: "Then what's your real name?"
Miss Brave: "Well, Brave is my real last name."
Phillip: "No, what's your first name?"
Miss Brave: "That's a secret."
Phillip: "I won't tell nobody!"
* * *
Changes are in the air. My students are starting to come to school wearing gigantic puffy jackets, staggering under the weight of their oversized hoods (small childre in rain gear are the cutest, followed closely by winter accessories). Most days I watch the sun rise from the fourth floor of our school; it won't be long before I'm watching it set there too.
Changes are in the air for Darryl: When he came to kindergarten two months ago, his round chubby face was nearly always screwed into a pout, and he threw a fit if another student so much as looked at him. Now he's landed a starring role in the stories of the other kids at his table ("This is me and Darryl at the park"; "This is me and Darryl going to Toys R Us"), and he listens, beaming, as his tablemates sing his praises as a friend.
Changes are in the air for Ms. N's ESL second grade: When I met them, I instantly dismissed them as my most challenging class, full of kids who literally did not stop talking for one instant, ever, with a handful who spent their time spinning around in circles or wandering around the room without asking to leave their seats. Then I read their writing, spoke to their teacher and realized that they're smart kids who are hungry for attention. Now I've fallen in love with them despite myself and that class is one of my favorites; more than any other, they respond to positive reinforcement, and I've never seen a group of second graders get more excited about locating all the adjectives in a story we wrote together.
Changes are in the air for Ms. L's second grade: In our last meeting, I happened to turn around just in time to see Julio carefully aiming the paper airplane he had constructed out of the paper on which he should have been writing. I snatched it out of his hand before he took flight, fixed him with a deadly glare, and asked, "Is this what you think of the work you've been doing?" My voice rose until I was addressing the whole, rowdy, misbehaving, defiant, obnoxious class: "Because when you make paper airplanes out of your work, instead of asking someone else to help you figure out what to do, you're telling me that you think that what you do is just garbage. And you're wrong. Because you can do better. You are all intelligent. But you need to show that to me. Because now, it's just garbage." I crumpled up the airplane and threw it in the trash. It was my Hilary Swank in Freedom Writers, Matthew Perry in The Ron Clark Story, Michelle Pfeiffer in Dangerous Minds moment. Only later I realized: My voice wasn't quavering like it used to. They didn't scare me; they just pissed me off. Maybe that was a breakthrough.
Changes might be in the air for me, too, but it's more difficult to explain. Lately I've found myself imagining what I might do next year with my own class, or how I might fare at a school outside the NYC public school system. I still don't think I want to be a teacher forever; I still think it's highly likely that I don't want to be a teacher next year. But I know 100% that I don't want to be a writing cluster teacher next year...which still leaves open the possibility that I might be able to accept doing something else. Now that I've survived October, winter break seems just around the corner. And the cold, biting air never tasted so sweet.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
"Oh, no, not AGAIN!"
That was Darryl's reaction this morning when I walked into his kindergarten classroom. Then he started crying. OK, granted, Darryl is a "special" kid, but that didn't exactly make me feel spectacular.
I am a long, long, long way from being a successful teacher, but now I'm one step closer to being a successful blogger -- I was asked to contribute to the "New Teacher Diaries" at Edwize, the blog of the United Federation of Teachers, our teachers' union. (Speaking of which, I got my optical benefits voucher in the mail today -- thanks for the new glasses, UFT!)
So now that I know this blog has a wider audience than just my parents and a few friends, there's this temptation to whitewash things the way I do in the hallway when another teacher says, "How's it going?" but clearly isn't all that invested in the answer. (Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I just broke down sobbing and confessed: "Things are terrible, please help me!")
But I started this blog to capture a true, honest picture of my first year as a teacher. One of the first things you're told as a new teacher is that all new teachers feel stressed, overwhelmed, panicked and doubtful about the whole idea of teaching. And one of the first things you go on to learn as a new teacher is that you don't care that all new teachers feel stressed, overwhelmed, panicked and doubtful about the whole idea of teaching; all you care about is how you ended up in this classroom with 20 kids who are doggedly trying to kill each other and get your attention all at the same time.
I think the thing about great teaching, the reason that so many people think that teaching isn't exactly a job for the intellectually elite, is that great teaching looks effortless. Truly great teachers employ smooth segues and redirects, stimulating lessons that engage every child, behavioral management techniques that make the classroom run itself.
It's rare to find a first-year teacher that is truly great; and I certainly am not one. On some days, I'm an OK teacher; today I made my kindergarteners laugh by pointing out that when I write my story about going to the park and I draw just my face without arms or legs, oops, I am not done with my picture!
On other days, though, I'm an abysmal failure as a teacher. Instead of hearing the "excited workshop hum," like the wildly optimistic Teachers' College curriculum says I should, I hear sniping and hurt voices. Instead of the room being "on fire with energy" (oh, Teachers' College, how you toy with my tender teaching emotions), the room is on fire with anarchy.
Teaching is the hardest thing I've ever done. Harder than running the marathon, harder than overcoming relationship phobia, harder than watching the Mets' ugly downfall. (OK, I'm still not ready to talk about that.)
So let's lay it out on the table: Was I secretly a little bit pleased when my morning kindergarteners collapsed on top of each other in a stampede to give me goodbye hugs? Of course.
But right now, would I still trade that for the safety of a cubicle in an office where nobody would complain that he hit me first? Well...yes.
I am a long, long, long way from being a successful teacher, but now I'm one step closer to being a successful blogger -- I was asked to contribute to the "New Teacher Diaries" at Edwize, the blog of the United Federation of Teachers, our teachers' union. (Speaking of which, I got my optical benefits voucher in the mail today -- thanks for the new glasses, UFT!)
So now that I know this blog has a wider audience than just my parents and a few friends, there's this temptation to whitewash things the way I do in the hallway when another teacher says, "How's it going?" but clearly isn't all that invested in the answer. (Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I just broke down sobbing and confessed: "Things are terrible, please help me!")
But I started this blog to capture a true, honest picture of my first year as a teacher. One of the first things you're told as a new teacher is that all new teachers feel stressed, overwhelmed, panicked and doubtful about the whole idea of teaching. And one of the first things you go on to learn as a new teacher is that you don't care that all new teachers feel stressed, overwhelmed, panicked and doubtful about the whole idea of teaching; all you care about is how you ended up in this classroom with 20 kids who are doggedly trying to kill each other and get your attention all at the same time.
I think the thing about great teaching, the reason that so many people think that teaching isn't exactly a job for the intellectually elite, is that great teaching looks effortless. Truly great teachers employ smooth segues and redirects, stimulating lessons that engage every child, behavioral management techniques that make the classroom run itself.
It's rare to find a first-year teacher that is truly great; and I certainly am not one. On some days, I'm an OK teacher; today I made my kindergarteners laugh by pointing out that when I write my story about going to the park and I draw just my face without arms or legs, oops, I am not done with my picture!
On other days, though, I'm an abysmal failure as a teacher. Instead of hearing the "excited workshop hum," like the wildly optimistic Teachers' College curriculum says I should, I hear sniping and hurt voices. Instead of the room being "on fire with energy" (oh, Teachers' College, how you toy with my tender teaching emotions), the room is on fire with anarchy.
Teaching is the hardest thing I've ever done. Harder than running the marathon, harder than overcoming relationship phobia, harder than watching the Mets' ugly downfall. (OK, I'm still not ready to talk about that.)
So let's lay it out on the table: Was I secretly a little bit pleased when my morning kindergarteners collapsed on top of each other in a stampede to give me goodbye hugs? Of course.
But right now, would I still trade that for the safety of a cubicle in an office where nobody would complain that he hit me first? Well...yes.
Friday, September 7, 2007
Despair: 1, Miss Brave: 0
Things that would probably make my teaching experience a heck of a lot more bearable:
1. a key to my office
2. a key to the library, where my office is
3. a key to the bathroom, for Pete's sake, I was not meant to hold it all day
4. kindergarten writing paper
5. first grade writing paper
6. second grade writing paper
7. a curriculum (i.e., a reason for my existence)
8. a staff member I could ask about all these things without feeling stuuuupid
9. the mentor I was promised all new teachers would receive; now is the time I need her, not January when all this is just a bad memory
10. my health benefits to kick in so I could get some Prozac or something
Things I always suspected I would dislike about teaching that I do, in fact, dislike about teaching:
1. feeling isolated from everyone over the age of 8
2. the sense of crushing despair I feel after unsuccessfully attempting to implement every single be quiet and stay quiet signal known to teacherkind
3. the sense of crushing despair I feel when I try to comprehend the enormity of differentiating instruction for the second graders who can barely write their own names
4. having so much planning to do outside of school
5. behaving like an ogre to wriggly, chatty small children who don't get a gym class who are behaving like wriggly, chatty small children who don't get a gym class
6. school politics
Things I dislike about being a push-in cluster:
1. Frantically running from class to class
2. Working with about 350 kids so there is zero chance I will really learn all their names (classroom teachers: where are the nametags that are supposed to be on their desks?!)
3. Having to carry my own supplies from place to place
4. Not having any of my own supplies to carry from place to place
5. Not knowing what any of the regular classroom routines are and thus being unable to implement them with any consistency
6. Seeing each class for only 50 minutes a week: all of the challenges of teaching with few of the rewards that come from getting to know a group of kids really well
7. Not bonding with any other teachers on my grade level
8. Being viewed with less respect, authority and adoration by the kids
9. When the classroom teacher needs to step in and tell her kids to shape up because they're not behaving for me; the word "embarrassed" comes up frequently in this situation, when really I'm the one who's embarrassed
10. Realizing that the only thing worse than being in the "challenging" classrooms for 50 minutes would be being the full-time classroom teacher
Today was a tough day. Over the past few days I've gone from thinking, "I can't do this for the rest of my life" to "I can't do this for more than a few years" to "I can't do this next year." Today for the first time I thought, "I can't do this at all."
My kids aren't violent. They aren't dangerous. Most of them aren't even openly defiant. There are teachers out there who are getting injured by their students on a daily basis, who face exhausting, hellish conditions every day, who don't have any supplies or desks at all. There are teachers out there who are facing ineffectual principals, illegal overcrowding, and hostile work environments. There are teachers out there who would probably kill to work at a school like mine. Those are the teachers who make me think: I'm not thick-skinned enough for this. I'm not tough enough for this. I'm not dedicated enough for this.
I like working with kids one-on-one and in small groups. But teaching to the whole class -- it's getting to me. There's the pressure to make sure everyone is listening, all eyes are on me, no one has their hands on anyone else. What behaviors do you nip in the bud? What behaviors do you choose to ignore in a futile attempt to pick your battles? There's the pressure to address the needs of 25 individual students in one 50-minute period. How much time do you spend with the kids who are busy writing away, and how much time do you spend with the kids who are staring blankly at their empty sheet of paper?
My 50-minutes co-teacher told me that at the end of her first year, the principal suggested that she re-think her choice of teaching as a career. Five years later, she's still teaching at our school. I'm not strong-willed enough for this, I thought; if at the end of my first year, someone tells me to re-think my decision to teach, I'm going to re-think it. Then I realized that someone already has. During my disastrous first student teaching experience, my cooperating teacher's parting words to me were: "Don't teach first grade."
I thought I had something to prove here. But what if I just made a terrible mistake?
1. a key to my office
2. a key to the library, where my office is
3. a key to the bathroom, for Pete's sake, I was not meant to hold it all day
4. kindergarten writing paper
5. first grade writing paper
6. second grade writing paper
7. a curriculum (i.e., a reason for my existence)
8. a staff member I could ask about all these things without feeling stuuuupid
9. the mentor I was promised all new teachers would receive; now is the time I need her, not January when all this is just a bad memory
10. my health benefits to kick in so I could get some Prozac or something
Things I always suspected I would dislike about teaching that I do, in fact, dislike about teaching:
1. feeling isolated from everyone over the age of 8
2. the sense of crushing despair I feel after unsuccessfully attempting to implement every single be quiet and stay quiet signal known to teacherkind
3. the sense of crushing despair I feel when I try to comprehend the enormity of differentiating instruction for the second graders who can barely write their own names
4. having so much planning to do outside of school
5. behaving like an ogre to wriggly, chatty small children who don't get a gym class who are behaving like wriggly, chatty small children who don't get a gym class
6. school politics
Things I dislike about being a push-in cluster:
1. Frantically running from class to class
2. Working with about 350 kids so there is zero chance I will really learn all their names (classroom teachers: where are the nametags that are supposed to be on their desks?!)
3. Having to carry my own supplies from place to place
4. Not having any of my own supplies to carry from place to place
5. Not knowing what any of the regular classroom routines are and thus being unable to implement them with any consistency
6. Seeing each class for only 50 minutes a week: all of the challenges of teaching with few of the rewards that come from getting to know a group of kids really well
7. Not bonding with any other teachers on my grade level
8. Being viewed with less respect, authority and adoration by the kids
9. When the classroom teacher needs to step in and tell her kids to shape up because they're not behaving for me; the word "embarrassed" comes up frequently in this situation, when really I'm the one who's embarrassed
10. Realizing that the only thing worse than being in the "challenging" classrooms for 50 minutes would be being the full-time classroom teacher
Today was a tough day. Over the past few days I've gone from thinking, "I can't do this for the rest of my life" to "I can't do this for more than a few years" to "I can't do this next year." Today for the first time I thought, "I can't do this at all."
My kids aren't violent. They aren't dangerous. Most of them aren't even openly defiant. There are teachers out there who are getting injured by their students on a daily basis, who face exhausting, hellish conditions every day, who don't have any supplies or desks at all. There are teachers out there who are facing ineffectual principals, illegal overcrowding, and hostile work environments. There are teachers out there who would probably kill to work at a school like mine. Those are the teachers who make me think: I'm not thick-skinned enough for this. I'm not tough enough for this. I'm not dedicated enough for this.
I like working with kids one-on-one and in small groups. But teaching to the whole class -- it's getting to me. There's the pressure to make sure everyone is listening, all eyes are on me, no one has their hands on anyone else. What behaviors do you nip in the bud? What behaviors do you choose to ignore in a futile attempt to pick your battles? There's the pressure to address the needs of 25 individual students in one 50-minute period. How much time do you spend with the kids who are busy writing away, and how much time do you spend with the kids who are staring blankly at their empty sheet of paper?
My 50-minutes co-teacher told me that at the end of her first year, the principal suggested that she re-think her choice of teaching as a career. Five years later, she's still teaching at our school. I'm not strong-willed enough for this, I thought; if at the end of my first year, someone tells me to re-think my decision to teach, I'm going to re-think it. Then I realized that someone already has. During my disastrous first student teaching experience, my cooperating teacher's parting words to me were: "Don't teach first grade."
I thought I had something to prove here. But what if I just made a terrible mistake?
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
I touch the future. I teach.
That's what it says on the cover of my handsome teaching portfolio, anyway.
Welcome! My name (well, my pseudonym) is miss brave, a clever little play on my real name and a sweeping statement about my feelings toward my chosen career all at the same time. Today I received an official offer of employment as a teacher from the New York City public school system. I won't be teaching full time in NYC until September 2007, but I want to be able to reflect on my entire teaching experience -- the successes, the failures, the reminders of why I became a teacher in the first place -- and so I decided to start this blog.
So what led me here? When I was a sophomore in high school, I had to complete a certain number of volunteer hours in order to graduate. The easiest thing to do was be a teacher's assistant at my temple's Hebrew school, and the principal there placed me in the first grade because he thought the younger kids would need the most help. I had no siblings, only one younger cousin, and until that point had never even had a babysitting job. All of a sudden I found myself in a room full of six-year-olds...and I was terrified.
For about an hour. Then I saw something wonderful in them -- their humor, their wonder, their knowledge. I worked with first-graders there for three years, and when I got to college, I made the major leap to the teaching certification program.
It was not an easy decision. Becoming certified to teach elementary school as an undergraduate is a fairly substantial commitment. There are the 36 credits from a variety of subject areas outside one's chosen major. There are the weekly observations in elementary school classrooms. There are the lesson plans, the reflections on teaching philosophy, the discussions about everything that's wrong with the American education system and how we as teachers can change it. And there's the student teaching practicum, which turns you into a full-time teacher overnight while everyone else is partying away their last semester in college.
And all along, I wasn't sure I really even wanted to be a teacher. I knew I wanted to work with children, and I knew I was passionate about education, but I wasn't sure the classroom was the right place for me. Still, I thought, the teaching certification couldn't hurt. After college, I went straight to a graduate school program in Child Development -- an M.A., not an Ed.M. I wanted something broad, something interdisciplinary, in case I decided on a different career option.
So how did I come back to teaching? Because in every other job I've had, I've always found a little voice in the back of my mind whispering, "You'd rather be teaching right now." Because the fact is that teaching is the hardest job I've ever done, but it's also the most rewarding. And the more I weigh the pros and cons of taking NYC up on their offer versus continuing to search for a different job in the meantime, the more I think: I want to do this.
They say that to teach is to touch lives forever. It's time for me to find out.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)