Let's face it: I loved my first job, in Elverta. I had great bosses, fabulous co-teachers, and the district was run as well as a district can be. The kids were not perfect, and I had my classroom management struggles, but overall, I really enjoyed what I did and looked forward to each day with enthusiasm and energy.
St. Peter's wasn't as great, but I did enjoy my co-teachers and my GCSE classes (even with all the stress that ensued trying to catch my wonderful year 11s up--it's not their fault they were behind). I had some good times there, but overall, the experience made me doubt myself as a teacher. No matter what I did, there were classes--whole classes--I never won over. I never even earned much respect from some of them. In the end, I pretty much gave up. As a teacher, that stings.
I was reluctant about going back to teaching when I came to Washington, but desperate enough to take on the one-class-a-day job in Chimacum. I surprised myself by being really excited to get the opportunity. Surely this meant that I am still meant to be a teacher, right?
Three months and forty-seven hormone-riddled eleven-year-olds later, I have spent the last few weeks inwardly moaning that I'm stuck here 'till June. What in the world was I thinking, going in to teaching? What in the world am I going to do next year if I get burnt out? When am I ever going to find a job I'm comfortable with like I was in Elverta?
It's been disheartening, for sure. I haven't said much because after all the whinging I did in this blog while at St. Peter's, I figure no one wants to hear it. And really, this situation isn't as bad. I have 47 kids, 7 of which are truly difficult (ever want to smack a bratty child you saw at the store? Try encountering 7 of them every day).
The bottom line is I have been feeling sorry for myself, and feeling that I am not cut out for teaching anymore. What happened to my excitement? My passion? My patience? Why in the world are these kids not getting it? What am I doing wrong?
One of my Christmas presents from Mom and Dad was a book called "Teacher Man" by Frank McCourt. I have not read his first two books and I wasn't sure what I'd think of this one, though I liked the sentiment behind the gift ("To our teacher. Merry Christmas. Love, Mom and Dad").
I worried that McCourt would describe 30 years of wonderful teaching, that preachy sort of book you get when teachers retire and write about how uplifting and wonderful being a teacher is. The kind of book that makes newbies think, "I'm never gonna be like that! Why try??"
Therefore I was pleasantly surprised to find McCourt accounting his first yeas of teaching as being more or less story-telling. He told the kids about his miserable Irish upbringing, and his time working on the docks in New York City. He felt like a huge fraud, like he had no control over his classroom. He questioned his abilities, his sanity in choosing the teaching profession, and like me, why his passion for his subject (literature) was just not infecting the children with joy and enthusiasm for the class.
It mirrors my own thinking: Hey, I love music! This stuff is fun and exciting and interesting and cool! Why, oh why, can't these kids latch on to my love of it? They should be able to see how good it is for their minds, their hearts, their souls!
McCourt had to pay his dues before he found his own tricks, before he learned that taking every bit of advice from "seasoned" teachers is not necessary. As he grew more comfortable with himself as a teacher, he reached more students.
His book made me think--I'm only four years into teaching, and though I've had some broad experiences (teaching ages 5-16, and in two different countries), I've a long way to go before I will truly feel comfortable in this profession. Each situation, however, provides insight and a lesson to me.
I went back to school this week after a lovely 2-week holiday. Tuesday was bad, but Wednesday was a good day. Today they slipped a little and tomorrow...well, I'm not going to speculate. Tomorrow will be what it will be, and I am going to open my mind to the possibility that it could be the best day yet.
Who knows? Maybe I'm better at all this than I thought.
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