JuveLaura

I sit in a student’s desk in my room . . . listen to me, my room. It’s not really my room. It’s still Mr. Sorensen’s. But he doesn’t want it. I do. So, for now, I’ll call it my room knowing that it truly isn’t mine . . . yet.

Waiting for the computer tech lady, Lynn, I try to figure out how to make this room somewhat appealing to a group of kids that range in age from 12-17. I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s not possible. Not to mention the fact that I have nothing to work with except my creativity and my mind. I want to transform this white-walled room into a warm, inviting classroom that will stimulate minds, make them feel at home, make them feel safe. Empty white walls and desks in rows don’t do that. My ”cooperating” teacher, and I use that term loosely, has no interest in this room, its walls, or what is about to happen within them in a few weeks.

To me, it means everything.

It’s funny. Me, sitting in a student’s desk. Why aren’t I sitting behind the teacher’s desk? I can’t. For some reason I can’t bring myself to do it. I’m still a student. A student teacher. I don’t feel like a student or a teacher. I guess I’m somewhere in between. Suspended.

If there ever was a time that I longed for structure, for a framework, it’s now. I don’t find myself saying that too much these days since I’ve lived a life of complete structure – most of it not of my own construction. But this . . . this is different.

“Start where they are and move them forward.” As I close my eyes, I see my professor’s knowing blue eyes look at me. I hear his deep bass voice confidently speak the words of advice. The words make so much sense. It sounds too simple. Does it have to be difficult?

I just want to do it. I just want to teach.

I try to imagine the room full of teen-age voices, smiles, clothes, hair styles, fears, dreams, interests, questions. I want them to love to be here. I want to make a difference in their lives.

I want to keep my perspective from behind this desk.

8-20-02

“I was so proud that I was finally a teacher,” she said, sliding the bottom drawer of an old wooden desk open. “Everything I had – all my files – fit into this drawer. 32 years later look what’s happened!” I followed her hand as she waved it through the air in front of her. Six 3-drawer filing cabinets, boxes upon boxes, and shelves and shelves of books from floor to ceiling. Through the doorway I stared at my little cardboard box. I knew my files wouldn’t come close to filling the bottom drawer of the gray metal desk I found buried in the storage room.

She continues to talk in her low, confident voice. She says things like, “I’ve found over the years that . . .” “Back in the days when I used to . . .” “Teaching is different now than it was 32 years ago . . .” “I’ve been through it all. I’ve been Madeline Huntered, block scheduled, performance packaged . . .” “Whatever you want to try, I’ve done it. Just come and ask me, and I’ll find you what you need . . .” “Now, this is the voice of experience talking . . . “

My heart begins to pound. We continue the conversation, but I don’t sound like her. I ask. “What do you do when . . .” “How do you teach . . .” “What do you think about . . .” I remind myself of my five-year-old. I wonder if she’s as exhausted with my endless questions as I am with his sometimes. It doesn’t matter. I can’t say, “Now, this is the voice of experience talking.” I continue asking questions. Then I listen.

An hour later I find I have more questions than when we first began our talk. I have the feeling she has confident answers to all my questions, but even she has work to do. She has come to clean out the storage room. I return to tossing out the old dictionaries she has told me are no good. I wonder what it’s like to be in your storage room after 32 years. I wonder what it’s like to be the voice of experience.

Again, my little cardboard box catches my eye. My stuff. My half-a-drawer-full of stuff. It really isn’t much. It’s precious to me, though. My thoughts, my ideas. The thoughts, ideas, and encouragement from people I love, respect, and admire.

My pounding heart reminds me that not everything I need can be found in a file, a book, or even in an entire storage room as I look around the empty classroom.

The desire I have to do this work can’t be placed in a box. The passion I feel for everything about what I am going to teach can’t be contained in a file folder. And a storage room certainly couldn’t hold my love for kids.

Over the years I’ve found that if I listen to my heart I can’t go wrong. That is exactly what has driven me to this point in my life – to this very spot in this empty classroom that proclaims my inexperience.

The pounding subsides.

I am right where I am supposed to be, and I have everything I need.

8-26-02

I don’t know what kind of sappy mood I was in last time, but I definitely don’t have everything I need. I’ve searched my heart and it doesn’t seem to have any knowledge about the Accelerated Reader reading program the librarian feels so strongly that I should be head cheerleader for.

Here’s the deal. She loves this program. Wants to implement it at the elementary and junior high level. Fine. Except she feels strongly that the push should be coming from the classroom teacher. Not just any classroom teacher – the 7th and 8th grade English teacher. That would be me. Why? My experiences with this program have not been positive.

She says her goal is to get kids to be readers – to read on their own. Yet she wants me to make it a graded part of my curriculum. Kids have to get a certain number of points and the only way to get the points is to read the book, take the test, and pass it. Kids aren’t going to be reading because they want to read. They’re going to read because they HAVE to in order to get the points and the grade.

I asked if she was going to use the store as an incentive. The store is, well, a store, full of stuff that the kids can purchase things with the points they’ve accumulated over the course of the year. “Oh, no!” was her emphatic reply. “I don’t want them to read to accumulate points to buy things! I want them to read for reading’s sake.”

OK. Let’s take a look at this for a second. Read for reading’s sake. #1 – book choices are limited to what’s on the AR reading list. #2 – test. #3 – part of a grade. #4 – must obtain a certain number of points. Is this going to instill a love for reading? My guess is no.

Not only that, but I wanted to use Fridays for free reading. Guess what? Let’s (notice the plural the librarian is now using) use that time for their AR books! Let’s not!! What about giving them choices and allowing them to read what they enjoy? Do you read things you don’t like when you don’t have to? Oh, yeah. You’re a journal. You know what I mean, though.

Instilling a love for reading is helping them discover what it is they like to read about and then allowing them the time to get lost in it. Then you introduce them to new authors and related subjects, and hopefully it will snowball. Maybe I’m off base, but I don’t think so.

8-28-02 meet the parents

8-29-02

I got trained on how to use the computer grading system this morning. Pretty cool, except making decisions on how to grade is not fun. I had to decide if I was going to grade by total number of points, which would be easy, or by weighting. I’m starting off by weighting, but I don’t know if I will like it. She assured me that if the grades look skewed three weeks into the quarter, I can change it at that time. Then, I had to enter my grading scale, which is pretty “easy” compared to many of the other teachers. I asked if the school had a scale that was supposed to be used school-wide. The answer was yes, but not everyone uses it. So, I was advised to come up with my own. I guess the only way I’m going to know what will work is to try it, and then change it if I don’t like it.

Mr. Sorensen is also certain that I should continue to do the spelling/vocab stuff his way. I don’t like it. But guess what? I’m the student teacher, so-to-speak. Even after he’s told me repeatedly he didn’t care what I did and to do things my way. So, I changed my stuff around to accommodate him. 7th and 8th graders get 25 spelling/vocab words on Monday, crossword puzzle due Tuesday, pretest Wednesday, test Friday. My feeling is that the time could be better used for other things. I know spelling and vocab are important, but I get the feeling he used it as a time filler because it was easy.

He wants me to take the 11th graders’ vocab words out of the glossary of the lit book, and also give them a spelling test first, then let them use the words to do a vocab test – so now we’re talking two pretests on Wednesday and two tests on Friday. Ugh.

I never realized how difficult it would be to have to teach something someone else’s way when I don’t agree with it. I was looking for some structure when I started planning my year, but when I come up with my own ideas, and I’ve thought them through, and I think they are valid, it’s tough to implement someone else’s. I just don’t see the rationale. But, he will be gone January 17, and then I will change things.

He also told me to give them an assignment the first day to let them know I mean business. Since we’re making collages the 2nd day, I told him the only assignment I could come up with was to tell them to find photos to bring in to use on their collages. That will have to do, because I don’t want to give them any assignments yet. It’s the first day of school. They’re kids.

Deep sigh.

It will be such a relief to just start.

They’ve given me a grade book, a weekly planner, and a daily planner. I need to figure out what I’m supposed to do with all those books. I can’t make heads or tails out of the grade book. Kinda funny. About all I can figure out is where to put the kids’ names!! It doesn’t make sense to me. The other thing I can’t figure out is when I’m supposed to go to lunch.

It’s crazy the amount of paperwork that flows through the system, too. Sorensen continues to just drop it on my desk. I have nowhere to put it. If he continues, I’m going to steal the trays off his desk.

I won’t be back in this room until the first day of school. Scary and exciting. Me, in a classroom as the teacher. It’s hardly believable.

I don’t feel like a teacher. I wonder if I will ever feel like a teacher. I still remember sitting in 9th grade English class when Mrs. Stock was talking to us about Shelley. It was then that I thought, “I want to do what she’s doing.” She made English exciting and fun and accessible. The only English teacher in high school that had ever done that for me. I know that my kids won’t like everything we’re doing. I won’t even like everything we’re doing. That’s just life. But when they leave this room, I want them to know that English can be fun and exciting and accessible.

8-30-02

I just realized that every due date I set I have to keep track of. Not to mention every time I say, “I’ll give you more details on what I expect for your presentations next week.” I need to make sure I get copies made when I need them, keep track of which students go where at which times of the day (special ed, sports, field trips, etc.) It’s crazy.

All the things that cut into teaching time are also crazy. Assemblies, picture day, librarians, surveys, reading level tests, and on and on and on. My time with them is becoming more and more precious.

It is also very time consuming to put together lesson plans for these classes. I’m glad I only have three. I also find that I tend to get off the track. I have to keep the why and how foremost in my mind. I don’t have time to dwell on something I don’t feel is important.

English class also seems to be the class that does “everything.” I am supposed to hand out the planners and show the 7th graders how to use them. The 8th graders get them too, and they need to be “refreshed.” Interesting. Why can’t the history or math or music teacher show them how to use planners??? They don’t use the planner specifically for English class. It’s not that I mind showing them how, I just wonder how it is that the English teacher gets chosen for things like that. Lucky, I guess.

9-3-02 first day of school

I try to decide if the person staring back at me looks like an English teacher. I clear away more fog from the mirror hoping that will help. It doesn’t. Neither does the thick pink terry cloth towel wrapped around my head. I decide that I need some work before I decide whether or not I look like an English teacher.

Whisper Pink from lashline to brow. Grey Mist from crease to browbone. Sable eyeliner. Black mascara. Winter Rose dusted on cheekbones. Dusty Rose lip liner follows the natural outline of lips and Pink Shimmer is brushed on within the dusty rose lines.

I recall sitting at the teacher’s workshop the first day as I work Frizz-Ease through from scalp to ends. Every single female teacher had short hair. I turn the hair dryer on low and wonder if that’s my fate. A black barrett holds my long hair at the base of my hairline. I do want to look like a teacher, but putting my hair in a bun is where I draw the line.

Clothes. Oh yeah, I need lotion first. Bath and Body Works Sweet Pea. Funny how this fragrance is my choice. The other products I use all come with their own scent. I don’t want to smell like soap, or deodorant, or hair products. I have no choice, though. I have to use them, so I do. They all serve their purpose. I hope, though, that people know I’ve been in the room because of the fragrance I choose to leave.

Now the clothes. Charcoal gray shell, just above the knee. Charcoal gray tailored suit jacket, off-black nylons, black heels. The strand of pearls worn in Monica’s wedding, and the pearl earrings that once belonged to my great aunt Viv soften the gray a bit.

I stand in front of the full-length mirror. This look definitely says English teacher.

Sometimes I think I’m too concerned about appearances, then I remind myself why I’m so concerned about appearances. The secretaries at school call me scrawny and always point out how it’s difficult for them to tell me apart from the high school kids. Considering I’m a thirty-four year old mother of three, that’s definitely flattering, but for my sake, I need to establish a presence in the classroom that’s not saying young and scrawny. (I wonder what the kids would think if they knew about the gold ring in my belly button.)

I wonder what the kids will think, anyway, about this woman in gray. Is anyone going to talk today? Am I going to end up doing all the talking? I hope not.

Ever since I got the class lists, I’ve been wondering who all these kids are, what they’re like, what it will be like to have a classroom full of them instead of just empty desks and Mr. Sorensen.

I grab my purse and bag after kissing a sleepy Phil good-bye. 6:30 a.m. Right on schedule.

I’m too nauseous to eat anything. It wouldn’t stay down., I don’t want to throw up on my first day of teaching.

I think about all the things I need to cover on this first day of class, but I really just want to start getting to know my students. To me, all the other stuff could wait, but since I’m technically a student teacher, I can’t do everything my way.

I pull into the parking lot, wondering where the time went, and as I walk through the doors of the school, I feel incredibly lonely. I don’t want to do this all alone. Outside of raising my own boys, I’ve never done anything this important. This work is too important to be doing alone – especially when you’ve never done it before. I can feel the tears, and I dash to the bathroom to catch them before they leave streaks on my winter rose cheekbones.

I retrieve the key to my classroom from the office. The secretaries ask if I’m nervous. A little. What a liar. They smile and reassure me that I will be wonderful and that the kids are going to love me. They also remind me that if I need anything, just to let them know. I want to bring them into the classroom with me. Actually, I’d like to have my Mom here – just like every other time I’ve been scared and she was there. She didn’t have to do anything, she just had to be there. The dentist pulled my teeth. Mom just sat in the room with me. I found out later she snuck out after I was too drugged to notice. I guess just the thought of her being there was a comfort.

I walk through the doors of my empty classroom, turn on the light, and I am struck. I actually have a small army in here with me. God has graciously surrounded me from the very beginning of my life with people who have had an immeasurable influence on me. Looking at the pictures on my desk I think of Phil. We’ve been together for so long, I can hardly remember life without him. Though it’s not been an easy road for either of us, he has been a constant source of support, love, and encouragement. He has also done the practical during the last three years – cooking, cleaning, laundry, helping with homework, daycare arrangements, and much more, while maintaining a successful career of his own. My boys say they want to be like their Dad when they grow up. That makes me proud.

Speaking of my boys, they have been the best teachers I have ever had. And they have taught me that the greatest gift you can give to any person is to love them unconditionally. I think of my own parents who never told me I couldn’t do anything I wanted to, and treated me like I possessed the ability to do anything. My parents who taught me to work extremely hard, and who were examples of the kind of parent I want to be. Parents who never wavered in their beliefs or values.

I grin thinking of Mike and Monica. I hope I’ve made up for all the times I told them I hated them when we were growing up. Monica has been an inspiration. She’s been through things I can’t even imagine and has turned her life around. Mike is a constant reminder that even tattooed tough guys have big, soft hearts.

My new plant sitting on the computer table reminds me of Shari. I can’t believe we’ve been best friends for 16 years. She’s so good for me. We will be little old ladies together, and I will be a better person for having spent my life with her. I can completely be myself with her and she still loves me. She’s brutally honest, (why did you do that to your hair?) she will listen when she’s dying to talk, and she is a constant in my life I could never be without. She has believed in me from the beginning.

I look from the plant over to my bulletin board collage and once again the tears form. I miss my Methods classes. The valuable things I learned about teaching were learned in Methods – from what we talked about in class, from my teachers and their example, and from my classmates. I think back to the me when I first started. Desks in rows all the time, silence in the classroom, me, the teacher, in control giving them all the information they will ever need. I’ve come far. I’m so glad Mark perseveres. He is an example of the kind of teacher I want to be. To use Meghan’s words, he wants his students to discover the great thing that gets them to do their own thing. His words are all over my bulletin board, in my scrapbook, and in my heart. I knew he felt I was an important part of his class. The first time I had ever felt that as a student. I want my students to feel that way – every single one of them. Kurt’s advice as a relatively new English teacher has been invaluable. His words also share space on my bulletin board and scrapbook. He is a never-ending source of ideas, and he is also an example of the kind of teacher I want to be. He loves his students, he loves to teach, he loves everything about English, and has the ability to relate whatever he is teaching to the kids. He makes his classroom fun and meaningful. I want my boys in his classroom.

I miss Meghan. I haven’t talked with her all summer, but she’s with me here, too. What an incredible writer. And very practical, and encouraging, and supportive, and creative, the perfect person to share my ideas with. I always came away with more. I miss Steff, too. I miss her sense of humor, and her practicality, also. (“I don’t know where you come from, but I live in a little place called Reality.”) I can still hear her. The outspoken cheerleader. Both are inspirations to me.

My small army. They love me, believe in me, are examples to me, encourage me, support me – they have all had an influence on me. All are a part of me – they have helped me to become who I am and the teacher I am about to be. They have each left their unique fragrance in my life, and it’s exactly those fragrances combined with my own that I choose to leave in this room.

Same day – only later.

It was a good day. I have a pounding headache, but can’t stop smiling. The 7th graders are so adorable. If they only knew how cute they were it would be REAL trouble. The 8th graders were pretending to be really tough, and full of attitude, but they’re not as tough as they think they are. The juniors, the class I was so afraid of, is going to be fun. It’s a wonderful break in the day not to have to deal with the problems that immaturity causes.

I was shocked at the behavior of two EBD boys in 8th grade. Of course, I knew nothing, really, about these kids beforehand, and spent ½ hour after school with the special ed teacher. I actually had to yell at one of them. That did the trick, but since I didn’t know much about these kids, I didn’t know exactly how tough to be on them. Now I know better, and tomorrow is going to be entirely different.

What I am thankful for is being able to find out about the kids’ home lives. It sheds a whole new light on them. I still won’t put up with their crap, but at least there are reasons for the way they act. That helps. It helps me remember that they’re still just kids in situations that are out of their control and in homes that do the opposite of nurturing, providing safety and love.

It’s so nice to have people ask me how my day went. Mrs. Matzke was in right away this morning, giving some last words of advice, and she stopped in before she left to see how it went. That was so nice. The more I talk to her, the more I want to talk to her. She’s a smart lady, and I can learn lots from her.

I know it’s only been one day, but I like being an English teacher. I still wish I didn’t have to be called Mrs. Juve. It sounds SO old.

9-4-02

Today was good and bad. I have learned so much in the last two days, I’m certain it’s been more than all my ed classes put together. I have learned that I have to have something for those kids for every single second of every single day. They need something, or there will be problems. I have learned that 8th grade boys are more girl crazy than juniors. I have learned that it’s exhausting to stay on top of the troublemakers, but it makes a difference. I have learned that it’s a lot of work to make the adaptations and do the extra things for the kids in special ed, but that their special ed teachers and their parents appreciate it. I have learned that it is too much to expect a student teacher to begin teaching full time on her first day in a school where there is no academic structure whatsoever. I have learned that what makes that more difficult is a cooperating teacher who started on p. 1 of the lit book, and went as far as he could get, with giving worksheets in between. I have learned that each class has their own unique personality, and that I already have preferences. I suppose that’s bad, but it can’t be helped. I have learned that I’d be completely sunk without my organizational skills – and even with them I’m having a hard time. I have learned that it will be best for me and for my kids when a routine is established – not that we will be doing the same things day in and day out, but things that they know they can count on to be happening at certain times on certain days. I have learned the names of the kids who don’t get what they need at home faster than I am learning the names of the kids who do. I am learning that it would have been to my advantage to have been a horrible student in high school. I can’t relate to some of these kids who don’t think school means anything – it’s the 2nd day, and I can tell who some of these kids are. I did what I was told, I never talked back, I cared about my grades and my work, I didn’t want ANY extra attention. I am learning that I had no idea how many needy kids I would run into. I am learning that a cooperative special ed teacher is a wonderful ally.

I called Monica tonight and got some good advice. She told me the best thing I can do is get to know the ones who are causing problems right away and do it fast, because soon I will lose them for the entire year if they don’t think that I care. So, from now on, if they’re disruptive in my class, they are going to eat lunch with me in my room and I am going to talk to them. I may give them a choice of doing that or staying after school in my room, we’ll see. One thing Monica said that I need to remember is that if a kid is doing poorly in school and the problem isn’t absences or truancy, to ask them what is bringing them to school – that if they’re coming but being pains, something is driving them to go. In other words, they still care about something – or maybe it’s just that they need an escape from home.

There is nothing more frustrating than having to deal with the petty little problems like turning around in the desk and talking, or laughing, or hitting, or throwing things, or refusing to do their work, or arguing with me. It’s easy to get defensive and let that ruin your day, but I have learned that I can’t do that. IT’s not fair to me and it’s not fair to the rest of my students. I need to deal with that situation at that time, and when it’s over I need to let it go, learn from it if I have made a mistake, and go on to the next class – who happens to have no idea what just happened in my room.

I have also learned that I have three wonderful boys of my own who I appreciate more, and if they EVER give their teachers ANY trouble, they will be so sorry.

The kids love my bulletin board. Tomorrow’s Be Late For Something Day. Of course I got asked a million times if they could be late. I told them they could be late for something as long as it wasn’t my class.

Tomorrow we will be presenting collages. They all seemed to enjoy doing those. We’ll see if they’re just as excited about time management, study and listening skills, note taking, and their new text books.

More. I have also learned that it is helpful to get advice from the people that have been doing this for awhile. I have also learned that some things you simply cannot plan for or foresee. Like having to make a rule about what can and can’t go on a collage, or guys cutting out bikini-clad women and stuffing them in their folders for locker decorations.