A Note to the New Blood

I am no longer a first-year teacher. I knew that for a few days (the contract only ended on May 30) but it didn't become clear until the new first-years arrived on the scene. They reminded me how idealistic and open-minded I was before I entered my own classroom. Let's just say I have changed a bit since the time my video was recorded.

I could see them nervously shifting during the video. I notice that because I did the same thing one year ago. Now, I rarely seem to shift around when people are focused on me. My handshake has gotten stiffer and more prone to do any one of the 20 shakes my students have with me. I move around less and notice such movement in others. I know when people are giving me their full and undivided attention and only use it to my advantage during the rare moments I actually have something important to say.

In short, this year has turned my idealism into realism. It has turned nervous energy into focused, mechanical behavior the moment I step inside the school building.

It is disturbing that in conversations, I become the experienced one. I am sharing stories but at some level I still have no idea what I am doing at any given moment.

The biggest problem I am having is not coming off as too negative when I have casual conversations with first-years. When I describe my experience in the classroom, it comes out horribly. I talk about the problems I faced on a daily basis and the situation in the school that forced me to leave.

If any first-years are actually reading this (and know who I am), I need to assure you that this experience has a high for every low. It is just that the highs are harder to put into words. The feeling of a child that has not done a thing coming around is a high. The feeling you get when a student tells you that they "get it" is a high. The feeling when a class previously in chaos is now in order is a high. The feeling that you are clicking on all cylinders in the midst of chaos is a high. The feeling that you are part of changing a child's life, just one of out the maybe 130 or more you will teach, is an overwhelming high.

You don't get to feel those highs right away. You will, in all likelihood, slave away at least one semester before you start reaping the smallest of rewards. For me the reward was respect. It was one of my students getting their business together. It was kids picking my brain after school about life decisions. It was the moment where I could entertain the possibility that I was not wasting my life away trudging as an unappreciated idiot.

The biggest highs in some ways were bittersweet. I got some of the best compliments when I told students I was leaving. I almost cried during the last week of school because I was losing my children. That is something you might not see coming but in time it will.

Teaching is both the most painful, wretched jobs in the world and one of the greatest.

What you will find is that nobody in your school building will say "thank you for doing a good job" for a really long time.

I would like to take a moment to thank you.

Thank you for coming to Mississippi. It was a huge gamble to move across the country to do something you have never done before and then be expected to do it well.

Thank you for working in some of the nation's worst schools.

Thank you for helping us teach summer school.

Thank you for helping to change the world.