Tag: back to school

First-day jitters

We’ve added a third person to our little carpool, and we pick her up today for the first time. Because it’s the first day of school, she is waiting for us in front of the elementary school where she has just dropped off her children. The day promises to be extremely hot, and she’s already pulling her dress away from her chest as she slips into the car.

“How’d it go?” I ask, and she reports that the kids are happily on their way into school with their new teachers. I think back to when I dropped my own children off at this same school, their sweaty hands clinging to mine when they were little and, later, those same hands raised in a quick goodbye as the child they were attached to dashed off to meet up with friends. Today, teenagers, neither child ‘fessed up to any nerves, but I know they were there – the first day of school is always a bit jittery.

Now, the car is full of chatter. One teacher is starting her third year of teaching and her second semester at GHS. Our new companion has been teaching longer, but she’s new to the school. Me? I’m the veteran – I’m pretty sure this is my 26th first day as a teacher, and it’s my third year at this school. We’re all a little sweaty – and I doubt it’s just the heat. As the A/C finally kicks in, we settle back and admit to our own nerves. Who slept last night? Who feels prepared? Does any teacher ever sleep well the night before the first day? Fully prepared for the moment the students walk in? We don’t think so.

The school building is already jumpy with students when we arrive, nearly an hour before the first bell. In the lobby, nervous teens check printed lists taped to the display case, trying to find their first period teacher. I overhear the same conversations I remember from my own first days as a student: “Who do you have?” “Do you know where room 2045 is?” “Wait? Are we in the same class?” I remember that edgy excitement.

As I walk away from the buzz of the main area towards the classrooms, a few of the students I taught last year tumble to a halt and say hello. One eyes the books I’m carrying. “Are those new?” she asks hopefully. I tell her yes, and show her that I’ve also got a new set of her favourite series from last year. “Oh!” she is excited, then suddenly she bites her lip. “Would it be ok if I borrow one of the ones I’ve already read?” By the time I say yes, the first in the series is in her hands, a shield against this nebulous new year.

Finally, I arrive at my classroom and open my door. I’m straightening up when a head pops in: “Miss, you have my brother!” True, but not this period. I walk them – the brother now stealing shy glances at me- to where they need to be. Back in the lobby, I find anxious parents, trying to understand the chaos in front of them. One family speaks French, and their relief is almost tangible when I respond. Yes, yes, their child is in the right place. Yes, I can help. I’m surrounded by languages I don’t know, too, as students greet each other in delight.

By now, I’ve forgotten my nerves, but the school is still fizzing with energy. A young woman I know from a club I sponsor rushes up to me. “Are you teaching Grade 12 English?” I am not. “But… I need you for Shakespeare.” I have no idea what she’s talking about. “I can’t do it, I just can’t,” she continues,”and I know you can help.” I assure her that her teacher can, in fact, teach Shakespeare well and that if she is still struggling she can come to me. Then I realize she has English second semester. I manage to hold back a laugh as I send her off to her first semester classes.

I smile at students I recognize, notice how they’ve grown and new hairstyles. I ask about summers and check timetables. Soon enough, most people have found their way to where they need to be, and I am again in the classroom. I don’t have students right now – it’s orientation for grade 9 students – but I can feel the energy pulsing through the walls.

That energy simmers and pops throughout the day. Students and staff move about the school, trying to find our places, trying to discover who we are this year, in this space, with these people. We won’t figure it all out today – heck, we might not all figure it out this year – but most of us will sleep better tonight than we did last night. For now, though, the truth is that many of us here are just a little jittery.

First Impressions

What he likes best, my 12 year old, is comfortable clothes. What he likes are sweatpants and t-shirts, sneakers and worn socks. He likes things that are broken in, soft, slouchy. 

Because of this, he spent the summer showing more and more of his ankles as his legs grew and his pants didn’t. He spent the summer with gaping holes at his knees and growing holes in his t-shirts. He spent the summer in stained, ratty clothes – familiar and freeing.

But September loomed and the week before school started, his dad insisted on clothing culling. Both boys dragged clothes from various drawers and dark corners and piled them up in giant heaps in the middle of the floor. Sizes were checked. Those things that were barely holding together were consigned to the rag pile. Items that were still in good shape but nonetheless did not meet individual style standards – such as they are – were gifted to the neighbors’ kids. Everyone agreed that having pants with intact knees and shirts without stains was a desirable goal.

Or so we thought.

On the first day of school, Mr. 12 appeared in the kitchen wearing perfectly respectable sweatpants (if there is such a thing) and a beloved but besmirched t-shirt. I pointed out the stain and asked if he would change it, just to humour me. He agreed. Moments later he returned… wearing a shirt dotted with several small holes. I maintained my composure but suggested that this shirt, too, should be changed. Mr. 12 was less enthusiastic about my second request.

At this point, his dad, somewhat chagrined, I think, by the reappearance of these shirts that he had assured me were gone, chimed in. “Have you ever heard the saying ‘you never get a second chance to make a first impression’?” Mr. 12 had not, and he agreed to change one more time.

And that was the end of that. 

Just kidding.

The next day, I only got a passing glance at my child as I scrambled out the door on my own way to work. His dad didn’t look too carefully either. This explains why we only noticed his less-than-new shirt (ok, it had holes. again) after the school day was firmly over. I shook my head and started to explain our “your shirts shouldn’t have stains or holes” theory – the simple idea that seems to be anathema to him. He listened patiently, then shook his head with mock sadness. “It’s ok,” he reassured us. “After all, I can’t make a first impression twice.” He skipped away, laughing.

Since then I’ve gone back to letting him dress however he likes.

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Nervous Excitement

I’m teaching at a new school this year. Now, there are a few things you should know about this before I continue:

  1. I was at my previous school for eight years and I loved it.
  2. This was my choice. I mean, I interviewed for this position, said yes & everything. On purpose.
  3. I have moved schools before – a lot. In my twenty some years of teaching, I’ve taught at seven schools (counting overseas; not counting my practice teaching). 
  4. I am nervous every. single. time. 

Number four begs the question of why I keep moving. Well… sometimes I had a one-year contract (overseas); once I got married and moved to a different continent; twice I was ‘surplused’ (had a contract, but no placement in that school). Only once before have I intentionally decided to move. Both that time and this one I was ready for a new challenge and sought out the right opportunity: I’m going to be head of a department that the Principal is calling “Global Citizenship and Literacy” – English, Languages, History & Social Sciences – how cool is that? Does it sound like I’m trying to convince myself that this was a good decision? Yup, here I am, nervous.

So far I’ve mostly been able to pour my nerves into cleaning. First, I threw away a bunch of nasty old books that no student should have to receive as a class book along with a few frankly racist books that we really didn’t need to keep as a class set. For the first time in 13 years I have my own room, so I’ve been cleaning (paper alone took one full day – the teacher in there before me retired & pretty much left everything behind). Today I started unpacking and organizing. My mother is visiting me and a 13-year-old friend of mine is an organizing genius, so I recruited them to help me out. We worked through the morning until our eyes were red with dust and we were sneezing into our masks. We worked until we’d drunk all the water we brought and really needed lunch. We worked until we were tired enough that we were spending a lot of time talking about the books we liked and less time putting them on the shelves. There’s more to go – I have a LOT of books – but things are starting to take shape.

Wait a minute. Truth: while they threw away the dried-up pens and White-out that seemed to lurk in every drawer and cubby, or decided whether to place a book in “realistic fiction” or “Canadian”, I was in and out of the room, starting to meet my new colleagues, chatting about summer, classroom assignments, course assignments, books and pedagogy. We’re all feeling each other out, looking for commonalities, checking to see how we’ll fit together. 

“Do you think that we should all teach one book in each grade so that students have a shared experience?” No, I don’t. 

“Gatsby is one of my favourite books.”
Oh, how I love Gatsby, though I no longer teach it as a class novel.

“Don’t you think that Of Mice and Men will make a “comeback” some day?”
Nope, though I’ve taught it before and I loved it for a long time. 

“I know that the students probably need to build up their literacy skills after a year and a half of Covid. What will you prioritize in your classes this year?”
That one’s easy: joy. 

“Joy?”
Yes, and laughter.

Nervous nervous nervous. Will my colleagues like me? Will my pedagogy be too “out there”? What if I can’t teach these students? (Honestly, I have worried about this at every school. You’d think I would have learned by now.) What if this doesn’t work? What if… what if… what if…

A few years ago, when students’ final project in English was to deliver a TED Talk, I used to play Kelly McGonigal’s talk, How to Make Stress Your Friend. To be honest, sometimes if students are stressy enough, I still do. Over and over, I have listened to her tell us that stress can be energizing, preparing us to meet a challenge, that it can feel like joy and challenge. Joy. This is the message I keep with me. It’s okay for me to be nervous, stressed or even – gasp – scared. This is normal. This is good. This is why I decided it was time for a change. I need to be challenged; I am ready for something new. My task now is to remember that these nerves have an upside. My journey is to find the challenge and meet it with excitement.

When I came home from cleaning, after buying lunch for my amazing helpers (Thanks, Mom), my own children were hanging around, savouring the last days of summer. “How are you feeling, Mom?” they wanted to know. “Nervous,” I said, “Nervous and excited.” 

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