It has become
tradition to chronicle my first day of each new school year. This is a blog about teaching, after
all. The first day of a new school
year is akin to an educational high holy day. That day and the day just before Christmas break. We revere that day quite a bit
too. So yesterday was the day; the
kickoff day of my fourth group of first graders. Fuh-reeeeeeeky.
I cruised the halls before the beginning bell and greeted coworkers and
former students and I realized
with amazement that I already have former students who are now in the fourth
grade. Wait… WHAT? I just started teaching. I’m a newbie. This is not possible.
Whoa.
I’ll quickly
recap my summer and move forward.
It was busy. I finished my
grad school course requirements and PASSED statistics (proof there is a God in
heaven), hosted out of town company a couple of times, had family vacation and
didn’t really think about my classroom until the first of August. And then things got really nuts. I
cleaned and sorted and tossed and made a total mess of things right up until
two days ago. Other faculty and
staff would step over the threshold of the Magic Tree House (of Horror), sweep
the chaos with their eyes in shocked silence, then declare definitively, “You’ll
never be ready in time.” Had I not
locked myself away in my dungeon for thirteen hours on Saturday, they would
have been right. By Sunday night,
I was ready and feeling pretty smug about my level of readiness. I was certainly light years above any
previous year in terms of preparedness and organization. I was prepped, polished, pumped… and a
little cocky.
Monday was our
in-service day and was a day of meetings I didn’t hate for a change. I had just one lingering fear. I knew I would have a diabetic student
this year. I had never directly
cared for a diabetic child. I was
overwhelmed with the enormity of that responsibility. The parents came to demonstrate his care and guide me
through the process. I took
copious notes and asked mountains of questions. And left that meeting terrified that I would do the wrong
thing at the wrong time for this precious child. Dear Lord, please help me know to do and when I should do
it. It feels too big.
Monday afternoon
I put the finishing touches on Tuesday’s lesson plans, tossed the bulletin
board stuff into the hall closet, filled first day bags, set out plates and
napkins for my traditional first day muffins and juice for the parents, and
went home to water my very thirsty flower beds. It was weird to not be in a night-before panic. It felt heavenly.
On the morning of
the first day, I leisurely ate my quasi-hippie/Ewell Gibbons-style, nature
lovin’ hot cereal concoction, savored a cup of strong coffee, put on enough
bling to blind the Hubble telescope, and left the house punctually at 6:47.
I unloaded my
loaded van, shouted greetings to the few early birds like me in the halls and
offices, sat down to check my email, then realized with horror that I had left
my precious lesson plan book at home.
Casting a panicked glance at the clock, I took the steps two at a time (an
impressive feat for the oldest teacher in the building) and hurried to the
teachers lounge to call home praying that my daughter had not left yet. She had. Grrrrrrr! I had
a rough idea of what I wanted to do and had all the materials laid out neatly,
but there are so many housekeeping items that must be covered in the first
days. I did not want to forget
anything important. Oh, and it was
supposed to hit 100 degrees.
Our building is older than Moses and does not possess central air. Pitting out was going to be a real
possibility. Hopefully the
excessive jewelry will detract attention from sweat-soaked clothing.
Hurray!!
Superman i.e. hubby promised to drop off my lesson plans for me. Oh, and he also got up early and made
the muffins. Hubby rocks.
The 2013-2014
class of Darlings began to arrive one by one. How many this year, Mrs. Dahl? you are probably asking. Ten? Twenty?
Twenty-five?? (drum roll please)
a WHOPPING six students.
Yeah, as in 1-2-3-4-5-6. I
know, right? Who else in the USA
public school system gets to come to work everyday and teach only six
children. It is incredible to have
such a rich opportunity to do justice to each individual child. And frankly, it is just plain fun. There is zero excuse for not producing
proficient students.
Hubby arrived to
save the day. The morning hours
melted into one another. First
blood sugar check came and went without incident, with the help of an aide who
had a rudimentary grasp of his care (I am putting her in my Will).
While in my
room, she casually asked me if I had heard about what had happened with my
daughter before school that morning.
Noooo, I had not. I was
ill-prepared for her news. It is
not my story to tell, but in a nutshell, Hannah was having a very bad day. A “terrible, horrible, no good, very
bad day.” I could not go to her
then, but my thoughts flew to her and I wished I could wrap her in my arms. I know her so well. I knew she would be suffering, trying
so hard to be brave. And there is
nothing worse than suffering on the very first day of school.
But… the
Darlings.
The Darlings are
simply adorable. They are as
lovely a group of children as I have ever seen gathered into one confined space
on this planet. They were curious
and polite and fun and funny and nearly perfect. There was such a sweet contended sigh that kept bubbling to
the surface of my soul. These kids
are ready to learn and explore and fall in love with learning. I think my favorite memory of that
first day was reading Chapter One of the first Magic Tree House book. We will read a chapter a day for the
entire year. We’ll get through the
first fifteen books or so in the series.
But on the first day, I introduced them to Jack and Annie and their
mysterious traveling tree house that leads them to amazing adventures, all
through the power of the written word.
As I read with
theatrical flair and watched their little faces, they were beyond
enthralled. Little cherub mouths
hung open in rapt attention and eyes widened with the suspense of the storyline. I smiled a satisfied sort of
smile. It was at that moment on
the very first day of first grade that I knew they would love learning as much
as I do. These new first graders
will be willing participants in the discovery process. I promised them I would make them rock
star readers by the end of first grade.
They grinned. They are
ready.
And then we
moved into safety procedures and I was reminded of the evil in this world and
how it impacts even the young. I
went over tornado drill procedures and we obediently trudged to the boy’s
bathroom and discussed what we would do in such a scenario. Then we discussed the possibility of a
fire and hurried to our meeting spot on the playground. Holy cow, it was hot out there! We scurried back to the relative coolness
of our basement classroom. I
probably should have tried to fry an egg while we were out there and called it
science.
After long, cool
drinks at the fountain and a little quiet rest time, I brought them again to
the reading rug to discuss our last procedure; lockdown. I so hate bringing this one up, because
this one deals with the black hearts of mankind. Evil is so hard for any of us to wrap our minds around, but
innocent babies are unable to process it even a little.
I went over our
procedure and a tiny white hand shot into the air. “Mrs. Dahl, I heard about a man that busted into a school
and killed twenty Kindergarteners.”
The air was sucked instantly out of the room. “Could that happen here?” Twelve wide eyes turned to see my reaction. None had seemed to have heard of the
Sandy Hook massacre before this news hound had shared it right there on our
neon blue and green reading rug. They
were watching me intently. My mind
spun like a G-Force Centrifuge.
Think, Vonda. Dear Lord, I
don’t know how much to tell them.
Give me words…
“It is true that
children were killed by that man.
That was a terrible thing.
But here is my promise to you, boys and girls. I will always do my VERY BEST to protect you.” Little faces stared without speaking. They needed more than that flimsy
reassurance.
“You know how
you feel safe at home? Cuz you
know your mom and dad will protect you and take care of you always and no
matter what?” Tentative nods here
and there as this new approach was familiar territory. “When you are at school, I am like your
parent that way. When you are with
me, I watch out for you like they would.”
Slow smiles spread across relieved faces. OK, now we're getting somewhere. That is, until Mr. Broad Thinker lobs the next grenade. “But Mrs. Dahl, what if the Robber has
a really big rock and throws it through the window in the door and gets in even
if the door is locked?” Horror
returns to faces at this new possibility.
“Or what if there are lots of robbers trying to get in at once? How can you keep us safe?” Oh my. He went straight to the heart of my worst nightmares and his
arrow found its mark in my own uneasiness and doubts about protecting these
children. What if?? I wish I knew. This is our world and these are the realities
that today’s Innocents must grapple with.
Adults cannot understand it.
How are six-year-olds supposed to?
I willed my
brain to proffer an acceptable answer, even though there simply are none.
This
conversation demanded raw verbage.
The real question being asked was, would I place myself between these
babies and a mad gunman? This is
what they really wanted to know.
But my job is to create an atmosphere of peaceful learning. So I took a right turn at the elephant
in the room and chose to keep the subject matter in its most infantile
element. Too many details will
only lead to more worry. I looked
into those precious faces and said with slow simple fervency, “I will always
protect you the very best that I can.”
No one spoke for several heavy seconds. Then as if they had had a mental conference to which I had
not been invited, they nodded in unison and visibly relaxed. It would be enough for now.
My daughter’s
crisis was escalating and I was needed upstairs. The timing was perfect for it was now my students’ PE
time. I grabbed an aid I knew
could deal with my diabetic student’s blood check and hurried to Hannah’s
side. I had just twenty minutes to
give her my support, but I breathed a prayer of thanks to my Lord that I worked
in the same building as she and was physically present for her when she needed
me most. An incredible, rare,
indescribable gift.
I pulled her into
the quiet sanctuary of my classroom and held her while the dam broke and her
slender frame shook with racking sobs.
Hannah is the antithesis of drama queen. Tears from the depths of her being are a rarity for
her. I held her until the storm
passed and then whispered words of comfort and assurance into her ear. Terrible days come to all eventually. They also pass and tomorrow is a
brighter day. These are things
that parents know and children don’t yet.
My students
returned and my heartbroken girl left to get ready for volleyball
practice. The first day was nearly
over. I walked my students to
their buses and a blast of furnace air greeted us as we stepped outside. Man, it was hot. Where’s that egg??
My day was not
over. I cleaned up the classroom,
which looked surprisingly good, and did a few odds and ends jobs. A mandatory parent meeting was still on
my agenda before I could call it a day.
I waited until 6:15, then drove the thirty miles to the town we co-op
sports with (the downside of rural education). The meeting was informative (holy cow, that’s the second
meeting in two days I haven’t hated.
What’s up with that??), then drove the 45 miles back home. My mother shot me a text asking about
my first day. “Are you tired?” she
asked with motherly concern. Tired
as a descriptor is like saying that George Clooney’s looks are nothing to write
home about. Yeah, I was tired.
I padded down
the hall to Hannah’s hot-pink-and-zebra-striped bedroom and sat on the edge of
her bed. “How are you?” She looked
up at me from her place on the floor with her beautiful brown eyes. “Better” she said simply. I could see it affirmed on her
face. The worst was over. She would be fine. Knowing she was
going to sleep like death, I left her and hit the shower. My fourth first day had ended and I was
drained.
As I lay in the
dark while my mind and body sped to unconsciousness, I pondered the events of
the day. Parts of it had been
terrible, but mostly it had been the sort of dream first day I had longed for
when I was a brand new teacher. It
feels really, absolutely, deliciously good to have a little experience under my
belt. I like the feeling very
much. I love my job as much today
as I did when I posted my very first blog post on my very first day of
teaching. I think I love it even
more. I understand better the
power and influence I have over educating young minds. The transfer of knowledge is truly
intoxicating.
Last year was a trial by fire in many ways. For reasons I cannot share, within the first hours of the first day I knew it was going to be year of rough sailing. Last year at the end of the first day, after the Darlings had loaded the bus for home, I sat at my desk and let fat, salty tears drip from my face. As it turned out, the entire year pretty much followed the same course as that first traumatic day. It was a year to remember and forget simultaneously. I learned a tremendous amount about human behaviour during those exhausting nine months. I learned I do not like bureaucracy. I also learned that there is nothing in all the world I would rather do than teach. Last year tested my mettle in a myriad of ways, but I was so incredibly glad that I had mother's experience on my side. I think if I had been a twenty-two-year-old I would have walked out the front doors and never looked back.
This year is such a far cry from that first day of exhausted self-pity. Two days in doesn't mean a thing, I know that. We are on a honeymoon, the children and myself. My class dynamics could change in a heartbeat. I know that too. I get it. But the last two days have been teaching Paradise.
I love the interchanges with students of all ages as well. My 6th grade fellow nature-loving friend stopped me in the hall today with "gifts" from the earth; quarts and Obsidian pebbles. I heard her holler to another teacher as she ran up the stairs to her own classroom, "She says she likes the way my brain works!" I smiled at her unabashed enthusiasm. I do indeed. It is the beauty of a school so unbelievably tiny it would be laughable to most.
My 80-year-old uncle came to visit me this summer. He is so like his brother, my father. I sat across the table from him and reveled in an aura that felt so much like my dad's. Uncle Leonard smiled at me during one of our conversations and with a twinkle in his eye revealed that he reads each and every one of my blog posts. "I'm a big fan," he said with a 100-watt smile. Then he got serious and tears filled his beautiful blue eyes. "You know this old world would be a different place if people loved children like they should." He paused and the quiet of my farmhouse kitchen suddenly felt like a sanctuary. "Like you do. There is no job more important in this world than what you do everyday for those kids in your classroom."
I think about his words often. He is right, of course. All of society rides or falls on how it treats its children and its elderly. I am encouraged by his words.
The Psalmist David declared that "the boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places." (Psalm 16:6). I share that sentiment. My little classroom in the middle of nowhere, on the great big, endless prairie, is entirely satisfying. It is all that I had signed up for. It is how I had envisioned it. Even the tough days.
I cannot wait to see what this year holds. I'm like a kid on Christmas Eve.
