First week as a teacher
Going through some of the things in my Mum's garage, I found a couple of pages of reflections on my first week teaching. Before I throw them out, I thought I'd type them up and consider sharing them with you. I'm not sure why I never finished detailing the days of the week, or even Monday - there was plenty of paper left beneath what I had written (the following went just over two pages), but I suspect that I curled up and had a good cry at that point. If you are like me, and prone to crying over things you read, fetch a tissue now.
Before you read the following, I would like to let you know a few things. I have typed it up as it was written, including incorrect spelling or words. The only things I have omitted are names.
Term 1, Week 1: 12/02/2006
How did it go? I feel like I've spent the whole week yelling at students to be silent when I'm talking, to work quietly at the tasks I've set. I know very few of the students by name. I know very little about the school, the staff, the parents, the community, the content I'm teaching, what I'm supposed to do and when and how and why.
And I feel like I've spent the whole week lying to people. 'How was your first week?' they ask, and I answer, 'Good.'
'Good.' I survived. I didn't kill anyone, and no one killed me.
'Good.' I wrote many notes to parents, some good, some bad.
'Good.' I only had one student in tears.
'Good.' I haven't cried enough. I never thought it was possible to be too tired to cry. I thought I'd always be able to cry when I needed to. I thought I was honest, at least with myself, about my feelings - to the best that the mind can understand that tangled, soggy mess, anyway.
'Good.' My buddy/mentor told me not to quit at the end of my first year, to stick it out for at least 2 years before deciding if I can be a teacher, while I was just struggling not to quit in my first week.
'Good.' I started teaching a book before I read it myself, and the books that I have read I don't even have a vague idea of how I'm going to teach them or what I want students to get out of the novel studies.
'Good.' I don't want to move, but with a housemate going to Europe I don't know that I can stay in this house unless something changes in a really dramatic way - unless a whole lot of things change, very soon.
'Good.' I'm so tired, physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, that I don't even know if I'm still human. I'm not getting enough sleep, I'm not getting enough done, I'm angry and lonely and depressed and doubtful. I try to turn to God but I don't know how to find Him at the moment. I feel abandoned and unloved.
Now I'm crying.
Details.
Monday.
Got to school late. Well, late for when I'm supposed to be there, not late for classes.
W. House. We have 51? students from Year 6-10. We had the first 2 lessons of the day to go through new expectations, hand out timetables, diary covers, notices. Somehow we filled all that time.
Recess. Printed off lesson outlines - very sketchy. Made sure I could bring Year 9s to the Library to collect the class text.
Lessons 3-4: Year 7 English. Spent the first few minutes of the lesson talking to my Year 8 Homeclass, telling them how to say my name, what I expect - very brief. The Year 7 Homeclass teacher spent most of Lesson 3 doing the same thing with the Yr 7s. So I sat in on most of that, which was a good chance to see how things work for him at least. When he finished I spent a few things going over what they could expect from me.
Lesson 4 I took the class to the Library.
They were far too noisy, and I had to tell them off twice inside the Library.
Before you read the following, I would like to let you know a few things. I have typed it up as it was written, including incorrect spelling or words. The only things I have omitted are names.
Term 1, Week 1: 12/02/2006
How did it go? I feel like I've spent the whole week yelling at students to be silent when I'm talking, to work quietly at the tasks I've set. I know very few of the students by name. I know very little about the school, the staff, the parents, the community, the content I'm teaching, what I'm supposed to do and when and how and why.
And I feel like I've spent the whole week lying to people. 'How was your first week?' they ask, and I answer, 'Good.'
'Good.' I survived. I didn't kill anyone, and no one killed me.
'Good.' I wrote many notes to parents, some good, some bad.
'Good.' I only had one student in tears.
'Good.' I haven't cried enough. I never thought it was possible to be too tired to cry. I thought I'd always be able to cry when I needed to. I thought I was honest, at least with myself, about my feelings - to the best that the mind can understand that tangled, soggy mess, anyway.
'Good.' My buddy/mentor told me not to quit at the end of my first year, to stick it out for at least 2 years before deciding if I can be a teacher, while I was just struggling not to quit in my first week.
'Good.' I started teaching a book before I read it myself, and the books that I have read I don't even have a vague idea of how I'm going to teach them or what I want students to get out of the novel studies.
'Good.' I don't want to move, but with a housemate going to Europe I don't know that I can stay in this house unless something changes in a really dramatic way - unless a whole lot of things change, very soon.
'Good.' I'm so tired, physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, that I don't even know if I'm still human. I'm not getting enough sleep, I'm not getting enough done, I'm angry and lonely and depressed and doubtful. I try to turn to God but I don't know how to find Him at the moment. I feel abandoned and unloved.
Now I'm crying.
Details.
Monday.
Got to school late. Well, late for when I'm supposed to be there, not late for classes.
W. House. We have 51? students from Year 6-10. We had the first 2 lessons of the day to go through new expectations, hand out timetables, diary covers, notices. Somehow we filled all that time.
Recess. Printed off lesson outlines - very sketchy. Made sure I could bring Year 9s to the Library to collect the class text.
Lessons 3-4: Year 7 English. Spent the first few minutes of the lesson talking to my Year 8 Homeclass, telling them how to say my name, what I expect - very brief. The Year 7 Homeclass teacher spent most of Lesson 3 doing the same thing with the Yr 7s. So I sat in on most of that, which was a good chance to see how things work for him at least. When he finished I spent a few things going over what they could expect from me.
Lesson 4 I took the class to the Library.
They were far too noisy, and I had to tell them off twice inside the Library.
Comments
Post a Comment