Teachers are Human, too.

Excited, ignorant, naive, determined, confused, and hopeful are a few of the words that come to mind when I think about who I was on the first day, and ultimately, the first semester of teaching in public school. I held the belief that I was more important than the President because I literally held the future of the country in my classroom. It sounds a little corny, but I’m an idealist that way. It’s what drove me to home school for twenty-five years. If I didn’t believe passionately in the process, I couldn’t have completed the job. I learned very quickly that the same passion would be needed in a public school classroom.

On my first day at Inner City High School, I was so excited. I was entering in the middle of the year, but I showed no fear. The time I had been preparing for had arrived, and boy was I ready. They placed me with on level 10th graders, 11th graders, and one class of students who didn’t pass the state test. I had a co-teacher for two of my classes, but other than that, I was alone.

As the day wore on, I learned that my new students hadn’t had a teacher for the whole year, so they were behind and unmotivated. I was able to meet with the substitute who had led their class and hoped to learn more about lesson plans, grading, and how classroom behavior was managed. Instead, I was informed that the only thing students did was worksheets that accompanied an article from Upfront Magazine. Apparently, this was the strategy employed by the Department Chair who insisted that this is how to get students to pass the state exam. Oh, and the best part? The sub told me, “If that kid is good, he gets an A. If he gets on my nerves, I’m gonna fail him.” Yikes.

My days started early and ended late. I pulled together a semblance of order and plans, worked till seven every night, and tried to teach students who couldn’t read how to write. I had three preps and no idea that this was a difficult thing to ask of a new teacher, i.e, ignorant and determined.

My third week, when the Department Chair was out of town, students unfamiliar to me came swirling and spiraling into my room with speeds and sounds that would rival a Category 4 hurricane. I explained that they had the wrong class, and they explained that they didn’t. I now have four preps, i.e., confused.

The more you explain it, the more I don’t understand it.~Mark Twain

No one informed me that I would have two new classes, but I was later lectured about the importance of teaching the Pre-APs because they were “our bread and butter”. I was told to teach writing for the exam and nothing else. No plans, resources, instructions — nothing but, “Research it”.

Abuse is the improper usage or treatment of a thing, often to unfairly or improperly gain benefit.

The class had been facilitated (I guess you could call it that) by a well-meaning substitute, and student interactions with her were disrespectful and childish. These students were never asked to be in an advanced class; they were placed there due to previous scores on the state exam and complaining about it brought them great joy.

It was immediately clear — I had to get the classroom under control because collectively, there was an overwhelming frantic, chaotic vibe permeating the air like the smell of rotten eggs. It was thick, lingering, and sour — it had to go.

The advanced classes met on A and B days which meant I had two classes equaling about 65 students total. Both classes were chaotic, but for clarity’s sake, we’ll talk about the students who attended A day.

There were 32 students in the small classroom and five tables that seated six students each. This put six students each at three tables and crowded seven students each at two tables. I called them “teams”. They named themselves after a famous author, and I referred to the team as Austin, Twain, Poe — whatever they chose. Then, each table had to choose a leader, a secretary, and a librarian.

The leader was in charge of keeping order, seat work, keeping his/her team on task, and talking to me. If there was a question at his table, he would address me. Now, 32 kids weren’t surrounding me in a frenzy asking off-the-wall questions which left me baffled and off-kilter.

The secretary was responsible to pick up whatever I had prepared for the team and return it to their folder at the end of class limiting traffic jams in our cramped room.

The librarian was responsible for distributing and collecting books used by his/her team and returning them to the shelves since there were no desks for storage. It worked like a dream, i.e, hopeful.

At first, there was difficulty getting them to pay attention. They liked to be on their phones and were way too chatty. I explained that dialogue is part of education, but it must be properly directed. To keep us on task, I would ask a question and give them a few minutes to talk it out. Then, I would raise my right hand and count down from five in order to give them time to wrap up their conversation. When I reached number one, all was to be silent. As annoying as this tactic might seem, it became a habit that brought organization out of chaos, and they responded to it well. There were a few personality issues, but I wasn’t too concerned, i.e., naive.

I have a naive outlook on life. That’s who I am. ~M. Night Shyamalan

The day was like any other. The students came in and got seated. Secretaries picked up work, librarians distributed books, and the leaders started the editing warm-ups. I set the timer for five minutes and all heck broke loose.

She said, “Stop”.

He said, “Make me”.

She said, “OK.”

It all happened so fast. Next thing I knew, they were both standing. She shoved him, and he shoved her back. There was no phone in the room, no bell, no buzzer, no way to contact help.

She shoved him again, and then I saw him ball up his fist in slow motion. The dull thud of his fist connecting solidly with bone is a sound I will never forget. The impact landed her hard on the floor. In a moment of clarity, I motioned for a student by the door to get help. I looked around and everyone had their phones out, filming, shouting, and cheering. Purely out of habit, I raised my right hand and began counting back from five — loudly. When I said, “One”, everyone stopped and sat down. It was eerie.

Later in the day, I was debriefed by administration to determine exactly what happened. I explained what I remembered, and told them it was all on YouTube by now if they really wanted detail. I tried to explain my concerns.

What if I had been hit?

What if I were on the floor?

Who would get help?

Shouldn’t we get a new system?

With a lovely smile, she acquainted me with the system. “We have a generous compensation plan for teachers who have been hit by students. You get two weeks off with full pay!” Hm. Should I block the punch next time? i.e., still confused.

This group of 32 students had been taught by a sub for a semester before I arrived. I was appalled when I met them and amazed when I left them. They blossomed with structure and were hungry for authentic instruction. Even though I didn’t know what I was doing, or how to teach to a test, only one out of 65 students didn’t pass the exam, and he couldn’t speak English.

You are built not to shrink down to less but to blossom into more. ~Oprah Winfrey

At this point in my story, the inspiring voice in my head wants to advise new teachers to never give up, to stay determined and hopeful. While this isn’t bad advice, it’s cliche and doesn’t address the needs of a teacher.

I left Inner City High School because it’s power dynamic reminded me of a toxic relationship. In that relationship, the victim stays for reasons that others don’t understand. Reasons like: “I know this is an unhealthy situation, but I just worry about the kids,” or “I stay for the kids”, or “The kids need someone consistent”. While this is true, teachers cannot - must not, set ourselves on fire to keep other people warm.

My advice: Don’t forget that you are human, too.