Bravery is the Root of all Confidence

For some rather unidentifiable reason, I have always wanted to be a teacher. I was one of those kids who set up all her dolls and stuffed animals and played school even after being in school all day long. When I made it to college, I declared my major as English Education and never looked back. Then, the last semester of my senior year, the day finally came for me to begin my student teaching. I had dreaded it since my freshman year. Somehow I made it through those eight weeks of student teaching, and came out on the other side only slightly deterred in my goal of standing in front of my own classroom and imparting my love of grammar and literature. Brushing off those pesky twinges of doubt, I sallied forth from college eager to secure my own domain as a teacher. After interviewing with several schools, I accepted a job teaching 7-12th grade English at a private school in Savannah, Georgia and found out exactly what it meant to be in charge of my own classroom. Alone and facing a classroom full of students with nary a supervising teacher in sight was a much needed but unsolicited lesson in confidence for an introverted, unassertive girl fresh out of college.

Having survived student teaching, I felt adequately prepared to handle my own classroom. Hindsight being 20/20, I realize now how foolish I was then. I had packed up my life and moved to Savannah to teach English in a smallish private school. I had faithfully worked to prepare my lesson plans and classroom during the week of teacher in-service, and now I was ready for the big night--the parent/teacher open house held on the Friday evening before school began. When the evening of the open house came, I was nervous wreck, but managed somehow to make it through the evening. I met some of my students and their parents which clothed the unknown with a bit of humanity and allayed some of my nervousness. I went home that evening exhausted but relieved. Yet, Monday morning still loomed ahead like a mountain on the horizon which I had to traverse.

Monday came all too quickly and found me on the threshold of my dream. I was about to walk into my first official classroom as THE teacher. I was in charge, and felt the heavy weight of that responsibility as I walked down the hall to my homeroom classroom. The students were still in the gym waiting to be dismissed, but they would be filing into the room any minute. The clock on the wall ticked loudly. I nervously fidgeted with the attendance sheet and lunch tickets while I sat at my desk and waited those last few agonizing miutes. Doubts swirled around in my head like a swarm of angry bees. Could I do this? Could I handle twenty-five teenagers alone? My courage faltered, but before it could fail utterly, the door was yanked open and in trooped the uniform clad ninth and tenth graders none of whom appeared too eager to begin another school year. I could empathize. After some of the initial hullaballoo died down, I launched into my best, "I'm-the-teacher-and-I'm-in-charge" voice and began the morning housekeeping duties. I managed to make it through the rest of that day, but the rest of that year proved to be a serious test of my resolve to be a teacher.

Having students blatantly defy me, talk back to me, make fun of me, and write vulgar words on my chalkboard did not encourage me to want to continue teaching. I cried more often than not that first year, but I learned something about myself. Being forced to summon my courage day in and day out to face groups of belligerent students who apparently wanted to make my life miserable, taught me that confidence is not always inborn. I had never considered myself particularly brave before that year. At the end of the year, along with the feeling of intense rellief that I had survived with my sanity intact, came the realization that I had been brave. I didn't quit even though I desperately wanted to most of the time. I fumbled, stumbled, and bumbled my way through that first year, but I didn't quit. That knowledge alone, gave me a surge of confidence. I finished the year a little bit wiser, a little bit worse for wear, but a lot more confident than I thought possible, all because I blundered bravely on despite my "enemy" being "encamped about on every side"--for an entire school year.


This was the example narrative essay I mentioned in my post yesterday.

Dusting off my Enthusiasm

Once again, I am back in the teaching saddle. At the end of every school year that I have taught, I walk out of the classroom vowing never to come back. It doesn't help to be married to the principal of a small private school that every few years seems to be in need of an English teacher. I am teaching one upper level class although my husband attempted to convince me to teach two classes by promising me trips to England and Europe. Despite my desperate longing to travel abroad, I prefer my sanity in tact. Teaching more than one class would not be conducive to my staying sane. Not at this season of my life.

Now, lest someone think that I abhor teaching, let me just say that I find it immensely stimulating to be teaching the class that I have this year. It is the equivalent of an AP English class, and the students are for the most part up to the challenge. I am having to "hold their hands" so to speak through some of the novels we've done so far, but they are getting the hang of analyzing literature. I am looking forward to all of the literature we will be studying. I should. I hand picked each selection, but there's the rub. I'm having to create my own curriculum which is challenging and stimulating but immensely exhausting at times especially when I'm writing my own study guides. All in a day's work, I suppose.

I don't mean to gripe. Well, I do sort of, but to end on a positive note, I will say that teaching again has made me realize just how far I've come as a teacher. Now I'm bragging it seems. It's true though. I remember all too clearly my first year of teaching. In fact, I wrote my own narrative essay about it as an example for my English class. They never actually saw my essay though I did intend to share it with them. Crafting a decent essay received priority class time and my little composition got pushed to the back of my notebook.

At any rate, when I reread what I wrote, I find it curious that even though I've sworn off teaching numerous times, I always wind up doing it again and again and again. Each time I'm stretched a bit more. Indeed, I have come a long way as a teacher. I've learned a lot over the past seventeen years. That's as it should be. I've known very few naturally gifted teachers. Most teachers do have to have their idealism tempered at some point. Unfortunately, enthusiasm many times gets caught in the crossfire as was my case. I happened to be tried in the fire my first year, but so much the better. How much more time I had to grow as an educator before any disillusionment could permanently set in. Enthusiasm can regain its initial momentum, but disillusionment is much harder to treat. I have been on the brink of disillusionment since my first year, and at times I wanted to fling myself head first into the abyss. Each time someone always yanks me back and sets me in the direction of a classroom.

Seventeen years have passed since I walked into my first classroom. Maybe it's time to dust off my enthusiasm and embrace the teacher within.