There’s a Teacher in the Room – Published in Teach. Write. A Writing Teachers’ Literary Journal – Fall∼Winter 2023
“Welcome. Hello.” I greeted each student at the door with a handshake while trying to make eye contact, but adult eye contact with these 14-year-olds was challenging. Most responded quickly and walked away whispering, giggling, sitting as far from the front of the room as seating allowed. But one girl held out a reluctant limp hand. She smirked, rolled her eyes, and said, “Yeah, right, hi.”
I had been hired to build the writing and executive functioning skills of 8th graders. The classroom had changed since my departure twenty years ago. Desks had been replaced with tables and chairs, dismissal bells had been eliminated, and teachers now were addressed by their first names. Students wore jeans and tank tops, some even pj’s and slippers. But the classroom was still my stage, and I was prepared for my performance. It was the audience of new-age 14-year-olds I hadn’t expected.
When everyone was seated but still chattering, I took a deep breath before taking my position at the front of the room. The one girl still wearing a smirk, now sitting in the back of the room took out an emery board and began filing her well-polished nails. Mine were unpainted and dug into my palms. She had taken a successful swipe at my confidence, but I was not ready to enter into a conflict on my first day on the job. Instead, I chose to ignore the authority challenge and moved on to introducing myself and the lesson. When I opened my mouth to speak, I heard the first words spill out with a quiver, the sure death knell when trying to bond with teens.
“Today we’re going on a scavenger hunt,” I said. A groan followed by a wave of laughter crossed the room. “Ah, hold on, it’s not what you think.” I held up my hands hoping to quell the resistance. The girl with the nail file took nail polish out of her bag. I cringed. I lost my focus and momentary confidence in what I thought were my adept teaching skills. Deep breath, you can do this, the voice of my alter ego encouraged me.
I stepped into action dividing my unwilling participants into pairs and told them they could sit wherever they felt comfortable. Once they had settled, I handed each pair a copy of the Washington Post, and when I reached nail polish girl, I told her she’d have to put it away. Enveloped in a fog of toxic vapor, she sneered, but I moved on pretending not to notice.
We reviewed the sections of the paper and discussed what might be found in each before I handed out the directions. On the top of the page, I’d written my mantra “Organization is the key to success,” an Essential Writing Skill. No one seemed to grasp the message even as I read it aloud. They were focused on the twelve questions to be answered in fifteen minutes. Some started before I asked if there were any questions, while others stared with annoyance plastered on their faces. But eventually, they all got started.
I kept them abreast of the time. Ten minutes remaining. Torn papers were strewn about the floor as they raced against the clock. 5 minutes remaining. Ha! They are engaged, enjoying the activity.
Even nail polish girl was involved. I imagined her polish smeared across the news pages and her nails looking worse than mine. One more minute. I inhaled preparing myself.
“10, 9, 8, …. And. Time. Is. Up.” I called out over their happy chatter and asked them to reassemble the papers to their original state. Laughter filled the room, and I laughed with them as they worked together struggling to find some semblance of order.
We reviewed the answers.
One boy called out, “It’s 75 degrees today and raining in Sydney, Australia.”
“Where did you find that answer?” his friend asked.
“On the weather map you idiot.”
The mood was light, filled with their continued banter, and when we were done, I asked, “So, what did you learn from this activity?”
Nail polish girl shouted out, “How to make a mess.”
Laughter.
“My organization sucks,” another student said throwing loose newspaper pages in the air.
“Ha, no kidding,” another said. “Everyone’s does.”
“Not everyone’s,” I interrupted, silencing the room. “Tomorrow, come to class ready to learn how to change that.” Feeling strong and proud, I reminded myself to stop while we were still having fun. “Have a nice day, everyone. Class dismissed.” All except nail polish girl. I asked her to stay a moment.
Her back arched ready for attack as I approached. “What?” she said picking at her smeared nail polish. I smiled and tried to make that impossible eye contact. “Tomorrow,” I said, “please leave your manicure set home.” I reached out my hand, and we shook, hopefully confirming the agreement. “Have a good rest of the day,” I called to the back of her head as she ran out to join her friends.
I sank into my desk chair, closed my eyes, and took and deep breath. Only three more classes to go.
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