Blogger’s note: Like my last entry, most of this blog comes from a book I wrote 20 years ago entitled “Is This For a Grade?” I am in the process of republishing that book as an e‑book, but annotating it with my current observations and opinions. I hope to publish this update the day that I retire, if not sooner.
The more things change, the more they stay the same.
(Having reread this chapter, I find I have nothing to change. Somehow, that gives me a comforting sense of continuity. I still enjoy the first day of school, and it is still mostly for the reasons listed below. But this year I have an entirely new perspective on the last day of school. Please read the “Afterword” at the end of this chapter.)
I like first days. Oh, I can’t say that as the summer wears down and the next school year looms ahead I get all chirpy, but once I’m there and that first bell rings, I know I am where I belong. Not a bad feeling.
I like standing in the hallway in front of my door when that first bell rings. New students, new couples, new clothes.
The freshmen are easiest to spot. Poor fish. They look so scared, peering at the numbers over each classroom door, trying desperately to stay out of anybody’s way, anxious to deposit themselves into a classroom, any classroom, and be safe. (Yes, I suppose I am idealizing a little. There is also the new breed of freshmen, anxious to do nothing but acquire a baad reputation as soon as possible.) But upperclassmen still enjoy misdirecting freshmen, and selling them phony maps and hall passes, and harrassing them for stepping on the school seal, and all of that stuff that makes high school high school.
Summer romance remains as constant as William Shakespeare’s poetry. The wise teacher makes it a point to stay very detached from the intricacies of the dating scene within a high school student body. Still, we can’t help but notice, and to judge accordingly. I always groan inwardly when I see a sweet, young girl whom I taught the previous year tucked under the arm of a boy of questionable morals whose primary form of exercise involves bending an elbow to raise a beer can to his lips. I feel equally mystified, but a lot happier, upon observing youngsters experiencing love for the first time. We tend to forget that not everyone comes to high school played out and jaded. The sight of two young people completely caught up in each other, oblivious to others, wholeheartedly devoted, is enough to make me wish I was young again (but not for long). Because you want it to last for them (and you know it won’t).
Ah yes, new clothes. The first day of school ranks right behind the first day after Christmas vacation for haute couture. The natives will be stylin’. One of my tennis players came into our first class this year bragging that he’d spent $150 the previous day on school clothes.
“What did you get?” I asked him.
“Two shirts and a pair of pants.”
(I have three children headed for high school, and I’m scared!)
I like to watch them (the dreaded them ) come into my classroom. Some move immediately to the back of the room, seeking that point farthest away from me, as if I have herpes or halitosis, hoping (in vain) that I will allow them to keep their distance for the rest of eternity. Others sit front and center, perky as petunias, eyes bright and eager, like desperate candidates at a job interview. Most think nothing of me, eyes darting around the room scoping out who else will share their English class and seating themselves accordingly. The pretty girls never sit alone.
I like to see what they bring to class on that first day. There are always a few who travel light, having already lost their schedules and failing to produce even a pencil or piece of paper, should the teacher (outrageously) want to get right down to business. It’s easy to spot the ones whose mothers still play an active role in their lives. New book bag, organized notebook, two of everything. It’s fun watching how quickly they can trash their mother’s best efforts. But the ones who really amaze me are those kids who manage, on that very first day, to look as if they’ve been attending classes the past six months. You’d think they had moved out of their homes to come back to school, their book bags loaded down with every imaginable thing. Put a brand new textbook in their hands and watch it transmogrify instantaneously. And they can do it with new desks, new clothes, new shoes …
I have a fairly standard set of procedures I follow on the first day, some imposed by the administration, others invented by me. Taking roll, naturally. Only three things really concern me regarding the class roster–the ratio of boys to girls, whether I have any repeaters from previous years, and if I have drawn any of the known troublemakers/juvenile delinquents that attend our school. Having a good male/female balance is always a good sign for a class. Having an overabundance of boys can be hellish. (This year I have fifteen boys and three girls in my second period class–it’s getting pretty testy in there.) I resent repeaters. My class is usually fun, and it is not hard to pass if you do the work. If a student is a repeater, it means he had the fun without doing the work. I hate that. As far as the troublemakers go, there’s not much I can do. On that first day, I try to let them know that I know who they are, and that I’m willing to withhold personal judgment. Some of those kids do better in my class than they do in most other classes. Many of them … well, you can’t win them all.
Then it’s time for classroom rules. I discourage eating and drinking, and they have to spit their gum out if I see them chewing (it makes their faces look ugly). I try to enforce the school’s tardy policy (which is always changing and never effective). I discourage people from leaving my classroom, but I am not without compassion. I have sat trapped in a classroom before, with a bladder or bowel about to explode, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. If nature calls, we must respond. If nature calls frequently, see a doctor.
On to the seating chart. I do that the same way every year. They all put their names in a hat, and I select a Vanna White to draw. As she picks names, I give a little speech about fate and destiny, how who you sit next to in English II class could end up being one of the most significant events of your life, certainly not something to be controlled by a mere teacher, but rather something to be left up to whatever Higher Power you choose to believe in. I get downright flowery about it. (Incidentally, if the chart doesn’t work out, I don’t hesitate to change it.)
I end that first day of class trying to find out about the people I will be teaching. I use a personal information card, which contains relevant information (home and work phone numbers, extracurricular activities) and irrelevant information (their all-time favorite movie, what they expect to be doing in ten years). What I ask about them, I tell about myself.
It all boils down to making a first impression. I want them to look forward to my class. I want them to feel it is a place to be active, not passive. No doubt that’s a dangerous approach. Unleashing youthful energy is an invitation to chaos. But if I can get them sitting in second period thinking, Oh good, I have English next … if I can have them enter my classroom with a positive attitude about being there … if I can cajole them to think about what we are doing — then, I have a step up on most. And a teacher always looks for an edge.
I like lots of other things about the first day of school. I like seeing the new members of the faculty, mentally gauging to myself whether they are cut out for this line of work or not. I like seeing which teachers share my conference period. Who is in the faculty lounge at that time will determine how much of my conference period I spend down there, and how much I spend in my room, and, consequently, how much I will accomplish during that period. (Any teacher with sense avoids the faculty lounge like the plague! There is a good reason it’s called a lounge.) I like teasing fifth year seniors if I am friendly with them. I like getting mail out of my teacher mailbox again. I like tennis practice.
But what I like most is the progression. Every year starts with a first day, and every year ends with a last day. The alpha and the omega. The first day is fun. The last day, ah, that’s another thing entirely. On the last day, we enter celestial realms.
Afterword: If all goes according to plan, this next year will be my last as a teacher. Since I have had so much enjoyment, fulfillment and reward in my career choice, I am unable to explain why I am so anxious to leave it. But I am. The last last day will be more than celestial—it will be nirvanic.
oh how I remember that first day in your class — your first year at Clemens. your class was a fresh breeze compared to so many of the classes I was talking that yr. Who knew that a TEACHER could be cool rather than a stuffy old person. Lol.
well said.… couldn’t be more accurate.
Today was my daughters first day of college. A college FRESHMAN! As I read your blog, I could picture so many things that her professors were probably noticing about their new students today. I talked to her this evening & she said the first day was awful. She was scared to death of her public speaking class because it is, well…public speaking. She’s nervous about her critical thinking class because, well…it’s critical thinking. She also has some kind of arts & films class which she only took because she had to. Congrats on this being your last year! You were an awesome teacher 30 something years ago, and I’m sure you still are! Thank you for sharing your life with me all these years later!