The only thing that was the same about the teacher who showed up for her second year was the dress. A slick black and white geometric pattern, a stripe of color in a wide belt circling the waist. Last year I chose a bright pop of green; this year the belt was a seasoned, more diluted red. Professional, put-together, fresh, just enough of a statement to say to those kids, “Hey, I got it going on. I know how it is. You better listen carefully.” It will forever be my first day of school dress, stamped in my mind as much as the photo of myself on the first day of kindergarten.
The woman who stepped into the dress this year, though, could not have felt more different than the one last year. A year ago my stomach was in knots the whole eve of the start of school. I groped into bed at midnight because of a horribly timed lack of toner that drove me to Oxford for a replacement cartridge. I had a few toss-turn hours of "sleep." At 4 a.m. I gave up on rest because of the wringing in my gut and my sticky clamminess. I got stomach sick. Lloyd made me force down breakfast. I put on the dress to make myself feel more polished and confident than I actually was. I don’t know who I was trying to convince more that I could play the part--myself or the kids.
The day itself last year was a smashing success. Everything went as planned; kids were compliant and didn’t try me once in any kind of memorable way. The best part was walking into the cafeteria for morning duty and feeling a huge grin take over my face. I may have even chuckled. Kids. I would be teaching kids. Children. Small children. Sixth graders seemed smaller than I had remembered. Then again, I had probably been imagining some oversized mutations of the towering, broad, shadowy figures of my 11th and 12th grade summer school class. No. These were little humans who were for the most part under 100 pounds. They had their first-day-of-school haircuts and new shoes! Some were smiling. Others were unsure and shy, living inside themselves. I would be teaching these angels. “Yes, I am Mrs. Gray. Oh, you’re in my homeroom? Wonderful!” What am I doing? I’m supposed to be intimidating. Wipe that smile off your face.
This year when I saw those little monsters from last year I still burned with rage as I prodded them onto their buses. “Mrs. Gray, you miss us?? These kids good as our class?? I wish I was in your class!” Tight smile. “Oh, teehee, I--you’re going to love seventh grade! Especially Ms. Buccilla!”
Internal rage and putting on a face that was not my own pretty much sums up my first year. This year I was joyous on the first day! Hardly nervous. I got a full night of forgetful sleep. Oh, I can’t wait to see the lambs! Marc Farmer is right; they are lambs! And I am here to teach them! They will respect me and come to love me, and I will teach them how to write! My room is beautiful and organized; wow, is it really the first day? I feel like I already know these children, and they haven’t even entered the building yet.
Whole Brain Teaching has entered the building. “Class, I have five beautiful rules in this room. Rule 1: Follow directions quickly. Rule 2: Raise your hand for permission to speak. Rule 3: Raise your hand for permission to leave your seat. Rule 4: Make smart choices. Rule 5: Keep your dear teacher happy!” I got them to chant my rules and to do silly gestures to go with them! Not only did I smile regularly and often on the first day, but I also made a fool of myself, and the kids did, too. I encouraged them to do so. They even (gasp) laughed! And so did I! Oh yeah, I’m living in teacher heaven. That’s right. You heard me. You may be thinking, “Wow, Mrs. Gray, I’d love to see your room in October! Or better yet, February!” Yes, I’m pretty anxious to see how it looks then, too. But don’t worry, it’s not a hunky-dory free-for-all. I dish out the consequences. I have the most beautiful, silent, attentive lunch line I’ve seen yet this year. And most of our walk happens outdoors across a parking lot with no line for guidance! No one can pass my line without complimenting it. I call parents.
What’s so different? Well, now I don’t try to make my room a silent, sterile asylum of learning. I’ve recognized that sixth graders have a difficult time sitting still and a nigh impossible time keeping their mouths shut for 50 minutes. So I funnel their movement and talking into where I want them to use it: as part of my instruction. Sounds so obvious, right? We do a lot of call-and-response, chanting, and they get to move their limbs to mimic my purposeful gestures.
Now when I give out consequences, it doesn’t feel like me versus the student. It feels like the class and I are together trying to get everyone on the same page. It’s not personal. We just have an agenda, and you’re interrupting it. As Marc Farmer says, “If you’re not in here for business, you have no business being here.” Get with the program.
I feel like I have much better rapport with the kids than I did this time last year. Part of it is Whole Brain Teaching. Part of it is not being afraid to show them who I am, to blend my teacher self with my “real” self. I didn’t know how to do that last year because my teacher self was so far removed from who I am. I feel that the students really want to please me and listen to me more than they did last year. Yeah, yeah, it’s the honeymoon period, the put on our Sunday face period. But I don’t think it’s just that. I gotta feeling.
