Introvert teacher problem #3046: When you're standing in the shower, a day after you met your new colleague, and think to yourself with a sinking feeling: "Oh my goodness, Turquoise shared so much about herself when we met yesterday ... and I could barely muster five words when she asked me to tell her about myself." Turquoise showed me photos of her beloved deceased dog, dressed up for her wedding; photos of the wedding itself, which I made sure to ooh over appropriately; told me horror and success stories from her career; then invited me to join her for lunch after. I took a rain check on the lunch - any time I move into a new room, I need some time to sit on the teacher desk, measure the bulletin boards, poke around in the closet, and just in general wonder what I've gotten myself into.
I will be starting my sixth year of teaching (doesn't include two years of leave in between to get a graduate degree), and my fifth year as a fourth-grade teacher. It's been a while since I visited this little space, but now that I'm living in a new state and joining a new school, I'm feeling the pull of a fresh (virtual) page to record my musings.
Since I've last written, I've had magnificent years - years when the class felt like a family, my students worked hard and respected me and their classmates, and we learned and laughed together. That was the year that, after being told a little about my "problem student," I vowed to love him just a little more. He ended up being the kid who hugged me six times a day - every time he entered the room, basically - and would sometimes rush back from the bus to squeeze in one more hug. I treated him as my son, and I still pause sometimes and think good thoughts for him.
There was also a year that was trying, to say the least. One January day, on the drive home, I seriously considered quitting. It was a thought that had never occurred to me, even when I was a lost newbie teacher who didn't even know what her classroom was missing. It was a year of learning what pushed my buttons, the difference between reacting and responding, and how chaos and disrespect can play out in a classroom. It was a year of trying and failing and trying again, all the while counting the days to the end of the year. It was a year of trying my very best - and realizing that sometimes my best is just not enough. But one of the days that stands out to me was the last Monday of the school year. After a weekend of combing through reader's theater scripts and carefully assigning students to groups, I broke my students into groups, gave them their scripts, and had them practice. Mondays were always particularly rough, and this was no different - bickering ensued and students got off track. On the drive home, however, I told myself that this was triumph - despite the year's challenges, I hadn't used it as an excuse to limit what I thought my students could achieve. I hadn't just handed out their memory books and slumped at my desk while they chatted and colored. I always told them that they had greatness within them, and I tried my best to help them uncover that greatness.
So ... that was a really long way to say, I'm still learning, and I'm still here.
