Part time = full time = all the time

As I begin writing this post, it is 6:49 on Thursday evening and I am still at school.  (I'm writing this here instead of at home because quite frankly I don't want to bring my personal computer back and forth).  I just finished preparing the sub materials for my planned absence at the beginning of next week.  I also got here an hour and a half before my first class this morning to do some other preparation and record-keeping.  Technically, I was only contractually obligated to be at school for less than four hours today, but instead I have put in roughly eight hours of work.  Counting my other job, I have already put in close to 50 hours of work, and it's not even Friday.

This is in no way, shape, or form a complaint.  This is simply a tally.  I am choosing to be here of my own free will and I am happy to be doing the work I'm doing!  I'm also happy to be keeping myself occupied.  Additionally, I come from a family of workaholics so it doesn't surprise me in the least that I am following their lead, but it's interesting to note how much time it really takes to do a job well.  In fact, I was thinking about it:  I have a total of two hours of prep time built into my weekly schedule, but there is absolutely no way in the world I would ever be able to do everything I need to in that time.  Even if I were an experienced teacher I doubt that time would be enough.

Herein lies the great difference between hourly and salaried work.  All my life I have worked as an hourly employee, paid to do my job when I'm there and not paid when I'm not.  In some cases, as in tutoring, extra work I put into planning was also counted on my time sheet and duly reimbursed, so even though the time was outside of my scheduled tutoring hours it was still recognized.

The moment I started my college education I knew that I would never, ever be a "40 hour a week" kind of employee.  Especially as a teacher, the idea of coming in when I'm expected, leaving when the day is done, and doing all my work in the time I'm paid to do it has always seemed absurd.  Of course I'm going to work outside of school!  Of course I'm going to spend free time thinking about lessons and music to do with the kids!  What other option is there?

But I know this is a dangerously slippery slope.  There are teachers who work late into the evenings at school then go home and do more.  They come in on weekends.  They make their work their entire life and feel unsatisfied if every possible thing isn't accomplished (even though it will never all be accomplished).  And while the work is fulfilling -- exceptionally so, -- there is more to life than work.

In the past few weeks I have been trying to find that balance of work and the rest of life.  I have been trying to go to the gym regularly, to spend time with friends.  I even went out dancing one night this week!  I want to try and establish the habit of saving time for myself and the people I care about.  The people outside the school, that is.  I want to be devoted to my job, but I also recognize the importance of having a life that isn't associated with the same stressors and obligations of the thing that gives me my income.

Well, the custodian just came in and is vacuuming my carpet.  I should probably take that as my cue.  Off to the gym!

P.S.  Thanks to everyone who's been commenting on my posts!  I love reading what you have to say, and I always appreciate your support, suggestions, ideas, and response.  Thanks!

Newsflash: It's not just about music

I am now one-and-a-half weeks into my teaching career at this school and I must admit, things are going better.  Some of the shock has worn off, both from my side and the students', and already I'm feeling a much stronger sense of ownership over my position, my lessons, and my goals.  On Thursday I began my second week's lesson and though I'm still getting a sense of what the students already know, it seems the lessons went fairly well.

One of the greatest challenges I'm finding about teaching in an elementary school is the amount of time and energy I spend at any given moment focusing on behavior.  In fact, at this point I'd say that most of my time with the students is spent establishing and reinforcing behavioral expectations.  This was something that also shocked me throughout my student teaching experience last semester.  I took for granted that students need to be taught how to behave, and not just as students but as citizens and human beings.  Children need be taught how to stand or sit in a particular spot, how to govern themselves and their actions, how to move safely from one area to the next, how to raise their hands and wait to be called on.  I realize that most of you reading this are probably older than me, have been teaching for a while, and/or have children of your own, so you're just nodding your head thinking "Yup, yup, definitely, yup."  But as a young teacher far-enough removed from childhood to not remember the details of learning those skills but not yet entirely familiar with how to teach them, the responsibility of it all is, well, a little daunting.

I hope that recognizing this responsibility is having a positive effect on my classroom management.  Long before I even got to student teaching one of my biggest concerns was about classroom management.  Could I be strict enough?  Could I earn my students' respect?  Would they be able to like, respect, and listen to me?  I was afraid of becoming the nice teacher that would rarely get all her students' attention, like some teachers I had throughout junior high and high school.  Yet in the back of my mind I was also aware of the opposite problem, the possibility of becoming the teacher that was too strict, too demanding, and thus reviled by her students for having the class that was all work and no fun, led by the draconian power-hungry authoritarian.  

Well, let's face it: I was never really afraid of becoming the latter, but I knew the former was quite possible.  I'm a softy.  What can I say?

Now that I have my own room, though, I'm discovering a strength I didn't know I had.  Once I get into the right mindset it's actually not quite so hard to scold a student for jumping around the room when he should have stayed in his spot, or for quickly telling a girl running through the lunchroom to stop, go back, and try it again walking!  Every day it's becoming more instinctual to be on the lookout for behaviors that need to be corrected and properly taught and to actually take the time to do it, because at the end of the day it's not about how well a student can clap a beat or sing a melody, but how well a student can function as a good person.

I've gotta admit, though: sometimes I wish I could do this all the time.

You see, most days out of the week after I leave school I head directly to my other part-time job in a service industry where I interact with all kinds of people.  All kinds.  Some are lovely, wonderful people.  But many, 

well,

aren't.

I had a slight breakdown last week that had very little to do with the stresses of teaching and very much to do with frustrating customers who have no sense of decency or protocol for interpersonal communication and interaction.  The lack of proper etiquette among some of the people I deal with (both customers and coworkers) is astonishing, and sometimes I wish I could respond to them in the same ways I respond to my students.  In the cafeteria if a student says "I want a milk," I say "How do we ask for that nicely?"  And I help them, encourage them, and wait until they come up with "Could I please get a milk?"  But if a customer barks an order at me at my other job I have no option but to smile and acquiesce.

What I want to know is this:  Where were their teachers?  Where were their lessons in manners and acceptable behavior?  Or if they had such lessons, what happened along the way to adulthood to destroy what they had previously learned?

In some ways, it is very good that I have to work in some very frustrating circumstances.  The juxtaposition between my two roles -- as a salaried professional teacher and as an hourly bottom-rung retail clerk -- is jarring, but every negative interaction with a cranky customer is more incentive for me to positively influence a generation of young children.  

The first few days

NOTE: Before I get into the blog post all [five] of you have been anxiously waiting to read, I'd like to direct your attention to the Note on Anonymity featured on the right.  I hope that you will read it and kindly respect it.  Thank you!

The first day of school was on Wednesday and, as I'm sure you can understand, I was just a little too overwhelmed and tired to write until now.  Part of my fatigue is also due to the fact that since I am only teaching part-time, I am still working another part-time job (completely unrelated to either music or education), and by the time I get home I want nothing more than to curl up in bed with a book, forget about reality for a moment, then fall asleep.

For the sake of perspective, there are a few things you should understand about my job and the school:

• As I mentioned, I am only working part-time.  The students have Specials (music, art, gym, library) only once a week, so each of the Specials teachers are only scheduled half of every day.  
• We teach the K4 (4-year-old Kindergarten) through 2nd grade classes.  
• There are five or six classes in each grade level with anywhere from 24 to 28 students per class.  
• The school is situated squarely in a predominantly Hispanic part of the city, as reflected by the student population.  In fact, many of the students come from non-English-speaking homes, but the fact that I do not speak Spanish is actually more of a help than a hindrance in our English immersion school.

Though the first day was Wednesday the students didn't go to their Specials on the first day, so my first classroom interaction with the students was on Thursday when I had a K4 and a K5 class.  Shortly before the kids entered my room I was online chatting with the music teacher from the previous year who assured me I had nothing to worry about, that the moment I saw the kids I would fall in love and everything would be fine.

...

She lied.

Scene: K4 teacher leads a scraggly line of little itty-bitty uniform-wearing 4-year-olds to my door and I notice that a few of them are crying.  She leans in to me over the heads of the confused children to say "Remember, this is only their second day of school  They're scared.  Good luck."  And then she muttered something about being too old for this.

I knew many of the students were not yet speaking English, but as clearly and kindly as possible I told the students to line up on the bright pink line in the music room and wait for me because, per school culture and behavioral policy, I was to greet every one of the students individually as they entered my room.  Dazed, bewildered and almost definitely terrified, the students filed in.  Some stayed on the line.  Others went to sit down immediately on the rug.  Others still wanted to wander around.  Once all the students were in the room I grabbed the seating chart I had so meticulously prepared and tried to get students to their spots on the rug.  Whether it was my poor excuse for a Spanish accent or their fear that rendered them deaf to their own names, I don't know, but finding the right kids and getting them to their spots was far more challenging than I had planned.  It was made even more challenging by the fact that I had one student at my side bawling and saying "Teacher?  Teacher!  Where's my mommy?  Teacher!!!"  

At some point, realizing that herding cats would have been an easier endeavor, I decided it would just be best for all of us to sit right where we were.  At least that way they might be a little less fidgety, I reasoned.  So I said we were all going to sit, and I sat down right where I was, then repeatedly made motions for everyone to sit, nodding happily whenever a confused child looked at me with questioning eyes and slowly crouched down.  Somehow the boys figured it out, but there were about seven girls who decided that no, standing was a much better option, and they didn't seem to have any clue what I was expecting of them.

At that point, I wasn't even sure I had any clue what I was expecting either.

Somehow I finally got them all to their spots, and I had hoped that with this element checked off my lesson plan I would be able to, at the very least, start teaching them the hello song.  No luck.  Of the many children who were crying, two boys were sobbing so uncontrollably and inconsolably that every other student's attention was inevitably drawn away from me.  Then I thought "Maybe if I bring out my guitar, the students will calm down a little bit to listen and we can all relax a little."  No dice.  One of the boys only sobbed louder.

The 25 minutes I had with the students felt interminable, but eventually I lined them back up and their teacher came to fetch them.  The moment they were gone I wandered into the gym which lies between the music and art rooms.  Those two teachers are just as new as me so I knew I was in a safe space when I looked at the gym teacher imploringly and asked "How did it go for you?"

"Oh, catastrophic."

At least I wasn't alone.

The K5 class that afternoon went significantly better, as did most of my classes on Friday.  I even did a fine job of dealing with a 2nd-grader's bloody nose on the playground after lunch.  But that initial experience with the terrified K4 class jarred me in a way I'm still trying to comprehend. And truth be told, I suspect my impression of the littlest kids was not entirely unaffected by my own fear, as if they were a reflection of everything I was feeling.  I, too, felt lost and scared, wondering if I was doing it right, if I was forgetting something, if I was being clear, if I was doing too much of this or too little of that.

I may be nearly two decades their senior, but for at least a couple moments in that first lesson, I was no different than those children.

In an interview I had over the summer for a different position, I was asked about a challenge I might have to overcome in my professional career.  I responded that the greatest challenge I would likely face would be those I create myself.  My mental blocks and moments of weakness, the fears and lapses in confidence that will find their way into my psyche at the worst possible times - those are the challenges that I will have to overcome.  I suspect that this is one of those situations.  I need to believe I can do it, that I can teach these children and be successful in my endeavors, despite my fear and trepidation.  

I am the little music teacher that could.  :)