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.  :)