Looking Back

4:30 in the morning...the alarm goes off. The bedroom is pitch black and I can see from the opening in the curtains only a soft glow of twilight. I can smell the coffee but even that doesn't motivate me to get out of bed. I've been teaching for a few weeks and fight back the urge every Monday to roll over or pull the covers over my head.

But I don't.

I get up and stretch. I haven't slept much the night before because I've been racking my brain about what I'm teaching the next day and reflecting about how the school day went before. The sleep I did get was filled with horrible dreams of student uprisings and angry parents (none of which had happened...yet). I pour the coffee, take a few sips, and step into the shower. By the time I am in the car I have scoured my lesson plans, graded homework and worked on the next weekly newsletter to parents. The hum of the engine is comforting as I drive the thirty minutes to work. One can do a lot of thinking without a radio. I rehash my plans on the way to school, rehash my job choice, and even rehash my outfit. I sit in the parking lot taking in the last sip of coffee-drinking it slowly to buy myself time. I can still go home.

But I don't

My first few students walk through the door at about 7:15. With them come lively conversation about the weekends happenings. I take a deep breath and smile; after a few hugs I am feeling better, somewhat rejuvenated. I know why I am here, and despite the uneasiness of my own self, I am sure of these wonderful kids I get to call my friends.

Morning Meeting comes and the kids begin to teach through news and journals. One boy sits in the circle with his hand held high--I can tell by his smile that he is bursting to share. I call on him and he explains "I have a culture journal...this weekend I shot my first deer!" Half of the class gasps in horror and the other half joins in his excitement. He's so full of pride now it is bursting out his eyeballs. He goes on to teach us about the ritual of pouring the blood of the first killed dear on the hunter. As he recounts the events of the weekend I can see a few kids getting squeamish. "What an amazing thing for you" I interject smiling. "I think we may need to stop there for some of our more sensitive friends but I would like to open it up for questions and comments...umm...please don't get too much into the icky stuff for us."

"Oh, don't worry Ms. V. just be glad I didn't share about what happens when you kill your first Buck. Then I would have to explain how they cut of the (he points...you can guess) and put it around your neck." To his credit he did speak in somewhat hushed tones; however, a good half the class heard him.

"I appreciate you not going into that," I say through my smirk.

He nods fervently "I know that some people don't want to hear about that stuff."

In this simple moment I am reminded of how much I revel in my existence as their teacher. Despite all of the crazy planning, the standards, the classroom management, and countless other hoops to jump through it is still a process of unpredictability and living in the moment. It is a process that commands a group of people to come together, share lives, embrace similarities and differences, learn, and love. One kid said it best "it's so weird Ms. V. sometimes you seem like everyone's mom...and another thing, it's like we're one big family in here!"

I have become much more sure of myself through the journey of my first year as a teacher. I can't pinpoint exactly when it happened, but I have stopped scouring and rehashing my plans. I have climbed out of the survival mode and have begun to find a much more natural groove. I began the year questioning myself, did I really want to be a teacher?" Now I know.

I do!