deafbajagal
New Member
- Joined
- Nov 6, 2007
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It started out as a cliche. I was going to change the world. I didn't care how naive it was, nor how cheesy it sounded. I wanted to be a teacher. Isn't that the profession where there are all of those beautiful quotes about how teachers touch lives and impact the world - one child at a time.
There was a time I had decided something else that was really important. I hated kids.
To be really, really frank...I still do at times. Especially all of the kids you see at Chuck-N-Cheese, running amok as if someone just popped a balloon that's whooshing all over the place. Take that balloon and multiply by eighty. Forget sex education class: if every teenager would be forced to volunteer at Chuck-N-Cheese for one whole summer, they'd never have kids. And to make sure I am making enough emphasis about my feelings regarding that place, let me explain something...when people say HELL, they are probably describing a place with fire, Satan, torment in some dark world where there's no escape. When I say HELL...I'm thinking of Chuck-N-Cheese with no exit doors.
My first day as a teacher probably isn't very common for new teachers. For starters, it was a ...special school for ...special kids. Kids with behavioral and/or psychotic disorders. Kids who probably made teachers quit teaching altogether.
I walked in my classroom to find that my students were forty minutes EARLY. I was caught completely off guard, as I had planned on greeting then one by one as they enter my classroom. Too late for that. I was greeted by a flying book, and I wasn't sure if it was aimed at me or the clock next to my head. Either way, I ducked just in time.
A kid was standing on top of the desk, with his pants gone. Another kid was jump roping...with a computer cord. Two kids were already playing frisbee with the school books. Kids were screaming or laughing, depending on which way you would look at it. The floor had scattered pieces of puzzles, math manipulative pieces, magnetic letters, and a toilet lid.
My whiteboard, which was mounted with thick screws on the wall, was missing.
Is this normal, I had to ask my fellow teachers. Yes, they said. And it was a good day. Oh. Then the fire drill came on. One of the aide said, "I was wondering when someone would pull it!" And in a jiffy, they were all gone. I just stood there, looking at my room. What was left of it.
Forget Chuck-N-Cheese. THIS was Hell.
I was called the worst names in the book. I had virtually every object thrown at me. I was spit on, kicked at, and nearly stabbed a few times. The teacher next door had his back broken and he quit on the spot. The teacher after him lasted two weeks. And the teacher after her lasted one day. She called me crazy for staying. I had to agree.
One night I stayed in my classroom to read their files. The first file was over three inches thick. His whole life, compacted in a file folder. After I read the first few pages, I threw up in the trash can. Then I forced myself to finish it. Then I picked up another file, another life. And another. And another. Stories of heartbreak. Stories of trust being broken in the worst ways. Stories of hate, vile, and torment.
I looked around my classroom. I threw out the kidney tables and dragged in desks and round tables. I tore down the poster of rules, and I made a new poster of expectations. I tore down the color discipline system poster and replaced it with the rewards system. I created a word wall for three students who needed the modification. I created a hate box for one kid to write down all of his hurtful words and to put in the box. I tore up my lesson plans and made new ones that truly catered to the students' needs. I replaced the time out chair with a "thinking" chair. By the time I was done rearranging my classroom and made all of the changes to my curriculum and class materials, it was morning. I never had gone home.
My students arrived, surprised at the changes. I knew most of them would not adapt well to the new stimuli in the environment, but I was ready for it. With a whistle and a clipboard, order was restored and learning began.
I was ready to be a teacher.
There was a time I had decided something else that was really important. I hated kids.
To be really, really frank...I still do at times. Especially all of the kids you see at Chuck-N-Cheese, running amok as if someone just popped a balloon that's whooshing all over the place. Take that balloon and multiply by eighty. Forget sex education class: if every teenager would be forced to volunteer at Chuck-N-Cheese for one whole summer, they'd never have kids. And to make sure I am making enough emphasis about my feelings regarding that place, let me explain something...when people say HELL, they are probably describing a place with fire, Satan, torment in some dark world where there's no escape. When I say HELL...I'm thinking of Chuck-N-Cheese with no exit doors.
My first day as a teacher probably isn't very common for new teachers. For starters, it was a ...special school for ...special kids. Kids with behavioral and/or psychotic disorders. Kids who probably made teachers quit teaching altogether.
I walked in my classroom to find that my students were forty minutes EARLY. I was caught completely off guard, as I had planned on greeting then one by one as they enter my classroom. Too late for that. I was greeted by a flying book, and I wasn't sure if it was aimed at me or the clock next to my head. Either way, I ducked just in time.
A kid was standing on top of the desk, with his pants gone. Another kid was jump roping...with a computer cord. Two kids were already playing frisbee with the school books. Kids were screaming or laughing, depending on which way you would look at it. The floor had scattered pieces of puzzles, math manipulative pieces, magnetic letters, and a toilet lid.
My whiteboard, which was mounted with thick screws on the wall, was missing.
Is this normal, I had to ask my fellow teachers. Yes, they said. And it was a good day. Oh. Then the fire drill came on. One of the aide said, "I was wondering when someone would pull it!" And in a jiffy, they were all gone. I just stood there, looking at my room. What was left of it.
Forget Chuck-N-Cheese. THIS was Hell.
I was called the worst names in the book. I had virtually every object thrown at me. I was spit on, kicked at, and nearly stabbed a few times. The teacher next door had his back broken and he quit on the spot. The teacher after him lasted two weeks. And the teacher after her lasted one day. She called me crazy for staying. I had to agree.
One night I stayed in my classroom to read their files. The first file was over three inches thick. His whole life, compacted in a file folder. After I read the first few pages, I threw up in the trash can. Then I forced myself to finish it. Then I picked up another file, another life. And another. And another. Stories of heartbreak. Stories of trust being broken in the worst ways. Stories of hate, vile, and torment.
I looked around my classroom. I threw out the kidney tables and dragged in desks and round tables. I tore down the poster of rules, and I made a new poster of expectations. I tore down the color discipline system poster and replaced it with the rewards system. I created a word wall for three students who needed the modification. I created a hate box for one kid to write down all of his hurtful words and to put in the box. I tore up my lesson plans and made new ones that truly catered to the students' needs. I replaced the time out chair with a "thinking" chair. By the time I was done rearranging my classroom and made all of the changes to my curriculum and class materials, it was morning. I never had gone home.
My students arrived, surprised at the changes. I knew most of them would not adapt well to the new stimuli in the environment, but I was ready for it. With a whistle and a clipboard, order was restored and learning began.
I was ready to be a teacher.
)
Was a post removed? I see a really nice comment from FJ acknowledging her amazing students and their resiliency.