{"id":108,"date":"2018-06-13T15:54:39","date_gmt":"2018-06-13T15:54:39","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/itslitteaching.wordpress.com\/?p=108"},"modified":"2023-09-30T11:58:57","modified_gmt":"2023-09-30T15:58:57","slug":"first-year-teaching","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/itslitteaching.com\/first-year-teaching\/","title":{"rendered":"First Year Teaching: It Gets Better"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

<\/span>There is nothing harder than your first year teaching. I remember class periods that felt more like running a zoo than teaching, constantly feeling inadequate, and trying not to cry in my car. I wondered constantly: does teaching get better?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

It does. It can. But it takes time, patience, and reflection. I know how bleak your first year teaching can feel.<\/strong> My goal in this post is to let you know that it does indeed get better over time. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"First<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

A Quick Story<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

This year I had the honor and privilege of speaking at my seniors’ graduation. I had taught all but one or two of the graduating class, so it was incredibly special to be able to see my students off one last time. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

While I was excited to be able to address them and be involved in their big moment, the speech became a daunting task. An English teacher, I was used to writing being easy for me, but the speech had plagued me, causing nightmares and nervous practice sessions in front of my colleagues. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

So when the moment finally came and I was introduced, I was absolutely petrified I would bore my audience to sleep on what should be an exciting day.<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Something amazing happened though, as I stood to walk to the mic. My students began cheering for me from their seats.<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Yeah! Miss Heather!”<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Best English teacher ever!”<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Woohoo!”<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

“You got this!”<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I couldn’t stop smiling as I walked confidently to the podium. However the speech went, my students were on my side, encouraging me to do my best, just as we always do for them.<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was without a doubt, the highlight of my educational career thus far. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

It Takes Time to Find the Sweet Spot in Teaching<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

My point in sharing this story isn’t to brag about how much my students like me. Or to paint an Instagram-ready image of my career. Far from it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My point is that this kind of support from my students felt impossible at the beginning. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

While my colleagues did me the courtesy of not telling me to my face, I know my students hated me my first year teaching. They must have. And I don’t blame them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn’t understand them. I didn’t know how to connect to them. Every night I was making the next day’s lesson plans, never knowing what I was doing or where I was going. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I did everything <\/em>wrong. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

So after walking off of that stage from giving a speech, I couldn’t help but reflect on the time in between my first day of teaching and that moment. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"First<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Your First Year of Teaching Is Probably Not Going to be The Way You Imagined It<\/span><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

When I was in school to become a teacher, I had a very specific idea of what my teaching future would be like. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I had always envisioned myself teaching AP or honors classes. I was going to get my master’s in <\/strong><\/span>teaching<\/strong> gifted students.<\/strong> My students and I would speak passionately about the genius of Shakespeare and Austen and Alice Walker. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Instead, I was hired at my city’s alternative school–the school for students who, for whatever reason, weren’t making it at the “regular” high schools. <\/span>Growing up, it had always been the “bad” school. A place to send troublesome students to make them disappear. <\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\"Dear<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

This is a Title I school (a term I did not even know as a fresh college graduate), evenly split between Caucasian, African American, and Latino students. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

To paint a picture, as a congratulations gift for landing this job, my parents bought me pepper spray. <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

My best readers had middle school Lexile levels and many did not know how to properly use a period. I had no idea what to do with them. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Worse, I didn’t know them. I had always been in honors and AP classes myself–classes that are usually full of the white and the privileged. I wasn’t prepared at all to teach my students. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was a culture shock for me. <\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I couldn’t understand why some of my students were so loud or half of what they were saying. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

On the first day of class, I asked my students to put away their cell phones after some beeping interrupted me; they laughed and pointed to a student’s ankle bracelet which needed to be recharged. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Put Away Your Expectations–for Teaching, for Students, and for Yourself<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

I was incredibly white, middle class, and privileged. And my students knew it. Worse, I was still figuring out my “teacher persona” and probably came across as stiff and disingenuous in my attempt to find some authority in the classroom. <\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I clearly had no idea what I was doing and my students had no problem telling me so. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was at school late at night, until the custodian came in asking why I was still there. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

In the parking lot, I would sit in my car, willing myself to walk inside and not cry. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

My entire Sundays were spent trying to figure out what to teach (I was given no curriculum, no textbook, and about three new digital programs to learn) and lesson plan (I was required to turn in weekly and daily lesson plans that year in a detailed format that often went on for three pages for each day). <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

We had meetings during most of our prep time, Friday afternoons, and every other Wednesday after school (mandatory, but not paid). I spent that whole year hating my job, my students, and my own incompetence.<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

On my first day in my first year, I was already regretting signing a contract. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"First<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Every lesson You Learn in Your First Year of Teaching, You Learn the Hard Way <\/span><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

One lesson stands out for me. <\/span>I guess this was a turning point in a way. This exchange led to me thinking about my own actions and language, rather than trying to change my students. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was just trying to get the students to listen to a reading. It took about fifteen minutes to get every student in a chair and silent and just as I had done so and was about to commence the lesson, a girl stood up. I looked at her and said, “Sit!” <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I ain’t no dog!” she yelled back. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I don’t know why this, of all the things my students said to me, stopped me in my tracks. But it did. For the first time, I could see how some of my own language and behavior was affecting my students. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Prior to this outburst, all I could see is my students’ awful behavior. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was a huge lesson for me. As a child who had always done her best to placate authority, I would have never spoken back to a teacher. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

But here, in this school with these students–many of whom have been violated, disrespected, or let down by the adults in their lives–I couldn’t expect automatic respect. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was going to have to start by changing my language, my approach, a<\/span>nd everything I thought about how a student should behave. I was going to have to give respect first if I was ever going to receive it.<\/strong> <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Looking at the student, I took a deep breath. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

“You’re right,” I said calmly. “I’m sorry. That’s not how I meant for it to come out. I would just really like to have everyone’s attention, so we can get back to the story. We’re getting to a really good part and I want to share it with all of you. I’m sorry if that came out disrespectfully.” <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The student did not respond, but she slowly took a seat and I was able to restart class. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n