School Daze

These first three weeks as a teacher have sent my mind spiraling in a hundred different directions. I am trying to remember names of children in four different grades, parents twice my age are calling me Mr. Bradley, and the chalk I use every day constantly makes my hands burn. My mother continues to tell me that it’ll take time to find my own knack for teaching. I’m not sure I have a knack for teaching and, if I do, it’s something along the lines of making kids less smart. To add salt to my already painful wound, Back to School Night was tonight and I found myself yet again wondering if my choice to become a teacher was the correct one.

As a student, I always hated Back to School Night. I would dread when my parents went and spoke to my teachers. I imagined my teacher saying something along the lines of, “I’m sorry, but your son is an idiot. He was eating glue in class yesterday.” I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with that. I was in seventh grade and glue tasted good to me. When my mom would come home, I would act like I was sleeping even though it was only half past seven. She would usually tell me that everything went fine and I just needed to apply myself more. I had a tendency to put work off until it was a good week or two late, a habit I kept throughout high school.

Bu that was all in the past. This evening, I was supposed to get in front of all my students’ parents, introduce myself, and inform them about what I plan on doing this year for their children. The only problem—I don’t really know what I’m doing.

My principal kicked off the evening by welcoming back everyone to another school year. She spent about ten minutes going over the evening’s procedures, introducing faculty, and discussing changes from the previous year. At the end of her speech, the parents split into three groups that dispersed throughout the school. The fifth, sixth, and seventh grade parents stayed in the gymnasium where I was supposed to give a short speech. Each teacher was required to talk for a few minutes about what they expected and where each class was heading, along with a brief bio. I was slated to go last, which left me sweating nervously in the teacher’s row for about twenty-five minutes. Finally I heard, “And here is our newest teacher, Mr. Todd Bradley.”

I stood and unbuttoned my hand-me-down jacket that I had gotten somehow during college, and ventured up to the podium. My heart raced but I tried to keep my composure as best I could. I grabbed the microphone, lowered it to my liking, and looked out into the sea of faces waiting for my voice.

“Hello. My name is Todd Bradley and I’m the fifth grade English teacher, sixth grade reading teacher, and seventh and eighth grade math teacher.”

I glanced at the faces now wondering how I had ended up at this school. Although the thought of telling them I was an almost-law student entered my mind, I didn’t take that approach. Instead, I tried to loosen them up with a little humor.

“I’ve been teaching for about three weeks and by the looks of me, you can probably tell that.”

My fifth grade teacher was actually in the audience, so I decided to make a heart-felt apology before discussing my teaching philosophy.

“Before I get started, I would like to apologize to my fifth grade teacher, who is sitting in the audience tonight. I now know what it must have been like to put up with kids like me. I’m sorry.”

Everyone laughed and that made me more comfortable. I talked for a couple of minutes about what I was doing and what I hoped to cover, but for the most part, it was gibberish. I was just happy to be saying anything at all. I ended my speech and walked back to my seat, satisfied with my performance. Over the next hour or so, I talked to a number of parents and began to put faces with the names I heard so often in class. As I left school for the night, I thought that this would be the first time I could go home on a Back to School Night and stay up past 7:30. This time I wasn’t in trouble.