I should have been given the option of my level of participation since everyone knew I am Jewish. A little warning beforehand would have been appreciated as well!
Chapter 3
Thy Kingdom Come
After my welcome note had been taken away on that first day, I had no time to dwell on it. I put it out of my mind and focused on the students who would be arriving within the hour. I had a long day ahead with lots of work to do. I was excited to meet my students, but at the same time, there were random butterflies doing figure eights in my stomach. I expected that I would experience this, but once the children joined me, the butterflies landed, and I felt enveloped by a warm cocoon and the sanctuary we created together. Being with them made me happy.
The first bell rang, and since I couldn’t see the front of the school, I could only imagine the throng of children pushing their way through the doors. Several moments later there was the turbulence and cacophony of a herd in the distance. Then, like cattle who couldn’t be wrangled, an offshoot headed down the hallway, a mixture of third through eighth graders. Students of various sizes donned in plaid and navy school uniforms with backpacks and lunch bags were “looming large on the horizon.”
Mrs. A reappeared right after the bell rang to inform me that all the teachers have hall duty every day and are required to stand in the hallway between classes to monitor students. That was news to me. It was a good thing my classroom was ready since I wasn’t going back inside until the students arrived.
I have to stand in the hallway every day? There goes more of my valuable time. Can’t they find other people to monitor the hallways? Was this in my job description?
We both stood lookout by our doors. The sixth grade homeroom students knew which classroom was theirs since most of them were next door in fifth grade the previous year. Plus, they knew if they had Mrs. A or “the other teacher.” I greeted my students with a pleasant “Good Morning” that would become my daily routine. They brushed past me into my classroom, mumbling something unintelligible, not very concerned with the new teacher but more annoyed by the early hour, the lack of sleep and the end of a slower summertime pace. As I greeted each student, I kept my other eye on the incoming traffic to make sure there were no jams, collisions or road rage. Since the hallways had no lockers, it was an easier job than in public school.
As the children entered, I instructed them to sit anywhere for the time being. I had arranged the desks in a more modern way than they were accustomed. While my teaching partner had the traditional layout with all the desks facing forward toward hers, I chose to arrange the desks around the perimeter of the room, facing inward, two rows deep forming three sides of a rectangle. The front of the rectangle I left open, and I could easily walk over to anyone. It allowed open space that I planned to use if we were going to act something out or needed floor space for a project or assignment.
Mrs. A. had appeared in my classroom the day I had rearranged the desks.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“I’m trying a new seating arrangement. I think I like it. It’s a little different and leaves space for students to sit on the floor when we do an activity.”
“Well, we’ll see how that works,” she snarled, turning on her heels and walking out.
I guess she doesn’t like it.
The arrangement worked so well that I never changed it. The students enjoyed sitting on the floor when working on group book projects and other assignments. Even the DARE officer (police officer who comes to teach the kids to “say no to drugs”) commented how much he liked the arrangement, especially when he had them act out skits.
While the school seemed to be a mixture of old and new, the actual seats for the students were “vintage.” I imagined that students who attended this school in the 1950s used the same desks. They were the old wooden chairs with the desktops attached and space underneath for books. You often see the more modern version of plastic, fiberboard and chrome today on college campuses or in places where space is limited.
On this first day, a larger seventh grade girl muttered, “Oh dear,” as she wedged her wide bottom into the narrow seat opening. She must have been accustomed to this, because she withstood the obvious discomfort without complaint, and thankfully no one teased her. I asked her later in private if she’d like me to find her a different type of seat, and she said “No, thank you.” I thought that her manners and the politeness of her classmates spoke well of the school.
I guess she doesn’t mind cramming herself into this seat every day. I would have jumped at the opportunity to sit in something else. I guess she doesn’t want to call attention to herself. She’s right. That would make her stand out, and I can’t think of another solution. I’m sure they won’t let me change all the desks in my room.
“Ms. B, I’m a lefty not a righty,” Billy asserted.
“Oh.....Just do the best you can for now,” was all I had to offer.
“I’ll try to find out if they make these seats with the desk on the other side,” I remarked at the end of the class period after I had watched him contort his whole body like Houdini to be able to fill out a form. I never found one after asking just about everybody in the school, including the maintenance worker.
How can they not have one lefty desk in this whole building? They obviously don’t care about students with differences.
The next day I suggested that my lefty student put an empty desk adjacent to his and use that surface for writing instead. He declined that offer.
I presumed my students would be the most well-behaved students since this was a Catholic school, and they were required to wear uniforms, attend religion class and church services, and adhere to strict rules I heard about in the faculty meetings. For example, I was told to assign homework every night. I didn’t agree with this, because that’s a lot of homework accrued for one night from every teacher. Plus, my lessons didn’t always require work to be done for the next day, nor did the students need to do work every night to reinforce the learning that took place. And sometimes they just deserved a break!
I was also told to be strict, and that if a child came to class without a writing instrument, he or she was to a receive detention on the spot. I didn’t agree with that either. As a matter of fact, several months into the school year I had a student come to class for an entire week without a pen or pencil. When I finally gave him a detention and asked him the next day for the consent form signed by a parent, he said, “My parents told me to tell you I’m not going to serve it.”
“Why not, Joseph?”
“That’s what they said.”
I called his home and left several messages for his parents who never called me back. I trudged outside to the parking lot during dismissal, risking life and limb to find his mother amid the stampede of students making their end-of-the-day, I-can’t-wait-to-go-home escape.
I shouted her name, but she didn’t answer.
I ran up to her and tapped her on the shoulder.
“Excuse me, but you know your son got a detention from me, right?”
“Yes, I know.”
“I know?” You have nothing else to say?
“Well, he didn’t return the consent form. He can’t serve it without that. Did you sign
