The Worst Day Becomes the Best

Best Day in Teaching Ever

While no one would expect a first day of anything to be the best day ever, that’s what happened to me.  Although, I guess I should admit that that whole “best day ever” gratitude didn’t come until years later.  At the time it was the worst day ever.

A little backstory to set the stage: It was the summer after my first year of teaching in Southern California at a high school.  I was broke for various reasons that I am sure any teacher can understand from experience, and I didn’t have any friends, and gas to get me to activities, or any money to pay for said activities.  There was an upcoming family reunion in Tahoe, and after much begging, my brother relented to driving 3 hours out of his way to pick me (I swear I am going somewhere with this) up.  We get to the reunion and I am drowned with love, laughter, and joy, all of which I had been missing the past three years of being friendless except for my students (so, yeah, friendless).  At one particular moment I decided to move back to Sacramento where a majority of my family lived, so after getting dropped back off at home, I literally had moved back to Sac within the week and was living at my aunt’s house. This was the end of July, and most schools started in about two weeks, so I was pushing to get a job.  Two days before one particular school district began, I was offered a job.  I did not do a shred of research, just accepted, and then didn’t think much of it again because, well, okay, I couldn’t STOP thinking about it.  But not one of those thoughts was, “What the (&^*&%&^ have I gotten myself into?”.  Well, not until the start bell rang for that first day of school.

I was standing there in my cheap black dress pants and ill-fitted brown-white (supposed to be white) button shirt, frizzed out hair, no makeup, and sketchers.  (I thought I looked like a million bucks compared to what I normally looked like.) This doesn’t really sound like it would be A Thing, except that I recognized Prada, Gucci, Nikes, Jordans all throughout my classroom, in addition to brands I had never seen before but were clearly more expensive than I could imagine.  I saw perfect hair, perfect contouring, perfectly clean and crisp fashionistas, glittering diamond earrings.  Again, nothing really too daunting.   And I saw a lot of non-white faces.  In fact, mine was the only non-white face in the classroom.  (I guess I should quickly mention I’ve lived in Eugene, Oregon; Carmichael, California; San Luis Obispo, California; Portland, Maine; Talkeetna, Alaska; all pretty small, white towns.  So I stood there, and the only thought racing through my brain was the only one I hadn’t ever thought: “What the (&^*&%&^ have I gotten myself into?!?!”

I have yet to leave the school.  Not only have I taught there (survived? thrived?) for the past three years, but, as it is being collapsed at the end of the 2018-2019 school year, and, as next year the only grade we will have is 8^th grade, and, as I was their 7^th grade teacher, and, as I will now be the only veteran teacher there for next year, and, as at least a third of our staff end up leaving (usually mid-day) within the first three months of the school year, I would have continued to teach there as long as I could.  I had the added bonus of having my students last year absolutely beg me to move up with them and teach them 8^th grade, which I did decide to do.

So why was that day the best day ever?  Because it showed me my weaknesses and my horrific judgements.  I am a better teacher, and a better person, for having been blessed enough to teach them.  This specific group of students I have been teaching for the past two years (6^th grade drama elective and 7^th grade Language Arts), and I miss seeing their faces, hearing their laughter, witnessing their struggles-and resilience-as they survive.  They have taught me so much.

Anna H.

EDUO9107