Beginnings

7/15/14

It's the middle of July and summer is almost over. Back-to-school inservice starts one month from today. The recurring nightmares will start in a few weeks.

Every year it's a variation on the same theme. New students drive me crazy to the point where one of two things happen: I start sobbing uncontrollably and run from my classroom in tears, or I spew venomous four letter words until the kids are the ones crying. Neither of these scenarios foster enthusiasm for the new year, but it will be my ninth year of teaching, so at least I know they're coming and how to ignore them. What do they mean? An overactive imagination and crippling social anxiety combined with a fear of finding the balance between tyrannical strength and paralyzing weakness is my best guess. My dreams have always leaned toward anxious, and this persistent August nightmare is the adult version of the ones that used to plague my undergrad days. I had no reason to fear I wouldn't graduate then, and no reason to fear I'm a terrible teacher now.

Waking up from one of these dreams is terrifying at first, but over the years it's evolved into excitement. The dreams signify my official start to the new school year; they mean I'm ready to dive in again. One of my favorite parts of teaching is the idea that we get New Year's twice a year, whereas those suckers with "real" jobs only get them in January. The resolutions I make in August are similar to the traditional ones; they're designed to make me better. Except in January, most resolutions are self-centered, focusing only on me as a person. In August, my resolutions focus on how to be a better teacher for my students.

It starts with the room. Same four walls, same desks, same windows and perennial ant infestation, but the rest is at mercy to my effort and resourcefulness (or lack thereof). I'm a messy person by nature, and my classroom reflects that. At the beginning of the year I take time to cover my walls using copious amounts of sticky tack and laminated words of wisdom. They start to fall one at a time throughout the year. By March I give up the battle of climbing on shelves to re-stick them. The walls don't need to be perfect by then. We've accomplished enough that the kids don't need to be dazzled by what's on the walls nearly as much as by what's happening within them. No amount of decorating will make me a better (or worse) teacher.

After I've settled into my room, the real beginnings take form. Consolidating sticky notes both paper and digital from various locations, checking through articles and books, looking at last year's lesson plans, all with one guiding purpose in mind: What will I do differently this year? What worked? What didn't? What do I want to try for the first time? What do I never want to do again? What could be better with more attention on my part? Where am I weak as a teacher and how can I change? I won't be perfect and neither will all of my ideas, but this process at the beginning of each year keeps me moving forward.

For now it's still July. I still have a stack of books, both personal and professional to wade through before school starts. I still have lazy days and vacation adventures ahead. But the nightmares will be coming soon, and with them the reminder to make myself better this year. The fear is healthy; it keeps me reflecting. I'm not a weakling, I'm not a tyrant. I'm a teacher, trying to be a little better each year.

***Missy Springsteen-Haupt teaches 7th and 8th grade language arts at Clarion-Goldfield Middle School. She loves devouring books in any genre. Missy writes personal narratives about her life, but has been known to experiment with terrible poetry and science fiction stories. She recently earned her MA in the English:TESS program from UNI. Her professional interests are focus on student writing and creating a positive response environment. She feels awkward writing about herself in third person for biographic purposes.