A day in the life of a student EC teacher

                               

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There were meetings every afternoon this week, curriculum based assessments, the state writing test, and report cards to finish. The young student teacher took it all in stride, wanting to just have a lesson that went smoothly, with the students working diligently and her cooperating teacher looking on in approval and admiration. So much to do, and many students whose individual needs had to be met in the classroom without pushing them too hard or pulling them up too fast.

Some lessons went well, and others did not, but inside she felt like none of them went well enough. It was so embarrassing to be 21 years old and suddenly to feel incapable, like a teenager hoping to get hired, but not having any practical experience to boast about. No, it was even worse than that. It was like you were trained to throw frisbees, but when you walk onto the job, they give you tires to throw. Yes, she didn't feel like she had prepared enough for this. She felt like that nearly every day.

One day, one student tipped the balance, and she fell over into the deep end. She thought for sure she would drown. She wondered why she had even thought she would love doing this kind of work. But this... nothing had prepared her for this! Why did she feel so utterly like a failure? "Why wouldn't he work for me, but he would for her? What did she do that I didn't do?" she wondered.

The older teacher recognized what had happened and gently whispered to her to leave the classroom and go to the bathroom, to calm herself down, to dry her eyes, to get away from the scene for a few minutes. "Come back when you feel calm... it's going to be okay.... remember, I told you there would be days like this... it's normal. Come back when you have calmed down."

                                                   

The young student teacher left, relieved to hide herself away so she could just cry out the tension that had been building up for the past two weeks. Her work load was increasing each week, and she would have to assume all the responsibilities for planning and teaching of this group of students every day for four weeks. How was she going to be ready to take on such a task if she couldn't handle this one student who refused to do his work? But it wasn't just the one student... it was all of them. If she looked at all of them at once, it was overwhelming.

She returned ten minutes later to the classroom, and by then the students of that class had left. The older teacher sat her down and told her not to beat herself up over it. "This is part of your learning process... I'd venture to say most new teachers experience this at one time or another. Better to have it happen now when you have a strong support system, when you have someone in the room with you to help out, someone to talk to about it."

The young teacher was set at ease... she had been so anxious to talk about her feelings on the job with her cooperating teacher because she only wanted to be the best student teacher. Yet, it seemed like day after day, lesson after lesson, she did not feel successful by end of day. She wanted to show her college teachers also that she was ready after four years of education. Her observation was coming up in two days ... what if it flopped? All her worries seemed to erupt that one morning with the lack of response from that one student.

She listened as the veteran teacher assured her that she was doing a good job with planning her lessons. She was prepared with her materials. She was prompt, and she was generously reflective of each lesson. Yes, she was doing those things, wasn't she? "But what about that math lesson... they didn't seem to know as much as I thought they would... I should have..." and she spouted off a string of critical and negative should'ves.

"Sure, you can look back and say what you should have done, and that's what a good teacher does every day, after every lesson,"  her cooperating teacher said. "Even the best planned lesson can go astray for any number of reasons, and you won't know what you would've done until you are driving home after school, or you are taking a shower, or you are falling asleep at night. Ideas and suggestions will come to you freely once you are out of the classroom. Just works that way for a new teacher. When you've been doing it for a few years, it gets a little easier."

"Think about it, I have two file cabinets filled with files of lessons I have taught, and ideas for lessons I want to teach, and copies of other teachers' lessons, files I have been collecting for seven years now. I have something for nearly every concept and skill I might want to teach, at any grade level. How many files do you have?"

The young teacher thought about this... it made sense. She had only what others were willing to share with her, and her courage. For now, she had to rely on expert teachers and their file cabinets, books, and materials, but someday she would have two or three file cabinets of lessons and plans of her own from which to draw.

                   

Yes, she could see better now. Her perspective began to change. She sat up a little straighter, feeling her confidence return. Then the two teachers, the apprentice student teacher and the veteran cooperating teacher talked about behavior management, and how it could be improved to manage students who refused to complete a task.

They talked about how for some students, just showing up to school would qualify them for an award if you looked at the challenges and barriers in their way. Other students, the ones who couldn't read well at all, struggled to read words, and lost the meaning of what they read because it took them so long to read. It's no wonder the little guy refused to work. He has a hard time speaking the language, his vocabulary is weak, so why is it any surprise that he can't express himself in writing?

Then it hit her. She began to see that this wasn't at all about her. It wasn't about her needs as a novice teacher, nor about her feelings getting hurt because she couldn't inspire one child to rise above his disability.

This was about the needs of the student. She couldn't fail in the classroom because they needed her to be there for them. If she thought this was a challenge for her, then she wasn't looking deep enough. This was why she was here, after all. She was here to teach children to learn, and to find ways to help them overcome the mixed up and confusing processes that took place within their brains.

No, there would be no more tears of frustration in this classroom while the students were around. If a student's difficulty pushed her insecurity buttons, she would recognize that his insecurities were greater. If a student pushed her fear buttons, she would know that he was more fearful of something he did not even understand. If a student pushed her rejection buttons, she would understand that he was not rejecting her, but only the difficult task at hand. 

Yes, she was becoming a teacher. Her tears of fear, rejection, and insecurity may not be allowed in the classroom in sight of the students, but tears of sadness or great joy would be.

Whatever she had to do to become strong for them, she would do it. She would learn everything she could, she would talk to other teachers, she would attend workshops, and observe classroom teachers, and try... she would keep trying and she would never give up because if she gave up, then she would be letting one of them down. Novice she was for now, but she knew she couldn't let them down. That was no longer an option.

Then something within her budding teacher heart gently stirred, forming new moisture in her eyes. Silently, it spilled over her eyelid, slid down her cheek, and disappeared beneath her upturned chin.

She knew what she had to do. She no longer doubted it.

She didn't even bother to wipe this one away. This kind of tear was completely acceptable.

And her cooperating teacher smiled.

                                                         

 

     This entry is a semi-fictional retelling of one day in the life of a student teacher of Exceptional Children.

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