A Teacher's First Day

I'm posting this under the assumption that we'll be reading and sharing editorial feedback; if so, I look foward to your comments. I also look foward to sharing in your memoirs as well.


Of all the professionals I've ever encountered, teachers must be the world greatest dispensers of advice. On subjects ranging from personal hygiene, to movie reviews, to politics, I sincerely doubt that I'll ever encounter a fellow teacher at a loss for some pearl of wisdom. And with regard to professional advice to new teachers, I dare say that the very threat of death would unlikely stop veteran teachers from dousing first year pedagogues with unsolicited advice.

For a first year teacher, starring down the barrel of your first day can be a bit daunting. The Sunday before my first day, I barely recall sleeping at all. Flat on my back, mouth slightly agape, I fixated on my ceiling fan while my mind raced through myriad anxieties, possibilities, and unanswered questions.

Like clockwork, the tones of advice from my new colleagues at Bartlett periodically invaded my mind. My mentor teacher's mantra echoed,"The most important piece of advice I can give you is start out firm with the kids; I generally don't smile very much the first week of school. This is a key to classroom management and your sanity as a teacher your first year." Establish fear and respect; this same sentiment passed on to me by Ms. Bailey was echoed among many other teachers whom I met during my student teaching. Its no surprise that her words on this matter stuck like a skipping record in my mind. I suppose that maintaining a sense of order and commanding respect was among my most immediate concerns. I figured new teachers must generally be given some latitude with respect to creating quality lessons. Having interned at Bartlett, I also felt rather comfortable with most of the house-keeping protocols like taking attendance, memorizing the bell schedule, navigating emails, etc. Past this, what I didn't know I felt pretty confident I could wing. But classroom management is a different beast altogether. Fail to establish order, and my career might end on a single day. Horrible nightmares - visions of apocalyptic rioting, of kids hanging from ceilings, and of naive, doe-eyed freshman being pelted with plastic soda bottles from foul-mouthed 19 year-old delinquents unable to stumble out of English 9 - plagued my fear addled brain. I decided to follow Ms. Bailey's advice as best I could; I would dawn the persona of the hard-ass teacher.

Early the next morning I enter my classroom with a fair measure of confidence and excitement, despite my sleepless night. The walls of room W216, my teaching sanctum, were oppressively barren. During the in-service days prior to the beginning of school, I went on a desperate scavenger among the faculty to hunt for any sort of decor. However, I found most of the teachers unwilling to part with all but the most childish, outmoded educational decor: images of circa 1970's comedic actors pandering the virtues of reading, orange and green pastel grammar posters with absurd cartoon animals that would insult the intelligence of a 3rd grader, faded pictures of American literary icons whose faces had been distorted by years of hapless stapling and masking tape removal. I took none of them. I would not sacrifice my good taste to the need for wall filler. As such, my room appeared conspicuously empty. Still, it was MY room.

At about 7:20, the students begin to trickle in. Amused, I watch as the kids uncomfortably shuffle around to find the seat in my class that will best suit their disposition and identity needs. A well-groomed young lady (probably home-schooled through middle school by her look) bee lines to the seat nearest my desk and the front of the classroom. A large framed teen with wide-spaced eyes and over-sized jeans ambles to his desk. He seems confused and slightly nervous in this situation, but his hard eyes and grimace suggest a person trying hard to appear otherwise. And so in their various degrees of self-consciousness and feigned self-confidence my first class ever file into their seats.

I begin addressing the class, and like the students before me, I feel uncomfortable, awkward, not myself. Immediately after taking role, the words of my mentor pop into my brain, "Start out firm...establish a clear line, you're their teacher, not their friend." I begin to delineate the class expectations, all the while do my best to remain detached and stoic.

"Let's be clear here guys, I'm fair but I won't tolerate disruptions. You are here to learn and my first responsibility is creating an atmosphere where that will happen." Gazing out into the classroom, I could feel the tension, defensive detachment, and disappointment in the room. As if to test me, a few students begin a conversation as I continue to review the rules of the class. "Gentlemen, you are getting off on the wrong foot here. Will I need to hand out detentions on the first day of class?" They silence themselves, but glare back at me as if to say, "This is class is going to suck and I already hate you."

The bell rings, and the class quickly files out the door. I've established myself as a hard-ass on the first day, but I don't feel as if I've accomplished anything. In my mind's eye, I see the entire course of the school year unfold. Students dispassionately drag themselves to class every day for the remainder of the school year. They never respond to points of discussion. They never share their thoughts or their writing. They never feel welcomed.

It immediately hits me that Ms. Bailey was wrong, at least wrong for me. Maybe a healthy amount of fear and emotional detachment from students worked well for her, but this is not me. I like people, and I've never been nor will probably ever be an authoritarian personality. It also occurred to me that I had something in common with many of my student. Many of us were posturing, presenting facades to deal with an unfamiliar social situation. If maintaining a well disciplined classroom means sacrificing my own personality, then I'll take my chances with chaos. Anything but this.

The next day when students returned to class, I shocked them completely by turning a behavioral 180. I greeted students at the door with smiles and handshakes and rescinded the seating chart. I asked students questions about their interests, discussed movies and music, and cracked jokes. Most importantly, I did not condescend. I engaged the students in a honest manner. Initially, most of the students did not know how to respond, but as the school year progressed, and I remained true to my own personality, the atmosphere of the class evolved into something special. The class was seldom quite, students were off-task from time to time and struggled daily to remain quite while I was speaking. By the standards of many teachers, my classroom was indeed a bit chaotic at times. Still, most of my students managed to perform well in my class. They listened when called upon to do so (though not always immediately), and many worked diligently on a consistent basis. Apart from excessive student talking from time to time, the class ran smoothly, without major catastrophe.

Perhaps all teachers could dispense volumes of advice on 'good' teaching. I'm no exception. However, if I could offer only one piece of advice to new teachers based on my own experience, it would be this - always stay true to yourself.