Chapter 7
Drew
I
loop my badge around my neck, grab my backpack in my front seat and head into the building. I have about 15 minutes to prepare for the day before having to go get the kids from the gym, so I have to haul ass. As I head up the stairs to my classroom, I revisit my mental to-do list from earlier this morning.
One by one, I check things off: making my copies, creating a few slides, and turning my projector on. After a morning like this one, I think coffee is more important than the other stuff, especially because my first cup is currently all over the sweater in my hamper back at home.
I decide I’ll have Cole write the learning targets on the board and pass out the morning work when students arrive rather than taking the time to put it on their desks now.
Cole is my favorite student. And I know I’m not supposed to have favorites, but Cole is an exception because I’ve known him since my first time as a teacher when I started in the North Shore School District.
I had done my undergrad at the university about two miles away and was placed at one of the two elementary schools in the district for student teaching. At that time, Cole Andrews was in 4th grade, and he lit up the classroom with his bleach-blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a smile that was contagious. Even at the early age of 10, he was always kind and willing to help, even though odds were against him.
I smell the comforting scent brewing before me, and I grab my “My Classroom is my Happy Place” mug. My advice to any teacher is having your own coffee maker in your classroom.
Today is Friday, and it is also the last school day before Winter Break. The sun is actually shining, and there’s snow on the radar for the afternoon and the weekend, so I’m prepared for my classroom management to be put to the test today. I check the time, and I have five minutes to spare before my day actually begins.
The hustle and bustle of the morning didn’t even allow me to think twice about how my day started. It’s only a few minutes before 10 AM, but time flies when you don’t have a chance to slow down.
The kids are at their Social/Emotional Learning class with the guidance counselor, so I finally have a moment to take a breath.
I clean up some of the miscellaneous papers and pencils that, for some reason, can’t stay in the students’ desks, and then I finally have a chance to sit.
This morning at school followed a similar pattern as my morning at home. The kids came in buzzing with anticipation for Winter Break, making every transition take double the time they usually do. When everyone was finally in their seats, Cole was about to pass out their morning work when I realized I printed and made copies of the wrong worksheet. My classroom is right across from a workroom, so I quickly printed more and had a student go grab them just to find out the copier was not only out of toner but completely jammed.
Then, when I tried to email the office, I was greeted with a “No Internet” message. The announcements came on minutes later saying the Wi-Fi was down for the morning due to maintenance that just couldn’t wait until the school was empty over break.
Luckily, I could make my math lesson and instructional activities work with materials I had ready from earlier in the week, and I knew the kids were barely listening to me anyway. I, once again, thanked my past self for creating lessons that were receptive of where the kids’ minds would be on the eve of Winter Break.
I like to keep the classroom lively and collaborative, so this morning’s math lesson involved the kids chatting and problem-solving together to figure out algebraic equations that used a variety of winter Emojis instead of variables. It was fun yet challenging, and the time flew by. Before we knew it, it was 9:30, and time for them to wrap-up and transition.
My classroom is a perfect parallel to my life outside of it. Choosing a profession where no day is the same is an odd choice for someone who doesn’t always welcome change with open arms, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
While my classroom is dynamic, constantly changing depending on the day and the moods of the preteens, my life outside the classroom is consistent and… Boring, for a lack of a better word. But, not in a bad way. In a way where I know what to expect, and I’m in… Control.
Control.
Such an odd concept with such different connotations.
On one hand, I do have control of my classroom, just like I do in my personal life.
Control of my choices, of my behavior management, of my lessons.
But, on the other hand, I have no control in my classroom.
I never know for sure if my lessons will land or if my students will stay engaged, and usually when I think they will, they don’t.
At all.
I have no control over the outside factors that impact these tiny humans who are still learning how to manage their thoughts, emotions, and actions.
No control over outside factors that impact the inside of our classroom daily.
But when it comes to my personal life, there is a sense of control. Control I’ve learned I’m capable of holding on to, so I can make the best decisions for myself.
Or at least I tell myself that, especially when I talk myself out of calling my parents, Calvin, or Lacey and instead text Reed.
I have only a few minutes until the students will be back, and we’ll have to start with reading. Because sixth grade is students’ first year in middle school, students have me as their teacher for all of their core classes, and they go elsewhere for electives and Specials like P.E. foreign language, music and art classes.
The classroom always feels odd when they are all gone, and it’s silent. It’s nice for a moment, but then it feels weird. The silence always seems so out of place.
So unnatural.
I take the minutes I have to sip on my now-cold coffee and scroll through the Snapchat stories I didn’t get to earlier this morning. As I click through the stories, I’m reminded of the thoughts from this morning and close out the app before I begin to dwell. I throw my phone in my backpack under my desk and tell myself I don’t have time to let those thoughts trickle in again. No time because the bell just rang, and my students are back as quick as they left.
Time seems to go by so fast when they’re gone.
I hear the footsteps of my students arriving back from SEL, so I prop open our classroom door and meet them as they come down the hall.
I greet all 24 students as they file in and have a seat, making a mental note that they are all here and accounted for.
I move to the front of the room to get started by asking a volunteer to read the learning target written on the board, thanks to Cole. He was, as always, so eager to help when he arrived this morning.
“Addison, thank you for volunteering. What is it that we are going to be able to do by the end of reading class today?”
“‘I can identify possible character traits to describe the protagonist of the story.’”
“Wonderful,” I respond. “Thank you, Addi. Now, who can tell me our action for today’s reading class? What exactly are we doing as we read our texts today?”
I look around the room to see the hands raise up. “Jack. What is it we are doing today?”
“Identifying.”
“Awesome! That is exactly it. We are identifying. And, what does it mean to identify, Jack?”
He ponders for a moment and answers, “Kind of like looking for something?”
“Good! I would definitely agree.” I walk around the classroom, 24 pairs of eyes on me as I point at the board behind me with a projection of a slide with a handful of characters from various holiday and winter-themed movies. The Wi-Fi maintenance luckily didn’t take as long as the tech department said it would, so I could use the slides I made for this winter-themed reading class.
I made sure to stick with characters students would recognize, but I was also sure to not use only the popular Christmas characters, knowing not all my students celebrate Christmas.
“Okay, everyone. I want you to look at these characters and give me a thumbs-up if you recognize at least one of them.”
Thankfully, I was correct with my assumption that most, if not all students, would recognize Anna or Elsa from Frozen or Sid, Manny, or Diego from Ice Age. I see 24 thumbs-up after a quick ten seconds of their eyes scanning the screen.
“Perfect,” I say. “So, today, we are going to look at clips from some of these movies and identify character traits for these characters. We’ll then identify evidence from the clip to prove our claim.”
I see a couple heads turn towards one another, and hushed chatting of who’s going to be whose partner commences.
Before I can ask students to stay silent until I’m done giving directions and passing out the graphic organizers, I hear a deafening pop from down the hall.
My body freezes.
“What was that?” My student, Marco, asks. A tone of fear in his voice.
I hear the slight whisper as all my students look around at one another and then back at me.
“Ms. Thomas?” I hear one of them say, but I am still frozen. Before I can even truly recognize what the sound was, we hear it again.
How the hell did kids get fireworks into the school?