the breach

I forgot to tell you about the breach in my classroom. 'Breach' is a Teach for America term for an occurrence that breaks down the culture you have built in your classroom. The culture that I built in my classroom was warm, kind, and as Andrew so eloquently described it, 'more positive than a proton.' I sought to make the students feel loved and safe, like they were learning in a place where they could be built up, even when they made mistakes. This was easy to do since they saw me make so many mistakes over the course of our four weeks (remember the time that I couldn't solve my own math problem in front of Wendy Kopp?). Rarely did I have serious behavioral issues, and never until the fourth week. It was during this time that my very first breach occurred, and though it was so minor compared with some stories that I have heard, I never will forget it.

The night before, I had planned an elaborate game of Jeopardy to review the material for the end of academy exam. This was all part of my continued attempt to bribe them into good behavior with fun and prizes during the last week of summer school. While explaining the rules, I had reserved the right to take away 200 points for behavior not in line with the expectations of the game. I have learned the hard way that when one makes such a statement, one should follow through with it or the entire management system begins to fall apart. So when a student pounded her hands on the desk and shouted, "That's not fair!" I wiped 200 points off of her team's score. As I turned my head back towards her, I very clearly heard and saw her mouth forming the word, "Bitch!" For a moment, my heart was broken. It was my first true moment of breakdown to the positivity and acceptance that I had been proud to create. But the thing about these types of situations is that my heart was not broken because I was breaking, it broke because I knew she didn't mean it. This student happened to be one that I was closest to. I had tried to fight for her against herself over the previous three weeks and I knew that she was proud of the progress she had made. She was a KWLTM: a kid we love the most. She and I spent a great deal of time in the hallway after that and our relationship grew stronger because of it. From then on she knew that I may not always love her behavior, but I did always care for her. It was both a breach and an opportunity.

My growth as a teacher continues and at the same time is at a standstill. I am still in Connecticut at new staff training and professional development and suddenly my nest has disappeared. The corps members here have banded together like a troupe. Where we once existed in the same boat, clueless, determined, exhausted, inexperienced, and filled with anxiety with 500 others, we are now small in numbers and attempting to collaborate with some impressive veterans. Though, by veterans, I mean teachers with an average of three years of teaching. One of the things that I love the most is the young and passionate staff of this progressive school, energy not yet burned out bounces out from everyone (although those of us who haven't slept in past 630 AM in the past eight weeks exude a tad less). We are no longer just corps members finding comfort in the idea that so many others fear the same fears, we are real teachers, with real teacher email addresses, real signatures, real classrooms, and soon to be real students. I am getting extremely nervous. 2nd graders become mine in two and a half weeks and there is so much that I still don't know. I have not met my collaborative team teacher who I will spend the next year of my life with, I do not have my curriculum or know what I am to be teaching come the first day, and I seem to have forgotten everything that I learned during institute. What is a lesson plan again? And I am suppose to teach 7 year olds? What happened to my 12 year olds? We had a good thing going on! I have such a clear vision of what I want my classroom to look like, with song and joy and chanting and learning, but I have to get there first. I am a teacher now, too.