This job is deceptive.
It is what appears to be an easy one on the outside. What teacher doesn’t want
four days a week, up to 10 kids in your caseload, no take-home work, planning,
and no grading? I am a tutor, a glorified, must be a certified teacher with
knowledge in many subjects, tutor. What no-one tells you is that these kids,
though they may be few in number,
My classroom (funny how
it has suddenly become that in my head-though I have yet to become “officially
assigned”) is far removed from the rest of the building. A small room, with
poorly functioning heat, bare walls and away from the rest of modern civilization,
is jokingly referred to as “the dungeon”.
I have been here 1 week, and I have experienced rule-breaking, attitude
and lack of motivation. I have heard
these kids referred to as “the throw-away kids”, and I am here to say they are
anything but. This week I have been back and forth about whether I should even
submit my paperwork for the job, or if I too, should walk away, “ditch them” as
the other teachers have. Is this what I
was meant to do, or had in mind while earning my teaching license and my shiny
Master’s degree? I am sure that I, like many before me, imagined the sparkling
new classroom and the bright, happy faces of students that were all willing to
listen. The funny thing is that in a way, I had just that-in my years at East
Linn, but left anyway. When we imagine
things, we imagine them perfect in every way, but real life is never perfect.
Real life is scarred, gritty, and has many shades of grey. Real life involves
falling often and hard, and pulling yourself up again and again. Real life is
teens from broken homes with hidden dreams, dreams they are afraid to share,
because then they too, may fall apart.
This classroom does not
look like a dungeon to me. I look at it and see the possibilities, the chance
to decorate, the art on the walls, the flowers that could be planted on the walkway
right outside. These kids are growing on me. Perhaps it was through
establishing authority, boundaries, and letting these kids know that I am on
top of things and expect them to be as well. Maybe it was the shared laughs,
and the tentative hopes that the kids have begun to share with me. Or, maybe it
was the high fives shared after an assignment was submitted, and they scored
well. Maybe it was the stories that have been shared and the realization that my
reaction was not always to side with the adult, but instead an inner voice
saying, “How dare they treat my kid that way?”-a thought that stopped me cold
in my tracks. I am sure it was all of it,
molding me and my thoughts. This, I know,
is subject to change. I may not be here in a few weeks if I am not chosen, and next year? Well, that is dependent on many things. Next week brings new kids and new situations, uncertainty
galore, but for now I say-I am not sure when this became my classroom, but at
some point it did.