Small Strokes Big Oaks

I had a moment yesterday when I looked at my calendar of lesson plans, and only the second half of August is filled out. Because it isn’t even September yet. How is it not even September yet?!

I realize it is just barely still August, but something about this year already has me feeling like I’ve been doing this for months. In two weeks, I have learned all of my students’ names. (I knew them in three days. I have 130 students. This is a feat.) I know about most of their personalities and eccentricities. I’ve had some kind of in-depth conversation with almost all of them. I’ve graded am entire set of papers for every class. I’ve planned how I am going to teach two novels.

How is it not even September yet?!

For some reason, I have this strange notion that summer ends and fall begins the first day of school. Maybe it helps me leave the pool behind without much regret, telling myself summer is over. But imagine my surprise, then, when I leave the confines of my school building and it’s still 90 degrees and sunny. And imagine my surprise when I look at the calendar and realize we haven’t yet hit Labor Day.

I’m not sure if I’ve ever felt this in denial about September’s hold out. Last year, I wanted it to be here because September meant one month closer to October and our wedding, but this year, it was straight up denial as I was writing August 30, 2011 on the board. How is it not even September yet?!

Part of the reason I’m in such denial, I think, is because I hit the ground running and brought more energy to my classroom than I did even during my first year of teaching. My hair is on fire. I’m having discussions with my students about the definition of justice that made one girl say, “Miss, you’re making my head hurt.” (That was preceded by me: “What if someone is punished you for breaking a rule that was immoral in the first place?”) I’m reading and responding to Friday Journals, 1/2 page journals about whatever is on their mind where grammar and spelling don’t count, every Friday, and I’m remembering what’s going on with each of my students. One has diabetes, three broke up with their significant others, one is trying to come out to his parents. And they’re telling me these things. Because they need someone to tell, sure, but also because they feel they can trust me. Two weeks in. And I’m remembering these things and responding and asking them how it’s going because that’s how you build relationships and foster success.

This time last year, I’m not sure I knew all my students’ names.

How is it not even September yet?!

Today, I will be standing on a chair in the middle of an empty room, asking them their opinions on justice and making them physically stand on a side and defend their opinions. I’ll question their opinions, change their minds or firm their resolve. I’ll leave school today exhausted. And successful. And with something to think about that a student said that I never thought of before.

The moral of the story? I’ve been seeing more and more news stories about contracts, teachers getting angry or receiving no support, states taking over schools, and all of the wonderful journalism that graces our presence at the beginning of every school year. And you know what I say to that? Those stories are true, to be sure, but they’re only part of the picture. For every frustrated teacher, there’s one like me who says, “I may not have a job next year because our funding could be cut or the state could take over or whatever. But this year, I’m going to teach like that doesn’t matter. And, because of that, I’m going to make a difference.”

Let a journalist come in to my classroom and see what’s going on in spite of it all and paint a full picture. Until then, I’m proud to be a positive voice for my profession. Two weeks in, at least.