In the Beginning

This is what I’m considering for the Introduction or Chapter 1 of my book.

I thought, naively, that once I graduated from a teaching program that I would know how to reach and would be able to understand the nuances of my job. Boy was I wrong! Yes, my teaching program included 2 semesters of internships, but an internship is not the same thing as being completely responsible for multiple periods of students all by myself. Plus, the internships do not start until after the year begins so there were a lot of things I didn’t know that I didn’t know until it was too late.

My first internship was an absolute nightmare. I was paired up with a mentor teacher who greeted me with the statement, “I don’t know why you’re here. I didn’t ask for you and you won’t be teaching my students at all.” How was I supposed to learn from someone who was voluntold they would be taking on an Intern, rather than someone who really wanted me? Luckily, I’m not super shy, so I said something to my Internship advisor that I was not going to be able to complete my required assignments, or teaching experiences, within my current placement. I was transferred to another teacher on campus who complied with the things I needed to do, such as make a bulletin board and teach 2 lessons, but my second teacher agreed to take me only because he didn’t have anything nice to say about my first teacher.  I think he did it to spite her.

My second internship began as a nightmare, but turned into a blessing. When I was in college, the only teacher that I struggled with was my American Literature teacher. Unfortunately, I was required to take two classes in American Literature with the same teacher and both times it was a struggle. It didn’t matter what I did, I could never get a good grade on my literary analysis papers. She even made me hate everything American Lit. When it came time to be placed in my second internship, I kept praying that I would get anyone that wanted me, as long as they didn’t teach 11th grade – the year that the students took American Literature. 

When I had my introduction call with my new mentor teacher she was extremely happy to have me and was very welcoming.  We hit it off right away.  I was very excited to be with someone who was happy to have me take over her classes every day for the next 10 weeks.  She told me I would have creative license to do my lessons and grading my own way. The only thing I had to follow was her course outline to make sure that I was incorporating the required reading for her grade level. During the initial call we discussed the different classes – she had multiple sections of standard students and 2 sections of honors. The standard classes were large – averaging about 35 students (this was before the voters decided that classes should not be that large). There was only one class that I would not be teaching: Leadership. She was a co teacher with the neighboring classroom for a group of about 70 students that were part of student government and/or officers of other groups on campus that were responsible for planning and implementing all student activities on campus, including the Homecoming and Prom dances. I was ok with this because it meant I actually had an extra planning period throughout the day to do the things I needed to do with my new students. We talked so much about everything it wasn’t until we were about to hang up that I remembered to ask her what grade level she taught. Her response: “11th grade.” After I got off the phone, I cried for an hour. 

Day one of my internship I was apprehensive but had resolved myself to embrace all things American Literature – to fake love for the subject and the readings – in order to get through the next few weeks. To add to my apprehension, my teacher informed me before leaving for the day that she would be out for the rest of the week. “Sink or swim,” she said. Petrified, I went home and studied Edgar Allen Poe’s short story, “The Pit and the Pendulum,” because I was responsible for loving it and teaching it for the remainder of the week. The rest of my internship was a blur, but I do remember one thing – by the end of the internship I really did love American Literature. My internship teacher was able to pass the love she had for the content onto me. I didn’t know it at the time, but I would dedicate a large percentage of my teaching career teaching 11th graders. 

The internships did expose me to a variety of opportunities to help students in the classroom, but they did leave me ill-prepared for the truth of what it was to be a teacher. I did know how to plan and teach, but I had no idea of the compliance requirements and extra little things teachers are responsible for until I became one myself. Not knowing these little things, led to frustration my first year, and then those things caused me to crash and burn.