By Madison Loomis
I have a question that keeps repeating in my head over and over and over again:
Am I going to remember how to be a teacher?
My head chimes in with the same response - Duh, yes you will - it’s like riding a bike. Isn’t it?
Or is it?
Will I remember how to set my expectations the first day, or will I freeze up at the front of the room like I did the first time a lesson went wrong? I haven't had face-to- face interaction with my students in SO LONG, and now the official school year is over, which also concludes my first year of teaching.
Yes, I am a baby teacher who not only survived her first year, but survived amidst a global pandemic. This year of teaching really paralleled a classic coming of age story, but for someone who transitioned from novice teacher to experienced professional . This transition was full of classic, cringeworthy moments. However, while reflecting on these moments I’ve realized that they were necessary. They helped me to grow, and with this growth came comfortability, and most importantly, confidence.
Reflecting back on this year, my confidence only came through conquering some of the weirdest situations I’ve ever experienced - you know, like turning around to a pair of tidy whities that magically appeared on a desk in the middle of reading The Hunger Games... or that time when someone played inappropriate noises from a hidden Bluetooth speaker in my room that ignited a frenzy to find where they were coming from... I remember walking out of my room sometimes and looking at my coworkers like, "what the heck just happened last block?" I really thought I had seen (and heard) enough for my first year. I locked my door on March 12th feeling pretty good. Feeling like I might be getting the hang of this whole teaching thing.
But then everything got way more serious.
I left that Thursday before spring break to go to the store after school. I was out of toilet paper at the worst time, only to see people rushing and scared in every aisle. I think that's when it dawned on me that things weren't okay. Little did I know, the world I knew would not exist anymore.
Teaching should be like riding a bike, right? You might be a little scared after not riding for a while, but you’re reassured after the first 5 seconds back on the bike, that you got this. You’ve practiced, and you’ve fallen down A LOT, but each time you get back up, things feel a little easier. I was finally ready to ditch my teacher training wheels in the fourth quarter upon my return. But during spring break, someone let the air out of my tires. My wheels weren’t turning anymore. Literally. I froze when the governor announced we would not be returning to school as we knew it. My brain went radio silent. I realized I would be switching from the comfort of riding a bike to climbing on top of a contraption no one had ever used before - one still being built.
Flash forward a few weeks. With the indefinite school closures, l was given 15 minutes to get my stuff from the building. 15 minutes. My room didn’t even feel the same - it looked and felt like a ghost town. I locked my door this time, unsure when I would see my classroom again.
The news became constant background buzzing as life changed every day. My heart broke when I thought of how each one of my 160 students’ lives were changing too. I am thankful for every phone, text, Google Classroom, email conversation that I was privileged to have with them, It was horrible to not be able to say “good bye” to them, but I hope that I will be reunited with their faces soon.
Before this, I had the belief that teaching gradually became more normal with every day . Things start awkward, even scary, and then, somehow, teachers grow and find their voice. Before COVID-19, I believed that once you found your voice, you were set for life.
Unfortunately, teaching is much more dynamic than that. It throws us curve balls all the time. And it takes a special human to adapt and adjust when the definition of normal changes year by year, hour by hour. It takes a special human to care so much about their coworkers and every student they teach - to find every possible way to solve every single problem. And educators are exactly that - special.
I cannot tell you how many times I have heard the word, “relationships” since I started teaching. Relationships with students help us break through obstacles in their behavior and learning; they are how we establish a positive classroom environment. We will always have the memories of our high school teachers that told us we were special, the college professors that challenged us, the mentor teachers who never gave up on us, and the friend down the hall whose room became a safe haven of help during our plan time. But relationship building shouldn’t stop once we step foot outside our classroom.
As an educator, you are part of a community of some of the coolest people on the planet (maybe I’m just biased). My colleagues at Southeast each bring their own voice, talent, and experience. They’ve shared numerous ideas and lessons; advice and comfort. One of them even bought me fuses for the string lights in my room. Another helped me compose a write-up regarding the inappropriate noises from the hidden speaker incident. If they hadn’t, I might still be trying to put that incident into words to this day. They were incredibly vital as education moved into uncharted territory this final quarter. I am thankful that I was able to ask them thousands of questions a day, and they still helped solve them even though they were struggling themselves.
And truly, I think that’s all that really matters - whatever happens to us educators, weird or normal, there will always be someone there to support us.
I can’t tell you how proud I am to be an educator amongst so many resilient, strong, caring humans. Our own lives changed completely, yet we still care about everyone else. Our jobs are centered around human interaction, and we have the power to make an impact, socially -distanced or not.
The future is still unknown for all of us right now. Whether we have a year of experience or years of experience, none of us know what we will be returning to next year. But I do know this - we will continue to help those around us, regardless if it is through an instant message, a text, or a meme. We will adapt, and we will change together. The relationships we build with our colleagues will turn into lifelong friendships, and nothing is going to change that.
I am not the teacher I was in August, and I will not be returning as the teacher I was before spring break. So reflecting on that question I asked at the beginning, “Am I going to remember how to be a teacher?”, I’ll tell you what I know for sure: I am going to remember how the kids I taught this year made me feel. I am going to remember how to laugh. I am going to be resilient in the face of change. And most importantly, I’ll remember that I’m going to have one heck of a support system by my side at all times.
So thank you to educators, new and old - we are confused and frustrated with our future. But always remember that you are appreciated. Thank you for believing in me, so that I can believe in my students.
About the Author
My name is Madison Loomis, and I have just completed my first year teaching ELA at Wichita Southeast High School. I graduated from Wichita State University in 2019. I love concerts, my grumpy cat Gracie, and I LOVE reading young adult literature. You can find me on Goodreads or reach me at firstname.lastname@example.org
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