I am sitting on my bedroom floor writing while listening to Kate Nash. This is standard operating procedure as far as my work habits go. But I am no longer in Dorsey 231 with my French doors open to let in a cool breeze. And I am no longer feverishly typing away at my latest thesis draft on my trusty Mac. No, no, no. Those times have since passed.
Now, I am sitting on the floor of my childhood bedroom, where I will be staying until paycheck numero uno provides me with much needed dinero to move into LA. (You can only live on graduation money for so long. In my case, it lasted for about a month of shopping for “teacher clothes” at Nordstrom Rack and paying for numerous sets of fingerprints and teacher credentialing program fees.)
I am no longer surrounded by volumes of Poe, Butler, Kristeva, Freud or Artaud’s brilliant ramblings. No. I am now surrounded by The Language of Composition, Prentice Hall Literature, The Princeton Review California High School Exit Exam prep book, and copies of an Orwell essay, Samantha Power’s book on genocide, A Room of One’s Own and upwards of nine syllabi from fellow teachers, the college board website, and (the goddess) Professor Kimberly Drake.
I, my friends, am lesson planning.
On Monday, I will begin teaching high school English as part of the Teach for America Los Angeles 2009 corps. Despite the amount of work that needs to get done between now and 7:45 a.m. on Monday morning to prepare for my three different English preps (9th grade, 11 AP and 12th grade), I am PUMPED!
In high school, I never considered the incredible amount of work that goes into every single lesson my English teacher taught me. Now, as I sit in a stupor over the task that lies before me, with said English teacher’s syllabus laying beside my laptop, I have begun to appreciate the countless hours that go into researching material to teach (and for new teachers, material on the best methods by which to teach it).
Last week, I sent an email to my high school English teacher. The subject was, “I’m teaching AP! (HELP!!!)” And help she did. She sent me her syllabus. She sent me her rubrics. She sent me links to websites and discussion boards. Drake was also incredibly helpful when I asked for a few of her syllabi to use as guides for picking texts that 1) I knew were interesting and 2) I was familiar with but couldn’t remember by name. (I copied her section on grading conferences into my 11 AP syllabus. I’m so excited to give these a shot!) My fellow English teachers at my high school have been super supportive to boot!
I know that teaching will be the hardest thing that I have ever done. But I also know that I am extremely fortunate to have an amazing group of friends, family, colleagues, mentors and cheerleaders standing by to help me back to my feet after I fall on my face.
According to Ellen Moir, in “Phases of the First-Year Teaching,” first-year teachers experience 5 attitudes toward teaching during their first year: Anticipation (Aug-Sept), Survival (Sept-Nov), Disillusionment (Nov-Dec), Rejuvenation (Jan-March) and Reflection (March-May). At this particular point in my teaching career, I think my attitude towards teaching falls into this first category.
That being said, I try not to think about the prospect of the second and third categories. In the past few months, through the intensity of the Teach for America summer teaching institute and about two and a half solid weeks of professional development at my school site, I have done my best to dodge and duck when it comes to horror stories and “warnings.” In saying that, I don’t want to come off as ungrateful to those who have tried to prepare me for the struggles that I am about to experience as a new teacher. I am in fact very grateful for their desire to share their wisdom, their experiences and roses and thorns. My motivation in bending backwards and out of the way (with Matrix-like precision) of these tales of “despair,” as a friend of mine described part of her first year teaching, is that I would rather go into this with high expectations, with a wealth of positivity and sense of possibility and with the ability to color my first year with my own emotions and experiences. I don’t think that I know it all. I know there will be many moments of floundering and doggy paddling, but I don’t want to start dreading the next four months before I have even begun teaching.
As corny as it sounds, I have made a sign that I taped to my desk in my classroom that says “confidence, courage and hope.” I guess the Scripps’ administration’s love of our mission statement really got under my skin over the course of the four most formative years of my life. These three words have come to be my mini mantra when I am feeling run down or frustrated. They remind me that I am a Scripps woman. I think critically, I am tenacious in my pursuit of results and I have learned to ask why over and over again until I am satisfied. I am one of a community of amazing women who can do absolutely anything.
I was actually at Scripps today. I went to the Huntley bookstore to buy a Scripps College pennant to hang on the wall in my classroom. While in the Huntley, I couldn’t help but wander over to the Scripps English section to see who was offering what this semester. (Given my current project, I have syllabi on the brain and I wanted to know which books would populate the syllabi of some of my favorite professors.) Scanning titles and course names brought on a wave of nostalgia. Peavoy is teaching an 18th century lit class that includes Pamela and Defoe. Matz is teaching the Victorian novel course that I lived for my junior year.
My own syllabi don’t include “The Rape of the Locke” or Our Mutual Friend, but one of my goals for myself as a teacher this year is to get my kids as excited about English as I was to read about the Gaffer, Bradley Headstone, Bertha Rochester and Dorothea Brooke.
On that note, I think it best to conclude this break in my planning before I start waxing poetic over my love of those Victorians.
Back to refining my syllabi and lesson planning!
With confidence, courage and hope, incipit vita nova.