Teaching is like waiting tables sometimes...

There was a time in my life that I thought I was destined to be a "career server." Not that I would have minded that so much. Heck, I miss waiting tables sometimes. Sure, there are a lot of disadvantages...but I made decent money, I got to work with my friends, and working nights meant that I could sleep in, go to the gym, and still make it on time for my 4pm shift.

Wait, why did I choose teaching again??

Oh yeah...because when that one kid who barely knew the alphabet when she entered your class leaves telling you that she loves to read...your heart grows a little bit more.

But I'm struck by how much teaching is like waiting tables sometimes. As a server, you constantly have a "To Do" list in your head of things that need to get done, and you're constantly reordering those things in your mind in order of importance. For example...let's say you have 3 tables. In your head, you might be thinking: "OK, I need to ring in the appetizers for table 41, bring out appetizer plates for that table, clear table 42 and bring them dessert menus, and bring another round of drinks to table 43." A server's mind would automatically put the most important and time-pressing thing at the top of the list, and go down from there. BUT WAIT...in the midst of all that action, another table sits down. So now, the server needs to add "Greet table 44" to the To-Do list. And reorder everything else because one damn table sat down to throw a wrench in your otherwise orderly section.

A server needs to think on her toes constantly...perhaps make up a reason why appetizers are taking longer than 20 minutes to come out, or give a valid excuse why she forgot to bring you that extra side of dressing you asked for ten minutes ago.

A teacher's day can be very similar. A teacher has a "To-Do" list in her mind of things she wants to do for the day. For example...let's take math class. Just math class. A teacher knows that she needs to...bring the students to the carpet, remind them to keep their voices off, start with a warm-up, introduce the new concept for the day, remind them again to keep their voices off, practice it with them, remind them again to keep their voices off, tell them how they will be practicing the new concept by themselves at their desks, remind them again how they will be practicing the new concept at their desks by themselves, tell them to go to their desks and take out a pencil, remind them again that this isn't social hour, pass out their work, and remind some of the directions they should be following as they work at their desks. BUT WAIT...in the midst of all this...little Susie loses a tooth, Billy starts screaming because John is poking him with a staple he found in the carpet, and Kailey starts crying because the screaming scares her. So now, the teacher needs to reorder her objectives on her To Do list because some darn kids decided to make a big hoo-ha over the smallest things.

A teacher needs to think on her toes constantly. Whether she has to make up a game on the spot because somehow her lesson lasted 20 minutes less than she thought it would, or decide what to do with the rest of the class when a child decides to run out of the school on his own little adventure.

Teaching is like waiting tables. Or...waiting tables is like teaching. Either way...I like them both. Sometimes one more than the other.

Um, I guess he was bored??

In middle school was where I found my affinity for passing notes in class. My friend A and I would pass notes in Mr. W's Latin class. Don't hate...it was Latin. My parents said that Latin would be really important when studying for the SATs. And I agree, I guess that was important...but where did I ever use that SAT knowledge in real life??

But I digress...

OK, so A and I used to pass notes in class. I don't think we passed notes like normal 12-year-olds. One of us would take the entire class to write a note, and then give it to the other after class was over to read. I think the term "passing notes" actually involves passing notes....as in, writing a note, and then passing it to the person, and then getting it back, and writing more, and passing it back, etc. etc. I guess we didn't get that concept. Be that as it may, that's how I spend most of my 7th grade Latin classes. I still did well in the subject, but I just found sitting there in class to be so BORING!! It was much more interesting to think about what was happening on "My So Called Life" or the slumber party that would be happening that weekend.

So I empathize with those who find class to be boring sometimes. In class is sometimes where I got my best writing and thinking done (not always about the the subject actually being taught on that day, but whatever). And I am trying my best to empathize with my own student who apparently found my teaching to be boring, or just not piquing his interest.

It's not uncommon for students to need to "take a break" in class. I've found that students in the particular setting where I teach aren't as emotionally developed as other students their own age. It's a regular occurrence for students to have tantrums and scream, kick desks, kick chairs, or run from the room (oh, don't get me wrong....I don't condone this...it's just what happens because they don't know how else to deal with the emotions running through them). So I've set up a "Peace Out Corner" where students can fill out a talk ticket to discuss with me something that made them upset, or write in the "I'm Angry" notebook if they just want to write about what made them upset, and not discuss it with me. They can take that cool-down time, away from the class, to keep their anger from boiling up into something more destructive. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.

Well, apparently that wasn't good enough for K on this particular day. I'm not quite sure if I said something to make him upset. Or, perhaps he was just bored with my teaching and decided he'd had enough (and remember, I DO empathize with those who get bored in class sometimes). But K apparently decided that he'd had enough, and made his way over to the cubbies (sidenote: for those who don't know cubbies are like lockers for kids...they're like little closets where kids put their backpacks and jackets). He found his cubby, opened the door, and proceeded to crawl into it. Well, K's not a small boy. He's thin, but fairly tall. So after he made his way into the cubby, he decided there wasn't enough room for him. First, he threw his jacket out of it. Then, he took his backpack off the hook and threw it to the ground. At that point, there was enough room for him to stuff himself all the way inside. Which he did. And then used his long, skinny arm to reach out and close the door behind him. And then, in Ace Venture-like fashion, opened and closed the door several times, yelling "Don't look at me!" Smart kid...yelling at others to not look at him CLEARLY did not make them want to look at all.

And what was I doing this time?? Teaching. Doing my best not to look at him, doing my best to entice my other students not to look at him (which, surprisingly, they actually did a pretty good job of), and still talking about subtraction story problems. If K has 3 things in his cubby, and takes out 2 so he can have room to fit himself in there, how many things are left in his cubby? 3-2=1. Bonus points for those who said 3-2 + K = 2.

Epilogue: He made his way out about 5 minutes later and went to lay down in the reading area before being escorted up to the office. I guess fitting oneself into a cubby is quite tiring work!

I laugh, I cry, but through it all, I do my best to try and teach.

One of my earliest memories of school is sitting in Mrs. Black's kindergarten class, and watching in awe as she had a conversation with a puppet. Yes, a puppet. It had a little home, which looked like a box covered in wrapping paper. For the life of me, I can't remember the puppet's name...but he sang, and I'm guessing taught some sort of academics. I was in awe of my teacher. I thought she was one of the most amazing people ever; she just knew all sorts of information and was kind enough to SHARE that with us, and help us learn. And she talked to puppets. What more could a 5-year-old ask for?

It's stories like this that made me want to become a teacher. My teacher inspired me, my teacher helped me, etc. etc. I wrote books for them, I drew them pictures, because I wanted my teachers to be proud of me. Yet, when I would see them out in public...say, in the grocery store....I pretended like I didn't see them. I'm not quite sure why; maybe they just didn't exist to me outside of school. Maybe I placed them on a pedestal, and seeing them NOT in their teaching environment somehow made them more real to me. Maybe I was intimidated on them, and couldn't fathom talking to them outside of school. Whatever the reason, the fact remains that I thought of my teachers as amazing beings.

That was 25 years ago.

I think that feeling of awe still remains in some schools, with some students, for some teachers. Unfortunately, that is NOT the school I work in.

This is only my second year of teaching. I'm a rookie, so to speak. I feel that I've taken a fair amount of education classes, and I know the content that I teach, and a wide variety of strategies for teaching that content. But wow...nothing prepared me for this. Nothing prepared me for kids kicking desks and chairs...on a daily basis. Nothing prepared me for kids cursing at me for giving them a "red" for the day. And nothing prepared me for what to do when a kid stuffs himself in a cubby, and then shuts the door behind himself.

So these are my stories. Real stories. Not embellished, just TRUE stories. I laugh, I cry...but through it all, I do my best to try and teach.