I have not yet begun teaching, but I am already overwhelmed. As a Special Education resource teacher, I have this first week of school to catch up on paperwork (tons and tons, beyond my many nightmares), administer diagnostics to my students, diagnose their levels, set up their academic plan for the year while keeping one eye on their personal educational plans as well as another eye on their regular teacher's curriculum... I practically need to make a separate lesson plan per student per subject per day. I need to construct a daily schedule for them to come to the resource room, basing it on their resource needs as well as separating the notorious "troublemakers" from the other notorious "troublemakers."
I've met most of my students already while testing them and they all seem awfully sweet, but it could just be first-week impressions. It could also be from me showing off my knowledge of heavy metal and rap. Yeah, I definitely need to replenish my supply of cool stories and tidbits for next week. I intend to be the supremely firm and tough teacher (as I was apparently known as in Houston! Go figure!), but it wouldn't hurt to use my youth to my advantage and be the cool teacher as well.
I cried tonight on the phone when talking to my father. He was so excited to tell me that my job is so much tougher than his ever was as a teacher. He taught 70 first graders in Taiwan almost 40 years ago. He kept listing the reasons why Special Ed is so much harder. Afterall, I have a potpourri of students at all different grade levels and all different reasons for being in Special Ed. He said I will probably have a lot of behavior problems from half of the class as I try to teach one set of students and I will definitely be swamped with a ton of legal paperwork... and he can't believe I'm about to jump into it with so little training!
I couldn't help but let the tears roll down silently as he eagerly, obliviously rubbed it in... all I could think about was how I had only finished one student's 2005-2006 academic plan... and I haven't even started my lessons for next week. No doubt my mom will yell at him after she reads this, but my father didn't make me cry; he was only telling the truth. It's only Week One and I'm tired. And the Bureau of Indian Affairs is coming tomorrow afternoon to inspect the teacherages (the federal housing non-Native staff rent on campus). That means I have to wake up early to wipe my dusty window sills and vaccuum before jetting (all 200 feet) to school at 7:30.
I have a homemade black and white sign that stretches at least 10 feet across the top of my blackboard and it reads "Never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever give up." Those who know me know I never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever give up.
But I will most definitely cry. A lot. Shamelessly and sometimes without me even noticing as I'm bent over my laptop at 11 p.m., trying to type lesson plans. But, please God, just don't let me burst into tears at school... No amount of Metallica knowledge will salvage me from that.
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