First Days

My first first day of school out of the classroom was a complete let down. The office eerily quiet. My inbox, unusually empty. No excitement. No early morning or time spent picking out the perfect outfit. No copies made. I sat in my cubicle and tried to plan for the rush of the semester ahead, but the eagerness and anticipation were missing. I tell people that have just left the classroom to prepare for the first day and the last day of school to feel off. To be a little sad. To know, for a day, what you are giving up.

As a content coordinator, my job has so many perks. Mostly that I can go to the bathroom whenever I want and only rarely grade papers. There are no subs to plan for when I’m sick, but on the first day of school it never feels like an even trade. I long to rush out the door to make it to the bathroom and back during a crowded passing period. I wish to unjam a copy machine. But mostly I ache to greet new hopeful students, with brand new spirals and potential. I ache to feel like I am making an impact.

Everyone in my office pitched in last winter when so many teachers were sick. We covered classes we’d never taught and struggled (or at least I struggled). I didn’t know names or have a lesson plan. I did my best, but it let’s just say no one was ranking my lesson as “distinguished” on T-TESS. The teacher shortage in this state (country) is worse, not better, but my district is lucky enough to be awfully close to fully staffed. However, on the first day one of our high schools had a science teacher have a baby during in-service week and another out sick. I offered to help, even though it wasn’t completely necessary. I offered because I knew where the art room was and which bathrooms they actually keep unlocked. I offered because I wanted to give kids a good first day. I offered because I would rather spend that day on a campus than in my quiet office, catching up on email.

I used to have a great first day routine. I determined that this sub experience would not be like the fall. I had copies of rosters. I brought my own materials for an activity. I was excited and even a tad nervous. I forgot how much traffic there is on the first day and was almost late. I wished for more caffeine and more sleep. I showed lost freshmen where to find their classroom and I greeted them warmly. They were scared, but I was eager enough for all of us.

Work has been hard. Too much to do. So much pressure. My tank has felt emptier than usual, which is not a good place to find yourself as an educator in August. I’ve had conversations with others and know that it is not just me. Maybe it is recent school shootings, maybe it is complicated school politics, maybe it is Covid, maybe it is because we were so hopeful last year would be back to “normal” only to have it feel harder than ever. Maybe we just don’t want to be disappointed again. I admitted as much to some teachers. I told them that if they felt the same way that they needed to figure out what parts of their job fill them up and to chase that. That it is ok to feel empty from time to time, but that it will be a terribly long year if they stay that way.

Spending my morning on a campus, not observing but teaching, was exactly what I needed. All those spreadsheets, curriculum documents, meetings and carefully worded emails - they felt less important. Less crushing. Less sad, because I spent the day in the room where it counts. By the end of the third block my feet hurt and I felt physically drained. I had more steps on my Fitbit than my 4 mile Sunday walks. I’d spent so much energy smiling and answering questions. I couldn’t be more exhausted, but I was the kind of empty that makes you full. First days are full of all the best things: hope and promise and potential and it was hard not to feel full myself. As I started to pack up, a student said, “Miss Substitute, You did a great job today.” He made my entire week. His simple light hearted complement filled my tank to the brim.

We are now into the second week, and this school year is proving just as challenging as the last one. A cyberattack took down every single online system we have as a district. When Covid hit we were asked to put everything online. This week we were asked to provide as much as possible without a computer. No one can access schedules, textbooks, bus numbers, curriculum documents, phones, or even print to the copier. I found myself digging up old flash drives. Teachers have been asked to pivot, yet again. Saying it has been disruptive is an understatement. It’s been a full week of unknowns, ransom notes and people smarter than me meeting with the authorities and cyber security teams.

I love first days, but what do we do when the fourth day is a disaster? When the sixth day is a struggle? I’m occasionally unsure how to reconcile that reluctant hope with the complicated reality. A person wouldn’t be wrong to be cynical, except I don’t know how to do this job very long with that mentality. I think back to my complimentary student on the first day - he was only 17. More social than studious, but he could tell that I wanted to be there. That I wanted him and his classmates to have a great year and fun learning experience. He noticed my hope and excitement, but here is another truth, he would have also noticed if I didn’t want to be there. He would have seen right through my apathy. Teens are experts at it and they love nothing more than calling adults out. I love everything about the first day, but mostly I love the excuse to be hopeful. The trick is to stay that way on day four and day 104. Online or off. I don’t have the answer. All I know is that kids can tell the difference.

I’m 44, with 3 degrees and an administrative job. I really shouldn’t need a 17-year old who thinks I’m a sub to tell me I did a good job. Except I very much did. I showed up to teach on the first day but instead a student taught me. I need my work to matter. I need people to see that in me. When everything goes right I am energized, but being seen and appreciated fills me up even when everything goes wrong. My takeaway here isn’t to keep hunting for compliments from teenagers. I live with two and know those are rare, but instead, I can give them. One way to help others feel full when maybe they are running on empty is to see them, on day eight and day eighty-eight. Simply to notice.

I’m just glad that doesn’t require the internet.

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