Learning to Accept, er, Appreciate a Lack of Sleep: a (Final?) Reflection

Okay.  I admit it.  I hate getting up early.  Heck, I hate getting up—period.  I always have.  I always will.  I would rather sleep than do just about anything. 

Except teach.

When I enter a classroom, something inside of me lights up.  My mind abandons the chaos of the outside world and shifts into a clear, precise, methodical manner of operation (those of you who know me understand that this is no small feat, seeing as how I am crazy.).  I swear my eyesight becomes keener.  I hear every side conversation, every ruffle of notebook paper, every flip of a page.  Every day, the first few precious seconds in the classroom gift me the opportunity to simply take everything in.  For a brief moment, time slows.  I can feel the promise of new learning opportunities and the hope that I can somehow impact someone’s life.  It is simply…amazing.

This semester’s experience in my CT’s classroom has not deviated from this magic.  Regardless of the fact that I taught my lesson later than I had anticipated, regardless of the quasi-abrasiveness and unorthodox classroom management techniques I became privy to, regardless of the idea that teaching a room full of ridiculously bright AP English Seniors was so intimidating it left me feeling, at times, like an unsteady toddler unsure of her footing, regardless of every little irritant or obstacle that should dissuade an individual half as crazy as I—I still love it.  Love.  Love.  Love. 

Here are a few of my favorite things about being in Mr. Walker’s classroom this semester:

• Every morning—every single morning—multiple students say “Good morning, Mrs. Leighton!” with a smile on their faces.  You cannot beat a genuine smile.

• During a collaboration for their Inferno project, a group of girls asked me to provide a narrative voiceover for their video. I held my head pretty high when I walked to my car that day.

• Mr. Walker took the time to carefully go over my dispositions rubrics with me.  I know this sounds simple and inconsequential, but I really feel as though he wants me to succeed.  He also critiqued my original lesson plans—he was straightforward about telling me not to be reluctant to challenge the students.  When I scrapped the first set of plans, and started over completely, I had the confidence I needed to write lesson plans that were parallel to the AP students’ intellects.  I am grateful that Mr. Walker treated me as a colleague and encouraged me to challenge myself.

• Once, a student from Mr. Walker’s first hour asked me to chaperone a school dance.  I was honored that she would track me down to ask me.

• Another female student told me every day for three weeks about the school’s production of Beauty and the Beast.  She said, “I would really love it if you could come.”  I have tickets for next Thursday. :)

•  I felt so prepared for my mini-lesson that I am pretty sure I could have taught it in my sleep (…which I love, if you missed that point.)   I had the lesson plans finished nearly a month in advance, and several of the students kept asking me “When are you going to teach us?” in an eager tone.  That is the coolest feeling ever.

•  It’s a toss-up between my two favorite "Teaching Moments"...

Several weeks ago, one female student was complaining to me that she hated doing a writing prompt every Friday.  She said that she didn’t see her writing getting any better, and she didn’t understand why they had to do a prompt every Friday.  I asked to see some of her past prompts.  I carefully compared four consecutive prompts, and I saw marked improvement from prompt  #1to prompt  #4—her conventions had improved, her ideas were more pronounced, and her organization was far more structured in the last prompt.  I pointed out all of this progress to her.  In one crystalizing moment, she seemed to actually SEE that she had indeed improved.  She beamed.  She asked me if all this practice would be worth it in the end (these students take the AP college exam next spring).  I said, “Absolutely.”  To which she replied, “Okay.  I will keep trying and keep getting better, Mrs. Amanda.”  I was so proud of that moment that as soon as I left, I called my husband to tell him.  I may also have called my Mom.

Just this past Monday, during end-of-the-hour free time, a male student wandered up to where I was seated and asked if we could talk about Shakespeare. CAN WE TALK ABOUT SHAKESPEARE?!?!?!?!  OH GLORIOUS DAY!!!  As my brain geared up for my favorite literary conversation topic, I tried to contain my enthusiasm, although I am fairly confident that if I had opened my mouth without first pausing and thinking, I would have drooled and giggled, which would almost certainly have abruptly ended THAT conversation.  Do I ever love Will Shakespeare!  Anyway.  For the next fifteen minutes, this student and I had the best conversation about the politics in the Bard’s plays.  And while the student and I had to agree to disagree on some subtle political nuances, the dialogue was intellectual, casual, and memorable.  As the bell rang, the young man got up, turned to me, and said, “There is something about you, Ms.  I can already tell you’re going to be a great teacher.”

Yeah.  That’s definitely worth getting up for.