First Class

I know my teaching schedule. Some of it is set in stone, and some, I must decide if I can do. The three sections that I am committed to teach are all 80 minute blocks that meet three times a week each. Class size ranges from 90 to 70 students, a total of 240. My co-teacher also teaches at the nearby seminary and has invited me to join him in teaching those two sections, 55 each, as well. The director of my school also teaches Geography and he has invited me to take over the class next week to lead a unit in “The Geography of NY.” He has asked that I speak specifically to NYC, the problems associated with such a large population in such a limited space, and the solutions (read “attempts to solve”) same. I already know I will do this. The idea of being able to talk about where I live, warts and all, is very appealing. So, in all, I may have 400 students…400 papers to read…400 tests to correct. I come from a middle school in Ct. where I had 118 students. Other teachers there with 130 complained of the unreasonable workload. I know the weight of what I had, I try to grapple with the task before me and wonder if I am out of my weight class.

Monday we had our first class. I was to be introduced to the 90 and then sit in the back, to observe. Instead, Edward engages me immediately. The class is to read a two page portion of a play. There are four parts. I will have the lead. Afterwards, the students read the play to themselves and pick out the words that are new to them. We compile a list, and the students are requested to use context clues and root words to try and discern meaning. As they work and stumble, Edward asks me to assist. I stand and try to illustrate with words what these foreign things mean. Two of the words lead to the English concept of onomatopoeia. I stand and begin to exaggerate the word croak as in “The frog croaks. Crooooak, crooooak." The students laugh. “Rumble” is next, and I ask them to think of thunder in the distance. "It goes, 'rumble, rrrrumble.'" Pop, hiss, plop, all follow. But it is when I point to me zipper and go “zzzzzip” that I bring down the house.

The teacher then has the students enter a competition. Three groups four will read the play and the students will vote which group and which individuals did the best. In the last group there is a boy, a tall gangly boy. He has the most lines. He stumbles at almost every line. The students laugh. As his stumbles continue their laughter gets louder, bolder, until Edward is forced to intercede, reprimanding them. They sit and vote. We talk about the concepts within the play, within it’s action, but I cannot shake my thought of the boy and what has happened to him. I stand and begin of speak of courage. I ask them to define courage. They offer suggestions the closest being, “without fear.” I congratulate their efforts and paraphrase Shakespeare: All men have fears, but those who face their fears have courage as well. I tell them that I was afraid to leave my home, to come here. But I did, and I am--and will be--a better man for it. I tell them to try to do that which they are unsure they can, that courage is a required ingredient in greatness. To go outside your comfort zone. To stand and read when you know it will be hard is a wonderful thing. I wish them all courage. I sneak a look at the boy who struggled. He is looking up eyes bright, wide open. He is smiling.