It’s 8:30 in the morning, and I have just arrived at the charter school ready
to face the eighth grade. I flashed back to my student teaching days when I
spent an afternoon observing the eighth grade, and was convincing myself it’s not
much different from high school where I have spent most of my teaching time. I took a breath and announced my arrival to the
front desk receptionist.
Mandy, a young woman who was to be on my panel interview, came down
and greeted me. She casually said, “This morning you’ll be observing the sixth
grade.” I said with a question mark, “The sixth grade? I prepared an English lesson for the eighth
grade.” “Yes,” Mandy acknowledged, “The sixth grade teacher suddenly quit. Our
immediate need is to fill the open sixth grade position." In shock I replied, ”But
my lesson plan is for the eighth grade.” “That’s alright,” Mandy assured me. “The
sixth grade class can benefit from your lesson on narrative reading.”
Since I was there, I decided to give it a try. I was escorted
to my first class where I was an observer. I watched kids working intermittently between repeating
insulting comments to one another and popping in and out of their chairs. If
that wasn’t brave enough, I was about to deliver an eighth grade lesson plan to
a group of high energy six graders.
Next, I entered the class that could be mine, took in the
environment and readied my materials while the haggard teacher preceding me was
concluding his lesson with the words, “Put your butts in your seats!” He seemed
relieved to have me take the reins for the next 50 minutes and left the room
swiftly.
The principal, assistant principal, Mandy and 3 other unknown
teachers came in to observe me. I had just begun my lesson when one boy
put his feet up on his desk and loudly asked, “Why are you here?” I answered
him honestly and continued with the passage we were reading to exemplify setting and
character. Before I finished, two boys got out of their chairs. One grabbed a
pass and announced he was going to the bathroom. The other stood up and began chatting with his friend two seats down. Then the boy with his feet on the desk proclaimed he didn’t like the story. Despite my attempts at classroom management, it went on much the same for the next 40 minutes.
I spent the demonstration surviving it rather than
teaching it. I felt pretty beaten up by the end of 50 long minutes in the sixth grade. At the conclusion, the assistant principal told me it was a challenging class as she escorted me to her office for the debriefing that followed. She ripped apart my lesson stating I didn't provide enough feedback, a clear conclusion, or allow the second language learners to share out their sentences. At that point, I had to ask why the last teacher suddenly quit. She squirreled around her response, but I
was fairly certain I knew why. She was run off by that Children of the Corn class. I personally believed it was a job better suited for law enforcement.
I couldn’t wait to leave. I knew I didn’t want to teach there
and was confident they felt the same about me. I stepped onto the sidewalk outside the school relieved, exhausted and disappointed as I had mustered the courage to teach the
eighth grade, got tossed into the sixth grade, and the entire experience exceeded my worst expectations.
