1- First Day

“Ajith hates to sneeze, BECAUSE WHEN HE DOES, HE PEES A LITTLE!” Taylor, a happy Chinese boy proudly introduced his friend, Ajith, to his classmates. The children giggled nervously, unsure of whether or not they were allowed to laugh.
We were playing an introductory name game, where everyone sits in a circle and takes turns sharing something interesting about their neighbor.
“This is Ajith,” Taylor repeated, pointing at a small Indian child who was dressed in a bright green, traditional Indian salwar-kameez. Ajith’s facial features were delicate and he wore gold earrings in his ears that were barely hidden by his androgynous haircut. If his parents hadn’t introduced their son to me earlier this morning, I would have had difficulty determining if the kid were a girl or a boy.
Ajith looked sheepishly around at his classmates with a meek smile. He sniffled and then wiped his hand across his nose, leaving a shiny trail of snot along his cheek.
“Ajith,” continued Taylor “Is new to this school. He came from India.” Ajith nodded at this and then sneezed. At the sound of the sneeze, Taylor broke out into a big grin and asked, “Did you pee that time?”
“Yeah, a little,” Ajith admitted.
My students gave in to their giggles and broke out into a fit of laughter.
I rolled my eyes.
Today was my first, first day of school, and I was unsure of what to expect.
At 7:30 this morning, students and parents were lining up at my door. I felt nauseous and dizzy. My head was swimming with what-ifs. What if I forget what to do next? What if they hate me? What if I turn out to be a terrible teacher?
My anxieties had been quickly drowned out by a whirlwind of commotion as my very first student entered the classroom. A tiny African American girl, hair bobbing with black ringlets, danced into the classroom, and announced herself as “Kathleen.” She looked up into my face with huge, happy brown eyes, and asked, “Where’s my seat?” She giggled, and when she did, her voice sounded like a bell.
I showed Kathleen her seat and gave her a book to read until the rest of the class had arrived. Standing by the door, I greeted each little face as they arrived. Some students were smiling, but a few had tear-stained cheeks. I wanted to reassure them, tell them that I was nervous, too.
Parents were everywhere. They all wanted to talk to me, and they all wanted to talk at the same time. Over 50% of the parents had chosen not to attend Open House the night before, a time set aside for me to explain the yearly plans and to answer any questions the parents may have had. Instead, they all filed into my room on the first morning of school and bombarded me with neurotic questions.
--I forgot to buy juice boxes at the store, so I packed a Red Bull in Kramer’s lunchbox- is that okay?
--Approximately how many times a month can I expect Kramer to have homework?
--My son, Robbie, is very smart. Would it be possible for him to have extra classwork assignments?
--Francesca and Gaby are good friends from last year, would you mind seating them next to each other?
When the room had finally cleared of parents, I found myself being inspected by 40 little eyeballs. Twenty sets of curious eyes stared at me intently. I gulped down my worries and jumped into action.
The day flew by at a rapid pace. I had over planned. I had been told multiple times that there is nothing worse that having a classroom full of children and absolutely nothing for them to do. Our schedule was booked, and my sole duty of the week was to take on the monotonous task of teaching the children classroom procedures. Procedures. Kids need to be told everything: How to stand in a quiet line. The number of seconds to drink from the water fountain. What color folder to put your homework in. How to ask to go to the bathroom. How to put a book back on the shelf. The list goes on and on.
We spent the entire day reviewing what was expected during school hours. I tried to smile a lot and be cheerful. I wanted to let the children know that we were going to have a great year with “lots of successes.” The District had slowly changed my vocabulary over the summer to have a more positive spin, and the word “success” was used in every other sentence. I let the children know that I was a first year teacher. I told them that we had the special opportunity to teach each other, I would teach them their subjects and they would teach me to be the best teacher I could be. This year, we were going to learn together.