Top 10 Reasons Why Being a First-Year Teacher Doesn't Have to Suck

Here you are, a recent college grad who has landed that first gig as a real teacher (with real students!). You're smart, you're snappy, you've got a head full of knowledge and are ready to go... and then everyone hits you over the head with how hard this is going to be. They tell you how much you'll have to learn on the ground. They'll remind you of all the things that you simply cannot be taught in an undergrad program. When you mention an idea, they give you that face like, "Oh, you think that's going to work?" Well, I'm here to tell you that those people..... are probably right. Being a first-year teacher comes with a lot of challenges. However, there are also many benefits of which you can choose to capitalize. These are my personal favorites:

10. You're really freaking cool

Probably the biggest thing you have going for you right now is where you just came from--the Mecca of coolness known as college. Kids of all ages dream of the day that they will enter the Ivory Tower and start their four (or five... or six) years of eating Ramen and religiously drinking out of red Solo cups. In many ways, it's good that they already strive for academic achievement... in other ways, it's a little sad that we're making kids in our nation hyper-competitive at such an early age. Regardless, it's good for you because you are now the expert on the place and age that they long to be. You are their inside scoop on the amazing happenings of college life. Milk it while it lasts.

Chances are, you also are probably an avid texter and Top 40 music listener which can only help you in building rapport with kids. Taking an interest in the lives and passions of your students should never be underestimated. That, and you are pretty BA at catching people texting in class... because you know all the secrets.


9. "Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission"


I first received this nugget of wisdom while pushing a podium off of a stage to make room for our own purposes with the auditorium one day while student teaching. At first, I inwardly rolled my eyes and never imagined that I could be the kind of person to live by such a rule, but it didn't take long for me to realize the brilliance of this idea. The same guy told me that you have two years in a district to make mistakes and feign (or not need to feign....) stupidity. I'm sure the point of his advice at the time was for me to be more assertive about making things happen. Even better is knowing that when your assertiveness backfires and something goes horribly wrong (and it will), for two years you have the usual excuse on which to fall back--you just didn't know any better. It's okay to be wrong, it's okay to make mistakes, it's okay to occasionally look stupid. You're daring to try something for the first time. So, bonus points to brand new teachers making big mistakes... because you're never stupider than when you're in your very first job.


8. Everyone wants you to succeed

In all seriousness, it's best to remember that there are many people out there rooting for you. No one actually wants to see you fail. I know it sounds obvious, but it took me a surprisingly long time to figure out that maybe, just maybe, everyone in the building was actually on my side. We all want our students to receive a well-rounded education; we just all have our own ways of going about it. Telling someone you are a first-year teacher is pretty much inviting them to want to help you. There are so many people out there who would love to answer your questions or even just talk you through something you might be unsure of... if only you would ask them. Parents, administrators, teachers, secretaries, custodians, paras--we all have the same end-goal in mind, so utilize your human resources and practice patience and forgiveness when things don't necessarily go your way. 


7. You're not yet jaded

I avoid the teachers' lounge. Partially because crowds of adults overwhelm me and force me to retreat inward, and partially because soooo often I go in there and hear people complain about a student or a class or teaching generally. It seems to me that teachers talk this way because the job has just become old habit; sometimes they just do it because everyone else does. However, there is no one more enthusiastic about teaching than a brand new teacher. This is what you've been chomping at the bit to get to do for the past several years and here you are, finally getting to do it. It's a wonderful feeling to enjoy your job and the people you see every day. Love the feeling and don't let the teachers' lounge bring you down.



6. Exhaustion is a catalyst for creativity

'Nuff said.


5. A lesson in humility...... 

Once this year, I let a college senior in need of some observation hours come into my classroom and watch my girls' choirs. I thought, "Hey, this will be fun! We're not that different in age, we both like kids and are passionate about teaching, and we both are musicians!" When she got here and started watching my class, I could feel the judgement rolling off of her. I might just be projecting, but it felt like she didn't approve of my classroom management (she told me afterward the the 7th graders were crazy and the 8th graders were rude), my music selection, or my teaching techniques. I had offered her other dates to come see my choirs, but I never heard from her again. Honestly, I was annoyed with her. Then I realized, hadn't I inwardly done the same thing when I was a college student observing choral programs? I would watch teachers and get ideas, but I also would think about how differently I would do things. The truth is, no one realizes the reality of teaching until they are teachers with classrooms of their own. Not even student teaching can give you the experience of the full responsibility of being in charge of all classroom decisions. Being a new teacher makes you see all teachers and classrooms through new eyes.

4. $250 teacher tax refund! 

......yeah, as far as finances go, that's all I got. Being a BA1 does kinda suck.

3. Plenty of conversation fodder

My phone conversations (since I don't see friends and family very often out here in my social desert) usually consist of two things--my cats and my students. They have a lot in common: both are hilarious, both take up a lot of my time, and both do really silly (and/or stupid) things. I love talking about teaching theories and ideas with other teachers; but more than that, I love talking about classroom experiences, relationships built, and all of the funny things my students do or say.


2. So much to learn!

Chances are, if you are truly passionate about teaching, you probably are also passionate about education and learning generally. It's been said to me, "Isn't it interesting the more you learn the more you realize that you don't know?" This may seem daunting to some people, but I find it exhilarating. I'm never more bored than when in a situation where I can't find something to learn. In teaching, there is always something that you could tweak or change or try. There is always so much more to learn. 


1. Teaching doesn't suck

That's right, the number one reason why being a first-year teacher doesn't have to suck is because teaching itself does not suck. In fact, in my humble opinion, it is the greatest profession on earth. There may be bumps in the road (heck, there may even be pot-holes in the road), but if you are making a difference to the life of even one child, it is worth it.

Fireflies

As soon as the deadbolt clicked shut on the door of my Des Moines apartment, my knees gave out and I became nothing more than a pile of person in the doorway. I had reached the point where I couldn't escape my misery anymore, and I had no choice but to finally allow the weight of it all to wash over me: the five-month-old email still sitting in my inbox that seemed to contain all of my inadequacies while stealing all of my dreams, the fact that I was losing one my most important friendships because of my own lack of patience and empathy, the loss of my beloved childhood dog, and now, it seemed as though I was about to be torn from my last vestige of some form of "home." Hours were spent on that floor until tear ducts ran dry, and even then I couldn't move. Everything was far too heavy. I wasn't ready to be around people, but I also knew I shouldn't be alone. And so.... I prayed. It seemed almost silly at the time--I hadn't been to church in months and still wasn't entirely solid on how I should interact with the divine. But I had to do something, and in my crumpled position, this seemed as good an option as any. I told God how heavy everything felt, how it was starting to become too much, how I wasn't sure what to do next. I began to think about the darkness that had taken over my thoughts and behaviors. I begged God for some light--it needn't be sunlight or a lamp or even a flashlight... maybe just a firefly?

Hours later, I peeled myself off the floor, my final request of God still ringing in my ears--a firefly. I had plans to go to a concert with a friend that night, and I never bail on friends, so I cleaned myself up and took a running leap into the world. For reasons I don't remember, we were late. Actually, we missed the entire portion of the concert we had intended to see. Still, we paid our $20, got our wristbands and went to sit on the grass. Natasha Bedingfield got about four songs out before it started to rain. And even as the entire crew tried to corral her band off stage, she managed to sing an acoustic version of one of her most popular songs. We all laughed at the irony of her words, "feel the rain on your skin." My friend and I had taken solace under a nearby tree, and just as the piece ended, right before it really started to pour, I looked over my friend's shoulder and saw it. A firefly.

Almost a year later, and I can't believe how much (and in many ways, how little) of this still rings true. Yes, I have matured and grown in many ways this year, but I also have retreated into myself to a depth that I have never reached before, and I'm not sure how to get out. It's as though I have disengaged from my own life. Every single day I am haunted by the thought of the rejection email from last January and am reminded of my unworthiness of a life I once wanted. Then there's the thick loneliness that surrounds me all the time. Invitations that I should have accepted hang over my head, but I can't bring myself to feel the regret that should go along with those memories. I wanted to go, I wanted to make new friends, but it's as though I'm living behind my eyes these days and very little will draw me out.

But inside of me, there is still hope. There has to be--how else would I have unwittingly programmed the piece "Firefly" for my seventh graders to perform the week after my select eighth grade girls sing "Unwritten" by Natasha Bedingfield? Initially, realizing that is when I really began to see it. The real fireflies of my life this year: 200 adolescent girls who tell me every day how beautiful and amazing they think I am; a colleague turned mentor; two cats who light up my otherwise lonely apartment; church members of a small, but vibrant, congregation; friends and family who remind me in many ways that even though they are not here with me, I am still not alone. Individually, a firefly may be small, but put that many of them together and they sure can produce a whole lot of light. And who knows? Maybe just around the corner there will be a flashlight. And hopefully, eventually... some sun.