Last July I didn’t know what my school would look like. I didn’t know if I would have a classroom, or that I was going to have to decorate it. I didn’t know how to put up bulletin board paper, and I didn’t know how to use the die-cut machine.
Last July I didn’t know what I was going to be called by the students, let alone answer to “Ms. Kaufman.” I didn’t know how to teach Mishna, how to arrange the desks in my classroom, or how to write a syllabus.
Last July I wondered if all my students would hate me for being new, or take advantage of me for looking so young. I thought that the key to success was to pretend to be too strict, even if that wasn’t something I really knew how to do.
Last July I didn’t know how to create a project, write a worksheet, or get students to work in groups. I didn’t know what to say in front of my class, and definitely not what the elusive “teacher’s presence” was.
Last July I didn’t understand how to log in to my new computer system, use a smartboard, grade papers, or enter those grades. I didn’t know how to take attendance, how to bentch on the mike, and I was nervous about having to learn 80 names. I didn’t know anything about middle school tefilla, and I was naïve enough to wonder if they might enjoy it.
Last July I didn’t know what the building blocks of learning were, how to plod through each day of the school year, or how to build a relationship with a whole class at once. I didn’t know what DD was, how to use it, or that it would get me laughed out of class by snotty attitudes and entitlement. I didn’t know what I expected of them, what I wished they could do (though I said I wanted them to reach the stars) or what success for 7th graders was. I didn’t know that good intentions were my gift, or that they would get me through a very dark February.
Last July I hoped that the people I worked with, and worked for, would love me, and knew that I had to be strong every day to give them confidence. I knew that I was reflective, but I didn’t know just how much good it would do me, or that it was a quality not every teacher had.
People back then said it would be challenging, that maybe I couldn’t possibly succeed, and I didn’t know then that I would pass with flying colors. I didn’t know then how hard it would be to succeed when half-truths were breaking me down piece by piece, or that it would be an accomplishment not to quit. I didn’t know then that my real battle would be never losing my faith, or that everyone would think I was strong just for showing up every day and caring enough to do my job.
I never knew then how sad I would feel, despite every hardship, that the year was coming to a close. I never thought that my weaknesses would become strengths so fast, or that there would be other schools, and even people in my school, who would praise them. I never thought that I would ever see the end of the eternity of the school year, let alone that I would wish it would go on forever. I never thought that I would feel so personally proud that I had done nothing more than the best I could do.
And I never thought about this July, where I will start a new year actually feeling like every inch a teacher.
