Year Eleven

Year Eleven.

Tomorrow an entire new batch of kiddos will walk into S302. A handful will have just walked out of there in June, some hoping they would be scheduled in there again (some grateful to have escaped my extra level of corniness). A few will still have glazed over eyes from a day full of course outline recitals and class surveys. Some will be secretly hoping at least one of their friends walks in behind them, while others will cheer and praise the Scheduling Gods for their good fortune.

Will they even notice my curtains, hung haphazardly with command strips and cheap rods, a meager attempt at making the room feel more like home and less like the last place on earth they’d care to be? Will they recognize the clear resemblance between the home decor aisle in “Homegoods” and my quotation filled walls? Will they be able to tell how in love I am with my new (to me) “Book Nook” that was comprised of the generous donations of over eight different people...and was responsible for the burning of approximately nine million “box carrying” calories? Will they even make note of the new, neat and organized system for storing papers next to my desk… that will likely be used for a total of two weeks before my desk becomes a chaotic mess yet again?

I am the girl who wanted to be a teacher since I could speak enough words to command that my brother and sister sit in front of our Playskool easel and listen to overly engaging lessons on writing your “ABC’s” and counting to ten. I was not the college student who dabbled in courses trying to find my calling. I am one of the lucky ones who has teaching in my blood. Corny? Likely. C’mon. This is me writing this. I am nothing if not as “extra” as they come. However, I am not writing this post to reveal the deep, inner workings of my desire to teach. I AM about to get all “English teacher up in hurrrr” and break out some symbolism though. And as the [[annoying]] saying goes, “Those who can, do and those who can’t… teach,” so please understand how I have not yet mastered Hemmingway’s skillful “Iceburg” strategy in my writing and will be blatantly displaying this symbol front and center -- no analysis required.

It has taken me eleven years to reach this very moment in my teaching career. The moment I can say I am the proud owner of my very own “Book Nook.” And what IS said “Book Nook” you ask? Why, to some this little ol’ “Book Nook” will appear to be an ordinary bookshelf, filled with books, crammed into the corner of my room.

Disclaimer: This is actually exactly what the “Book Nook” is except it also includes a very elaborate book sign-out process and a stuffed llama… because, well, why not?

And now, at the start of year ELEVEN (whaaaat, how did this happen?!) I am the proud owner of my very own “Book Nook.” While I am not naive enough to think all of kids will be as pumped about this as I am, I will still share my “pumped-up-ness” with all of them -- because that is what I do. I will not be every kid’s favorite teacher and that is okay with me. I will not always be perfect each year because it is nearly impossible to EVER know what each new year will bring. I’m also completely aware that most students despise English class, so if I can’t make them like the subject, I will at least make them enjoy their experience of hating it as much as possible. :0) So, what does all of that have to do with a random shelf covered with used books? Let me explain… (sorry Hemmingway). I made a promise to never become one of those jaded teachers (or humans in general) who can’t find the joy in what it is that I get to do each day. I promised myself (thanks to an amazing cooperating teacher during my student teaching) that I would continue to grow each and every year and NEVER become the person who photocopied the same assignment for 974 years of teaching. I genuinely, wholeheartedly, absolutely adore what I get to do every, single day. And not because I get summers off (although that’s lovely), and not because of the ridiculous amount of money I make (hahaha right -- couldn’t help myself on that one). I have the best job in the entire world, and the fact that I now have an ENTIRE corner of a room (a room I happen to spend the majority of my life in) FULL of books makes me realize how lucky I am to be where I am… about to start year eleven… at the best job on earth. The place I work also gets to be my “happy place” all rolled into one. Come on! How often does that happen?

I am beyond excited for tomorrow, and I just had to document these “feels” I got going on right now...so I can remind myself of my excitement at the end of the quarter when I am setting fire to essays and crying on the floor. Kidding. Kind of.

Cheers to all my teacher friends headed back to school. May your students be kind, your workload be manageable, and may you find joy in the little parts of this wonderful life we call teaching.

Cornball out. :0)