Day Seven: Tell Someone Else's Story

Day 7--Tell someone else’s story—This story is told from my mom’s perspective about the teaching job she took when I was in third grade and Ryan was in eighth grade. I think this took place in November of 1989.

Teachers start their work year in August, and their work year finishes in May. Though the months may change based on school districts and though some schools are trying out year-round school options, most teachers expect to work nine months and to be off for three months. Most teachers would not give a two-week notice in November because a contract has been signed and leaving mid-year could make finding a new teaching job difficult. Starting a new teaching gig mid-year is fairly unusual, and if a teacher starts in a classroom in the midst of the nine months of the school year, it’s a pretty big red flag that something big just went down for the previous teacher. If the teacher decided to leave because of a sickness or a cross-country family move, starting mid-year may be okay, but sometimes teachers leave mid-year because they just can’t take it anymore. The work environment is just too rough, or the combination of kids is too hard. For teachers who take over in situations like this, it can be a rough journey to May.

I had applied for a tutoring position for a Russian family that had moved to our small town and needed help learning English. Since the Russian family had moved to California a little more quickly than anyone had expected, my tutoring never came to fruition. But because I was USD 435’s most recent hire, I was the first call Tom Goldsmith, principal of Garfield Elementary, made that morning.

“You interested in a teaching job, Mary Beth?” he asked.

“A teaching job? For this school year?” I asked.

“Yeah, we lost a teacher in October, and we’ve used up all our subs. No one will come back to this classroom. We need someone who will go in and be a permanent fixture for these kids.”

I thought for a second. It was true that I wanted to go back to teaching when my children were old enough. My son was in eighth grade, and my daughter was in third grade, so it seemed that criteria was met. Fifth grade was a little older than I had in mind, but fifth was probably a great age. The bit about the subs not coming back had me nervous. Just how bad could a room of 28 10 and 11 year-olds be?

“I’m interested,” I said, “but before I agree to anything, I’d like to come in and meet the students, see the situation.”

“Sure, come on down. I’ll introduce you, and you can see the classroom and hangout for a bit.”

My nerves were on alert as I pulled up to the school the next afternoon. I pulled my dented tan ’78 Bonneville up beside the other teachers’ cars even my car looked uncomfortable in this environment. I walked across the blacktop playground and made my way to the door of the school. As I opened the door I took a breath, trying to give the situation a completely honest and fair chance. I walked to the office to meet Mr. Goldsmith who emerged from his office immediately.

“Let’s go meet some kids,” he said walking with the purposed of a man who was staring down Thanksgiving break and needing to get a situation figured out before the turkey graced the table. He led me up down the hall and up the stairs. It was the first door we came to on the left. As we opened the door the room fell silent as the students snapped their heads to see who was entering.

“Class, I’d like you to meet Mrs. Thompson. Mrs. Thompson may be filling in for Mr. Goodwin for awhile.”

I could see them sizing me up, and I wondered what they were thinking. I was guessing it was something like, “Who her? She doesn’t stand a chance!”

“I’d like to have Mrs. Thompson tell you a little about herself, and then you can ask her a few questions.”

They continued looking at me with unimpressed faces as I told them about my family and explained that I had been a teacher before, but it had be a few years.

“Can we call you Mrs. T?” a student asked when I was nearly finished with my introduction.

“Sure.” I said.

“Can we call you Mrs. Teacup?” another student asked with a little less innocence.

“No, thanks,” I said quickly, trying not to sound annoyed or surprised.

Though the questions ranged from tough to silly to insightful, I kept getting the same feeling from each one—I can do this. This class is going to challenge me, but I can do this. I looked around the room and saw bulletin boards that I could decorate to bring a little cheer to the classroom. I saw desks that I could easily move to form groups. I saw students who needed someone to stand at the front of that classroom every day and be stable.

“Anything you’d like to add, Mrs. T?” Tom Goldsmith said at the end of our meeting.

“I’ll see you on Monday, class.” I said.