Memoires of a Young Gladiator/Teacher

I thought I was invincible. I thought I was strong. I had NO IDEA what I was getting into when I said "yes". I was a gladiator being thrown into a ring of hungry, ornery lions. I'm talking of course about my first real job as a teacher.

It was the spring of 2002 and I was fresh out of the B. Ed program. I mean, I had quite literally graduated seven days earlier when the call came. A principal from a "high needs" school inviting ME to sub until the end of June. Did I hear him tell me that I would be the 4th sub in that class since April? Did I hear him tell me that I would have to write report cards with NO previous record of assessment? Did I hear him tell me that the parents were convicts? Did I hear in his voice that he was a tool? NOPE! All I could hear was the "cha-ching!" of real money rolling into my bank account.

Months earlier, I had signed a contract with the Calgary Board of Education, but I figured a little experience before I started my full time position in September couldn't hurt and it was only 5 weeks until the end of June. I could do anything for 5 weeks. So without hesitation, I threw myself into the ring. The first ring of Hell, that is.

I showed up on that first Monday with all the optimism in the world, eager, cute, full of excitement and ignorance. The secretary didn't even look up when I proudly introduced myself. "Sign the sub book," She gruffed. I guess she was used to the turnover of substitute teachers and didn't hold out much hope for me. "I'll let the principal know you're here." She sighed. Whatever. This middle age, surly secretary wasn't going to trample my confidence.

The principal, a bald headed, skinny dude wearing a grey suit, yellow shirt and pale pink tie, skipped into the office. That's right. He skipped. He was giddy, so I was confused when the first words out of his mouth were, "Christina, I have some baaad news!"

"What's that?" I inquired, bracing myself for something along the lines of "we don't need you."

"The teacher you're replacing called me this morning. Her mother died. She won't be coming back to work so we definitely need you until the end of the year. Don't worry, I'll tell the kids. The bell is about to ring so go pick up the class in front of the side doors. I'll meet you in the classroom after announcements. Here's the key - it's room two."

Quickly, I rushed to my new classroom, took stock, dropped off my stuff and ran to the side doors BEFORE the bell rang. Three other teachers stood by me and politely introduced themselves. They showed me where my class was supposed to line up and I was grateful to them for their "help". Within minutes, three lovely rows of smiling, orderly children stood before three experienced, smug teachers. One perplexed novice teacher stood alone. Where the heck was MY class?

I was to teach the deaf children. The children that could not (or chose not to) hear the bell ring. The three classes to my left entered the school and left me by myself with the delinquents. "Good luck!" one wench called over her shoulder.

I kid you not, twenty-two six and seven-year-old monkeys continued to play in the field long after the bell rang. It was up to me to play shepherd. I herded them one by one to a line-up but, of course, the moment I turned my back to find more, the line would disappear. 25 minutes later, after a few silent curse words, and the emergence of a booming, menacing voice I hitherto did not know I possessed, we assembled into the lion's den...er...classroom.

Mr. Principal was waiting for us. He didn't seem to notice we were late. The kids didn't seem to notice he was there.

"Class, I have bad news." One or two kids looked up. "Your teacher's Mother died. Miss Deegan is your new teacher. Be nice to her." He winked at me and left. Seriously.

“OUR TEACHER DIED?????" One kid shrieked. Suddenly, twenty-two six and seven-year-olds were flooded with tears. Loud, inconsolable cries filled the room. Was I unnerved? A little, but I wasn't about to throw in the towel just yet. I explained to the class that their teacher was fine, but probably sad because her Mom had passed away. How could we help her to feel better? "Make cards?" The one bright child suggested. "YES!" and that's what we did.

Over the next five weeks, I was truly baptised by fire into the profession of teaching. It was painful but boy did I learn.

I learned about classroom management. Kids do, in fact, crave structure (especially those who have none at home). They learned to love the lining up game. By the end of five weeks we could make it into that building in less than fifteen minutes, post bell.

I learned how to plan a field trip. On Tuesday, Mr. Principal told me that there was money in the class fund that had to be used within the next two weeks for an end-of-the-year field trip. It was up to me to organize it. He suggested I make use of the parent volunteers to chaperone. It was a piece of cake. I planned a picnic at a local park. I booked the busses, sent home the paper work, collected the permission slips and organized the parent volunteers.

That’s when I learned about crazy parents. Whist planning the above field trip, I received a phone call at my house at 11pm on Saturday night. Mrs. X was delighted that she had been chosen as a parent volunteer for Monday's trip, but before she accepted, she needed to know if Mrs. Y was also going to be going on the trip. "Yes? Oh dear, that's a problem... you see she and me [sic] have a restraining order..."

I learned about writing report cards and my gift for writing the BS. How does one write a two page anecdotal report for 22 students after only knowing them for two weeks? Let me just say, it can be done and I did it well.

Most importantly, I learned that I had NO interest in teaching Grade 1/ 2 children.

AT the end of each day I would say a silent prayer, thanking God for survival and promising that if I managed to make it to the end of my five weeks without committing an unforgivable sin, I would NEVER teach grade 1/2 again.

Though I had a contract with the Calgary Board, I would not know what I was teaching until the end of June when a principal called me.

I did survive the five weeks. I tamed those lions, and though I was scarred I was stronger than ever before. AS I was celebrating my victory, the phone rang. "Miss Deegan? I'm calling from Calgary. I'm a principal here and I am hoping that you can come for an interview next week at my school."

"Yes! What grade is it?"

"It's grade 1/2"

"FABULOUS! I have experience with Grade 1/2!" Was I hearing myself correctly?

I got the job and on the first day of school we practiced lining up. They got it on the first try and I knew I was good.