When I was in second grade we moved to another school district in Illinois. I started school a few days after everyone else and they had a counselor or someone show me around the school. When we got to the end of the tour she had some paperwork to fill out for me and asked me if there was anything I wanted to do. Without hesitation I said "Yes. I want to go out there!", and pointed to an interior courtyard across from the office with a lovely and well-maintained shrubbery labyrinth. She looked at me like I had asked her if I could pee on the floor and said, "Absolutely not! No one goes out there!" What the hell kind of bright idea is it to have a beautiful, intriguing, intellectually-stimulating area, proudly displayed for all to see and yet NEVER let ANYONE use it? Who designed THAT? That was one of those interactions that I find analogous to much of my experience in elementary school in general. My teacher that year was Mrs. McGuire or McDonald. McSomething-or-other, anyway. As best as I can recall we never spoke. I remember her as a distant tweed blur with curly hair. The next year we moved to Massachusetts. My third grade teacher was a rookie, Miss Grills. She was great, I loved her. Sweet and loving and pretty. She seemed genuinely interested in helping me make progress and feel well-adjusted. It didn't work all that well, but she tried. Once, the week before Valentine's Day everyone was making Valentines for their Mom. It was warm and homey in our room, there was a blanket of fresh snow outside and the minty scent of paste mingled with the steely hot radiator smell in the room and it was all just about as cozy as could be. Miss Grills was walking around the room helping out and making comments and everyone was joking with her and when someone made a joke we would all giggle. It was so nice. I was trying to make a card that, when you opened it, the heart would pop out at you. My design involved a little folded accordion of construction paper that would act as a spring. Construction paper doesn't have enough strength to ever really pop out so it wasn't working real well. Miss Grills suggested connecting the sides of the heart to the opposite sides of the card so that when the card was opened the heart would unfold and be suspended above the card. It worked perfectly and I thanked her for the hint and said what a great idea it was. She smiled and said "Well, what do you think I went to teaching school for?" This was, I thought, my cue to throw out a little witticism, but I didn't have anything that seemed appropriate. I said "Nothing?" One girl, Kim said, with quiet and appropriate gravity, that she could see a tear streaming down Miss Grills perfect cheek as she ran out of the room. Jesse hissed that they would surely suspend, if not expel me. I was consumed with horror and guilt and regret. I wanted to throw up and/or hide. It was the first time our class had been without a teacher for longer than 10 seconds, and we were all too shocked with the weight of my offense to misbehave. I should say 'the weight of her reaction' because when I said it everyone giggled, just like we had with every other dumb joke, and even then, as objectively as I was able to see the situation, I didn't think what I said had been THAT bad, even if it was a very dumb thing to say. Miss Grills knew me, too, and she had to know that I loved her and didn't mean her any ill, didn't she? When she finally came back to the room she pointed at me and said through clenched teeth "You are staying after school." It was, best I can remember, the only time she punished anyone in any way. After school that day I worked on some sort of math worksheet while Miss Grills graded papers. She seemed to be over it, and she gave me some graham crackers to nibble on while I worked. About fifteen minutes later my mom showed up at the door (our classroom was on the ground floor and had a door out to the front playground) all bundled up, with thermos of hot cocoa and our dog. Mom and Miss Grills chatted for a while and it was clear then that Miss Grills had totally forgiven me, or even that she had realized that there was really nothing much to forgive. The one last important detail to this story is that when Miss Grills and Mom were talking they talked a bit about how I had a hard time remembering that 8 X 8 = 64. One of them, I can't remember who, said that she always remembered it because it was the year that JFK was killed. I have never forgotten, since that day, that 8 X 8 = 64. The funny part is that JFK was killed on November 22, 1963. School is about to start. This past and coming week are teacher training and teambuilding and room arranging and all that jazz, and the whole place is accelerating to a fever pitch. The school, which I think I won't name here (someone from the school Googling me and finding this page I have no problem with, but someone from the outside Googling the school and finding this instead seems like a situation to avoid), is pretty progressive. The gym requirements are fulfilled with hiking and organic gardening. Age and grade level are de-emphasized, in a pragmatic acknowledgment that not all 9 year olds are at the same place developmentally and that, in point of fact, there are so many variables in each student's social/intellectual level that not ANY two 9 year olds are at the same place developmentally, so we have a curve of students and we tailor the lessons for each child, providing extra challenge and nuance for those that can handle it, and giving room and space to those who require it. There is no grading, as such, rather there are narrative evaluations. We are co-teachers (so it's me and another teacher working together in a room with 32 students. 1-16 is a REALLY good ratio, and the dynamic of having two teachers in the room at any given time is extremely powerful, and has the effect of re-enforcing a non-hierarchical view of the world. AND being such a rookie it's REALLY comforting to have a veteran teacher in the room, whom I like and respect. She's another Masshole, actually). Like I say, it's a pretty progressive place. I am still pretty nervous about the whole thing though. I REALLY liked my job with Alton and the 4th graders, and I think I was good at it, but there's quite a bit of the job that I really have no experience in. I'll be able to do it, and do it well (I think) but there is certainly a steep learning curve. The stakes, the well-being of 32 children, are high. I keep reminding myself that when I started working with Alton I had even LESS experience and that, although it started off really hard and confusing, I quickly got the hang of it (even though it never stopped being hard and confusing). I think this will be the same way. It'll never be easy but I'll get more comfortable with it. It's crazy to think that the interactions that we have with those children will alter the way that they see and interact with the world, forever. I mean, I probably think about that thing with Miss Grills a couple of times a year. Sheesh. It's ironic that I can say, now, that without a doubt I know why Miss Grills went to teaching school.