"Playing with Fire:" My First Day of Teaching

“Here are the keys to your classroom. Good luck.” Without exaggeration, those were the only words of the Assistant Principal at Fairfax High School three days before my first day of teaching high school. I took the keys, opened Rm. 115 and entered the completely empty classroom. 45 used, graffiti-sprayed desks were scattered haphazardly around the room. The white walls were completely blank, other than a couple of old, torn posters of civil rights leaders. I stared at the three windows, which were barred with a strong metal gate from bottom to top. The clock behind my desk clicked loudly once a minute as the large hand moved inexorably towards my first day of teaching. I looked at the metal, emergency call switch- wondering if and when I would have to use it. I can honestly say that I never felt so alone in my life.

In just three days, 180 students would be walking through the classroom door and checking me out. I had these sudden waves of panic. I had these visions of the students clearly recognizing me as a 1st year teacher and being merciless in testing me on the first day. What if a student blurted out, “I’ve always hated history, it’s boring and it has nothing to do with my life?” It didn’t matter that I had a thoughtful answer all prepared.. I was still freaked out. What if all the students didn’t like the class and decided to walk out at the same time and complain to the Administration? Highly unlikely, maybe. But it didn’t matter. The thought gave me a pit in my stomach.

But what most worried me was the possibility that the students would quickly uncover my deficiencies in World History, asking me a detailed question about the specific events during the Crimean War or something like that. It didn’t matter that I had an answer planned out that went something like, “Great question. What I do know is that… Why don’t we find out …?” It didn’t matter that I knew that teachers aren’t supposed to know everything and that showing opportunities for self-learning to students was valuable. It didn’t matter. Just the thought that I possessed imperfect historical knowledge was particularly nauseating.

I had to come across as a seasoned professional. It was that simple, I thought. Planning was the key. Prepare a professional Powerpoint presentation filled with all of the wonderful things that we would be doing, the classroom policies, my background and then practice it to death. Or at least until they wouldn’t know that I was a first year teacher. But what if they asked if this was my first year teaching? Then what? I had an answer ready. I would say (truthfully) that I came from another school (i.e., the one where I had done my student teaching). And what if they asked where I did my student teaching? Or why I left that school? Then what? This was a possibility too horrible to contemplate.

Three days before school began, I spent my time worrying about these issues and decorating the room with all kinds of materials that I thought would pique the students’ interest. But I spent the most time on literally rearranging the desks (or would that be the deck chairs on the Titanic?) I visited dozens of classrooms and inspected their configurations. I settled on a horseshoe configuration- with the hopes of increasing student participation and discussion. But how close should the desks be to my desk at the front of the room? Pull them too close and the students would feel suffocated. Put them too far away and I would lose control. So went my thinking. I must have rearranged the positioning of the chairs at least sixty times- something highly atypical for me, as I rarely obsess about my decisions.

But this was my first day as a “real” teacher. Things would not follow normal patterns for my first day of teaching. As the day of reckoning approached, I grew more and more panicked. I even bought a couple of books on teenage behavior so that I could do some last minute “cramming.” I eventually nailed down the activities for the first day, but had absolutely no idea what I was going to do on Day 2… or Day 3 through Day 180 for that matter. But that wasn’t important now. I just had to get through the first day. The pit in my stomach now was far worse than the pit I previously experienced during fits of severe existential angst.

In retrospect, there were a couple of things that I didn’t realize about the first day of school. First, from 8:00-10:00, the students are absolutely dazed- completely unused to having to be awake during a time that they have probably been sleeping during for the past 75 days. Second, from 10:00 until the end of the day, the students are too busy looking at each other and “their new looks” to pay the slightest bit of attention to anything that the teacher is saying. Either way, my carefully-prepared comments are heard as “blah, blah, blah, blah.” At most, students pick up on a few non-verbal clues and make quick judgments about whether the teacher is “cool.”

But I was painfully unaware of the reality of the first day. On the morning of the first day of school, I awoke at 4:00 A.M. and quickly calculated that within 3 hours and 50 minutes, dozens of students would be walking through my classroom door. I arrived at school quite early and continued to reposition the chairs, chalk, posters, and anything else I could find that needed tweaking. At 7:50 A.M., I was ready to greet students at my doorway.

The warning bell rang at 7:50 and I opened my door. “Good morning,” I said as they filed in. The more outgoing students grunted something unintelligible. The less outgoing ones averted any eye contact and proceeded to the seat farthest from my desk.

The first day was a total blur. Everything seemed to go smoothly- thanks, I naively thought, to my preparation and rehearsals. The reality was that the first days almost always go smoothly- as students are too tired or distracted to cause problems. Or that the troublemakers are just lying in wait, scoping out the territory, and stalking their prey- before they go in for the kill.

My third period class seemed to be the exception to the typical first day class environment. They asked lots of questions. Usually, I love questions- but not on my very first day of teaching when the questions seemed to hone in on the fact that this was my first day of teaching. In any case, I narrowly avoided the “nuclear” scenario where students found out the truth about my status. Brianna, a student in my third period class, asked “Where’d you teach before?” and “How come you would leave Pali (my “training” school) to come to this ghetto school?” I gave some truthful, but evasive answer about enjoying the diversity at Fairfax. After answering, she gave a knowing smile. I am still grateful that Brianna was polite enough to not proceed to the logical third question.

The rest of the day went uneventfully. After I dismissed the last class, I felt waves of relief come over me. I had made it through the first day. No one walked out of my class. No one asked questions I didn’t know about the Crimean War. And no one publicly declared that I was a total rookie first-year teacher who didn’t know the first thing about History. It didn’t matter that I had absolutely no idea what I was going to teach the next day. I had made it.

I left my room and walked around the hallways in a bit of a daze. A couple of veteran teachers passed by and asked about my first day of classes. “Congratulations. You made it through the toughest day of your career. Welcome to teaching.” I walked back to my classroom. The loneliness was gone. The panic was gone. I had made the right choice to go into teaching. The certainty provided an unmatched sense of calm.