How Does Preparation for the Week Require the Entire Weekend?

That line is stolen from a Karate (RIP) song, written by Geoff Farina. It's damn true in my case, as I sit here writing myself to sleep after I've spent all day prepping lessons for the coming week. "It's the first year," they say. "First year sucks." "It's always the hardest." It's not so much the prep that bothers me, but the fact that I'm not sure any of it will sink in for the students.

Of course, I hope it does, but my teaching inexperience and their learning inexperience is not a good combination. According to my mentor I'm doing a fine job. I don't doubt her, but I do often feel like an island in my room all day, with the kids crashing in on me like waves, slowly eroding the coasts of my patience. The main thing to do if you're a teacher is to talk to adults as much as you can during the course of a day. Because talking to students, especially dumb ones, is exhausting. I wanted to read a novel this weekend, but it took me until right about now to get in the mood for anything adult. I spent much of the weekend shaking off the feeling being at a high school gives me, like wearing a heavy coat with too many straps and buttons. It was worse after the first week, but it gets better, and I'm becoming more proficient at compartamentalizing, separating my institutional role from my personal life as an individual (Chomsky, 94).

Tomorrow I am limiting my conversations with students to lesson-related speech only. I will be adapting style of the ninja, or the monk. My punishments will be swift and silent and any dissent will be met with further silence, calm and rational punishment, then back to the lesson at hand.

Tomorrow I will be experiencing my first parent conference, strangely enough, requested by the student, even stranger, after I've tried to contact his parents several times with no response. As I've been warned, oftentimes, the apple does not fall far from the tree. If so, this tree must be a arborous imbecilous, more commonly known as the "Stupid Tree." But I will have the backing of other teachers, a counselor and hopefully (but not likely) an administrator. You can complain all you want, but in the end, the Fs speak for themselves. I'll let you know how it goes.

I'm sorry, dear reader, this post is going nowhere, but there is an essay brewing, a long one, a doosey, if you will; it forms a new vital organ everyday, tomorrow it will have a heart, the next day brainwaves (choose life!), each draft developing more and more into a sentient being. Stay tuned!