At 5:55 I stepped out from the safe confines of my shared office and into the cold brisk air of the corridor. “Here goes nothing,” I though to myself. I was about to embark on a new adventure. The new semester has begun.
I had spent the better part of two days preparing. I knew what I wanted to do and how I wanted to do it. The books were in, the roster printed. Heck, I even had keys! I was ready to roll. Still, the butterflies were fluttering around in my stomach, zooming around is more like it, at breakneck speed. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve done this before. I always get nervous before the first class.
Teaching is a unique profession. Full of responsibility and requiring an inordinate amount of work, the job of a teacher is hard to encapsulate. They fill so many roles. Educator, mentor, friend, confidant, counselor, and even sometimes, surrogate parent. Their impact can alter the course of their students’ lives. Without much work I can think back and tell you quite clearly who I remember, mentors that led me to where I am.
I think about the teachers my kids have had along the way. Teachers who have sparked their interest in reading or music or science. Teachers who have hugged them when they were hurt or listened to them when they needed a friendly ear. There have been teachers who have taught them about their faith and coaches who have taught them about themselves. Many, many faces. I remember them all, and I am very grateful.
And so, as I walk into class on this brisk Tuesday evening and say hello, I am aware of the faces that sit before me. Their eyes asking questions, “What will we learn?” “Am I good enough to do this?” “Will she understand me?” “Can I make it through?” And I’m reminded once again of the responsibility I have before me.
“I’m Suzanne,” I say to them with a reassuring smile. “Welcome. I’m glad you’re here.” And with that the butterflies begin to settle as the classroom of learners takes a collective breath.
The journey has begun.