It’s never a good sign when your principal calls during summer vacation.

In the summer of 2010 my world was turned upside down with seven words: “I have to move you to kindergarten.” Here I was, with just two years of teaching under my belt (teaching fourth and fifth grade), being forced to move to the “dungeon” (which is how the upper-grade teachers lovingly referred to the kindergarten floor). I panicked — I didn’t know the first thing about teaching four- and five-year-olds! But I really had no idea that a year later I’d be looking back on my kindergarten experience with fondness and a sense of accomplishment.

I felt ill-equipped for the job. I never considered myself a very patient person, and the idea of having to deal with things like “Johnny took my pencil!” and “I want my mommy!” made me break out into hives. I’m artistically challenged, and I dreaded kindergarten art projects. My biggest fear was selling my students short — it wasn’t their fault they had a newbie teacher.

On the first day of school the little ones looked about as scared as I was. I had done my best to prepare myself — I learned circle songs and absorbed as much as I could from the veteran teachers on the grade. Nevertheless, feelings of inadequacy haunted me every day.

Then, slowly but surely, I started to get into the swing of things. Arts-and-crafts projects were no longer so daunting. I became addicted to the affection my young students showed me. And I was in awe of their thirst for learning. Everything just seemed so exciting to them! They weren’t as jaded as some older students can be, and it made teaching them such a joy.

The defining moment came when I realized that my little ones, who could barely write their name when they walked into my class, were reading books! Watching the top students use the strategies I taught them to move from one book level to the next filled me with pride.

This school year my principal moved me back up to fifth grade. At first I was ecstatic. I was back where I always said I belonged! I would once again have students who were capable of working independently. I wouldn’t have tears or tantrums or bathroom accidents. But I also wouldn’t have hugs, cards and pictures drawn for me daily, or the little smiling faces looking up at me, eager and excited to learn.

The other day, as I was walking through the first floor (a.k.a. “the dungeon”) I couldn’t help but pop my head into the kindergarten classroom of a colleague. There they were, sitting beautifully on the rug. When Ms. Jones introduced me to the class, they all looked on with quiet curiosity. Then one of the boys raised his hand, turned towards me and said, “You just have to tell me if you have my big brother. He’s in fifth grade and he always gets in trouble!” I smiled that familiar smile and shook my head.

Maybe I am better suited for fifth grade, but I will never forget the lessons I learned from kindergarten. I kicked and screamed for part of the year, but now that I look back, I’m so glad I was pushed into a move I never would have made voluntarily. Next year, who knows where I’ll be. But I do know that wherever I am, I’ll come away a better teacher for the experience.

Few things are better than a fresh start. To come at something with new eyes, new lessons learned, and a chance to do things differently than before — it’s reinvigorating. And teachers get one every September: a chance to re-imagine everything from how you teach to how you decorate your classroom. The opportunities can be endless, if you look at the things you hope to do differently with an open mind. Not many professions offer that.

At the beginning of September I returned to the school I left in June to set up my classroom and start anew. To psych myself up, I spent weeks visualizing the space and how I wanted to arrange it differently and make it more efficient.

Every year I have a different kind of class, not just different students, and this really demands that I be open to fresh starts (as well as some degree of chaos!). Some years my class has been filled with struggling long-term ELLs while other years the majority of my students have been newcomers and students with significant gaps in their school history. This year I am starting with nearly 30 students coming out of the bilingual classes, and it will be a bridge class that combines two grades.

Some of what I plan to do differently this year incorporates what I found to be good practices from previous years along with what I learned from past mistakes and weaknesses, and books I am reading.

One thing I plan to do differently this year is to create and emphasize class goals, rather than class rules. I feel this allows for more positive discussions each day about whether we are meeting our goals and how better to do so, rather than checking who is following the rules.

Being an ESL class, there are two central items that determine its success: academic language acquisition and strong partner work. Students need time to talk but they need to know what language is useful to discuss in class. They also need to learn to work well together so that sharing and re-teaching is beneficial and not random and haphazard with lots of reminders of how to be nice to each other. Projects that require partner work can make or break a class. So, I plan to do more daily partner work that incorporates academic language from day one. Set the standards really high and show the students what they are capable of from the get-go.

And finally, I’m going even more paperless than before. In addition to keeping my conference notes in Google Docs, I am going to use PlanbookEdu.com for my schedule and plans (though since I am such a furiously-write-ideas-in-the-margins kind of person, typing this stuff instead will take some getting used to). Also, depending on my students’ home Internet access situation, I may use the online grade book Engrade.

So, with these new ideas in mind, I am psyched. I’m ready to meet the new challenges of a new school year, ready to re-imagine the mini-world I get to create with my students, and ready for what is always a bumpy ride.

Twas the eve of the school year, and all through the town,
No teacher was sleeping, (sitting up or laying down).
They’d prepared their classrooms, so nicely, with care
Anticipating that the students soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of learning danced in their heads.
They thought ‘fore they slumbered, “How will it be?
Will my teacher be nice? Will my teacher like me?”

Next morning came ‘round, and there rose such a clatter
Kids sprung from their beds: school was here, all that matters.
Away to the bus they ran like a flash,
The walkers didn’t walk, but rather, they dashed.

The sun burning sharp on the glimmering playground
Made children squint looking for friends to be found.
When, what to their wondering eyes should appear,
But a group of old classmates, and their teacher this year.With a big, beaming smile, so wide and so quick,
The teacher announced, “Let’s go inside, kids.”
More rapid than eagles, the students they came,
Climbing stairs nervous, and excited, the same.

“Now students, we need to walk quietly inside,
Walk in a way that shows others your pride.
To the top of the stairs, make a right down the hall,
Let’s get to our classroom, and let’s have a ball!”

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
The students couldn’t resist using their wide eyes to pry.
They looked through the doorway, saw orange and blue
And delighted in seeing a very warm room.

And then, joyfully, they entered in twos
Delighting with gasps at their brand new classroom.
As they circled the room, looking around
There was a quiet surprise mixed with excited sounds.

Teacher dressed in a tie, with new shoes on each foot,
Yet to be covered with instructional soot.
A bundle of supplies were stocked in the back
And he watched with joy as the kids unpacked.

Their eyes-how they twinkled! Their dimples how merry!
Ready to eat school like a sundae (with cherry)!
Most children seemingly ready to go
Eager to learn and to show what they know.

The kids ever thrilled, but also quite fearful
It was hard to ignore the ones that were tearful.
A smile was given, encouraging words shared
“We’re a family here, and everyone cares.”

At the end of the day, all left wanting more,
They smiled so broadly as they walked out the door.
To their homes they traveled, day one in the books
Parents were thrilled at their children’s happy looks.

Students all climbed into their beds,
Remembering kind words and the way they were said.
The teacher at home reflected with pride,
Exhausted but thrilled by the upcoming ride.

It starts from the beginning, when your class first sees you
They know from the start if they want to be near you.
So I hope when you greet, you smile ear to ear
That’s the first ingredient for a phenomenal year.

Respect your students, they deserve it in bunches.
Support their efforts when the pressure crunches.
I wish you well as your new year begins,
Be good to your students, and everyone wins.

I’ve noticed several posts recently in which people are writing letters to their first-year teacher selves. I thought I’d do the same.

Dear Me (On the Eve of My First Year Teaching),

Well, this is it. This is truly it. Two years ago you finished college with a degree that turned out to be useless, and now, after two years of graduate school in a totally different field – elementary education – they say you’re qualified to be a teacher. And you think you’re qualified to be a teacher.

Well, maybe you are. After all, you have a unique way with children, you can relate to them, you get where they’re coming from because you haven’t lost sight of what it’s like to be a child. But you won’t be dealing with issues like you experienced growing up. Oh sure, your students will experience family and pet deaths, the maddening powerlessness of being caught up in a parental argument, the frustration of struggling in school. They’ll come to you for help, and you will be able to empathize with these things.

But how are you going to deal with the kids who have only one parent and several siblings that they care for at the age of 10? The kid who comes in late every Thursday because he is helping his mom clean until 2 am that morning? The kid with the dad who sees you as a barrier to his child’s success just because you recommend continuation of services? The kid who threatens personal bodily harm because you indicate your disappointment? The kids who wear the same clothes everyday, not because they like them, but because when you wear hand-me-downs exclusively, your choices are limited?

How are you going to deal with all that? (Or any of the other stuff I didn’t even mention?)

If you’re smart, you’ll stay true to your belief that you need to do what is best for your students. This may make you unpopular with your colleagues at times, and may draw raised eyebrows from the administration, but as long as you can rationalize that your students’ best interests are your main motivator, they’ll understand where you’re coming from. It may take some colleagues longer than others, but you can’t worry about them. Just worry about your students.

And speaking of colleagues, you will meet some wonderful people that make it a joy to come to work everyday. But do yourself a favor, try to steer conversations away from everything that’s “the problem with school/parents/kids today” and move it toward a place of acceptance and improvement of the situation. And if you find you can’t do this without insulting people, then just remove yourself from the conversation. You can and will still be friends with these people. Just don’t let the negativity of others – who are all well-meaning people frustrated with a frustrating job – bring you down.

Given the shaky economic times in which you enter the workforce, I should warn you now that you will find yourself at some point in your career without a job. It may happen more than once. Your faith in the system will be questioned, your belief in your capabilities shaken. But try to remember, it isn’t about you. In fact, your colleagues will write you letters of support, and administrators will make phone calls to friends in high places to advocate for you. They will feel the injustice you feel, and will want to help. In the end, everything will work out for the best, but you will learn a valuable life lesson about being thankful for what you have. Life’s not so fun when you don’t have health insurance or a steady paycheck, my friend. You will find yourself interviewing in places you could never see yourself working and dealing with your illnesses without the help of a doctor, but eventually, because everything always works out for the best, you will be right where you want to be.

With one exception.

You see, you’re entering the schools as a general education upper elementary teacher. I know you can’t believe it, and you can laugh at me all you want now, but in spite of your rapport with the kids, your growth in your second year, your exciting ideas that build school community, and your own belief that you will never go anywhere but where you are now, you will one day be teaching primary grades. And you’ll be teaching special education.

That frightens you now? Just wait until your first day in that position!

I assure you it’s going to feel like your first year all over, and it won’t be a pleasant feeling. You’re going to find yourself relearning your entire idea of teaching. You are going to be told to shape up, and you’re going to experience doubts like you never have in your career. But you’re going to make the necessary adjustments. You’re going to learn from people who can help you. You will be humbled, but you will be a better teacher for it. And then you will be grateful.

You will find new ways to develop a rapport with your students, you will reap the benefits of parents’ gratitude, and you will be reaffirmed by the end of your first year in your new position. You will believe more fiercely than ever in your role as champion for your students, and you will motivate them to do things that no one expected of them. You will see incredible growth in them and in yourself. And, while you will still have plenty of improvements to make, you will believe more and more that this is the position where you belong.

I’m glad I told you that, because I don’t want to give the impression that you’re entering into a career where you are constantly confronted by outside forces of negativity. You will remind yourself constantly why you are in the field to begin with: so you can make a difference in people’s lives. And you will. Students who wouldn’t speak in their previous class will be impossible to stop talking by the time they’re finished in yours. Kids who repeatedly were sent into your room to cool off will, next year, never be sent out of your room. In fact, these same children will become model citizens for their classmates. Kids will invite you to hear them play the violin at the school concert, and even though you don’t really want to shlep back to school that night, you will, and you’ll beam with pride from the moment the bow is raised.

The kids will make you laugh and the kids will make you cry. They’ll make you angry and they’ll make you proud. They’ll tire you out and they’ll energize you again.

You are making the right move entering this profession. Just remember, you don’t know everything. In fact, despite what that piece of paper from the state says, you really don’t know anything. Prepare to learn a lot. Prepare to have your whole concept of school and childhood turned on its head. Prepare to find yourself in situations where you just don’t know what to do.

And prepare to make a difference. Because that’s what you’ll be doing every single day of the rest of your career as an educator.

I wish you luck! You’ll need it!

Sincerely,

You

After teaching for a couple of years, and especially since my high school glory days, my perspective on many things in education have changed substantially. Two years into my current position it struck me that the symbols, mascots, colors and various other school spirit pieces are incredibly important for many students and teachers to feel as though they are part of something larger — a community. Hopefully our rebranding is just the beginning of a major shift in the way our students view their school and school community. Hopefully the momentum that’s been started carries us into the next major stage in our school’s history.

I recently wrote about how having friends at work was never a priority. However, the fact of the matter is I have made some close ones — people I really respect and enjoy being around. That makes work pleasant, as we’re all dealing with similar challenges together, instead of battling alone. Of course, it makes you want to go to work everyday, knowing that you’re going to a place where you are liked and like the people around you.

Now, I’ve heard anecdotes recently from a variety of schools about colleagues not being so supportive of each other, saying nasty things behind others’ backs and the like. I hope no one is doing this to me, and if any of my colleagues have any kind of issue with me, that they can bring it to my attention and we can work it out.

Like everyone else, I want to be recognized for my positive attributes, and I want those to be my hallmarks and form my reputation.

We recently celebrated the end of the school year with our annual party. This one had the added wrinkle of being a de facto retirement party for some much loved members of the staff.

I was moved by the way people spoke about each retiree. I didn’t expect such wonderful things to be said, and more importantly, the honorees were genuinely surprised and touched.

I’m not perfect, but I hope when it comes time for me to retire, my colleagues can look back and say:

• I was a team builder and effective motivator of colleagues.
• I was fair to my students and cared for them as if they were my own children.
• I built character in my students and gave them creative learning experiences that inspired and energized them.
• I was a supportive, trusted colleague who others could turn to for advice, help, and an attentive, even-minded, honest ear.
• I treated all members of the school community with respect as human beings.

Of course, retirement is a long way off for me, but if I stay true to these ideals, I think my career can continue to be fulfilling and I can, I hope, enrich the lives of others’ the way the ones we honored at the party enriched mine and so many others.

Recently, I took the opportunity to do something I’ve never done before. I brought out the students’ writing folders, with all their published pieces from the school year. I called their attention to their non-fiction writing, and I asked them to pick the one they thought next year’s teacher should see. This forced some serious consideration and observation. Students were, maybe for the first time, attending to a tangible representation of how their work has evolved for the better since September. They recalled each book, and I was amazed at their ability to read them almost perfectly.

Most pleasant for all of us, especially me, was the way they reacted when they reached the very backs of their folders. There, they could see a writing sample from the very first day of school, replete with summer rust and lacking many conventions. The simplest words that they take for granted now were misspelled. People were drawn as sticks, some with legs coming out of their heads. For some students, a single letter represented a word. For others, pictures did all the storytelling. They could not believe the difference between September and June.

For the first time, I gave students a chance to reflect on themselves. It was so much easier for them to do this when they had a big picture to look at (they find it tedious when doing so after publishing). Pride was evident on their faces and in their voices, the way they eagerly clamored to show me and their friends just how different their September writing was.

Now I’m wondering how I’m going to make students more reflective next year. It’s got to be part of my push to help them foster independence. At least I learned something today: contrary to what I’ve believed before now, they can do it. They can reflect and take stock of their own work. I need to make this part of the routine next year.

Is it really June already? It seems almost impossible to believe. The school year always has its ebbs and flows, its points where you can’t see an end in sight and points where it seems the year is flying by. In mid-June, it feels like a little bit of both.

At this point in the year, teachers and students are literally counting the days to summer. Meanwhile, teachers are in a rush to get final assessments and all sorts of clerical work completed. On top of that, it’s our last chance to cram in a couple of projects, rush through that last one (or two) math units and get our kids ready for next year. So we’re in the awkward position of wishing the year was over, but wishing we had more time left.

As I’ve completed my E-CLAS assessments (a standardized reading test) it’s given me an opportunity to reflect on what I’ve accomplished this year, as I marvel at how quickly it passed. Last year, I felt I had a lot to be proud of. All of my students made at least a year’s worth of progress. In most cases, my students made approximate gains of a year and a half. This year, the results are much more mixed, and therefore disappointing. The mixture of emotions takes me back to my first and second years of teaching.

It’s this sense of disappointment that makes these final weeks all the more important. While I don’t expect to move up any of my students significantly in their reading or math skills in such a short period, I can hope to prepare them for the long summer and next school year. With that in mind, I’m doing my best to focus on the basic skills many of my kids are still struggling with. Throughout the year, the emphasis on getting students ready for the test means that fundamental skills like mental addition and subtraction are passed over in lieu of giving students other strategies to multiply or divide.

Besides basic skills, I hope to create a sense of closure to the year focused on a running theme of my teaching, loving learning. I want these final 13 days to be focused on project-based, interactive learning. My students will have a chance to reinforce some reading skills through literature circles, compose social studies and science reports, and conduct two week-long math investigations. If we can end the year in a challenging, but enjoyable way, I hope my students will leave the classroom with some momentum for next year.

[Editor's note: Mr. Foteah is a third-year teacher in an elementary school in Queens. He blogs at From the Desk of Mr. Foteah, where this post originally appeared.]

A while ago, I made a proclamation (in my head, anyway) that I’d move the direction of my blog away from railing against that which was not in my control. What was the point? At any rate, my students this year are too young to take the tests that in many ways define grades 3-8, so it wasn’t really on my mind much. In fact, I not so quietly gloated to my colleagues the last few weeks that, “I’m glad not to be dealing with this anymore.”

But today, I feel the need to pontificate just a little. The testing bubble burst this week when my students had to sit for three separate sessions of the state English proficiency exam. Since I have a bridge class, I had to deal with the logistical aggravation of the arrangement, including switched and missed preps as well as figuring out where to keep the students who weren’t testing in a given session. This was a nuisance but something I could manage.

My students had to deal with a much more potent and demoralizing aggravation.

Most of my students enjoy reading. Even though some of them are reading two years below level, they still like books. But those are books, vividly illustrated on topics that excite them and that they can choose.

They haven’t yet begun to fully understand the ways they struggle to read. Their experience taking the test this week may have given them an idea, though. That’s sad.

The rules of the test are written out clearly in boldface and italics, so the proctor essentially reads a script and the kids are left to their own listening — and writing, and reading — devices. The result was this: despite the great social and academic gains my students have made this year, they still wound up bruised and battered by the end of day three of testing.

Several faces looked back at me from the tiny desks, big pencils in small hands, silently pleading for some kind of assistance in completing the tests’ tasks. They could see their classmates managing to put answers down, and they looked from them to me as if to say, “Why can’t I do that?” One or two students raised their hands and said, “I don’t know what to do.” All I could do was silently point them back to the test. As they struggled furiously to sound out words they didn’t know using letters they couldn’t remember, they went looking for the alphabet chart (which, by rule, was covered). They looked at me with watery eyes. They were powerless and so was I. Their academic world as they’ve known it since September was turned askew with no apparent reason other than me saying, “Just do the best you can do.” What do words like that mean when you feel the best you can do is not very good at all?

Yet, we test.

I discussed these issues with a colleague who is in a similar boat as far as testing students with material that is out of their league. She agreed it’s heartbreaking to sit through.

Yet, we test.

I know in my mind my students can not, nor should they ever be, judged based on their ability to perform on a test like the one they took this week. It’s foreign to them, and inappropriate, too. And, as I truly believe, it’s just not right to boil everything down to one or two days and designate a year as a failure or success in such a way. The whole process is too damning, too nerve-wracking, too unfair to the children.

Yet still, we test.

Top 10 Questions/Comments Made By My Third Graders During Their First Ever Set of ELA and Math State Exams

(aka “Why Teaching In a Testing Grade May Cause Premature Aging,” or “Why I Have Band-Aids On All My Fingers From Nervously Picking Off the Cuticles While Proctoring”)

10. “Why do we have to use a #2 pencil?”

9. (Directions read by me: “You may not speak to each other while the test is being administered.” Student:) “What does ‘administered’ mean?”

8. “I don’t get how to show my work for this part.”

7. (The test directs students to continue working when they see the words GO ON at the bottom of the page and to stop working when they see the word STOP. On the ELA, students get ten minutes per passage and have to STOP before being directed to move on. On the math exam, they get 60 minutes to do all 40 questions, no STOPping. On the math exam, one student asked:) “When is it gonna say STOP?!”

6. “But none of these choices are right.”

5. “But both of these choices are right.”

4. “Can I look this word up in the dictionary?”

3. (while filling in a graphic organizer on the ELA in which the directions state, “Name two other things in the article that…”) “Am I supposed to answer this using my background knowledge?”

2. (while pointing to an open-answer question on the math exam in which the directions state, “Show your work”) “Do I have to show my work for this part?”

and the #1 comment one of my students made just prior to the start of the math exam…

1. “Wait, is this the real test?”

Happy end of testing season, everyone!