The Plank

A few weeks before school starts again, we all are forced to walk the plank. This plank will tell us if our school year will be successful or not. We must set up new systems (academic and disciplinary), pray over our class lists (whether you're religious or not), and make our classroom the safe and creative environment we have been told time and time again by professors, colleagues, and superiors that our rooms must be. Each step will tell us what will meet us once we take that flying leap off the edge. The board we walk is sturdy, almost teasingly unrelenting, giving no hint of the conclusion that awaits. Our breath is tighter in our chest with each step. What kind of year will I have? What kind of students will I have? How will my colleagues treat me and how will my lack of sleep and strong teacher-esque will force me to treat them in return? I am only a few steps down the plank now, but it's too far to turn back. I only hope the waters are friendly.

Class lists will be given tomorrow, and I find out at least one of the projects my year will settle upon. Most of the names will be unfamiliar: a sibling here, a cousin there; but there will also be inevitably a name with a reputation. You pray there's only one . . . You have to decide how you will take this blow. Automatically sit him in the front? Girl-lock him? Read up on every discipline book in your professional library? Come up with a precursory behavior plan? Listen to the rumors or start fresh with a "new year, new teacher" attitude? Last year, it was the year of Nathaniel; I was lucky to have a child whose only real problem was intense ADHD. Who knows what kind of challenge the future holds for Room 19.