First Day

I have always wanted to tell the world what it felt like to look out at an empty classroom filled with desks and expectations. I thought the world might want to know. Most of the people I come in contact with outside the classroom seem to have no clue. Recently my doctor said, "You have to build your life around your diabetes, not your diabetes around your life." I flashed on the 10 inch stack of papers to grade which would keep me seated at the dining table for the next two days. I thought of the grades I needed to enter in the computer which would keep me seated for the at least several hours. Right. Let me figure out how to walk briskly for an hour while marking comma splices. Let me input scores while using the treadmill. But I get ahead of myself.

The classroom sits waiting. I enter every morning at 6:30, sometimes earlier. I turn on the computer (I have to sign in that I am present.) I turn on the lamp on my desk which is illegal (fire marshall does not like me) and sit down to eat my Greek yogurt and protein bar. (My weight loss coach says I should have boiled eggs, but my desk does not have a hot plate (well, not yet) and no fridge (it's across the hall.))
I am in my email. And there they are--everyone wants some part of my day, my brain, my thoughts, my opinions, my energy. Always. Everyday. (Why am I not wafer thin? So much of me is asked for.)

I eat and type simultaneously. I avoid yogurt on the keys. I sip my coffee, already growing cold in a travel cup guaranteed to keep it hot.

It is now 6:45 and buses have pulled up to gorge students and begin my day. Actually, I like the sight of students fresh from home getting off the bus in the morning. They look so possible. In the afternoon when they load up, they seem closer to impossible. But at 6:45 I have hope. It carries me through to first class.

Teaching? Well, first I am a secretary. Then I am a mom. Then I am a messenger. Then I am a citizen (the pledge of allegiance every morning). Finally, I am a scheduler--we fill out their planners with upcoming events. Tomorrow one or two will ask about these dates as though they were absent today. And, probably, this early in the day, some are.

At this point you are asking yourself, SO? Well, you pay me to take care of your child for several hours everyday and you know nothing about what I do or much less think. I can tell you this much today. I will throw myself in front of a gun, be the last one out of the building, pull wrangling kids apart and stop a fist from landing a blow. I don't do this for the salary. I do this for your kids.

This morning at 6:45 I have hope. Hope I'll need to do none of those things and maybe get to teach. Maybe. We'll see how first class goes.
Sun's up. Time to start.