Climbing the First Year Mountain

This was exactly the time of the school year, several years back, when my first year of teaching started to suck.  It isn't news to anyone who's taught: the excitement of getting started quickly turns into survival, self-doubt, even the chills of disillusionment.  Many hope to spend a lifetime teaching, but never overcome the early challenges: at least a third of young teachers leave the profession within three to five years.

That's my story.  I came to high school Spanish teaching nontraditionally, having been an outreach educator for a year for the Red Cross, making presentations in Spanish to urban school groups.  I had a lot of enthusiasm and a great knowledge of Spanish--but little sense of how to teach it, and less of how to manage a classroom of ninth-graders.  I eagerly walked through the doors of an urban charter school that served students diverse in economics and ethnicity ... and rather quickly staggered into the abyss familiar to many neophyte educators: I was shifty, and the fourteen-year-olds smelled blood.  I was too authoritarian in some areas, but lacked an overall authority in the areas that counted.  Bronchitis came for a visit--and decided to stay.  I spent many hours preparing a group project on Spanish recipes I knew my kids would love ... only to see it sputter in execution.  The kids threw fits, threw balled-up paper, threw my attempts at behavior intervention back in my face.  My department head was busy helping not just me, but two other new Spanish teachers, and I was rarely observed in my critical first few months.  I had rented a studio to have peace of mind my first year, only to find I really needed a roommate I could come home and drain a fifth of vodka with to let off some steam with after a long day.

These problems were made worse by a spate of self-inflicted wounds: not observing other teachers till the late spring.  Not knowing what a truly rigorous classroom looked like.  Not examining my own practice enough to get there.  Simply and regrettably: not being tenacious enough.  I didn't do the thing all great teachers demand of their own students: step up, and get it done.

I was on the verge of quitting, but I did manage to see it through to June.  Within a year I was teaching adults.  It was a very different environment--I was very motivated to do well--I finally enjoyed myself, and my students finally had success.

But as I look back, I ask myself many questions.  From a policy standpoint, how many people out there are like me, having intended to teach K-12 for years but flaming out early?  What is the cost to the profession?  From a school standpoint, was I just a random example of somebody who wasn't quite equipped for that kind of classroom at that time?  How could my hiring school have better assessed my strengths and weaknesses, and either suggested they needed someone of a different profile, or hired me but then provided different supports?  How can schools offer key help in multiple areas upfront, without drowning new teachers in advice?

From a personal standpoint, if I could have stepped forward in time, and given myself advice with the benefit of hindsight, what would I have suggested?