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I didn't know that years
of school and a college degree would be of
little consolation when facing a room full of bright little eyes on the
first day of school. I thought I was ready...
I didn't know that five minutes can seem like five hours when there is
idle time and an eight hour school day far too short for a well-planned
day of teaching.
I didn't know that teaching children was only a fraction of my job. No
one tells you about the conferences and phone calls, faculty meetings
and committees, paperwork and paperwork...
I didn't know that it took so long to cut out letters, draw and color
pictures, laminate-all for those bulletin boards that were always "just
there"...
I didn't know that I would become such a scavenger, and that teaching
materials would feel like pure gold in my hands...
I didn't know that an administration and co-workers that support and
help you could make such a difference...
I didn't know that there would be children that I loved and cared for
and stayed up late worrying about, who, one day, would simply not show
up. And that I would never see them again...
I didn't know that I can't always dry little tears and mend broken
hearts. I thought I could always make a difference...
I didn't know that the sound of children's laughter could drown out the
sound of all the world's sadness...
I didn't know that children could feel so profoundly. A broken heart
knows no age.
I didn't know that a single "yes ma'am" from a disrespectful child or a
note in my desk that says "You're the best!" could make me feel like
I'm on top of a mountain and forget the valleys I forged to get there...
I never knew that after one year of teaching I would feel so much
wiser, more tired, sadder and happier, all at once.
And that I would no longer call teaching my job, but my privilege.
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