Elizabeth+Liner

Poem
 * Genre Reflection #1**

The stale smell of cafeteria food greets me in the cafeteria. For a moment I’m 11 years old again, Scared and unsure. Lunch ends and the students are shuffled back to their classrooms, In lines that I used to be a part of. It wasn't that long ago. Now the roles are changed. I’m standing at the front of the room with their curious eyes upon me. I control the grades, the assignments, the volume of the room. I have to pretend now. Pretend to know what I’m doing. Pretend that I wouldn’t secretly rather be sitting in the seat in the back of the room Being delivered instructions by a teacher. But now I’m in the front. I’m the teacher. The roles are different. Somehow I thought I’d be more sure.

**Genre Reflection #2 ** Diary Entry

Dear Diary,

Today, I spent the entire day wanting to throw up. Even though I’ve been observing for a week and a half and have had numerous conversations with these kids, today I’m the teacher. I’m the one with the lessons, the presentations, the worksheets and the dreaded red pen. A part of me wants to just hide. As each bell rings to signal the passing of another class period, my stomach does back flips waiting for 6th period to arrive.

Inevitably, the kids filed in and began asking a million questions. “Where’s our teacher?”, “Are you our teacher now?” and my personal favorite, “Are you going to give us a lot of homework?”. I was mentally prepared for these questions. I was not, however, ready for the chaos.

Despite having what both my CT and I thought of as a rock solid plan filled to the brim so the kids wouldn’t go nuts, I could not even begin to control those kids. Even though my CT swore I appeared “together”, I felt like a deer in the headlights. They kept speaking out of turn, neglecting my pleas to be cooperative, and questioning everything I said. I obviously left feeling defeated.

I write this now as I sit staring at the lesson for tomorrow, contemplating what I’m going to do to find and maintain control. It seems that despite knowing the material, I’m completely clueless when it comes to finding and holding the attention of a room full of 11 year olds.

Letter
 * Genre Reflection #3 **

Preface: This letter is not directed towards any of my own students met during my TOSS experience. While occasionally annoying, my kids were no where close to the student in this letter. While some of the mentioned occurences did actually happen, most of it is made up and meant to cause a laugh amongst my peers who have all experienced some level of this child.

Dear Potential Spawn of Satan,

 I vow (it’s a vocabulary word, so look it up) that I will never forget your name for the entirety of my teaching career. You have made it a personal goal to test every ounce of my patience every day that I have been present in your classroom. I am, thankfully, blessed with the tact to not say what crosses my mind during your constant and unnecessary interruptions. Please allow me the chance to answer the continuous flow of questions that have graced my ears in our 5 weeks together.

 No, you may not change seats so that you may attempt, in the best manner your 11 year old self knows how, to flirt with the ridiculously beautiful girl who finds your outbursts annoying. Last time I checked, you have not graduated medical school or cosmetology school; therefore, your suggestions on my “stupid cough drops” and “awful hair color” are not appreciated nor required. Perhaps I missed you on the past seasons of “Project Runway”, but your consistent critique of your classmates clothing choices are harsh and are in no way increasing your own popularity. Finally, perhaps I neglected to notice you in my own college classes but I was unaware that you had managed to major in Secondary English Education at the tender age of 11. The belief you hold that you have mastered all there is to know about the subject of Language Arts is, to be frank, astounding and not reflected through your work. I recommend you write a book, or at least the 10 journal entries you have so intelligently neglected because the topics were “dumb”. Please recall that if the topics did not appeal to you, your teacher allowed you the option to write on your own thoughts.

 My first name is of no importance to your academic standings in my class. We, as sad as it is, are not destined to be Facebook friends. The details about my husband, boyfriend, or fiancé do not matter either; therefore, I must request that you stop asking me about him and insisting that I must have “settled” for him, regardless of the fact that you have never met him. Yes, I am young, and it is not necessary to try to convince your classmates to participate in your daily attempt to guess my age.

 Having the necessary materials present on your desk does not result in the work becoming magically done for you. The pencil, no matter how many times you study it, is still just a pencil. I also have not been introduced to the theory that books now respond to osmosis. Therefore, get your head off your books and your desk and open them.

 Thank you for allowing me an introduction to what it means to truly grasp the concept of classroom management. It took everything in me to not send you to the library daily to write down the title and author of every book in there. Yes, it is by definition “busy work”, however, it most likely would have preserved some of my sanity.

Sincerely,

<span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">The Student Teacher