A special poem for all the dedicated teachers and students as the new school year begins. Feel free to share — the SlideShare presentation that inspired this piece is available for download on SlideShare.
To an amazing school year!
Written by: Robyn Shulman, M.Ed.
I’ve had many days like this…
“I’ve put you on door duty—hope you don’t mind. Can you be there twenty minutes before the bell? Thanks, you’re one of a kind. Oh, and I almost forgot: we’re down a substitute today, so I’ll be sending five students to you at two o’clock.”
I poke my head into the team room where they’re debating the Common Core. “Sorry, I can’t make the morning meeting—I’m heading to the door.” “Wait!” a coworker calls. “You know we’re down a sub?” “Yes, I know. I’ve already joined that club.”
Down the hallway I go toward the entrance, the flakes falling heavy. No parent would drop off a child this early in such weather—yet there he is: a student at the door, shivering with no boots, no hat, a small face cold and frightened. I bring him into the warm room.
We head to Lost and Found, searching for boots, gloves, anything to guard him from the snow. He looks up with wide, grateful eyes. I find him boots and a hat—and I am grateful too.
The bell rings and children pour in; the day’s little dramas begin. Thirty-two of us squeeze into a room that feels more like a dorm than a classroom. I take attendance, hand out lunch tickets, collect permission slips. “Don’t forget: field trip money is due today.” Who didn’t bring it? Roughly half the class—yes, half.
“Eyes on the board—question of the day! Think it through, give reasons, defend your answer. No, you won’t find it on the internet or in a textbook. Cover your work and please, don’t give me that look.”
Reading, math, science, and finally art—those precious minutes where I can catch up and grade papers…until the news hits: “Art’s on a cart now?” The art teacher storms down the hall, angry and pacing. Her classroom gone, art reduced to a cart crammed down the corridor.
No time to plan or grade today; no specials in the afternoon. I’ll take these twenty minutes to—
“Ms. S., I forgot to tell you I’m going on vacation and need homework for the next eight days. My mom’s picking me up at noon.”
Art on a cart fades into the background as lunchtime arrives. “Silent reading for twenty minutes,” I announce. “Take out a book—imagine, think, read.” Did I just see someone scrolling a feed? “No, you can’t go to the bathroom again. I know that look. Put your hand down, stop talking, and open a book.”
“Before lunch, here’s a little mailbox on my desk where you can leave notes if you want to talk.” BEEP! “Go get your coats.”
Lunch duty means no break. I was assigned to supervise the cafeteria this year; everyone warned me it would be a challenge. Twenty minutes to eat something soggy while I watch the kids and listen to their chatter. Then out to recess for a breath of fresh air.
Across the field I spot the colleague who shares every detail of her life. I move to the other side: how much more can she possibly say?
The afternoon needs reshaping; we must cram the lessons that remain. I plan on the fly: those two students to ESL, modify work for the gifted, set up group tasks. Language arts, social studies, spelling—an afternoon filled with assignments…and thirty-seven students knocking at my door.
The mailbox jams after lunch—packed full of tiny notes. I’ll take it home tonight and read every message. Nouns, pronouns, adjectives—maybe a bit of Schoolhouse Rock—and then, who’s at the door? The principal arrives unexpectedly for a walk-through, typing quietly on her laptop in the back. The kids fall unusually silent until one student proudly says, “Don’t worry, Ms. S—we’ve got your back.”
She leaves, and I breathe a small sigh of relief. “Onto history—we’re studying WWII today. Let’s move, we have a chapter to cover.” The ESL teacher comes in and the reading specialist pulls a few students aside. We modify, support, and adapt—this is what we do.
As the day winds down, quiet returns. The intercom reminds us of a required district meeting I must attend. I gather books, papers, and my overflowing mailbox—and suddenly it tips. Notes flutter everywhere.
I pick up one note. It reads: “Ms. S, I had a great day and it was all because of you. I wanted you to know.” It’s from the boy in the snow who I welcomed this morning.
My feet ache, my throat is dry, and I head to the meeting holding that note close to my heart. Now I remember why I do this—why I rise each morning even after the hardest days.
For children with bright eyes and hopeful dreams. For those new to this country learning what it means. I will do my best to guide every child through this maze.
Modify lessons, manage standardized tests, handle classroom behavior—busy, stressful, hectic and overwhelming, yet the teaching profession remains the best calling I know.