Enough

I was reading a few fray stories and this one made me think of the time I had had enough:

***

I took the job because I believed in its message.

I quit my high-paying part-time management job to become a 5th grade teacher. I spent hours working on the application, stayed up nights to prepare for the interview. I had found my life’s purpose; I wanted to Teach For America. I didn’t listen to anyone’s words of caution. My mom thought I was too educated to teach elementary school, which offended me then and offends me now. My friends thought I was insane to leave the cushy, ladder-climbing job where I had put in 120-hour weeks to achieve my current success. I didn’t listen to anyone.

My enthusiasm increased all through the summer. Despite the fact that I had to spend five weeks in a dormitory, away from my husband immediately after we came back from our honeymoon. Despite the fact that we woke up at 6am and went to bed at 2am. Despite the fact that the kids never listened to a word we taught. The first night of the Institute, the summer training program, I called my husband after watching the previous year’s training video. “I don’t understand why everybody in the world doesn’t want to do this,” I said and I believed every word of it.

Things started going wrong before the first week of school ended. My third-grade appointment was switched to fifth-grade two days before we expected students to arrive. My room was changed three times. On the first day of school, the principal came to introduce herself to the students and said, “Ms. Grunberg was scared to teach fifth grade, but I told her she would to fine, right?” The class nodded enthusiastically.

I put my training to use immediately. I made rules. Consequences. I gave an exam on the rules. I was strict. I was mean. I didn’t ask for approval. I prepared ten-page lesson plans. I created my posters. I memorized my student’s names. I made sure my lesson plans covered all the modalities. I spent every waking moment outside the classroom working to make myself a better teacher: grading, planning, calling parents. I was all that a first year teacher was supposed to be. Or so I thought.

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