Weird. No matter how many times I say that to myself it doesn’t stop being weird. I can’t really remember what I thought of my middle school teachers except that Mr. Rose was very attractive and Mr. Osgood wore cowboy boots and it was very hush hush that he was gay, but I do know that I thought they were old and I could never think of being that old. Now some 12-year-old is going to think that about me. I barely feel capable of running my own life and some kid is going to be depending on me for some type of education—and think I’m really old and lame. Joy.
Tomorrow is my first day of teaching and I’m so nervous. I just can’t see how I’m going to be good at this. Why am I not sitting in a newsroom somewhere tracking down leads before deadline? How did I ever convince myself I could educate children? Tomorrow is supposed to be an easy day. I’m going to have my two classes of 8th graders (A and B) for first and fifth periods and I just introduce myself, go over rules and consequences, introduce our big goal of 80 percent (TFA is so all about the BIG GOALS) and give them their diagnostic test so I can gauge where they are as writers. I’m really sick now, so I’m simply hoping not to fall over in some coughing hack or something.
Well… I signed up for this, so here we go…
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