Confidence is Key

I know I’m a week late, and I also know I have no excuses since I’ve had so much free time on my hands (that’s a story for another day). But here it is: part one of the first days of school series.

As I was reading my posts from this time last year for some inspiration, I couldn’t help but laugh at how naïve and unsuspecting I was. Those first few days were great—I was on top of the world, and had all the confidence in the world in my kids. But as the year wore on, the days got worse before they got better, and there were certainly days where I wondered what I was doing and how I would ever survive. I was run over by 12 and 13 (and some 14) year olds, and some days I just gave up.

This year, I knew confidence was key. And luckily, as I stood in my position outside the auditorium at 7:25 Thursday morning, watching the kids trail in from the buses, all the nerves I felt in the car that morning were replaced with a surge of energy and confidence. And I got right to work doing what I do best: being bossy.

“Tuck in your uniform. Tuck in your uniform. Thanks for having your uniform tucked in. You’re going to hear it from three more people as you walk by, so you might as well just do it now. Tuck in your uniform.”

I felt established and legitimate. Thirty seconds into the new school year, and I was already laying down the law. Kids recognized me and knew about me, and that automatically gave me a leg up from where I was this time last year. I was no longer the new white lady; I was Miss H…and Miss H don’t play. The other staff members and I were sending the message that this was a new year, and we meant business, beginning with the way you looked when you walked through those doors.

My nerves came back a little as we stood in the auditorium with all of the kids, waiting for our opening day announcements. I realized that these new 7th grade babies were all mine, and I didn’t know anything about a single one of them. And those 8th graders in the middle? They used to be mine, but now they were someone else’s. In some cases, I was relieved. In others, I was sad and jealous of the teacher that would get my sweet, sweet babies. But mostly, I was proud to see them sitting in the spot that was reserved for the “upperclassmen”, proud that I could say I taught them.

Part of the first day announcements is to introduce the staff and call out the homeroom rosters. Each teacher was called to the front, and the students responded with polite applause and the occasional cheer. As I waited for my name, I started to worry that some of my more difficult students from last year would boo me. After all, so many of my students spent so much time last year complaining, rolling their eyes, smacking their lips, harassing me and probably cursing me under their breath when I walked by (and those were my good kids). I had good relationships with a handful of my kids, but I always felt like there was a barrier that I couldn’t break down. By the end of the year, I wasn’t sure how many of my kids I had actually reached.

Our principal began calling the 7th grade team, and I sucked in my breath, ready to walk with my head held high despite the impending humiliation. But when my name was called, I made my way down to the stage to an uproar of cheers and applause from the same babies who had caused me so much heartache just months ago. I didn’t hear a single boo, and the other teachers raised their eyebrows at the ruckus and smiled at me as I took my place at the front. My eyes watered as I fought back tears, swelling with pride at the possibility that maybe, just maybe these kids finally understand how much I just wanted them to succeed last year, and that everything I did, right down to raising my voice and sending kids to the office, was done because I truly believed it was what was best for them.

Or maybe they just “like” me in some superficial, less rewarding way. It’s hard to tell.

Either way, I was incredibly moved and inspired by my kids’ enthusiasm. I knew that on some level, I had had success with my kids from last year, and I could do it again this year. I couldn’t help but think it was exactly what my new babies needed to hear. They were about to learn that Miss H is strict and has really high expectations of her students. But it was good for them to see that strict does not mean unlikable or mean.

Stay tuned for more on strict Miss H. If you don't believe it....well, believe it, 'cause it's true: Miss H don't play.