Fall Break, Part 1

I’m aware the Fall Break was almost two months ago, and that interest in my adventures has probably waned at this point. Selfishly, though, I like to have a record of events to look back on, so bear with me as I recap Part 1.

I'm not exactly sure at what age I first started to feel like an "adult", but there have been several moments where I knew I had ventured into the long-awaited and much-feared land of adulthood.

Renting a car was one of those moments. Not only because I managed to get myself to the off-site rental car location without calling my parents, but because I had a slew of worries and anxieties that only an adult would have:

Does my insurance cover this? Do I need additional insurance? Does the rental car guy think I'm 12? Does he think I'm crazy for asking all of these questions? Am I supposed to tip him? Is it possible to lock the keys in the car? Is it just me or is that guy driving really close to me? Oh no, is he SWERVING INTO MY LANE?! (He wasn't; I was paranoid.)

Not to mention I felt like I had fallen into the generational gap when the Enterprise man told me I didn’t need keys to drive the car. It was a keyless ignition, and the car started with just the press of a button. It was like the scene in Baby Mama, when Amy Pohler is struggling to figure out the “space car”.

I happened to have two week days off for Fall Break, so I decided to use one of them to visit my old students and coworkers, since I literally pass through the town on the drive from Raleigh to Richmond. I didn't want to be "that teacher", though, that comes back in the middle of the day, walks the halls, and distracts students from their work. So instead, I committed to a whole day of volunteering in a new TFA corps member's classroom, who also happens to teach my old babies. I had heard she was struggling, and I remembered those days oh-so-clearly, so I was excited to both observe her teach and teach my own lesson to model for her.

I could barely contain my excitement on the hour drive to Enfield. I had very strategically planned to arrive Thursday after school so that I could catch up with my teacher friends first. I walked in the back entrance like I always did, and the long hallway that stretched in front of me brought back a rush of memories. Before I had time to reminisce, though, I was running down the hallway to greet my old co-workers, trying not to cry or knock anyone over. I spent the next hour getting the latest gossip, meeting new teachers, and talking a little bit about my life in Nashville. I ended up seeing a group of students who had stayed after for various sports practices, and it made me even more excited about the next day.

Walking in to school on Friday gave me butterflies. I knew the kids would be excited to see me, but I also wondered if they would still show me respect. I worried that they would feel like I had abandoned them and that they would act out in defiance. I approached my old classroom with a mix of anxiety, apprehension, and genuine enthusiasm.

That Friday was one of my best teaching days at Enfield, and I had only scraps of a lesson plan, a handful of lame jokes, and a few new cheers to get them excited about class. The celebrity effect worked in my favor; it certainly played a large role in keeping (most) children in their seats and attentive. But it became very clear how much I have learned in just a few shorts months at my new school.

Leaving my babies was hard. It was even harder to find out just a few days ago that their current teacher is no longer at the school. This didn’t surprise me after my few interactions with her and some conversation with my old principal, but it hit me right in the heart. These babies that had worked so hard last year, had grown so much, and had even started to like math, were being failed by adults again. It’s not their fault, but they will suffer the consequences.

I won’t lie – for more than a split second, I thought about quitting my job and going to be with my old babies. They could easily replace me here, and it’s nearly impossible to find willing and capable teachers to work in a small town like Enfield halfway through the year. And then my adult brain started kicking in – you have a job, new babies, a mortgage, and a life in Nashville. As desperately as I wanted to be there for my EMS kids, I knew that it was ridiculous to even entertain the thought.

I wish there was a happy ending to this story. I guess all I can do is pray that there will be. Hopefully, another teacher steps into the job who can love those babies like they deserve to be loved, and teach them like they deserve to be taught.