The first day of each school year is a new adventure.
One year, the bus pulled up, and as soon as the driver opened the door, a small boy jumped down the steps and began sprinting across the parking lot. I pursued him and grabbed his arm in time to pull him out of the path of a car. The child turned around, punched me in the face, and shouted, “Don’t hit me! Don’t hit me!”
That was my introduction to Simon.
Tommy had come to us from a preschool class for students on the autism spectrum, and every effort had been made to ease the transition from preschool to a K-2 class. He had visited our class multiple times with his parents and preschool staff, and they took pictures to make a book about Tommy’s new school.
Despite the careful preparations, Tommy was sobbing when he got off the bus.
Alexander had come to our class part way through the previous school year. He had a one-to-one assistant to address his extensive health and behavioral issues.
The 3 of us adults managed to safely guide Simon, Tommy, Alexander, and 5 other students to the classroom. Since several students had been in our class the year before, they knew the established routines and were role models for the new students. Still, it was quite a challenge.
At seatwork time, each student had a box of individualized tasks. We gave stickers and goldfish crackers and extravagant praise to the children who were sitting at their desks doing their work.
In the meantime, Alex - with a joyful smile - periodically threw his work materials on the floor while cheerfully calling out such friendly greetings as, “Hey! Motherfuckers! “Hey, you butthead!” or my personal favorite, “Fuck you, honey!” Tommy kept jumping up, throwing open the classroom door, and then screaming in horror, as if he couldn’t believe that he was still stuck here in this alternate universe. And Simon continued to shout, kick, punch, and attempt to headbutt me as I encouraged him to put a piece in a puzzle or make a scribble with a marker.
With 3 students each clearly needing the full attention of an adult, and only 3 adults in the room, it was difficult to give much assistance to the other 5 students. It was loud and chaotic, and I was beginning to feel frazzled and rather battered.
“It’s OK,” I said, as Simon tried to bend my fingers backwards. “We are going to help our new friends learn our routines, and pretty soon everybody will know what’s expected.” But my heart was pounding so loud that I hoped no one could hear it, and I was thinking, “I sure hope I’m right about this.”
A few years later, I was telling this story to a student teacher, as an illustration that having clear expectations and consistent routines are essential to classroom management, even though you can get some fierce resistance at first. My teaching assistant remarked that she hadn’t realized that I was stressed out that day, and that my apparent calm and confidence helped give the impression that everything actually was going to be fine.
And it was.
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Another memorable first day of school occurred the year that we had 8 kindergartners, and only 3 older students. We hadn’t previously met the new students, and many of them were nonverbal. The bus driver told us their names, but between the bus stop and the classroom, we had experienced several diversions and distractions, and by the time we arrived safely in the classroom, we weren’t sure any more who was who (except for Miranda, who was the only girl.)
“Hi,” I said to one boy. “My name’s Norma. What’s your name?”
“My name’s Norma,” he replied.
So we looked to see if their names had been marked on their newly purchased backpacks, lunchboxes, and jackets, but no luck there.
My assistant was adjusting desks to fit the students. “Come here, Carlos,” she said to a tall boy. “Let’s see how big we need to make your desk.”
“Is that Carlos? I thought that was Gustavo.”
“No, isn’t Gustavo the boy in the Spiderman shirt?”
I felt a tug on my sleeve, and a handsome boy shyly whispered, “Teacher, I’m Ramon. Leo got the Spiderman shirt. Mateo the tall boy.” And Ramon, who had been in preschool with the “mystery students,” proceeded to identify each one for us.
We had no sooner gotten straightened out on that, than the classroom door was flung open, and 2 wailing boys - twins! - were dramatically escorted into the room by their exasperated mother. The twins collapsed on the floor, kicking and flailing, as their mother threw out her arms and sighed, “Welcome to my world.”
That was the first day of another wonderful year.
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And then there was the year that I had 2 new students who comforted themselves by rubbing their genitals. At circle time, they simultaneously collapsed facedown on the carpet with their hands between their legs, almost as if it had been choreographed.
When the school nurse asked how our first day of school had been, I replied, “You know the sport of synchronized swimming? Well, Tony and Brian are apparently trying out for a synchronized masturbation team!”
Again, a very “interesting” first day of school was just the beginning of 180 days of so much fun and learning.
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Here’s hoping your first day back at school has a minimum of chaos and confusion, as much fun and learning as possible, and just the right level of adventure.