She was an imposing figure of a grade school teacher who waltzed into the classroom with the utmost confidence. She wore brightly-colored, loose-fitting, off-the-rack dresses as though they were designer creations. One glance and she could quiet 26 jabbering juveniles. In fact one glance from her and I was putty; she was that authoritarian. To say I liked her would be incorrect. But I did respect her and envy her talent for transferring herself into the quintessential disciplinarian. A heavy woman, her extra pounds added to her strength and ability to intimidate.
I wanted to be her--at least for the six weeks of student teaching. I thought that maybe just maybe if I hung around her and observed her techniques--emulating her every move--I would succeed. I had to succeed if I wanted to apply for teaching positions, earn a salary and move out of my parent's house. I didn't think beyond those short-term goals.
Two other students also were serving internships at the same school in Orange, New Jersey, and for the life of me I can't remember their names. But I do remember that right from the start I knew they would be better than me. I had so little insight into myself that I was blind to the truth: I did not love kids, which accounted for much of my less than enthusiastic attitude about student teaching. I had made a basic mistake: following a course of study that was convenience but not anything I could be passionate about.
Another stressor pushing me toward depression was that I was headed toward a breakup with the guy I had been dating. He would end up being the last nail in my coffin.
The teaching assignment was unique in that the kids--all of them African American--had to learn a new reading program called ITA (initial teaching alphabet). It was a mix of phonics and different word spellings to enable children to read more easily. Naturally I too had to learn a whole new way of writing words. It wasn't hard, just a bit weird. Also I was assigned to team teach science, which meant that once or twice a week I had to plan a science lesson that would excite kids into becoming little Louis Pasteurs and Madame Curies.
These "innovative" methods added to my depression, but the real deal breaker was my weakness in discipline. Mrs. B. went through all the motions of "helping" me but as soon as she left the room, the kids would go wild. I think they looked at me as a substitute teacher--someone who they could ignore. To this day I believe Mrs. B was thrilled that I was unable to keep these kids in line. It not only made her look better, but it also emphasized a weakness that would dog me throughout my entire teaching career. I began to see that I might be a square peg trying desperately to fit into a round hole,
Of course Mrs. B was an OCS adult. I never got to know her personal history, but professionally she acted like she was ruling a small country. Of course I didn't know the term OCS back then. I just regarded her as someone very controlling who wasn't about to help anyone out, least of all a wannabe teacher drowning in her own ignorance.
At the end of my internship Mrs. B and my supervisor (from the college) were to give me a grade. I knew I wasn't doing great, but I figured that the lack of criticism meant I'd probably end up with a B. Imagine my surprise when Mrs. B gave me the news that I got a C+. She said the college supervisor wanted to give me a C but Mrs. B favored a B- so they compromised. I didn't know what to think or who to blame, but I believed I never would get a job with a C in student teaching. I had four years' worth of As in educational theory and liberal arts courses, but it had come down to this: A lousy grade in the execution. I had to remedy this situation somehow, and I did, but that's another story.
The bottom line was that unlike most OCS adults, Mrs. B's evaluation actually helped me. The only problem was my persistence and stubbornness.
More on Mrs. B next time.
I wanted to be her--at least for the six weeks of student teaching. I thought that maybe just maybe if I hung around her and observed her techniques--emulating her every move--I would succeed. I had to succeed if I wanted to apply for teaching positions, earn a salary and move out of my parent's house. I didn't think beyond those short-term goals.
Two other students also were serving internships at the same school in Orange, New Jersey, and for the life of me I can't remember their names. But I do remember that right from the start I knew they would be better than me. I had so little insight into myself that I was blind to the truth: I did not love kids, which accounted for much of my less than enthusiastic attitude about student teaching. I had made a basic mistake: following a course of study that was convenience but not anything I could be passionate about.
Another stressor pushing me toward depression was that I was headed toward a breakup with the guy I had been dating. He would end up being the last nail in my coffin.
The teaching assignment was unique in that the kids--all of them African American--had to learn a new reading program called ITA (initial teaching alphabet). It was a mix of phonics and different word spellings to enable children to read more easily. Naturally I too had to learn a whole new way of writing words. It wasn't hard, just a bit weird. Also I was assigned to team teach science, which meant that once or twice a week I had to plan a science lesson that would excite kids into becoming little Louis Pasteurs and Madame Curies.
These "innovative" methods added to my depression, but the real deal breaker was my weakness in discipline. Mrs. B. went through all the motions of "helping" me but as soon as she left the room, the kids would go wild. I think they looked at me as a substitute teacher--someone who they could ignore. To this day I believe Mrs. B was thrilled that I was unable to keep these kids in line. It not only made her look better, but it also emphasized a weakness that would dog me throughout my entire teaching career. I began to see that I might be a square peg trying desperately to fit into a round hole,
Of course Mrs. B was an OCS adult. I never got to know her personal history, but professionally she acted like she was ruling a small country. Of course I didn't know the term OCS back then. I just regarded her as someone very controlling who wasn't about to help anyone out, least of all a wannabe teacher drowning in her own ignorance.
At the end of my internship Mrs. B and my supervisor (from the college) were to give me a grade. I knew I wasn't doing great, but I figured that the lack of criticism meant I'd probably end up with a B. Imagine my surprise when Mrs. B gave me the news that I got a C+. She said the college supervisor wanted to give me a C but Mrs. B favored a B- so they compromised. I didn't know what to think or who to blame, but I believed I never would get a job with a C in student teaching. I had four years' worth of As in educational theory and liberal arts courses, but it had come down to this: A lousy grade in the execution. I had to remedy this situation somehow, and I did, but that's another story.
The bottom line was that unlike most OCS adults, Mrs. B's evaluation actually helped me. The only problem was my persistence and stubbornness.
More on Mrs. B next time.
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