Miss Garcia

7:30 AM: A pancake breakfast for students, parents, faculty, and staff opens the new school year. Returning students re-familiarize themselves with old hallways and favorite teachers. New Kindergartners scurry around, some wearing smiles and others hiding tears. The entire school sits comfortably in the gymnasium, and each class is called to be led by their respective teachers into homeroom for the start of the day.

9:00 AM: I copy papers and understand that the first day will consist of reviewing classroom expectations, iPad rules, and lab safety. My nose becomes stuffy, and I start sneezing, hoping that the congestion will clear because nobody likes blowing their nose, let alone hearing it in the classroom. The students are well-behaved, and I am introduced as “Miss Garcia.”

While in college, I was able to refer to all of my professors by their first names. It was different at first, but I soon grew to like it. It created a connection between student and teacher that I hadn’t necessarily had in high school. While I understood the reason behind using Mr., Mrs., Ms., or Miss, and the surname to speak to teachers, I didn’t feel like I needed to in order to show that I respected them. However, that isn’t a trend in most schools, especially ones with younger grades. When I was called Miss Garcia in front of middle school grades, I felt like it was a title I haven’t earned. To them, I am a stranger in the classroom, someone that will eventually lead lessons but starts out by just observing. I am someone that they know nothing about and have no real reason to respect. I felt like I was a child, wearing my mother’s clothes and pretending that I was in charge. I don’t feel like I deserve to be called anything other than my first name, but I do know that I am making goals to become someone the students can trust and respect.

3:00 PM Students are ready to head home, and I am tired from focusing all day and standing at attention, ready to offer my assistance whenever needed. The day has flown by, and I did no real work, but I am exhausted.

When I’m in the classroom, I don’t dread the length of time I will be student teaching. I don’t think about how many days or weeks there are, how much earlier I’ll have to wake up in the morning, or what changes I have to make to my wardrobe. I am too busy watching the students, wanting to know who they are beyond just their first and last names. I’m preoccupied with observing the teacher, wondering how she became so comfortable and then remembering that she has been doing this for 24 years. I’m silently daydreaming about lessons I would love to teach, using animals and plants from the environment all around. When I’m in the classroom, I want to be there, more than anything. It will be quite awhile before I gain the confidence to lead a lesson and become comfortable with hearing my last name used. Even at the end of this student teaching, I will have so many more hoops to jump through. But I’m finally starting to enjoy my choices. I’m putting all that I have learned into practice, and I can’t wait for the rest of the semester!