In Essence

by Anthony Kunkel, English Teacher

I am in the front of the classroom. New shoes, new school year and it’s 7:35 A.M. The door is just to my right, my back to the white board, and there’s a slight breeze that whispers in, just enough to feel good. I’m nervous. I’m always nervous on the first day, even after so many years as a teacher. The first student comes in. He’s a small boy for a sophomore, and he looks anxious, awkward. He’s wearing his backpack like burden, tilted, uneven. 

“Good morning.” I smile at him. He reminds me of another boy I taught years ago, a student who was small, but bright and watchful, who hid his smile behind too many uncertainties, and the dark stories from home that were only glimpsed from a few sentences in his journal (or “notebook”—I had been told not to do journals anymore a few years back). I remember so much so quickly that it unnerves me for a moment. This boy reminds me so much of that boy who wrote so beautifully, who wrote about a moment he called ‘pure’ when he made his little sister smile, and described the fragrance, the richness, of the jasmine that was outside his bedroom window with a poignancy that I still remember. The boy who seemed to grow quieter and angrier each day and then was suddenly gone mid-semester.   

​“Hi.” He looks at me, a darting glance at best and talks to my feet. “Is there a seating chart?”

Other students have begun wandering in, and I am locked in this moment with this boy. I wanted to greet everyone at the door, like I try to do each morning, but I want this boy to know I that I’m going to care. I have thought about the other boy often, and I worry that he never knew how much I cared. But there’s also a reality in front of me that I have to deal with. I’m the teacher, this is day one, class is about to start, and I need to manage this class.

“Not yet,” I tell him abruptly, “sit where you like and I’ll move people around later.” I pause as he looks around the room skeptically. “I think you’re gonna like this class, okay?” I can’t help myself. The boy looks into my eyes for the first time. I see doubt, or maybe confusion.

Other students shuffle past me, most smiling, some not. I greet them and repeat several times, “no, there’s no seating chart yet.” It’s a full class, all 32 seats are taken quickly and there are two students left standing, a boy and a girl, both looking uncomfortable. I seat the girl in my cushioned chair by my desk, and the boy in a folding chair near the counter top by the back door. I’m a product of my upbringing, and I’m older, maybe sexist. I prefer the term chivalrous.

The chatter stops with the bell, a long gargling buzz that has always reminded me of the sound made in the movies when a jail door is opened. This is an important moment. This is a large class, and to me, the rest of the year may well be determined on how well and fast I can establish a few rules and expectations. I have letters from previous students on the podium in front of the class and I waste no time handing them out. There’s plenty to go around as I have hundreds, if not thousands from many years and many students.

“These are letters from some of my past students. They wrote these to give you an idea of what to expect, and how to do well in this class.” There’s silence and then the students begin reading. I know what’s in the letters. I choose the best ones to help make a point. Many of the letters talk about not making me angry. Many of them talk about how much they enjoyed this class. Most the letters talk about how much writing they did.  All the letters have a tone that I feel shows some affection, or respect, that was felt towards the class, and me. I tell them to pass them around, to read more than one. After several minutes the students are looking up. Many of them are looking around at each other. Some look worried. Some are smiling.  There’s a low conversation building as they begin sharing what they read with each other. There’s a girl in the center of class talking loudly to the girl next to her. The boy in front of her turns and begins paying attention. She’s gaining an audience quickly and I notice her phone is in her hand. She glances at the phone while talking, never missing a beat.  In just a minute I’m going to ask her name, then take her phone, write her up, and move her to the front of the class. If she argues while I do this, I’m going to send her to the office. Some of the letters warned students about this. We will have fun in this class, and probably quickly, but not just yet. There’s a few things to take care of first.   

I look around the class and see the boy who came in first. He’s sitting near the back, close to the door. I’m already looking for students I’ll sit him next to. I want him to feel safe. I don’t really know why, but then again I sort of do. My instincts are typically pretty good.

​The talking is getting louder so it’s almost time to deal with the cell phone and establish myself as the teacher in this class. I continue to watch them for a bit, as I have in many classes for many years now. I am very aware of how much I will come to care about these kids. As I get to know them, discipline becomes more complicated. Right now we’re just setting some boundaries. I cannot explain to them how much they will come to define me, or to allow me to define myself. I can’t explain to them what it feels like when I walk across the campus and hear them yelling my name and saying hello, or when I run into them outside of class and they are truly excited to see me. I am an English Teacher and I will probably get most them to write something amazing at some point. That’s what I do well, and those can be amazing moments—for them and for me. I’m pretty sure that not all of them will come to like me, but I am fairly certain that most of them will come to appreciate the fact that I care about them and expect good things. Even when it frustrates them. Also, if the former students who have stayed in contact, and shared so much of their lives with me over the years is any indication, I may become something more than just an English Teacher to some of them. That just seems to happen, and often with students I hadn’t expected to hear from again. I never planned on being this teacher, or any teacher for that matter, but in this profession I believe that we as teachers cannot be anything less than that person our students believe us to be. For me, that is a huge responsibility. It is also the greatest of blessings.