Tapestries in the Coatroom
Portland, 1950—rainy and gray all day. There is no relief. I am a brand new teacher; and I feel so inadequate. The first, few weeks of teaching third-graders are full of insecurity. Every morning I wake up not wanting to go to work. Nothing I plan for the children seem interesting to them. I have absolutely no classroom management skills.
Am I a bad teacher?
There will be no relief at recess-the kids remain in the classroom all day. Lunchtime is the same. We must eat in the classroom to escape the incessant rain.
I feel trapped.
A mulch of leftover lunches ferments in the wastebasket. The smell of mustard, half-eaten baloney sandwiches, and banana peels seeps through math abstractions and spelling lists. My stomach churns with the hostile odors. I ache for a bit of fresh air or some sunlight through the barred windows.
Instead of sit-down assignments, I plan a spelling bee that will at least get the kids out of their desks. I promise them that it will be fun.
It isn't.
They count off with the "ones" lining up under the high windows and the "twos" near my desk. At first, they stand in a row. Then, a couple of them begin to lean on furniture. Most begin to slouch.They don't know the words in the bee let alone the letters that spell them. As the losers return to their seats, the noise level rises-groans, feet shuffling. Kids are lying on their chairs, arching their bodies.
It's not working.
At the end of the day, I gather them up for a recap, hoping for some inspiration.That, too, falls flat. James and Teddy sit near the back, not listening.They have their own agenda-a poke by one, then the other. They scuffle. My patience is gone. My finger points them to the coatroom. They follow it, shutting the door behind them. The workbench is in the coatroom, and soon I hear them begin to hammer.
Good! I say to myself. I hope they're making swords and will do each other in!
The final bell of the day rings. The children race out. I sit at my desk, head in my hands, holding back the tears that threaten to fill my eyes.
Today was a total failure, I say to myself.
There is sudden commotion in the coatroom.
What now?
I look up to see a string of five, sobbing girls returning. They wail in unison.
They've nailed our coats to the wall!
I go with them to see what has happened. There, in the coatroom, flattened by rings of nails, the five coats hang like tapestries. I bite my tongue to keep from laughing.
One by one, I pull out the nails. As the coats are liberated, I help the girls, in turn, to put them on and then send them on their way.
Damp and chilled from the drizzling rain, I board my bus for the long ride home. Slumping into one of the hard seats, I compose a letter.
I will apply to graduate school.
I will learn how to teach.