I have lost my marbles.
This phrase plays on repeat in my mind. Particularly around 1:58 p.m., when 6th period starts meandering in. I can feel my internal eyes roll as I greet the 10th graders.
“Ms. Daily, do we have to do vocab today?”
“Ms. Daily, can I go to the bathroom?”
“I really hate reading Oedipus; can we skip reading today?”
“Does everyone need a Chromebook?”
I don’t know how many times I’ve said to each class, “Come in and read the board. When we are all here I’ll go over our agenda for today.” All the classes, but especially 6th period, are like herding cats that have each had a pot of coffee. While they work on their vocabulary exercises, I walk around the room glancing at desks to see who is actually working. My mind wanders through the last several years…
I have two kids, a thirteen-year-old and a ten-year-old. I have worked at a daycare for the last five years. Now, I am student teaching. I am surrounded with children 24/7.
I have lost my marbles.
I look at the next desk as I pass and see that Marvin doesn’t even have a pencil out. I pass the next desk and see Rebecca asleep. My blood starts to boil.
“Okay guys, pass up your vocab. I’ll be grading not only for completion but for accuracy!”
In unison the voices groan, “Nooooooooo, Ms. Daily! That’s not fair!”
“Then wake up and do your work.”
The silence stays and my mind wanders again. Can I do this? Can I really make students feel like their thoughts are important when I really want to shout at them that they’re idiots?! Every time I see a phone I want to throw it. Every time I see a student asleep in class I don’t want to just shake their shoulder to wake them up. I want to slap them upside the head and force them to listen to a lecture about how they don’t know how good they have it.
I have lost my marbles.
But then…
Alyssa, who is the bane of my existence, who lives to see just how long I can hold my patience, approaches my desk. I look up and ask her if she’s okay. Alyssa smiles at me. I brace myself for some sarcastic comment.
“I just wanted to tell you I have actually been excited about coming to class. Normally I hate lit. But this has been pretty sick. Like weird and twisted. But sick. You know what sick means, right?”
I laugh, nod my head yes, and give her my best smile.
Inside my head, I break down crying. I hand her $1000 and tell her thank you for finding my marbles.
Teaching as Storytelling 