A Teacher's Unforgettable First Day at School

I've had many first days of school in my time, more than most. In addition to my thirteen years of primary and secondary school, I've spent another thirteen semesters of first days at college and for the past eight years I've had even more first days of school as a teacher. Of course, one of the most memorable first days of school was the very first day I had my own classroom, but that's a whole other story. There was another first day of school that will always stick out in my mind.

I graduated with my teaching degree in December of 2002 and having finished school in the middle of the year, it was quite difficult finding employment as a teacher for the spring semester. Luckily, an ESL teacher in a local district had written and was awarded a grant, from which she was allowed to hire a teaching assistant. I turned out to be her man.

Wyandanch is one of the poorest towns on Long Island, and is very different than most of the affluent neighborhoods in this sprawling New York suburb. Having grown up in the Bronx, I'd experienced life amongst the downtrodden and the rough and tumble world that these folks sometimes live in, so I had no qualms about taking the job. In fact, I was as excited as one could be.

On my first day I awoke with butterflies in my stomach. After three long years of preparing, I was finally going to be in a real classroom with real kids who would learn from me. I didn't quite know what to expect, and then I arrived at Wyandanch High School to find out the teacher, whose assistant I was to be, had called in sick. I would be the teacher for the day. The butterflies began to flutter even more wildly than before.

As the five-minute bell rang before the start of first period, students began to enter the classroom, flashing me quizzical looks. At first, I guess they thought I was a substitute and that they'd have a free day, and it was my first job to convince them otherwise. In they came, around twenty-five of them, most from Haiti and most not knowing any English. The bell sounded to start first period.

"Uh hum," I began. "My name is Mr. Myers." I wrote my name on the blackboard as one of the students, a Haitian toughie named Rose, said something in Creole and everyone laughed. I ignored her and went on. I told them that the teacher was sick and that I was going to be working with them, and her, for the remainder of the year. Apparently she hadn't told them I was coming. The Creole cracks from Rose continued. I wrote some questions on the board asked them all to answer the questions as they introduced themselves. I began by modeling it for them.

As soon as I was done and the first student was about to go, there was a knock at the classroom door. It was the assistant principal. I walked over to him as he leaned into the classroom through the half-open door.

"Hey, I just wanted to let you know that in about five minutes we're going to have a weapons lockdown. When you hear the alarm, lock your door, shut the lights out, close the windows and shades, and get all the students to the middle of the classroom." I let out a huge gulp at the thought of getting these kids to follow. College hadn't prepared me for this!

The principal walked out and I turned to the face the students. I explained what was going to happen and of course there were a few more cracks by Rose followed by laughter, but once the alarm sounded, they all followed my direction. The drill went uneventfully and I was thankful and glad it was over.

As things turned out, the rest of that first day went much easier than that first period. There weren't any other class clowns like Rose, much to my delight, and many of the students were actually very eager to work with their new teacher. The next day, the teacher came back and I reverted to the role I had been hired to take. Over the next few months those students and I got along splendidly, even Rose. At the end of the school year, the kids threw me a farewell party and we said our goodbyes because I had gotten my own teaching position at another high school for the following school year. My experience at Wyandanch High School is one that I'll never forget, beginning with that first day on the job, and I still miss those kids terribly!

For other stories concerning my experiences at Wyandanch High School, please check out:

Inspirational Songs; Natasha Bedingfield's "Unwritten" and Heather Small's "Proud"

Out of the Mouths of Babes: The Voices of Haitian Immigrant Children