I spent the last week in my classroom clearing things out and rearranging the desks and putting up posters. It’s all handspun and hand-me-downs from other teachers–my library is a hodgepodge of books I picked up from the TFA office that alumni corps members have donated from their old classrooms (I found some real treasures, including Roald Dahl and Annie Dillard) and books my principal rescued from the trash bin at the Atlanta Public Library (including a series of texts written by Harold Bloom on Brit lit–I can’t imagine any of my students picking one up and reading it with great interest). Meanwhile my podium is taken from an unused classroom in a different school (the high school is divided into 3 smaller ‘learning communities’), and my bookshelf is stolen from the math classroom next door to mine (they still haven’t hired a full-time teacher for the position, which seems absurd). My door jams so that I have to body check it every morning I unlock my classroom for the first time, which makes me seem like a burglar, and the metal lock to my cabinet has come off its hinges halfway, so that it swings dangerously close to my face every time I open it.

But I love it: It’s my own classroom! I took some pictures of it today, which you can view here.

Tonight, after a whole week straight of being at the school (including yesterday and today) I was stressing out and eating popcorn in front of the TV, comatose, when my phone rang. I picked it up and saw on the caller ID that it was one of my students from the summer. One of my best students, Ms. S was a quiet girl, tall and smart, quick to smile. She got the highest grade in the class on our post-test, and when I told her that on the last day of school, she broke into a giant smile and asked me if I could call her mother, who I’d met a few days earlier, and give her the news right away. (In a video interview the TFA staff at my school did at the end of summer Institute, Ms S. stood with her back against the wall looking into the camera like she’d rather be anywhere else and gave terse one-word answers to all of the questions the interviewer asked.)

Surprised to see her name out of the blue, I answered the phone. “Hello?” “Hi Ms. L, it’s A.” It was noisy on her end. I asked her if she was excited for high school. “Yes.” “Are you nervous?” “Are you?” I could hear her smiling. “I’m a little nervous,” I said honestly, “but mostly I’m very excited to meet all of my new students.” “Yes.” “Did you need anything in particular, Ms. S?” “No.” “When is your lunch period?” “I don’t know.” “Well, I’m in Room 331 upstairs. If you can, come visit me.” “Okay.” “See you tomorrow, Ms. S.” “Okay, bye.”

It was a quick phone call, no more than 2 minutes, but it turned my mood completely around. The tone has been set for the first day of school, and I’m so looking forward to making more of those connections with my students in the coming year.