Newbie

At my initial teaching job, I was responsible for K-12 vocal music and also taught Title 1 math to middle schoolers. I did my student teaching in high school English, so to say I was woefully unprepared is an understatement. One of the first realizations I had was that first graders are unable to read full lyrics. Additionally, I quickly learned to avoid any student who appeared even slightly queasy.

Prior to the start of the school year, I dedicated a week to organizing lessons in the music room. With no music textbooks available, I felt uncertain about the material to cover. Fortunately, I discovered a handful of weathered teacher's editions that included accompaniments for folk and well-known songs from the 1960s. Even though these songs were more than three decades old, I concluded that they would suffice. Since Corsica Elementary lacked a copy machine, I resorted to the antiquated mimeograph machine to produce copies of handwritten lyrics for students in grades one through eight. By the time the first graders came in for music class, I felt thoroughly prepared and self-assured.

Before distributing the lyrics to "Puff the Magic Dragon," I introduced myself to the children, who looked at me with wide eyes. After beginning to play the accompaniment, I nodded my head to signal them to join in as I started singing. To my surprise, not a single child participated. Perplexed, I paused and inquired why they weren't joining in. A courageous little girl spoke up, saying, "We don't know this song." This explanation made sense, so I suggested that I sing the first verse alone, and then they could join in once they were familiar with the tune. I played the accompaniment again and nodded to cue them, yet once more, there was no participation. This led the same girl to burst into laughter, exclaiming, "We don't know the words!" Still puzzled, I pointed out that the lyrics were printed on the papers I had handed out. A small boy in rigid denim overalls shouted, "I can't read none of them words!" At that moment, I felt a wave of embarrassment wash over me as the first lesson hit me squarely in the face.

The second lesson occurred in the same week — twice. The kindergarteners were quite puzzling to me. Being the youngest in my family and not having done much babysitting, I found little children bewildering. Mrs. Donna, my former babysitter from childhood, brought her class of five-year-olds into the music room and stayed briefly for introductions. They enjoyed guessing my age, with estimates ranging from fifteen to eighty-three. It seemed they were just as frightened as I was. When their teacher stepped out of the room, a few of them even began to cry. I tried to ease their nerves with some engaging musical games, believing we were making progress, until a small boy approached me, sobbing uncontrollably and hiccupping. He climbed onto my lap, looked up, and barfed all over my new blouse. As chaos ensued in the room, I picked him up and guided the line of children toward the office. The secretary glanced up from her desk when I entered, and to her credit, she held back laughter as I placed the child in a chair and stated that I needed to go home to change. By the time I returned to school, I was convinced the entire town of Corsica had heard about the incident.

Later that week, I found myself in front of a fifth-grade class, teaching them entertaining rhythms using large cans I had salvaged from the school cafeteria staff. We were enjoying ourselves immensely, completely unaware that I would soon need to return home for a change of clothes. As we tapped out beats with pencils on our improvised drums, a blonde, blue-eyed boy hurried over to me exclaiming, "Miss O. I need to...." Suddenly, projectile vomit splattered across my shirt, dripped down my pants, and plopped onto my shoes. Frustration brought tears to my eyes, yet I managed to maintain my composure and escorted the boy to the office. Upon our arrival, the secretary's eyes widened, and she let out a muffled laugh. I didn’t take the time to explain my situation or to request someone to bring the rest of the students from the music room. Once I was safely at home and in the shower, I allowed myself a thorough crying jag. I promised myself that moving forward I would avoid any child who appeared even slightly ill.

As the weeks passed, I gradually adapted to the chaotic rhythm of teaching in Corsica Elementary. The inevitable mishaps became part of the fabric of my experience, and while the aroma of school lunches lingered in the air, I learned to find humor amidst the chaos. I embraced my role as a music teacher with newfound creativity, devising engaging lessons that incorporated silly songs the children could actually relate to, like “Macarena” and “The Wheels on the Bus.”

One fall evening, I held a concert to showcase the progress of my students. Each grade would perform a song, showcasing their unique interpretations. As I watched the kindergarteners sing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” and the fifth-graders drum to a hit pop song, I realized I had created an atmosphere of joy and confidence, not just for them, but for myself as well.

On the day of the performance, I sat at the piano, my heart racing with equal parts excitement and anxiety. As the first graders sang their rendition of “Puff the Magic Dragon” — this time with enthusiasm — I couldn’t help but melt. They had learned the lyrics, their voices harmonizing in a way that resonated with my heart. Suddenly, I saw the same courageous girl who had first called out about not knowing the song. With a beaming smile, she whispered loudly, “Miss O., we know this one now!”

In that moment, I understood teaching wasn’t just about imparting knowledge; it was about building relationships and fostering a safe environment where mistakes could lead to laughter and growth. In that small, chaotic school, I found my calling. As the last note of the final song rang out, the room erupted in applause, and I knew I had turned the tide from uncertainty to a triumph of connection and creativity.

Though I may have started my teaching journey tripping over vomit and struggling to connect, I had learned invaluable lessons. From those first vulnerable days to the joyous sound of laughter and music filling my classroom, I had transformed my fears into fuel, proving to myself that sometimes the messy moments lead to the brightest memories. As I walked off the stage, the cheers of parents echoing in my ears, I couldn't wait for tomorrow’s class—whatever adventures awaited, I was ready.