Uprising

When I was hired to teach choir at Davis Middle School in Evanston, Wyoming, I stepped into the well-worn shoes of a beloved educator whose passion for music had left an indelible mark on the students and community alike. This esteemed teacher had cultivated an environment where creativity thrived, fostering not just talented singers but also a sense of belonging among the students. As I prepared to take on this role, I felt the weight of responsibility to honor her legacy while also injecting my unique flair into the program.

On my first morning at Davis, I stepped into the expansive choir room, a space that seemed to vibrate with the echoes of countless harmonies and melodies from students past. In the center of the room stood four rows of well-worn risers where students had practiced numerous hours before concerts. As I walked further in, I noticed remnants of the previous teacher's passion: meticulously organized sheet music, framed photographs of the choir in action, and motivational quotes tape-mounted to the walls, all hinting at the vibrant history and strong community built within this room. The gentle hum of my footsteps on the tan carpet seemed to awaken the spirit of the space, urging me to imagine the future we would create together as we embraced the traditions and forged new paths in the world of music. In that moment, I felt an exhilarating blend of nostalgia and anticipation, ready to contribute my own chapter to the rich tapestry of Davis Middle School's musical legacy.

Before new teacher meetings began, I walked into the office that served as a hub for both the choir and band rooms. It was there that I met David, the new band director, whose warm smile and enthusiastic demeanor immediately put me at ease. He was also fresh on the scene, and his passion for music was infectious. As we chatted about everything from our past jobs to our favorite musicians, I found myself drawn to his approachable nature and genuine love for teaching. Our conversations flowed effortlessly, and soon we bonded over shared musical experiences and dreams for our futures at Davis.

In preparation for my first day as a choir teacher at Davis Middle School, I devoted an entire week to transforming the choir room into a lively haven for music and creativity. To create a warm and inviting environment, I adorned the walls with musical notes and posters of renowned composers, carefully selecting each detail to motivate my students. I added a personal element by creating a "Musical Wall of Fame," where I placed pictures of previous performances alongside biographies of celebrated musicians from various backgrounds, bringing music history to life in our space. Stepping back to appreciate my work, I felt thrilling anticipation in the air; I was eager to welcome my students into this newly created sanctuary, hoping they would sense the joy and passion for music that I infused into every part of the room.

As the first day of classes finally dawned, it felt like I was stepping into a scene from a dramatic sitcom. One hundred eighth graders stormed into the classroom, their faces reflecting a mix of defiance and heartbreak as they clung to the memories of their cherished former teacher. A chorus of dissatisfaction filled the air, punctuated by cries of, "We want Ms. Jenkins back!" and "Who are you, anyway?" I could sense their collective resentment weighing heavily upon me as I positioned myself at the front, equipped only with a pile of sheet music and a trembling sense of determination. My heart raced, but I recognized the need to connect with these students who felt let down by the changes. Taking a deep breath, I introduced myself, acknowledging their loss and encouraging them to share their favorite memories of Ms. Jenkins, in hopes of transforming their anger into a constructive conversation. Unfortunately, my approach failed.

My suggestion to talk about Ms. Jenkins backfired. Soon an intense atmosphere enveloped me, growing denser with each passing moment. The anger among the students appeared to increase, swelling like a rising tide, as they crossed their arms defiantly and glared at me. When I attempted to provide reassurance regarding their former teacher's retirement, they met my attempts with a solid barrier of resistance; they raised their voices, choosing to disengage and ignore me entirely. The tension escalated when a group of a dozen students, whose frustration had taken on a distinctly hostile tone, surrounded me. A knot formed in my stomach as I realized that my efforts to encourage a meaningful discussion about Ms. Jenkins had sparked a conflict instead, leaving me feeling threatened not just by their anger but by the intense defiance in the room. At that moment, I understood that connecting with these students was futile; thus, I stood my ground, pointed toward the door, and directed them to the principal’s office.

After that chaotic first day, the choir's enrollment took a significant turn, shrinking from an overwhelming one hundred members down to a more manageable fifty. This unexpected reduction became a pivotal opportunity for me to foster deeper connections with the remaining choir members. Recognizing the potential in this smaller group, I shifted my focus to establishing a more nurturing and inclusive environment, where every voice could be heard and appreciated. I organized ice-breaking activities that encouraged camaraderie, and I actively engaged with each member, learning their musical interests and personal stories. As trust began to build, we worked diligently to prepare for our first concert.

Our hard work and new connection filled me with electrifying anticipation for our first concert. Because the it was set to take place right after school, I bought snacks for the students to enjoy in our classroom beforehand. As the final bell sounded, I was engulfed by a surge of anticipation, and the atmosphere transitioned from our usual practice routine to one filled with celebration. The cookies and chips swiftly captivated everyone’s attention, and laughter rang out as my students indulged in the feast. However, what began as a straightforward celebration quickly descended into pandemonium when I stepped out to handle an issue in the auditorium. During my absence, a student jokingly threw a cookie across the room, and in an instant, the classroom morphed into a snack-filled battleground, with punch and cake soaring through the air as students sought refuge amid the cacophony of laughter. Upon my return, the scene was a chaotic mess, with the remnants of the snacks I had thoughtfully provided scattered everywhere.

Standing in the doorway of the choir room, I felt a wave of sorrow wash over me, my gaze taking in the disordered remains of what was once an enthusiastic assembly of students eager for our first concert. Instead of the melodic excitement I had anticipated, I encountered a vibrant battlefield marked by frosting streaked across a wall, cookie crumbs embedded in the carpet, and punch pooling on the floor in a sugary torrent. My heart grew heavier as I observed my students laughing gleefully, their exuberance in sharp contrast to my anger and disappointment. This concert was meant to be a celebration of our dedication, our love for music, and our bond as a choir, but now our efforts were eclipsed by thoughtless chaos. Attempting to hold back tears, I concentrated on the disorder surrounding me; the intermittent giggles felt like mockery toward the art we had poured our hearts into. In that moment, I understood that although the disorder broke my heart, we still had a performance to give.

I asked the principal to supervise the students before I entered the auditorium to inform concerned parents about the delay. After taking a moment to gather my thoughts, I detailed the unfortunate events that had led to the postponement of our eagerly awaited concert. I explained that amidst the excitement of our preparations, some students let their enthusiasm spill over into poor behavior, culminating in an unexpected food fight in the classroom. The chaos they created left a substantial mess, jeopardizing the safety and professionalism we aim to maintain in our events. I highlighted the significance of accountability and respect for our communal environment, making it clear that all students would need to remain after the concert to help clean up. I expressed my apologies for the disruptions and conveyed my hope that holding the students accountable would reinforce the principles of respect and responsibility we aspire to cultivate at Davis Middle School.

When I returned to the classroom to collect the first choir, the atmosphere, though tinged with embarrassment, quickly transformed as I seized this opportunity to turn their poor choices into a positive lesson. “Let’s show our parents that we're better than our worst choices,” I said enthusiastically. "Let's come together as a choir to show them just how well we can sing!

Fueled by a fresh sense of zeal, we swiftly came together again to ensure our concert would be unforgettable. I guided the group through the hall and onto the stage, where we poured our souls into the performance. Each note served as a testament to our resilience, and the applause from our friends and families reinforced the truth that we were not just a choir—we were a united family.

Once the concert concluded, we headed back to the classroom, prepared to address the consequences of the food fight. Contrary to the complaints I anticipated, the children approached the task with joy and a sense of teamwork. Collaboratively, they cleaned up the remnants of their chaotic celebration, turning the disarray into a moment of bonding.

That day, a connection was established that no amount of frosting could sever. I came to understand that while the food fight initially seemed like a major disaster, it transformed into a valuable lesson about unity, strength, and responsibility—one that would echo in our choir’s spirit throughout my time at Davis. As I departed the school that evening, exhausted yet content, I couldn’t help but envision the possibilities ahead for our collective journey.