Middle School – from the perspective of the “novice” teacher

Today we welcome the first installment of regular blogs from Del Hansen, who describes himself as “Ex officio reader and visitation team member for Golden Apple.”  Del teaches in Las Cruces Public Schools and is a past recipient of the New Mexico Teacher of the Year.  He has been a frequent volunteer on the committee that selects recipients of the Golden Apple Award for Excellence in Teaching.

I taught and administered high school for about thirty-two years, plenty enough time to be able to say that “I have seen it all.”  Au contraire.  A few years ago, I retired from the classroom and happily worked as a volunteer with the wonderful Golden Apple Foundation, helping to select New Mexico’s top teachers.  This year, quite out of the blue, I was asked to teach geometry to a class of eighth graders at Camino Real Middle School in Las Cruces.  Having been a teacher of high school aged young adults for years, I figured dealing with younger kids would be a piece of cake.  As the school year opened and I found myself immersed in middle school, my eyes opened wide like a five-year-old walking alone through the darkened venomous snake exhibit at the zoo.  There they were so darn many twelve-year-olds in the hall, all in constant motion and in so many sizes.  They careened off each other like bumper cars at the carnival.  And worst of all, they didn’t quite get my repertoire of jokes that worked perfectly well with seniors.  A nagging and lingering question danced like an apparition before my eyes:  after being out of the loop for seven years, could I be a successful math teacher again?

I can hardly count the number of times I have begun the school year standing in front of a group of kids, their faces intent and excited, but all the time sizing you up.  This time was more like the first time I opened a school year some thirty-nine years ago.  Though I outwardly brimmed with confidence, there was a singular question floating around the back of my mind, now a few neurons lighter than when I was twenty-three.  I kept having flashbacks to the 1978 film “Piranha,” halfway expecting them to swarm toward me and consume my flesh as I yell helplessly for security.  But they didn’t.

Like riding the proverbial bicycle, I remembered how to make a seating chart, hand out books, discuss the classroom rules, and go over the escape route for a fire drill.  It was new; it was fresh; it was something different.  Though I was to teach only this one class, the principal was generous enough to assign me a classroom all to myself.  I would begin the task of customizing it to reflect my personality.  And with a little bit of luck and whole lot of work, I would be ready to “Hansenize” the kids and teach the heck out of geometry to eighth graders.  The battle was joined.

Next installment:  It is an Olympic year.