The Words You Need to Hear Today--First Day of School Edition

In an episode of The Simpsons, Principal Skinner stands up on stage facing an audience of Kindergarteners on their very first day of school.

And he begins by introducing himself … as Principal Sinner.

He tries to correct himself, but the entire auditorium erupts into laughter.

“Well, that’s it.  I’ve lost them forever,” Skinner says.

Sometimes I think the only reason I became a teacher was because I loved being a student so much and both as a student and as a teacher, there was no day I looked more forward to than the first day of school. 

Yes, even the last day of school paled in comparison to those glorious first days.

But my very worst first day of school as a teacher was my very first day as a teacher.

I hadn’t majored in education.  I had majored in Creative Writing and Literature.  I had never student taught.  I really didn’t have any experience with kids at all.  In my life, I think I had babysat once or twice … and I didn’t like it.

I was twenty-two.  I looked like I was thirteen and I had no idea what I was doing.

And if you know anything about kids, you know that, like dogs and bees, kids are experts at sensing fear.  I was doomed the second they walked in the door.  I was doomed before I had a chance to say my name.

These are a few of things I learned that first day.

Turning off the lights does not make students quiet down.  It actually makes them speak louder because now that you can’t see them, they have to be loud to get your attention.

Also hairspray will take permanent marker off a white board, but that board will never be the same again.  It will never erase right and you will have ghost words bleeding through every Venn diagram you put up there … forever.

I’d like to say that things got easier after that first day, but to be honest, I’m not sure how I made it through that first year, except that I was young and very stubborn.

Over the years, one of the things that was said to me again and again was that I was too nice. 

“Don’t smile on the first day.  Don’t smile that first month.  Don’t smile until Christmas.  In fact, just don’t smile.”

But see, smiling saved me.  I taught eighth grade for roughly fourteen years.  One year in a private school, thirteen years in the same public school.  You don’t survive teaching eighth graders unless you are able to do two things.

First, you have to be able to laugh at them.  You have to find teenagers funny.  Because they are.  Kids, quite frankly, of any age, are hysterical.  I promise.  Sometimes, yes, they are mean and cruel, but mostly they are just flat out funny because they have no filter, which leads me to my second point.

You have to be able to laugh at yourself.

I remember standing in front of my class one day, and I said in my very serious teacher-voice, “Look guys, I have something very important I have to tell you.”

And immediately this boy, sitting right in front of me says, “You’re pregnant.”

To this day, I don’t remember what it was I was going to tell them.  I do remember thinking it might be time to give up the hot wings and mozzarella sticks from the school cafeteria.

And I do remember laughing.

On that first day of school, if you do anything, make sure you laugh.  And make sure that at least one of those laughs is at your own expense.

You and the kids who walk through your door are on this ride together.

Remember that.

My last first day of school, some eight years ago now, was a struggle.  By eighth period, I was exhausted.  When the bell rang and the last class of the day filed in, I was busy leaning up against a table trying to look super cool and relaxed when, in actuality, that table was the only thing keeping me upright.

I expected trouble from eighth period, honestly.  It was the end of the day.  I expected them to be wild and unruly and I wasn’t sure I had the energy to be the mean, unsmiling teacher you’re supposed be that first day.

So when the bell rang and twenty some faces stared at me, I took a deep breath and said, “Just hang with me, forty-five more minutes.  I know you’re tired.  I’m tired.  Just give me forty-five minutes.”

And then to cap off an already odd day, the strangest thing happened.  I watched as every student in that room seemed to take a breath.  I saw shoulders relax.  I saw relief.  Here was a class filled with students who I already knew by reputation, students used to failing grades and referrals and I had won them over with just a few words, words that were ultimately unspoken but conveyed nevertheless.

And those words were these.

“I’m with you.  I understand.  We’re in this together.”

Just as it was so important for my eighth period to know this, it is just as important for you to know this, for you to believe this about God.

And so, these are the words you need to hear today.

God is with you.  He is with you.  Every second of every day.  He never leaves your side.  He is with you.  He is with the teacher next door.  He is with your principal.  He is with every single student that walks the halls and sits in your room.

He is with you.  He is for you.  He is your cheerleader.  He is your counselor.  He is your teacher.  He is your God and He is with you. 

Always.

Never doubt that.