It was a day like any other. I woke up
with that feeling in my throat that suggests that my throat isn't
sure whether it's sore or just temporarily annoyed. I jumped out of
bed committed to the idea of making a cup of tea immediately in order
to combat this threat. It sounded like a lovely idea, and I kept it
at the back of my mind as I proceeded to do anything but make that
cup of tea. Eventually my Once and Future Roommate Sarah sent me an
IM because she desperately needed to chat with me about the pizza
rolls she'd had for breakfast, so, needless to say, it was an hour
before I finally had that cup of tea and it seemed that the peculiar
tickle at the back of my throat was there to stay. I'd survive. I've
lived through worse. Dealing with a sore throat is generally easier
when you aren't on your way to a Pre-K classroom where singing at the
top of your lungs and shouting at children to stop climbing the walls
are both fairly commonplace. But that's all beside the point. The
point is that I was feeling only slightly off, but off all the same.
And for a while, everything was fine. I
came in the building and got down to business. I was on a role! I'd
only been in this particular classroom for one day and I was already
confident enough about the routines to take care of setting up before
the teacher returned from lunch. I prepped notebooks. I set up the
attendance board. I booted up the smartboard in preparation for
circle time. It was smooth sailing. Until the children came in.
My role in the classroom, at least for
the week, is essentially to sub for the SEIT who is usually in the
room. My art therapy background technically constitutes a special
education background in New York State, so the arrangement works for
everybody. Essentially, working as a SEIT involves a lot of
one-on-one work with a child, helping them with skills on an
individualized basis. There's a lot of sensory adaptation and
whatnot, which was pretty much all I did during my senior practicum
last year - albeit unsupervised and with considerably younger
children - so it's not terribly challenging in comparison. It felt like a good fit for me. Two days had
passed, and I'd worked with two children, and learned the names of
all of the others. The day before I knew all of their names. I would
have been completely confident picking any of the children in the
class out in a line up.
Today, however, I decided they were all named Christopher.
Today, however, I decided they were all named Christopher.
I called the child I was working with
one-on-one Christopher despite spending a large chunk of time working
with him on writing his name. I called just about every single boy
who came to play at the center I was supervising Christopher. When
someone asked me a question, I once suggested that they should seek
out Christopher to help them. It was all quite bewildering, mostly
because none of the children were answering me and I really couldn't
figure out why. It wasn't until a little girl, assuming I was being
my normal silly self, laughed out loud and exclaimed “His name
isn't Christopher!” that I realized just how many times I'd done
it. And I couldn't stop.
There is no child named Christopher in the class.
There is no child named Christopher in the class.
So I made it through the rest of the
day somehow, pledging to take a moment to think before calling
children by name. When I got home I had a second cup of tea (this
time immediately!) and sat down to decompress. They always tell you
that you're going to have days where you feel like the most
incompetent teacher in the world, and it's true. Usually it has
something to do with phrasing something badly and accidentally
hurting a child's feelings, or making a bad discipline choice that
you can't take back. I didn't do that to any of the children at
school today. I take no credit for what I may or may not have done to
poor Christopher, however, whoever he is.