I officially survived the first day of student teaching at West Minico in Paul, Idaho. Luckily there’s only 11 weeks and 4 days left. I’m back to living in junior high where the grease almost visibly drips off the students’ faces. Their glasses are covered with soot. No one showers. No one washes their faces, but every day, they put more goop in their hair and more make-up on their faces. The girls wear their clothes too tight, their hair too big, their make-up too thick. The boys wear their clothes too big, their pants too low, their hair too long. It’s junior high…just how I remembered it.
We had too-mashed potatoes with clumpy turkey gravy for lunch today. The milk was warm and I had to plug my nose to swallow it down without tasting it. Then my milk fell into my clumpy gravy and squished my potatoes all over my tray. It was as if I never left that junior high realm. I felt as clumsy in those halls today as I did when I was 12. The only difference is that now, I’m trying to fit in by pretending to look and act like a teacher rather than pretending to look and act like a student.
As I pushed my cold corn around my tray, listening to the other faculty members talk about how many points each portion of their meal was according to their new weight watchers program, I wondered—what will happen to me in 11 weeks and 4 days when I finish my student teaching? Will I come back to the public school system forever? Will I really be eating soggy potatoes with clumpy gravy until I retire? Sigh. No sense in worrying about it now.