When I signed up to to be a teacher for a day, I already knew which class I wanted to teach: Cathy Head’s English 9 MAP class. I had taken it my freshman year, and her class was the main reason I actually enjoy English classes. I like to think of Mrs. Head as a sort of mentor to me.
Mrs. Head liked the idea, so I met with her one Wednesday tutorial to hash out the plan for the class period I was going to teach. She gave me her lesson plan for her seventh-period class and even had me write out a script of what I was going to say, much like she did when she first began teaching. Although she no longer writes out every word she says, it was helpful to know exactly what I planned to say.
Even with lesson plan and script in hand, I was still terrified to teach the class. The students were only two years younger than I am — how would I keep control of the class, and worse, myself? I have major issues with public speaking, and now the education of 20 14-year-olds depended on me.
Before I even got there, Mrs. Head had taken the opportunity to warn her students of the oncoming storm that is my awkwardness. Well, she didn’t warn them of that exactly, but they knew some random junior would be conducting the class, and they were expected to call her “Ms. Sutterfield.”
I don’t think anybody’s ever called me by my last name before. I don’t live in England; people don’t really go around saying “Potter” instead of “Harry.” I suddenly felt like I had aged 10 years and should be wearing a skirt that extends past my knees.
My arrival on the day of my doom was even more terrifying, because I accidentally left my collection of Edgar Allan Poe short stories and poems in my locker, leaving me with nothing to read during the students’ hour of independent reading time. I ran to my locker and got back to the class out of breath and red-faced, at least according to my friend sophomore Simi Srivastava, who was there to take photos of my inevitable failure.
Thankfully, the lesson plan was extremely simple. I didn’t have to actually teach anything per se, which would have been … interesting, to say the least. I began the class by collecting the students’ research papers and giving them instructions as to how to properly attach their works cited lists. There were a couple of questions about turning in the papers, and it was my job to answer them. Mrs. Head had told the students at the beginning of class that she was “a ghost,” and they were not to talk to her.
After the papers, we reviewed a grammar lesson, and I had the freshmen go around the room and say the answers. This was followed by a presentation by three girls on Disneyland, part of a project on innovations in the media world. They were the last group to present, because one of the members had been absent when the rest of the groups did their presentations.
I even got to grade their presentation for Mrs. Head, because she wanted me to get the “true” teacher experience. She graded it as well, and planned to give the group both rubrics.
My tenure as teacher was then cut short so that the students could read their independent reading books for about an hour, something Mrs. Head calls “sustained silent reading.” I was shocked by how well behaved the kids had been.
Maybe it was the looming threat of their real teacher sitting in the back, but they were quiet all through the reading time, and listened to me when I gave them their instructions throughout the class, treating me like a real teacher. It certainly made up for my nervousness about the whole ordeal.
When I asked Mrs. Head how I’d done, she actually said I could make a promising student teacher. I do think I should work on my use of the words “cool” and “yeah, it’s all good” when teaching a classroom of people whom I want to respect me as an authority figure, though.
All in all, it was fun teaching what was my favorite class two years ago. I got to have a flashback to simpler times, when no one was worried about SATs and what colleges they wanted to apply to. I don’t think I’ll be teaching any more more classes anytime soon, though.