Transitions

I hate them. I never transition well, no matter what the occasion. Even change for the better throws me off my balance for awhile. This summer is no exception.

Summer is always a transition period for teachers. We are done with our former class and are yet to meet our future class. We are cleaning up the mess left by last year in order to present a fresh start for next year. Summer is a time of limbo.

To make the transition even more unbalancing, I am moving rooms. I have packed up all my belongings (that I barely had time to unpack!) and moved them all to a new room. Just today, I moved that final box that is filled with miscellaneous junk that somehow missed being packed in the appropriate boxes. I took one last look around, turned out the lights, and closed the door to room 6 - my home away from home for the last 10 months. Then, I went into room 9 (Notice how my new room is like my old room, only upside down? Somehow that is comforting to me!) to take one last glance at my possessions, all stacked out of the way of the cleaning crew slated to arrive next week, before closing that door as well. Part one of the transition over.

Part two of the transition will be more difficult, I think. And I can't do anything about it until late August, when the children arrive for their first day - all rested and dressed-ed up. I will have to finally let go of my old students. I will no longer be able to call them mine, and they will no longer consider me theirs. I will have a new set of challenges to meet, a new set of needs to fulfill. As much as I look forward to this, I dread it too. Proof of this came to me in my dreams last night. I was standing in front of my new class and I was feeling angry at them. I was mad that they had different names that I would have to learn. I was upset that they had different faces to go with those strange names. I was irritated that they didn't know my rules and my expectations and my quirks. I wanted them to be where I had left off the year before, and there we were, as if the whole last year hadn't taken place. I had struggled every day for 180 days to make baby steps with my class, and here I was back at day 1 again. Argh.

Of course, when I woke up, it all seemed quite silly. After all, that is what being a teacher is all about. Taking a group of kids as far as you can and then sending them off to give the next teacher a chance with them. But, you see, I have not had to do that before. At the end of my first year of teaching (3rd grade) I was moved up a grade. So when my students started 4th grade, so did I. When I got my students this year, we were all on the same page (or at least somewhere in the same book!). I guess, in my subconscience, I am concerned that I won't be able to go back to the right place, that I will start on a different chapter than they are.

I'm sure it will be fine - it always is. It's just another transition - a good one at that - and I will manage fine, once the transitioning part is done.