| By Erica J. Ringelspaugh | Erica J. Ringelspaugh teaches English,
literature and composition at Adams-Friendship Area High
School. She began her teaching career in February of 2005. | The best part of being a real teacher, one with a contract and
a classroom and freshman advising capabilities, is the keys. This evening I rode my bike the mile and a half to school, punched
my code in the black box next to the back doors, waited for the
click, and walked in. On a Friday at 8:30 pm. I am powerful. This is awesome. While completing practicum training in Mosinee, student teaching
in Stevens Point, and long-term subbing in Tomah - a time when
I was creating everything from scratch and still discovering efficient
grading techniques - I lugged four preps worth of books home and
back, straining my back, and assigning three different bags to
the task just to stay organized. I threw them in my truck at night
and had to set at least one of them down to unlock the door of
my apartment. I made jokes about certain books earning frequent
flyer miles traveling to school and back with me. I stayed after
school until 7:00, working diligently in the English Office at
Stevens Point Area Senior High. Jane, who owned the cubicle next
to me, packed up her work for the evening, slid her coat around
her shoulders, and stopped by my desk to tell me straight out,
“Go home, Erica.” Every day. I could only remain seated
and smile a mysterious smile; I was not nearly done. I couldn’t
enter the building after I had left for the evening, unless there
was a late basketball game or show choir performance. Even then,
the wrong doors could be locked, or the gates could be down, and
I would still be stuck. I have raced around SPASH after realizing
I had forgotten an important task, tugging on the double doors
to every stairwell, and climbing back into my truck, resolving
to “come in early tomorrow.” As a full-time teacher with my own set of keys, during August
in-service at Adams-Friendship, I unlocked the doors and snuck
in after the school day had ended and everyone else had gone home;
I wanted to set up a student filing system. I pulled my keys out
of my pocket and peaked into the book room door, where my wing
keeps copies of novels, old textbooks for reference, and miscellaneous
supplies. I found hanging filing frames, took them back to my
room for use in writing folders, and used a screwdriver to set
them up. I played music on my garage sale CD player, and celebrated
by liberating some of the textbooks for my own classroom. During high school, I worked in a library, loving the library
best when the lights were off and the books whispered their secrets
to each other. So now, when I wanted to create sample essay packets
for my freshmen who are learning to structure their first five
paragraph themes, I used my keys to let myself into the library.
On that Saturday, I set up a copy station close to the windows
and played with fantasy, copying and dancing with myself, satisfied
with my work. Today, in the middle of eighth hour, I walked down the hall
and let myself into the book room again, this time with a student
who wanted to decorate my bulletin boards, a task I’ll gladly
delegate. Student work hangs all over my classroom – everywhere
but the still-blank, pitifully neglected bulletin boards. Leslie
usually finds it difficult to sit through study hall without fidgeting
and talking. Leslie and I took paper and stencils from the book
room, and she worked quietly through the hour, drawing pumpkins
and coloring leaves. In the weeks since I signed my name next to 502 on the official
key sign-out log, I have discovered the best copy time to be late
at night and early in the morning. Why wait in line? Come back
later. Use your keys. Use different colored paper. Make packets
with staples. Make multiple series of transparencies. The janitors
promptly learned my name and face, when, after they mistook me
for a student walking through the halls at 8:30, 9:30, and 10:30
at night in my flip-flops and sweatshirt, I showed them my keys. Now, I still use the same canvas bag from student teaching to
carry home my students’ writing journals, but much less
often, and only because my couch is more comfortable than my desk
chair. A young teacher without children of my own at home, I’m
free to leave after school, eat dinner and relax, pet the cat
and water the plants, and come back to unlock my door, grade,
plan, and clean, TLC on in the background. I just use my keys. Return to New Teachers page Posted November 28, 2005 |