The first day of school always made me nervous as a child. Every first day morning, I would wake up in hives. The entire week before and morning of, I would stress about who would be in my class, and who my teacher would be. I would wonder where my assigned chair would be, if I would like the class structure, and how well I would get along with the other kids.
For a child who moved around as much as I did, you would think I was accustomed to change, that I'd learned to thrive in it; I didn't. Unlike either of my parents, I find myself to be a homebody, someone who enjoys somewhere that is familiar. Growing up, every few years my mom would get tired of our town, or find a new job, or decide to follow wherever my dad was, and would pack up our apartment and move us. I've lived all around the Midwest, but I've never been anywhere that I think of as home. That's why I've always dreamt of life in a small town. The idea of everyone being neighbors, of a comfortable life in consistency, it brought peace to me. That's why, the first time Aaron brought me to visit Eden, I fell in love.
It wasn't just the surrounding farms or the picket fence houses that charmed me, it was how, when we walked down main street, everyone waved at us. People I didn't know smiled at me, the cashier asked me about my day. This was the kind of place I wanted to raise children in, to give them a life I never got to have; a stable life. At the time, I could only hope that Aaron saw a future with me in it. Things were so fresh and new between us, we'd only been dating six months, but he'd later told me that when he saw the brightness in my eyes on seeing his hometown, he knew that I was the one. That day, I felt like the luckiest girl alive.
Even as an adult and teacher, I find the first day of school to be nerve-wracking. I don't know my students, we don't have a routine, and especially since I'm in a new school, I don't want to let my principal down. Last year was a bit easier, since it was my second year at the same school, but I still woke in the morning with hives.
Aaron has always been a wonderful support system for my fearful first days. He started a tradition, beginning with my first day of student teaching. He wakes up before me in the morning, drives to the local bakery and grabs me a fresh cinnamon roll, with a large hot mocha, and gives it to me right before I leave. It's his way of showing me that he believes in me, he supports me, and I'm not alone.
I lean against my desk, sipping the last of my mocha before the students walk in. I've checked and double checked everything I possibly can, yet I somehow feeling unprepared. I think it's the not knowing which students match which name that adds to the feeling.
I close my eyes, taking in a deep breath. Everything is going to be okay. You are going to love your students, and they are going to love you. Teaching is your passion, it's where you thrive. You are comfortable in this, just do what you know. I repeat these words to myself for the next minute or two, until I hear the first sound of footsteps coming down the hall.
Standing up from my desk, I straighten my plaid dress, looking down to be sure I didn't spill any coffee on myself. When I realize I'm stain free, I toss my coffee cup into the trash, then walk to the open classroom door and wait for my students to arrive.
A little boy in a red superhero shirt walks toward me, his backpack over his shoulder. I give him a big smile as he approaches. "Good morning! I'm Mrs. Walker."
The boy gives me a bright, gap-toothed smile. "Good morning!" I hold my hand up, hoping for a high-five.
Thankfully, the child's eyes brighten even more, and he jumps high as his hand slaps mine.
I throw myself back a little. "Wow, that was a good high-five!" I shake my hand to loosen it. "What's your name?"
He proudly pulls on the straps of his backpack as he looks up at me, his blonde hair neatly combed back. "I'm Charlie!"
