Thing #28: Observations being over

As a teacher without tenure, I am observed by my administrator several times a year. Last Thursday, I received an email that said, "I will be doing my first evaluations of the year next week." Immediately, my brain goes to panic mode. "Do I have all of my attendance records straight? Oh no! I must now write lesson plans for the first time all year. Yikes! What will I do that will be both interesting and engaging, not to mention appeal to multiple learning styles and present my skills as a teacher? When is there TIME?" Eventually, the brain settles down, and I get it together. I worry less and less about a horse and pony show and more and more about ensuring that the essentials are there (questioning the students, guiding them to the answer, a little literature, a little grammar, a little vocabulary, a little writing). I get the lesson plans together and the binders organized.

Then, the week of the observation arrives. During most classes I look at the door, thinking, "Will it be this class? This half of the block? Do I have all my binders together?" Regardless of my preparation, my observer always walks in when I'm not expecting it. One observation, he walked in during a rousing round of "happy birthday" I was attempting to get out of the way before the observation may (or may not) occur. At least he was entertained.

So today, my observer walked in to a rowdy class, "studying" for their vocabulary quiz. I am sure that this isn't good teaching technique (the studying for the quiz before the quiz bit), but it's great for a little bit of good-faith report with my students. Whatever. I'll apologize later. Unfortunately, the rambunctiousness only led to 15 minutes of silent quiz taking. Ugh. But, it did get better. We analyzed "Mother to Son" for elements of extended metaphor, and it was lovely. Lovely. They "got it," and they were well on their merry journeys to writing metaphor poems for themselves when he finally left.

And why am I happy, really? That it's over and it's only Tuesday. I can breathe for the rest of the week, knowing that my main objective, really, is to actually teach these lovely students and attempt to grade the ever growing mounds of papers. I will do things at my own slow little pace, knowing that my efforts are simply good enough.

Deep, cleansing breath of freedom from prying eyes (well, until Drew comes to "observe" me on Thursday. But that's an observation without any pressure, except that I be witty and delightful, when I am not always so at 7:25 in the morning with likewise tired seniors).