Tidbits from Teaching - A Day in the Life of a Really Great French Teacher

By Becky

1.  Day 1 teaching.  As period II arrives, I put on my best, most exaggerated French accent.  I ooze as much sunny, bouncy Frenchness as I can when students enter "Allo!  Come een, come een!  Zere ees a card witzyour name on eet.  You moost find zee card end you seet zere, ok?  Ok!  Tres bien, tres bien!"  Some students seem excited that they might have a real live French person teaching their class, others confused, others scared, and of course some indifferent.  Continuing in the accent, I begin to introduce the first activity.  I hear murmurs, "YES!  Finally, a French teacher who is actually French!" or "is she really French?  Maybe she's from Belgum.  I don't think she's French."

When my voice and jaw get tired and I can't do it anymore, I break down and speak in my normal voice. This causes confusion, more murmurs, questions and a vote (I lead) to determine whether or not I am French.  Some students have spoken with students in period I and know that I am not, in fact French.  Even so, I have succeeded at convincing at least a few that I am indeed French.

At the end of the period with only a few minutes left in class a boy raises his hand and asks, "Miss, will you do the accent again?"  I laugh and say sure.  Then he asks if I will teach him - even more fun and exciting.  In my enthusiasm to jump on this moment of student interest I begin by explaining that a trick to sounding French is to pucker up your lips like you are about to kiss someone.  The words are no sooner out of my mouth and I hear, "Uhh, never mind."  Huh, I thought high school kids were really into kissing . . .

2.  Day 2 teaching:  The day went better than I had anticipated, though I still feel overwhelmed and generally clueless.  I clean up the room, pack my backpack, and get my bike ready for the ride home.  I decided to wear a dress today and since it was chilly in the dark fog when I left this morning, I added my sweat pants under the dress and a very large, oversized red sweatshirt over it for the bike ride.  Effectively, a small amount of the dress pokes out and I looked, well, special.  Arriving well before my students, I stashed the extra layers behind my desk.

As I prepare to go home, I am literally about to wheel the bike outside to take off (I make sure to put on my special bike uniform before going outside to minimize the chances of any students catching me in my bike gear).  Right after I put my helmet on I hear someone at the door.  A key opens it, and in walks a woman.  I know immediately who it is.

This is the woman with whom I share my classroom.  Let me be more specific; I teach three periods a day in the classroom and that is the only room I have.  She teaches one period at the end of the day and has another entire classroom in the almost brand new culinary arts building.  I am allotted one bulletin board, and a cabinet or two (allotted by her).  There is one desk in the room and one teacher computer.  The desk is filled with her stuff, and it looks as though it hasn't been touched since she started working here about thirty years ago.  But I have been warned that this has been her nest for thirty years (her old, now useless home-ec stuff is everywhere to prove it) and she is, um, let's say protective of her space.

So she enters and I immediately try to put on a smile and be as sweet as sweet can be.  I introduce myself before she has a chance to introduce herself.  "Hi, you must be D, right?  I'm Rebecca, the new French teacher.  It's so nice to meet you finally!"  Mind you as I'm saying this I'm taking off a bike helmet and feeling ever so self-conscious of my highly fashion forward ensemble.  I'm also trying to leave because I know that I will soon have a blood sugar crash and I really want to get home to make myself some food.  Basically, I'm not at my best.

She half smiles and says, hi.  Then she observes, "I see you've rearranged the room."  I cannot deny the fact that yes, the tables have been moved a little bit to open up the room, so I respond, "Yes, does this look like something that will work for you?"  She replies flatly, "No," and before I can ask what we could arrange she says, "but we'll see how it goes" or something to that effect.  Then she asserts that the one thing that she really will not be ok with is if I move her desk.  Generously, however, she offers that I am welcome to bring my own desk in if I'd like.  What a kind thought, I actually have the perfect desk laying around at home that I can bring over.  Oh wait, no, I work part time, just moved from New Mexico and the extent of furniture in my life is an air mattress and small metal shelves from Target.  Maybe I should suggest she buy me one as a welcome to Santa Rosa present.