Empty classrooms always have had a kind of strange fascination on me. They
were perfect places to find peace, sleep awhile, do a homework when I only had 15 minutes to deliver it, or hiding from the girl that I had promised a moment to chat.
Everybody know how much lucky we can be if we can find one of them open, and
everyone knows that if there is a person inside, without saying a word, the
door closes without making a noise, it’s almost a code.
This room was not different than those classrooms where I suffered during
all my childhood: a boring square with windows and one door, which can be used
only if someone authorized. There was a difference this time though: I was who
had the power to authorize or refuse the entry.

In this classroom there is a desk and a chair, however I did not have the impulsive
momentum of sit and point my finger to the nearest victim to say: shut up and sit down!, I didn’t fin either an
operation manual for novice teachers. There was only a list of assistance and a
pile of papers that should be filled with great care.
The Headmaster opened the door so impulsively that when it hit the wall it
made me jump almost to the ceiling. Without waiting to me to recover she told
me that I was in the wrong classroom, “you have been reassigned”, instead teaching
6th grade, I would have the pleasure to shape young minds. I would be teaching
2nd grade. Children between 7-8 years old believing I was the King, which wouldn't be a bad start, after all, the 6th grade could be a problem with
teenagers who would be against me regardless of whether we played on the same
team.
Headmaster walked fast and never turned her head see if I was following
her, she walked like that was her kingdom, she was mumbling something
incoherent, but when I can be near to her I could understand few words: “we
believe that a young man is more appropriate for the inexhaustible energy of
young children. We are confident that you can do great”.
She stopped in a room that was equal than the other, a square with windows,
and a door, the only difference is that the board was slightly larger and had a
multicolor clown in the door with a message in capital letters: WELCOME. When I
stopped to look at it more carefully she tore it with a fast movement of her
hand and said: "this is not necessary.”
My new assignment meant that at the end of the course, my victims should
begin to reason and to concentrate (like orange juice, should be juicing),
improve their ability to process information, improve their concentration in a
specific task, work cooperatively with a partner or a small group, understand
the difference between right and wrong, making connections between concepts
that enable them to compare and contrast ideas, expand their vocabulary, using
verbs properly, smoothly read their ideas, ask and answer who, what, when,
where, why and how, revise and edit writing, start to use a dictionary, make mental
additions and subtractions, show understanding, understand, reading the clock, and
understand basic concepts of multiplication, and only had less than eight
months to achieve this!. I started to sweat cold only thinking of the enormous
responsibility that was against me, but I couldn’t give up. After all it was
just a job, and knew well what failing meant. If I couldn't make a career as a
teacher, I could find something else to do, or I can ask money to my mother for
the rest of my life.
When I look at the list, my sweat became a stomachache, I had 25 children
in class, and also by their last names I saw they had different nationalities.
I wouldn't have to deal only with a program, but with cultural barriers.
I closed the list and I left the classroom running, thinking I would get sick
the first day of class.
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