The Answer - A blog about Education, Preparation, and Commitment.

Early Mornings as a Teacher at YES Prep East End

January 07, 2010 by Jeremy Jones

It was cold this morning. Not the kind of dizzying cold that robs you of all sensation, but that heightens it. You can see your breath, but it’s still easy to breathe. You wish you had one extra layer, but the cold is tolerable, and maybe even refreshing. This morning, it was an awakening cold, and as I stood across the street from our East End campus at my new duty post, the cold made the sunrise clear and sharp and colors no art teacher could mix diffused through dark gray clouds.

I don’t normally get a chance to stop and see the sun rise over my school because a YES Prep teacher’s morning is usually action-packed, if not chaotic. Usually, I spend about 45 minutes bustling around my apartment to get out the door and be at school by 6:45 a.m.  Often, though it’s not ideal, the copy machine is my companion in the morning, and seems to always have more energy than I do. Teachers have been known to bust out a little dance to its infamous rhythm while 100+ copies come out of their plastic oven, shaking and warm.

I run, copies heated in hand, to my classroom, throw them on the center table and twist my hair up into a ponytail after earlier entertaining the illusion that it would actually look normal and nice. I look again at my lesson plan. In moments—for moments are all I have—the objective is on the board, homework is clearly defined, the date is updated, and my desk is clutter-free. Usually, I head across the street to Morning Meeting, our daily all-school assembly, where a sea of dark blue and light blue-clad students display a range of expressions about the impending school day and teachers put on skits, make announcements, and lead the pledge.

Today, however, my duty precludes me from going.  My copies are made.  My board is ready.  It’s the first day back to school and before I get to see my students’ faces, I watch the sun rise over my campus and second home. Seeing it as it truly is – a place pregnant with possibility and greatness – is sometimes the clearest in moments that are still. I shiver, expectant, and my breath dissipates and disappears into the now-brighter sunrise as students cross the street to bring life and learning to our classrooms.

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