Forgive Us Our Trespasses. Diane Gensler

teacher with no experience teaching English nor an elementary school teacher would do well teaching English in a middle school.

      Perhaps it was my declaration that helped, because he offered me the job at the end of the interview. I accepted right away, even though the salary was a mere $17,000 a year.

      He sent me to the school office with paperwork to complete and told me to see the secretary. She wasn’t hard to find, as there was only one. She stopped typing on her brown IBM electric typewriter to ask me how she could help. I told her what I needed, and she directed me to pull up a chair to her desk.

      After a few minutes of filling out forms, she pushed her reading glasses down her nose, looked at me, and said, “I noticed that you aren’t Catholic.”

      How does she know that? Maybe the principal checked off “none of the above” under Catholic religious denominations.

      “I’m as far away from Catholic as you can be,” I replied, thinking that Judaism was the opposite extreme since I knew absolutely nothing about Catholicism.

      “You’re Jewish?”

      I nodded. She must have drawn that conclusion from my previous statement. The question itself was making me perspire even more.

      “Jews actually have a lot in common with Catholics, more so than some other religions,” she said smiling. “You’d be surprised.”

      I felt somewhat relieved, as this could have gone several different ways — She could have shredded my paperwork and told me to leave, marched to the principal’s office and asked if he was insane, or interrogated me and asked if I knew what I was doing, which I was beginning to wonder at this point.

      Instead she said, “Don’t worry. We’re glad you’re here.”

      This made me feel welcome. It wouldn’t take long to find how mistaken I was.

      Chapter 2

      Hallowed Be Thy Name

      It was a week before school started, and I sat at a science lab table in a faculty meeting with all the teachers from pre-K to the upper school. I was acquainted with the middle school teachers since I would be working the closest with them. It felt as if we were paired up like Noah’s Ark since there were two homeroom teachers for each middle school grade. The two eighth grade homeroom teachers appeared to be best friends, and the two seventh grade homeroom teachers were both former nuns and seemed well-acquainted.

      Most of the teachers had been teaching there for years and, at some point, had their own children enrolled. They would get a steep tuition discount which sounded like a good deal. Mrs. A’s son had graduated the previous year.

      Mr. Z led the meeting. He was a tall, dark-haired, clean-cut, suited gentleman who looked to be about the same age as Mrs. A. He had been the principal for the past several years, was well-liked, and had a good reputation. As I had learned, Mrs. A was friendly with him and was frequently in his office.

      There was a lot of chatter, so he asked everyone to quiet down. He made the meeting brief, as it lasted only a half hour. Within that time he gave us our official schedules, student lists, and miscellaneous information about how the school year would run. As I held my list of students, a wave of anxiety washed over me like someone had just poured cold water down my back.

      How am I going to get everything done before the first day of school? Now that I finally have the names of my students, I need to assign textbooks, set up my grade book, and create seating charts. I haven’t duplicated handouts and gathered supplies for the first week of school. We were cutting it close.

      These experienced teachers had worked together for many years, and the questions they asked reflected that, such as if procedures for tutoring kids after school would remain the same and is such-and-such kid still receiving medical treatment for this or that condition. Of course, I hadn’t a clue what they were talking about.

      Mrs. G was a teacher in the lower school, and her son, Wayne, was in Mrs. A’s sixth grade homeroom and English class. He had diabetes, so she gave everyone a brief lecture on how to handle if he had an episode. I was glad he wasn’t in my class because I freeze in an emergency. If somebody is standing in front of me bleeding profusely, I watch the blood pool on the floor.

      One day before Christmas, Wayne was in my class for a special holiday activity, and he had an episode where his blood sugar dropped and he came close to passing out. He sat in his seat with his eyes closed and his head on the desk.

      He uttered, “I don’t feel good.”

      “Ms. B,” one of his classmates called. “Wayne needs help. It’s an emergency!”

      My mouth dropped open, and I stood there looking at Wayne.

      “Ummmm...,” I uttered.

      “We have to do something,” another child said.

      “Tracy, run across the hall and get Mrs. A,” I directed.

      I’m doing good, I thought. I did something.

      Fortunately, she came right away prepared. She brought a package of cookies and gave him one. Then she directed someone to get him a drink of water. He perked up, so she had a student walk him to the nurse’s office. A disaster had been averted and he was okay. Thank goodness!

      I didn’t know the non-middle school teachers very well, but I had learned their names. Some had introduced themselves. Others seemed to shy away from me. I was too busy to give it any thought. I figured they were not open to receiving newcomers.

      Whenever I didn’t know something, Mrs. A was my “go-to” person. I sat next to her in case I had any questions. I didn’t want to raise my hand and ask something trivial or foolish in front of the whole faculty.

      I went to Mrs. A when I wanted to run a bulletin board idea past her. I walked into her room and saw one of the most amazing bulletin boards I had ever seen in my life. I hadn’t realized she was so talented. She had stapled indoor/outdoor carpet to the board and made a soccer field with lines and players. Her slogan was “Score High in English.” As students received points for participation and good behavior, she advanced the soccer ball on the field. They would earn a party or some kind of reward if they scored a goal.

      When I marveled at the board and asked her what she thought of my idea, she said, “I never save old bulletin boards, otherwise I’d lend you something of mine.”

      I didn’t ask you that, but okay….

      She was standing in her closet, and she pointed to a few empty shelves. I thought it a nice sentiment, but I didn’t need any supplies. I presumed she didn’t like my bulletin board idea, although I put it up anyway and other teachers and students complimented it. I hung orange paper and placed enticing young adult book jackets in a large Halloween cobweb I stapled to the paper. The slogan was “Get Caught Up in Reading.”

      After I resigned at the end of the following year (Yes, I stayed two years!!!), I returned to pick up my supplies and found Mrs. A’s soccer bulletin board hanging in my former classroom. She had given it to my replacement who, the school secretary informed me, was Catholic and now chummy with my former teaching partner. Mrs. A must have stored her supplies at home. I wasn’t surprised. In addition, I couldn’t find the supplies for which I had returned, so I assumed Mrs. A had thrown them away. I could envision her tossing my belongings into the trash, happy to get rid of anything that reminded her of me.

      I was happy with my schedule, as it was relatively straightforward. I liked the double class periods because we had a lot to cover in English Language Arts. (We were required to give each student separate grades for vocabulary, literature and grammar.) Each class period was 90 minutes instead of the usual 45 minutes, which meant we could accomplish much more in one class period.

      I had my sixth grade class first and second periods, then my seventh grade third and fourth periods, and the eighth graders I would see after lunch at the end of the day. I had a planning period for 45 minutes after lunch before the eighth graders.

      That