Oh, Goddess, Deliver Me from Impending Pants-Shitting Terror
My single greatest fear about student teaching is not that I will have a group of thirty heedless, godless pagans whose pencil-stabbings I have to dodge on a regular basis. It is not that I will stand in front of them and be unable to do anything but stutter and say things like, "Guys, please, could you settle down?" and "Come onnnnn!" It's not even, really, that I will be a terrible teacher and just simply not cut out for it, although that's certainly high up there on the terror meter. (Hm, I think I should develop my own colour-coding system for student teaching fears.)
No. My single greatest fear is that I will have an unfriendly, unhelpful, bitch of a cooperating teacher. If she (they) are kind, positive, and supportive, I can take thirty heedless, godless pagans intent upon stabbing me to death. I can take lessons going poorly. I can take just not being cut out for it. Those things would suck, but they'd suck significantly less than having to deal with the Hitler of elementary school teachers on a daily basis, and, worse yet, take over her classroom.
Yeah. So on Thursday, when I called the teacher with whom I'll be doing my first seven weeks, and she was short, snappish, and decidedly unhappy with the intrusion into her time, I had a panic attack, curled into a ball, and howled like a whipped puppy. Actually, that last part's a lie. I didn't. But I wanted to. Oh, man. I wanted to. The entire phone call lasted maybe thirty seconds (I told you she was short), but it was enough to make me quiver in my comfortable sandals. We managed to make an appointment to meet on Monday at noon, and I'm decidedly not looking forward to it.
I'm terrible, in that I often make snap judgements based on very little information. I called her at 3:20pm on a Thursday. She may have had children staying after with her; she may be super stressed due to the fact that it's the last few days of school; she may have had a really crappy day; she may have been ill... any number of innocuous things could have accounted for her curt manner. She may be Mother fucking Theresa, for all I know. However, I have a sneaking suspicion that she is not Mother fucking Theresa. As unfortunate as it may be that I make snap judgements, I have come to trust them. If I dislike someone right away, I almost always find out later that it's justified. In this case, I hope that it's not, for obvious reasons. But oh, man. Ohhhhh, man. I can't imagine anything worse than having a crappy cooperating teacher.
Oh, Goddess, pray for the soul of this sinning student teacher; deliver her from cooperating teacher hell; take upon you her burdens of copious sweaty panic and impending pants-shitting terror...