The Teacher Dream

There is one, unmistakable, incontrovertible, sign that shows you meet all of the requirements needed to be a successful teacher..."The Teacher Dream!"

The uninitiated might think that the teacher dream would include all of your former students coming back to thank you for your hard work and dedication while they were in your class...at a school assembly for that sole purpose.  Another dream that non-teachers might assume educators have would be a classroom full of eager readers who are instantly respectful.  Students who hang on every word and want nothing more than to change the world for the better and bring apples every day.  Trust me, that only happens in the movies and certain Twilight Zone episodes.

No, the dream I am talking about is common to every educator I have ever met and it happens at varying times during the summer.  It is as frightening as any Hollywood created monster has ever been.  I, personally, have awakened, sitting up straight, sweating profusely, and wondering if I could sneak my way back into the classroom for just a little while.  There are many variations I have heard and the mere mention of "the dream" will cause teachers to discuss their own twists but there is still a common theme.  Nothing is ready.


My own variation is that I walk into the classroom in cutoff jeans and a t-shirt that has a saying not meant for students written on it.  I haven't showered or shaved since I am just going to get dirty.  And I am wearing sandals.  I am ready to get in there and start moving things into place.  Everything has been collecting dust all summer and then I need to move furniture around since the custodians have shuffled everything aside to mop and wax the floors.  It is about two weeks before school starts (a week and a half before I start getting paid) and it is a fairly typical start to a new year.  The problem is that I have somehow mistaken the start date of school (this part is entirely plausible given my track record with birthdays).

When I open the classroom door I suddenly see a room full of students and parents ready for me to teach them.  All of the parents want to have their child's picture taken with their new teacher and I am mortified at what my t-shirt says.  I rub my chin and feel the stubble and don't want anyone to take my picture at all.  My principal, opens the door to say hi to all the new kindergarteners and welcome them to the new year.  Strangely she doesn't notice that I, obviously, wasn't planning on having students in the classroom today and leaves me there to deal with the parents.  I start to think, "can I just explain that I got the date wrong and ask everyone to come back tomorrow?"  I can stay up late and get the classroom ready in a night...even though it usually takes me two weeks with a lot of help from my family.

By this time, in bed, I have usually clenched my pillow so tightly that if it was a lump of coal I would be set for Sylvia's next birthday.  I toss and turn and moan and grumble and generally make it difficult for anyone in a three block (or three camper) radius to get any sleep.

In the dream, I resign myself to my fate and start to try to control the unruly mob of four and five-year-olds that has assembled in room 1 and start to usher parents from the room.  I frantically think that I should be doing something but am frozen with fear and frustration.  I wonder if I should send them outside for recess but think that it would be worse since I haven't taught them any rules for the playground.  I unsuccessfully try to call their attention and get them to the carpet, as I unroll it, and the ones that do hear me just laugh at my futile attempt to gain order.

Other teachers have told me their variations of "the dream" and it is usually the same.  Arlene, who typifies preparedness, mentioned that she is in her PJ's when she gets to her classroom in the dream.  Lulu, who is also a model of readiness, stated, "PJ's?  I wish!"  It is one universal truth among teachers.  We all worry about being unprepared.

By this time in the dream I mercifully wake up and wonder what day it is.  I assure Sylvia that I am ok but, in the years where we have taken the kids across the country to see the worlds largest ball of mud, I announce that we need to start heading toward home.  There is no escape, there is no therapy, once I have the dream I have a need to get back into the classroom to start getting ready for the next group of students.  This year, unfortunately, I have had the dream earlier than ever and there is nobody at the school to let me have my keys.  I guess I will just have to resign myself to waiting a week to get in there.  If I have the dates right.