Lesson 1. Believe in yourself.

I woke up at 7:00 a.m. My phone alarm was going off and my first thought was "Who the hell is calling me so late?"
Oh yeah, it was reality.
Too bad you can't put that on snooze. I walked over to my sink with tired eyes and a fuzzy head.

This was my first day as a teacher. I walked to the train with an apple for breakfast and giggled out loud when i realized i went to college to go back to high school.

I'm not sure if i'm going to be a teacher. But i do know that i love education. AND LANGUAGE. I honestly want to inspire my students about english how i was inspired about French.

I sat on the bench on the train platform waiting for my train to arrive. I was wearing a light brown and white striped dress shirt with a brown tie with blue dots that my sister had given me. I was hoping i was dressed appropriately.

I took the train 15 minutes. 4 stops. My school is north of Paris and i sat with my head resting on the window that had been scratched with graffiti. "Reve" it said which means "dream." I lifted my eyes just to see that we follow the Seine. Trees and houses were blurs of green and bricks but the river remained constant. I followed the river and within 10 mins the reflection of the sun was creeping up on the reflection of the water and as the sun reached high enough just peaking over the horizon, it hit the river and sent a great flash into my eyes. I grimaced. But let my head rest on the window and be warmed by the sun.

My train made its final stop in Les Mureaux. I walked down stairs and followed the arrows with the picture of the bus. I stood next to a group of African woman dressed in every color of the rainbow. Les Mureaux actually has the reputation of being very poor. When french people ask me where i work. They give me that "I'm sorry, be careful" look. But i'm not sorry, i'm glad that i am in Les Mureaux. I don't want to see rich, white, snobby kids who won't appreciate what i'm giving.

Les Mureaux is a city that started booming in the late 60s when France had a booming economy. Factories moved into the city and thousands of North Africans were immigrated to the city to answer the much needed work force. But that was 50 years ago, and the city is not booming like it once was. Thousands of North and West Africans are left to suffer the consequences from a struggling world economy.

Finally, the bus to Lycee Francois Villion arrived and about 30 kids were piling on. They don't have school busses here but this indeed would be the equivalent. No teacher ever rode the school bus with me growing up and if they did then they would certainly be a loser. I looked around the bus and it was the majority light brown, north african kids mixed west african kids, black as coal. A couple of indian kids. and maybe 4 caucasian kids.

We piled off the bus and I looked at the kids waiting outside for the school doors to open.
There it was.
All of high school just rushed back and i honestly felt like the new kid at school. Everyone was in there little click, laughing, talking. My god, these are children.

I walked through the halls with a thousand stares. Its as easy as Sesame Street; "Which one of these is not like the other." I hummed the tune inside my head as I made my way into the teachers lounge. I met some teachers and they were very warm and welcoming. I did not know how they would see me since i'm not even 23 yet but they gave me respect.

I felt like every guy was taller than me. But i had a beard. I win.

I saw those awful pimples that come and attack the middle of your cheek. Those red, ornery type that only exist during puberty. It pained me to look at them. Only because i knew exactly how they felt.
During high school, it's hard to see the end. It's hard to see past the brick walls of the classroom.

I walked into my first class. The students stood up. I was like "Oh wow..umm....what are they doing? ..umm..." Then i realized they were standing up for me. They were showing respect. "I could get used to this" i thought to myself. We would have never done that in the states. I can imagine that American teachers would love to get in the morning. It surely put a pep in my step.
I started the class with an introduction game.

I explained to them the game "2 Truths and 1 Lie" I gave them and example and i told them that they should make 3 sentences about yourself and try to hide the lie as best as you could. "This is the only time  you should lie to me" I smiled and hoped they understood the joke. The jury is still out.

I asked them to state there name, age, and tell me your sentences. I would guess the lie.

I went around the room getting an idea of peoples english skills. Some were very limited and some could speak much better. I finally got to this girl who was sitting on the right side of the class. "My name is Lamia. I am 16 years old."
She was a slightly heavier girl. Not unhealthy, but bigger compared to french standards. She had shor black hair. she sported black rimmed glasses. She had a beautiful complexion but she hid it behind bangs that she had sweeping across her face. She was wearing a black shirt and spoke with her chin resting on her hand.
"My sentences are 1. I play guitar. 2. Japan is favorite country. and 3. I do not believe in my self."

Well, i smiled and laughed and said, "Surely the 3rd sentence is your lie :) You do in fact believe in yourself."

A short "No" deflated my smile. "I do not play the guitar," she said as she sat back in her chair.

My heart literally started to hurt. I could have walked outside of the class and cried.

I awkwardly straightened up my back and didn't know what to say. "Well, we will change that wont we."

It does not matter what language you speak. This was loud and clear and broke my heart.

The class bell rang and they got up and the herd of students left and i watched Lamia walk out of the classroom.

I sat in my chair pulled down by the gravity of it all.

I'm back in high school.