Five

The kids in my class turned out to be rising first graders, which just means that they were really kindergartners who could benefit from summer school. I'd done half of my student teaching in first grade, and so I set up a routine like the one I knew. My class was mostly boys, all Latino and Black, but it was one of the three little girls, Cecilia, who challenged my authority on that first day.

I gathered the children in a circle on the carpet. "Welcome to first grade," I started.

Cecilia frowned and shook her head; then she looked me straight in the eye. "No, miss, we're in kindergarten," she corrected me. There were a few nods from the group assembled around me.

"Kindergarten's over," I said firmly. "You're first graders now. Let's get to work." And that's how it went for the next four weeks. If any students said they couldn't do what we were doing, I told them that they simply had no choice-- first grade demanded it from them.

And, whichever it was, a high tide of either confident inexperience or inexperienced confidence, fifteen little boats were raised a bit that summer. Even so, I cried as I carried my box of books and classroom supplies out to the car on the last day, because as great as summer school had been, it was August, and I still didn't have a teaching job.