I got to school, wrote my agenda, arranged the markers and art supplies on a table, walked around and around and around. I was an hour and a half early. My supervisor told me to wait by the door of my classroom to greet students when they came to homeroom. That's good. I could do that - how very Harry Wong. Before the bell rang, three girls came to my class and quietly said hello. They are my sweet, but very slow students. All of them are tiny and look more like elementary students than eighth graders.

The PA system suddenly burped that eighth grade homeroom teachers had to go to the gym to pick up their homeroom students. The girls came with me and had to show me to the gym, because, again I have no real knowledge of any floor but mine. The gym was total chaos. Eighth graders of various sizes and dispositions waited and talked. It was deafening. An evil, scraggly-haired administrator that does not work with my academy, thank God, was screaming and running into groups of middle schoolers, jerking un-uniformed students violently away from their friends, and pushing them against a wall. Ms. Evilamo is what I shall henceforth refer to her as - it sounds something like her real name. Evilamo announced that each homeroom teacher would have to read the class roster we had just received, students would line up, and I'd have to escort the students to my class. My roster was full of names I had no idea how to pronounce, like Niaquaianayafienvekielx Smith. I eventually butchered a list of them and escorted my small, shiny captives to room 108.

Because I hadn't been given the roster until a few minutes before, I couldn't assign seats as I would have liked. Students got to sit where they wanted. I told students to put their bags on the back of their chairs. I had to ask one group of girls to do this four times before they actually would, but fortunately, had no more trouble out of them for the rest of the day. I could already see that one tiny black boy was going to be my class clown. He is the most hyperactive, immature, pain in the butt I've ever met. We'll call him Robert, because that is his real name. I had to move him from his chosen seat to a seat closer to me in a matter of minutes. He constantly started talking while I was talking, he'd suddenly get out of his seat, and worst, he'd argue every time he was corrected.

I had two students, Raheem and Kelvin (again, real names), come in late and make me wish they hadn't come at all. Overweight, whiny, argumentative, wannabe badasses. Kelvin has a sweet side, so when he saw pictures of Abby on my bulletin board, he was actually cute. Otherwise, he chats too much and argues when corrected. Raheem is an angry kid that could easily kill me, and I wouldn't be surprised if one day he threatened to. I was respectful of all my students, but the three I've mentioned so far usually wouldn't comply with the class rules. At one point, Raheem told me I was annoying; I told him we could talk to his dean (the next tier of discipline in the school) about that. It was a long way to lunch.

*I should mention that I was able to get the kids focused at some points of the day, but I realize now that I'm really teaching that my internship and student teaching experiences were surreally good. I taught other teachers's already trained students. My students at Travis High School didn't have the most engaging teacher, and that only served to make them more enthralled by me. I was so, so, so naive to think that showing students respect would make them automatically respect me. This is a tough crowd of some very jaded, poor, aggressive, angry young people.

During lunch, I was already annoyed with my four most irritating students. I have other students who are chatty, but none that are as disruptive as the four I've mentioned. I talked to the dean and he said he'd pull out five students and talk to them about their behavior. This should not happen on the first day of school! I am so unimpressed with some of these kids. In front of them, I can keep my sense of humor and have even been a bit sassy. (These troublemakers can handle it and it works - I'd never ever be sarcastic to my sweet, shy students). When the kids are gone, I start to wonder if I made the right decision to work with these students. Eighth grade is a tough year; my school is a tough school. It's too early to tell how the rest of the year will go. I know they are testing me. It's still difficult enough to make me wish I were a humongously strong and scary woman or an intimidating, bodybuilding man.

My feet ached after the first day. I was disappointed, but proactive. I called a lot of parents to introduce myself. I knew I'd be making more serious phone calls the next day, unless Raheem and Robert didn't show up. I couldn't get that lucky, though.