Did you ever have a dream that, when you woke up, you wondered where the heck that came from? I often have dreams that I can’t interpret, and that’s okay with me. My subconscious is working stuff out and filing away experiences and just straight-out doing weird shit while I sleep, and I’m content to let it do its thing. However, at this time of the year, I can pinpoint the exact source of my dreams. No interpretation is necessary. Welcome to the beginning of a new school year.
My first back-to-school dreams started when I transitioned from the small elementary school to the enormous junior high school. You might find these anxiety nightmares familiar as well. These are the dreams where I can’t open my locker and I’m totally late for class. Since I was so shy back then, being brought to the attention of others was a real fear. This lingers in my subconscious dream world, so that when I finally get to class, I can feel the sting of condemning eyes as I slink into the last open seat, which is, of course, in the front row by the teacher’s desk. The door, which I had forgotten to shut, closes itself with a loud bang. My humiliation is complete when I’m called out in front of the class for not bringing my textbook, which is still in that bleeping locker. After all these years, I’m still relieved when I wake up and realize I was dreaming.
In high school, my subconscious added more details to this basic nightmare scenario. Somehow, I have lost my only copy of my class schedule even after we were warned not to do this, so I have no idea where I’m supposed to be or when I’m supposed to be there. And since the high school building is even larger than the junior high was, the my-locker’s-on-the-other-side-of-the-building-and-I-don’t-have-enough-time-to-get-my-textbook nightmare works its way in there, too. It was at this point that I also started having the dreams where I’m taking a test and I don’t know any of the answers, and, quite frankly, I’m not at all sure that I’ve spelled my name correctly at the top.
College dropped another layer of anxiety into my back-to-school dreams. I now cannot find the building my class is held in or I have to take a final in a class I never attended. I have lost my math textbook, and there is no way I can afford to buy another one to replace it. I’m failing a class and will never, ever, be able to find a job if I don’t somehow manage to pass it. I am sorry to report that this education anxiety never actually leaves us – ever – and so we go on having these dreams occasionally even when our diplomas have yellowed and become brittle and frayed along the edges.
It was when I became a teacher, though, that my back-to-school nightmares reached epic proportions. It takes no interpretive skills whatsoever to understand that dream where I’m in a classroom, standing in front of thirty seventh graders who simply will not sit down and be quiet. The thought that my boss might decide to observe me during this free-for-all ratchets up the stress. Knowing that my reputation and perhaps my pay is going to be determined by how well I can communicate with, relate to, and teach these students to pass a standardized test is the final nail in my teacher-dream coffin. I wake up shaking from these dreams despite the fact that I no longer teach public school.
Actually, as a teacher educator, these nightmares serve a purpose for me now. They are powerful, personal reminders of the anxieties faced by the teacher candidates who are in my classes. Not only have these students worked their way through the worries that public school students experience, but they are simultaneously experiencing the normal anxieties of college students as well as the anxiety-ridden jobs of underappreciated public school teachers. I have not forgotten what that feels like, and I suspect that I’m a better teacher because of that.
I bid you sweet dreams, my friends. Welcome back to school.