I’ve come to the conclusion that after this year, I will be completely equipped to take on any argument or debate that comes my way. As a first-year kindergarten teacher, I know now that kids are the toughest crowd. They find reasons for their actions where there should be none, and they’ve honed the art of persuasion by the time they can walk.

Just this week, I asked one of my students to clean up her art project. I asked once more, then twice more; and as she wandered across the room and away from the art table, I knelt in front of her and asked why she wasn’t listening. She looked at me solemnly and declared, “It’s my duty.” Who was I to stand in the way of obligation?

Another student has taken to making up nonsense words when faced with questions he doesn’t want to answer. When I asked whether he had his homework, he said something along the lines of, “Hamamoplelapena.” (That’s my best approximation, at least.) According to this logic, if I don’t speak his language, I’ll probably let the issue go.

I often find myself pondering my reaction in these situations for hours, if not for days. The question, “What could I have done differently?”, is constantly on my mind. As a first-year teacher, whose undergrad degrees prepared me for college-level classrooms, there is often a disconnect between what I expect my classroom to look like and how my day actually goes.

And I’m learning, slowly but surely, that achieving perfection in the classroom is not possible. I can try my best to follow lesson plans and schedules, but I can’t plan on how the kids will act, when made-up words will crop up, or what duties I will stand in the way of.

Recognizing my own shortcomings or coming up with ways to adapt to new situations do not make me less of a teacher. I genuinely hope (and cross my fingers) that my ability to teach emerges stronger.

I’ve also realized that these kids, apart from possibly going to preschool or daycare, have probably never been in an environment where they are expected to sit and listen for longer than five minutes. While I’m used to teaching or listening to a lecture on one subject for three hours at a time, these students have likely never been in a “school setting.”

Any expectations I have, for both myself and my students, have to match the level that we’re at. If the curriculum calls for thirty minutes of sitting and making a craft, I’m going to have to switch it up to fit my class’s attention span. If one kid wants to communicate through nonsense words like “hamamoplelapena,” instead of reacting sternly, maybe I should laugh and respond in kind.

My point is, teaching is trial and error. I meet the kids where they’re at, and I try to have fun and be creative while I’m at it. The mistakes I make and the situations that pop up are all part of the process–after all, I can’t be a teacher unless I’m constantly learning.