DATE: Wednesday, July 16, 1997              TAG: 9707160029

SECTION: DAILY BREAK             PAGE: E1   EDITION: FINAL 

SOURCE: BY MATTHEW BOWERS, staff writer 

                                            LENGTH:  169 lines

FIRST YEAR OF TEACHING IS A DREAM COME TRUE

KATHERINE CHAPMAN geared up for the battle.

In her left hand: a large black marker. Across her lap: a sheet of poster board. She perched on the edge of a table in her empty mobile classroom, lettering carefully, misspelling several words.

She was near the end of her first year of teaching, a year in which she, as well as her charges, had learned a few things.

One, don't bore the kids. Two, kids love teachers' mistakes. Even intentional ones.

She would use the misspelled sign to fight her formidable opponent, an opponent she would face every day for the short time left before the summer break: the combination of warmer and sunnier and longer days, the looming vacation months, evening ball leagues already under way, all the things that cause 10- and 11-year-olds to daydream in class in June.

The school year might've been almost over, but Chapman wasn't through. Neither were her 23 fifth-graders at Southwestern Elementary School in suffolk, even if they didn't know it.

It was the classic classroom face-off. Teachers need to teach, to cover the remaining material in the curriculum before their charges move to the next grade. Kids want to do just about anything other than be taught indoors, sitting at desks, when the weather turns warm and the days grow long.

Chapman's students might've known they were at a disadvantage. The Suffolk Public Schools has given Chapman its Sallie Mae First-Year Teacher Award, part of a national competition.

Still, Chapman had learned enough to not be so sure she had the upper hand. So she lettered.

Students trickled in as Chapman bent over her poster board. Several stopped briefly to drop off book bags before hurrying to the cafeteria for breakfast.

``Hey, Miss Chapman,'' a boy called, barely pausing.

``Hey, Lee.''

This day was going to be a tough one, with or without the summer daze. There was a new poetry form to master. A quiz and a review for a test in social studies, their least-favorite subject. A final fifth-grade study skill - a form of outlining - to learn.

All with the sun shining brightly. And the end of the school year, and graduation to middle school, and summer vacation hovering tantalizingly close.

All in all, an imperfect world. But one that delighted Chapman.

The teacher had always wanted to teach.

``Mom said I came home from the first day of first grade and said, `I want to be a teacher,' '' the 24-year-old Chapman explained.

She graduated from the old Suffolk High School and entered a 5-year program at Old Dominion University in Norfolk that netted her undergraduate and master's degrees. She stood in front of her first full-time class last September.

And she loved it. She always knew she would.

She loved watching the kids grow and change during the year. She loved how they made her laugh.

She dressed up the battered, gray metal classroom furniture with yellow-flower contact paper. She sat on the students' desks to chat, peered in their ears for missing brains, feigned heart attacks at returned library books. She taught them to graph by charting how much water leaked from the ceiling during the winter.

Her major frustration was not reaching the students who could do the work but refused to try, no matter how many approaches she took to her lessons. But even the despised social studies had its high points, such as when the students gave ``TV reports'' about the ancient Aztecs and Mayans.

``I didn't even feel new on the first day of school,'' Chapman said. ``This is my home.''

Apparently so, given her first-year award.

But kids don't know from awards.

Summer was in the air. Poetry and history would be hard sells.

Chapman slipped off her sweater, pumped her arms as if giving herself a cheer, and strode to the front of the class.

A quick review of some math problems the class worked while waiting for the opening bell confirmed her fears. Too many mistakes. Too little thinking.

Time for battle.

Time for her special warmup drill.

Sitting in a circle on the floor, the class reviewed the day's social studies topic: slavery. They stood and gently tossed a soft red ball to each other, saying a greeting - this day it was ``Shalom'' - and the name of the ball's intended target. Then they repeated the exercise, but without speaking.

The emphasis was on positive attitudes - such as when learning something new.

Out came the poster. Hands flew up to correct Chapman's misspellings. Her sign introduced a form of poetry, ``cinquain,'' that follows a strict pattern using single words and short phrases.

``It's time to write poetry,'' Chapman announced after a few minutes.

``For real?'' asked one girl, incredulous.

``I thought you were joking, Miss Chapman,'' another girl complained.

``But you . . . '' Chapman began. ``. . . Can do it,'' the class finished in resigned unison.

They did, mostly. First together as a class, and then in small groups or singly. Chapman circulated, making comments, answering questions.

``Is it a grade?'' ``Everything's a grade.''

``Is `hard' an adjective?'' ``Yes, it is.'' ``Hah!''

``Can we act it out?'' ``No.''

Chapman was pleased at several of the efforts. Kenny Reid proudly read aloud the one he and Jovon Jenkins wrote:

``Basketball.

``Rough, awesome.

``Dribbling, shooting, running.

``Taking it to the hole.

``Slam jams.''

The weekly library class was next, and the students lined up to walk to the main building. The day wasn't starting out too badly.

The good feeling disappeared about as fast as it took several kids at the head of the line to race down a ramp into the library. The librarian kicked one boy out, and put the others' names on a ``bad'' list.

Back in her classroom, Chapman gave the dismissed boy a worksheet, changed into the sneakers she kept under her desk and took a swig from a quart water bottle. Social studies was next.

Her returning class was met with a quiz.

``No. 1: What were the slave states?''

Chapman paced as she called out the questions, offering gentle assists. ``That's not a state - that's a country,'' she said to one girl, looking at her paper.

``Name me five ways that slaves resisted slavery.''

Some students started slumping in their seats. A girl moaned in frustration. Another made the same sound when she suddenly remembered an answer. ``Dang! We supposed to memorize everything?'' a boy blurted.

Just one more lesson before lunch. But the room was getting tougher.

Chapman began explaining how to find and take notes on the key points of a chapter in their social studies text, but had to stop more and more often. Kids called out inappropriately. A girl didn't have her book. Another had to be told to put her arms back inside her shirt sleeves.

The students seemed to be ignoring the bulletin board decorated with the word ``try,'' or the class guidelines written on the window shades that blocked the view of the other mobile classrooms across the sidewalk.

Guideline No. 1: ``We will respect each other in all ways.''

Chapman exiled one boy to a side table, alone. She sent another to the office. Students stopped answering her questions.

``OK - everyone up!'' Chapman ordered.

She led the students through stretching exercises. She had them run in place. She told them to hop three times.

``All right - sit down.''

The shake-up worked - for a little while. More students sat forward. More hands shot up with answers. But the momentum soon faded.

``What else?'' Chapman implored them. ``Come on, people. Think! Think! Think!''

For a brief, unexpected moment, there was silence as the kids finished writing part of their exercise. When they were done, Chapman rewarded them by getting them to stand by their desks and dance the twist, which they did energetically.

``You're not going to win many dance contests,'' Chapman joked. ``I want to see those hips moving.''

The giggling students lined up for lunch. Another morning survived. Another morning closer to summer vacation.

``It's too late in the year for this,'' Chapman said.

Despite the review efforts, the class didn't do so well on the social studies test. And it got a little rowdy at the last-day-of-school picnic.

Still, all the students got hugs from Chapman with their report cards. A few girls cried.

They were middle-schoolers. And Chapman was a second-year teacher.

Within a few days, Chapman and her sister had rearranged and repainted her classroom - the same mobile unit. After all, it's not a perfect world.

Then Chapman began her real summer break - her first as a teacher - with a trip to Europe with some teacher friends.

Bring on the next class. ILLUSTRATION: Color photos by Ian Martin/The Virginian-Pilot

Katherine Chapman keeps things lively in her fifth-grade...

Above, Chapman consoles a Southwestern Elementary School...

Photo by IAN MARTIN / The Virginian-Pilot

First-year teacher Katherine Chapman gives a high five to Jennifer

Potts, 10, while reviewing the answers to an exam in her fifth-grade

class at Southwestern Elementary School in Suffolk.

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