By Garrett Hedman

I love 5am mornings, especially when I can walk outside and my glasses can be an anecdote for the lesson on condensation I’m giving in two days. That is, I walk out of the dorms of Delta State University, tie askew, zombiing my way to breakfast, and my glasses fog because of the heat and humidity…at 5am in the morning. What I do for these kids. students. scientists. Yeah, I like scientists.

They don’t know that I’ve woken up at 5am for the past two weeks to make sure I’m the best teacher I can be for them. They don’t know that I’ve been going to bed at 12:30am to finalize lesson plans on atomic structure. They don’t know.

A place of rest and comfort at institute has been an art garden by the Bologna Performing Arts Center. A small fountain sits in the middle of the garden’s entangled pathway of abstract sculptures. I have methodically walked around the edges of the fountain rehearsing my “teacher voice”, an assertive, caring, confident, firm voice. “I see the bronze sculpture is behaving quietly today.” The garden is also where I try to inspire the stone statue without a head that “It can learn. It will learn.” The garden is my education sanctuary.

The scientists don’t know I’ve spent hours rehearsing what I’m going to say to them. That way, when I’m in front of my class, I can act as if my knowledge of chemical bonds is second nature to me. They don’t know.

I’ve worked relentlessly for four years in college to understand how we learn, problem solve, and make decisions. That work means nothing to the students.

I’ve cried over the stories of triumph that have inspired me to teach in the Mississippi Delta. Those tears mean nothing to the students.

But I know. I know what I’ve done.

So I take a breath. I put on a smile, and I say, “Good morning class, my name is Mr. Hedman.”