Every teacher has a favorite back-to-school tradition. Some teachers make sure they have a brand-new outfit they feel confident and cool wearing. Others ask their students to write them letters introducing themselves to the teacher. Mine involves a shovel, a little drama, and a whole lot of buried fears. And yes—cupcakes are also involved.
First-day-of-school jitters
Ever since I was a kid, the night before the first day of school was terrifying. Even though I had my school supplies packed and my brand-new outfit laid out, I still had a knot in my stomach. Would my friends be in my class? Would my teacher be nice or mean? These questions would bounce around in my head until exhaustion finally overpowered my fear, and I drifted off to sleep.
I thought things would change when I became a teacher. Nope. Same knot in the stomach, same tossing and turning—except now, the stakes feel even higher. My wife, also a teacher, tosses and turns right alongside me. It’s like a synchronized anxiety event at our house.
Somewhere around my fifth year of teaching, I finally decided to let my students in on my little secret: I was just as scared as they were. The supposed “adult in charge” standing before them had butterflies in his stomach too. And that was OK. I told them the great thing about being in a class with 20-plus other kids in the same boat was that we weren’t alone. It didn’t matter if they were afraid of long division or reading out loud. What mattered was that we were going to be scared together.
Start off with a scary (but funny!) story
I always start by telling my students a personal story about fear, one that usually gets their attention pretty quickly. Several years ago, I planned a challenge-filled anniversary for my wife and me, and we pinky promised to do every activity. Then one clue said: parasailing. Bad idea. We both hate heights. She was pregnant. It was raining—so we skipped it. But the next day? Clear skies. Soon we were flying over Lake Huron, strapped to a parachute, crying (her), panicking (me), and trying not to die. I even dropped my phone into the lake. Did I conquer my fear? Not exactly. But I did it anyway.
That’s the story I share before I give each student an index card. “Write down a fear you have about this school year,” I tell them. “Don’t put your name on it, and don’t show anyone. Just write it down, fold it up, and trust me.”
Then I grab the shovel.
Hosting a “Fear Funeral”
I lead my class outside to the playground with their index cards in hand. We dig a decent-size hole. And then comes the best part. I play some dramatic eulogy music on my phone. The kids start chuckling, but I stay serious. “This,” I announce, “is a fear funeral.” One by one, students drop their fears into the hole. Some whisper goodbyes. “Goodbye, fear. I won’t miss you.” “See ya, multiplication.” “Rest in peace, getting called on in class.” After the last fear is dropped in, we each take a handful of dirt and sprinkle it over the cards. The final shovelful seals the grave, and we stand in silence … until I break the news that I have cupcakes waiting back in the classroom.
Suddenly, fear doesn’t seem so scary anymore.
Why our Fear Funeral works
The playground is full of buried fears from years past. And even though I know the kids will still feel nervous sometimes, I hope they remember that fear doesn’t have to control or define them. They can face it and, if they can be brave enough, let it go. As an adult, I know that fear never really goes away—it just changes. As a kid, it was about fitting in. As an adult, it’s about doing my best for the people who depend on me. The most important thing I’ve learned is that naming and sharing your fear doesn’t make you weak—it makes you brave. Because bravery isn’t about not feeling fear, it’s about showing up despite it.
And if you’re lucky, there might even be cupcakes waiting for you afterward.