Every Year I Say Goodbye

The end of the school year is a strange and emotional time. There is a relief that comes with it -- summer is almost here (teachers have 5 more days after students are done) and I've survived another year in a profession that I love, but that takes all you have to give and then some. Summer is a necessary benefit, to un-husk yourself and build your stores back up so you can give it all to a new group of kids.

This year was challenging for a variety of reasons, but it was memorable and many of my students ended the year in a better place than where they started.

It was a year where a student said the most hurtful thing to me they could, but then grew into a better human. (Seriously...a student said to me, "You don't have kids, you're NEVER going to have kids," and I did not try to hide the fact that it made me cry so that I could show him the impact words can have on another human, and I told him just how painful it was to have that not work out and to lose that dream, and he was visibly shaken up by it but he NEVER said anything like that to me again, and he chose a hug instead of a high five at the end of the year. WIN.)

It was a year where a Mrs. T fan club sprouted in Math class, and I had a group of young women who decided on things to sell in my name (Mrs. T piranhas, Mrs. T gluten free bagels, Mrs. T jetpacks) in dry erase marker all over the white board. Random children came up to me in the hall to ask, "What's up with the Mrs. T stuff all over the board?" They sent me off to my medical leave with a large display of Mrs. T wares, and on the last day of school they requested a picture and one of the pieces of swag on the board was "Mrs. T Sadness."

I gave an award at the Eighth Grade Award Ceremony, and for the first time I can remember, when I went up to the podium a bunch of kids clapped and hooted "Mrs. T!"

A student who I ate lunch with occasionally gave me one of her art projects, a ceramic avocado mug (regular mug shape, but with avocado skin-color-and-texture outside and creamy green inside), and surprised me with a handwritten letter on my desk about how much she appreciated our talks and my awkwardness and how she was worried about me falling since I'm so klutzy and that she was going to miss me. Then she and her friend got me amazing Harry Potter sticky note bookmarks, and a 9 3/4 pin plus an "I'd rather be a mermaid" pin to commemorate my favorite embarrassing story from 6th grade (that I will tell another time, but it involves wearing a swimsuit in front of the class).

I signed a gazillion yearbooks, some with my own Mrs. T products depicted in them.

In an effort to get to the end of World War II in my self-contained Social Studies Class, we worked ALL THE WAY to the last day of school on research poster projects and a gallery walk, and when one student complained that "You are the ONLY ONE doing work anymore, you know that? EVERYONE ELSE is watching movies and you are making us work!" and when I said, "Yeah, I know... but it's because it's good for your brain and I LOOOOOOOOVE YOOOOOU," while reaching my arms out, he smiled and said, "I know," and gave me a hug. A HUG! From an 8th grade boy pissed that we were still working!

Another student in my social studies class was thrilled when I showed her a picture of horses in my neighborhood and told her I wasn't scared of them anymore (at the beginning of the year I shared that I was terrified of horses close up because they are hairy and ginormous, not realizing that horses are her #1 special interest and it was so upsetting to her that I had to change one of my truths in 3 truths and a lie). She asked, "Do you think I helped you get over your fear of horses?" and I said "Absolutely!" (even though if I'm hiking and a horse comes on the trail it will probably still terrify me). Then she suggested I get riding lessons over the summer, because when you're riding a horse YOU are the tallest one, and I laughed and applauded her logic, but said "Let's not get crazy now!"

I made cards for all my Resource students, with a personal letter on the back about what I loved about them and what I was proud of and how I can't wait to hear about their amazing futures, and a hand-picked quote on the front.  Every single student looked touched and said THANK YOU, even ones who were super surly earlier in the year and wouldn't get caught doing something emotional/touchy-feely. I got a hug that I feared was going to make me wheelchair bound from one young man who I swear, had we been able to have biological children, would have been like what I imagined my son to be. Every so often I have these children who make me feel that way, and it is bittersweet.

Through all this, I feel so very fortunate to have this career that I love and that loves me back. I may not have children, but all of these children are a little bit (and some a lot a bit) mine, for a year. I take classroom climate super seriously and want students to know that I love them, no matter what, even when they are acting in very unlovable ways (that's usually when they need the love the most). The end of the year marks a weird Groundhog Day empty-nest moment -- they leave, a piece of my heart leaves with them, and then I get an all new group to love and nurture and help to become better humans, next September. It's an emptying and a filling on a yearly cycle.

It's always hard to say goodbye, but now I go to graduation so I know I'll see most of them again, and they really do come back and visit. Teaching is a hard job, but a beautifully rewarding one.