So today I was standing outside the grade nine, section A
classroom at the end of the day. I was waiting for my afterschool poetry club
students to filter in while most of the kids headed home. In the past week, I
have noticed a dynamic change with a lot of my littlest students. They are
definitely not nervous around me and wherever I go (in school or out on the
street) I can hear little kids shouting “Good Morning Miss!” When I put my
hands on my hips and say “morning?” at 3:00pm they don’t turn red anymore; they
just smile and shout even louder “Good AFTEEEERNOOON Miss!” Today, I was
standing on the second floor balcony, waiting for my own program to start,
waiting to move on with my day, my plans, my life, and all the while my
students were waving up at me as they ran out the gate.
And it hit me. I’m going to leave. One day, they will wave
at me for the last time.
Obviously, I knew this coming in and I know that this
happens to teachers every year: they get attached and then they have to say
goodbye. But the realization that I too will become a blip on their radars and
that I won’t always hear their footsteps running up behind me (but then
suddenly slowing down as if that would convince me they’ve been walking down
the hall the whole time!)…it drew up a little wave of sorrow. One might say I
was “being nostalgic about now.”
I am so lucky. I am so lucky that after six weeks I have
grown to love these kiddos. Even the ones who beat each other or pretend to cry
to get out of class. Even the girl who I watched take her pencil, throw it out
the window into the small field that backs up to the school, and then shrug her
shoulders at me to say “sorry, I can’t do any work today. I don’t have a
pencil.” I am so lucky that I get to stay her for another five months to savor
all the yelling and laughing and bilingual confusion. I am so lucky that at the
end of a week of failed behavior management systems and MIA co-teachers, the
good still outweighs the frustrating-irritating-overwhelming-shocking-saddening-craziness
so dramatically that today I stood watching them leave and was practically
crushed by how much I will miss them.
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| Repost of one my favorite photos. |
The heart of a true teacher bears years of scar tissue from the tug of each class, no each child, that enters it and then all too soon is gone. If you see each child as created by God for a special purpose you can delight in the process of their growth. May be that stubborn young girl grows to be the first woman to lead a nation. Maybe that little boy that won't stop fighting grows up to fight for the rights of others. Delight in the process of watching their little wings spread. So as your heart adds a layer of scar tissue from Kitini school remember Scars, my darling, mark the memorable moments of life in which we are forever changed in some way. They help us remember and give thanks.
ReplyDeleteEnjoy your very well deserved break.
Love, Mom