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Saying Goodbye?
It is nearly the end of another school year; almost twenty years of teaching are under my belt. Twelve of those years have been with Portland Public Schools. I am humbled, a bit tired, and oddly reflective. The feeling of panic has long since worn away.
I woke up the other night with the feeling that somehow I needed to impart to my students everything they will need to know about life in the next week, including, but not limited to: proper grammar, excellent time management skills, a deep love for learning, a hunger to read widely and often, the confidence to flex their own writing muscles, a need to make connections through history so that we stop stumbling down the same maniacal path, and a yearning to be a good person.
I woke up with an impending sense of finality.
My family and I have an opportunity to live and work in Panama. Thus, I am putting my tenure with West Sylvan on hiatus for a year.
I woke up because I realized how much I would miss the students, parents, and staff.
Huh…why is that?
It’s all because I mocked my 4th grade teacher.
It was the last day of school and she was saying goodbye to our class. As the bell rang and we started to leave I noticed that she had shed a tear. I couldn’t help myself. I laughed (on the inside), sentencing myself to a lifetime of emotionally hidden goodbyes to my students. It is not that I do not care. I just have a hard time showing it.
Of course, she could have been shedding a tear of joy. I can’t be sure.
Although I don’t cry when a student exits my classroom for the last time as my pupil, I miss them more than they will ever know. They leave a hole in the classroom. They have left an impression on my life. Their laughter, growth, quirks, and traumas have shaped our relationship and made it so that they will never be forgotten. I hope that their lives have been altered and improved by the time we spent together in the same way my life has.
I suspect that every teacher has some sort of emotional issue connected to the end of school and the departure of students. Most deny their attachments to students and focus on the end of the school year as a hard-won liberation. Some teachers are so “exhausted” that they act as if they are almost unable to make it across the finish line. I think it’s a diversion. That state of exhaustion may indeed be a result of a challenging school year, but I think those feelings are exacerbated by the impending loss of students. The departure of students might bring a tear to the eye, and that’s perfectly acceptable. For me, rather, it leaves a hole in what passes for my Grinch-like heart.
I hope my efforts have not been in vain. I hope my influence on their lives is permanent, positive and purposeful. I hope, in my own small way, I have helped to change the world for the better.
I thank you for your time, understanding, patience, and constant attempts to be the change we want to see in the world. I appreciate you and your efforts more than you know and more than I can show.
binder
[Exit stage left as the sun goes down silhouetting a crooked-neck man as he leaves]
I woke up the other night with the feeling that somehow I needed to impart to my students everything they will need to know about life in the next week, including, but not limited to: proper grammar, excellent time management skills, a deep love for learning, a hunger to read widely and often, the confidence to flex their own writing muscles, a need to make connections through history so that we stop stumbling down the same maniacal path, and a yearning to be a good person.
I woke up with an impending sense of finality.
My family and I have an opportunity to live and work in Panama. Thus, I am putting my tenure with West Sylvan on hiatus for a year.
I woke up because I realized how much I would miss the students, parents, and staff.
Huh…why is that?
It’s all because I mocked my 4th grade teacher.
It was the last day of school and she was saying goodbye to our class. As the bell rang and we started to leave I noticed that she had shed a tear. I couldn’t help myself. I laughed (on the inside), sentencing myself to a lifetime of emotionally hidden goodbyes to my students. It is not that I do not care. I just have a hard time showing it.
Of course, she could have been shedding a tear of joy. I can’t be sure.
Although I don’t cry when a student exits my classroom for the last time as my pupil, I miss them more than they will ever know. They leave a hole in the classroom. They have left an impression on my life. Their laughter, growth, quirks, and traumas have shaped our relationship and made it so that they will never be forgotten. I hope that their lives have been altered and improved by the time we spent together in the same way my life has.
I suspect that every teacher has some sort of emotional issue connected to the end of school and the departure of students. Most deny their attachments to students and focus on the end of the school year as a hard-won liberation. Some teachers are so “exhausted” that they act as if they are almost unable to make it across the finish line. I think it’s a diversion. That state of exhaustion may indeed be a result of a challenging school year, but I think those feelings are exacerbated by the impending loss of students. The departure of students might bring a tear to the eye, and that’s perfectly acceptable. For me, rather, it leaves a hole in what passes for my Grinch-like heart.
I hope my efforts have not been in vain. I hope my influence on their lives is permanent, positive and purposeful. I hope, in my own small way, I have helped to change the world for the better.
I thank you for your time, understanding, patience, and constant attempts to be the change we want to see in the world. I appreciate you and your efforts more than you know and more than I can show.
binder
[Exit stage left as the sun goes down silhouetting a crooked-neck man as he leaves]